#anthony lockwood x female reader

[stray-kaz]

Between a Tree and a Lockwood : an Anthony Lockwood x f!reader oneshot

The Gist of This: Lockwood and reader are on a very human mission, but humans can be even more dangerous than ghosts. A criminal right around the corner makes the perfect time to make out, right? In other words, “Oh, shoot, we’re about to get caught, you’d better kiss me now.”

A tiny smidge of 18+

“You ready?”

You glanced up from the book you were reading to see Lockwood in the doorway, dressed down for a change. You raised your eyebrows at his soft hoodie and dark jeans, his ever present Converse in place on his feet. He was watching you expectantly, as if you had any idea what he was talking about.

“What am I supposed to be ready for?” you asked, swinging your feet down onto the floor.

Lockwood sighed and rolled his eyes.

“We have a relic to steal, remember? Flo’s paying us for it. I did tell you about it this morning, you know.”

You scoffed and stood up, leaving your book on the chair behind you.

“If you didn’t say my name, I probably didn’t hear you” you told him, coming to a stop in front of him, toe to toe.

You reached out a hand and lightly traced a finger down the front of his hoodie, from his chest to his abdomen, curious about how it felt.

“This is nice” you said, glancing up at his face in time to catch the tic in his jaw as he clenched it. “Soft. Why don’t you wear it more often?”

“It’s hardly work attire, sunshine” Lockwood muttered, lightly taking your hand to place it back down by your side.

“Then why are you wearing it now?” you asked, sunshine looping in your mind.

He shrugged, shoving his hands deep into his pockets.

“Because my suit and rapier are a little too obvious.”

“Ah, so we’re undercover today” you mused, looking down at your oversized cardigan and soft woolly leggings. “Is this okay then?”

You propped your hands on your hips and spun in a dramatic circle, flinging your arms out at the end.

“Ta-da!”

When you looked back at him, Lockwood’s lips were pursed as he tried to hide a smile, his warm gaze travelling the length of you.

“More than okay” he told you. “Perfect, as always.”

That took you by surprise and you stumbled slightly, coming up short with Lockwood’s hands holding your shoulders, keeping you steady.

“Whoa, there” he murmured. “I think we had better go before you knock yourself out.”

You nodded, followed him out and collected your boots by the door, hopping down the steps as you pulled them on. Lockwood watched you with a sigh, shaking his head fondly.

“How did you ever end up as an agent?” he asked you. “You can barely put your own shoes on without falling over.”

You stuck your tongue out at him and fell into step by his side; you hardly noticed, but he always slowed his strides to make it easier for your shorter legs to keep up, his mind always one move ahead. You kind of loved him for all the care he took.

“So what is this relic we’re appropriating?” you asked. “And what happens if we find ourselves in a spot of trouble and we don’t have weapons?”

Lockwood glanced at you, reading your face; you looked completely at ease with the situation. Apparently you trusted him so innately that even the possibility of weaponless danger didn’t faze you. The notion of this simultaneously soothed and terrified him.

“I’ve seen you” he replied. “You’re pretty handy with your fists. And, besides, me, myself and my silver tongue have talked us out of many a scrape in the past.”

You rolled your eyes at his ego and bumped against him gently.

“Fond of yourself, eh, Anthony?”

Fonder of you, sunshine.

He didn’t say anything else. The weak autumn sun chose that moment to strike you and you turned your face up towards it, smiling with your eyes closed. Lockwood took his chance, pivoting so he could walk backwards and study your face at the same time. He couldn’t help but smile at the peace in your expression, black lashes sweeping over your cheekbones. Sunshine, indeed.

“You didn’t answer my first question” you said, suddenly opening your eyes to find him staring at you with something like awe.

“Oh, um, right” Lockwood mumbled, falling in next to you again. “What is the relic? A glass eye.”

You pulled a face, disgusted.

“A glass eye? That’s foul! Whose is it?”

“Probably some unfortunate shuffled off this mortal coil before their time” Lockwood answered, shrugging again. 

“And why are we getting it for Flo?”

“Because the buyer she has lined up for it is paying four grand for it and she’s only taking a small cut. We have bills to pay, you know.”

“Yes, boss.”

He glanced at you again to see if you were bothered, but your expression had smoothed and you were smiling slightly.

“Do you miss your family?” Lockwood blurted out suddenly.

You glanced up at him, surprised by the question. Was he feeling insecure about something? Did he think you were going to leave? Leave George and Lucy? Leave Anthony bloody Lockwood? Not a snowball’s chance in hell.

“You’re my family” you said.

“Yes, I know, but -”

“No buts” you said quietly. “You’re my family. I love you and I’m not going anywhere.”

The ease with which you said it hit him with the force of a hammer and he stared at you, brown eyes wide. You stared stoically ahead, refusing to meet his eye, biting your lip hard enough to taste copper. You had confessed your feelings about Lockwood to George, but to the boss himself? You didn’t think you could ever be so stupid.

The sun was at its highest peak in the sky when you arrived at the small Sunday market Flo had told you about. You shook your head as you looked around at the tight pods of people moving from stall to stall, picking up death relics and listening to the stall owners spout chapter and verse.

“This happens on Sundays?” you said, incredulous. “That’s awful. On the Lord’s day?”

Lockwood laughed and grinned down at you.

“Relic men never sleep” he said, amused. “Not even on the Lord’s day. Come on, sunshine.”

There it was again.

The two of you wandered around, trying your best to look like everybody else’s version of normal, until Lockwood grabbed your hand all of a sudden and dragged you over to one particular kiosk, his palm a little rough and calloused against yours.

“Look” he whispered, pointing.

Pulse hammering in your ears, you followed the direction of his pointing finger and saw the rounded glass eye settled in a small bed of crushed black velvet. The iris was bright blue and it spun as you looked at it.

“Oh, yuck” you gasped, and turned your face into Lockwood’s chest, your cheek brushing the soft front of his hoodie.

As you did so, your free hand snuck out and slid the velvet casing off the edge of the table, tucking it swiftly into one of Lockwood’s jeans pockets. He jumped a little as your fingers brushed the inner seam of the pocket, but he did his best to hide it by burying his face in your hair and pretending to hush you, his other arm rising to wrap around your shoulders and anchor you to him.

“She’s fine, really” you heard him say to the vendor, who was watching you a little anxiously. “Just a weak stomach.”

Hidden by his arm, you pinched him through his hoodie and he jumped a little again, knowing there’d likely be a bruise later.

“Come along” he muttered in your ear, guiding you away from the stall and watchful eyes.

When you were a safe distance away, you took a step back from Lockwood and beamed up at him.

“I got it!” you said, dancing from foot to foot. “Yes!”

He covered your mouth with his hand as his eyes widened. Yours did, too, your lips burning against his skin.

“Shh!” he whispered frantically. “Someone’s coming!”

He glanced around and then dragged you over to a wide trunked tree, the only cover there was anywhere nearby. He pressed you against it, the bark digging into you through the thick material of your cardigan. You gazed up at Lockwood with wide eyes, his hands on either side of your head, his stomach pressed to yours.

You couldn’t think your way out of a paper bag; his closeness was dizzying, the scents of bergamot and sharp aftershave invading your senses and spinning your mind in a circle.

He looked down at you, realising for the first time just how close he was to you, his body pinning yours to the tree, your hips starting to squirm a little bit.

“Hey” he said softly, the brown of his eyes swallowed by onyx. “If we’re about to die right now, then I think it would be severely remiss of you not to kiss me first. What do you think, sunshine?”

You still couldn’t think, so you did, instead. You tugged him down to you by the silver zip on his hoodie, his lips colliding with yours, as a hitched gasp was pulled from your throat. You fisted the soft fabric of his hoodie and Lockwood melted against you, his whole body turning to heat and pressure on yours.

The creature of want that had been quietly feeding off the little soft moments with Anthony Lockwood stretched languorously and showed its teeth.

You arched against him, soft where he was angular, and slid your hands up from his chest to his hair, opening up for him and feeling your knees turn to liquid as his tongue touched yours.

He sighed into you and tucked a leg in between yours, strengthening your position. You moaned softly as the rough denim of his jeans caught and dragged between your legs and Lockwood echoed you as he started to rock slowly up into you, having by now completely forgotten how this had begun in the first place.

Footsteps rounded the tree and there was a gruff scoff and a heavily accented male voice.

“It’s just a couple of randy teenagers. Keep lookin’, it’ll be around here somewhere.”

You heard the words, but barely registered them, too engrossed in the sensation of Lockwood slipping a hand underneath your t-shirt and onto the soft skin of your tummy, slowly questing up and up. 

Before he could reach what he wanted, another, much more familiar voice, interrupted.

“Seriously, Locky? There are more comfortable places to cop a feel than against a tree. Try a bed. Can I at least have the relic?”

Lockwood rummaged in his pocket and thrust the velvet wrapped glass eye in the direction of Flo’s voice, not bothering to look. She took it and pressed a wad of cash into his hand, which he then stuffed into his pocket, not breaking eye contact with you.

“What do you think?” he asked you, face flushed pink and his gaze on you like molten lava. “Shall we try a bed?”

[teaandransacking]

I loved your lockwood x reader smut. Could you possibly do another one where anthony is being really needy and loud and the reader is teasing him about it?

There are NOT enough lockwood x reader spicy fics so it would be great if‘d give it a go.

Btw you’re very talented

Thanks so much!

I did stray a bit from the brief but I hope you like this.

Wrecked

Words: 997 ~ Content: heavy petting, allusions to sex, curse words

a/n: I feel like a little gremlin in this Lockwood pit, but I don't want to be thrown a ladder. Maybe ever.

There’s no fucking privacy in this house.

Usually, you don’t mind. It’s fun and comforting, normally, for you, George, Lucy and Lockwood to live in each other’s pockets, always eating three meals a day together, doing laundry together, watching films together.

But sometimes, especially since you and Lockwood confessed your feelings for each other, you just want to have the house to yourself.

To do things you really can’t do in close proximity to the others.

So, when some eccentric billionaire on the South Bank throws a party in his mansion and Flo invites you all to watch the fireworks from the bank of the Thames, you and Lockwood politely decline.

George gives you the side-eye. Lucy says, “Probably best that we’re out. I don’t want to hear what you’re going to get up to.”

The day seems to drag until finally, the clock creeps around to six, and Lucy and George leave in a flurry of goodbyes and the clunking of boots and coats being dragged on.

Lockwood closes the door and leans his back against it, his gaze finding yours. “At last.”

You waste no time, grasping the open edges of his hoodie and dragging him into you. Your mouths meet and it feels like forever since you’ve kissed, properly, without worrying about being interrupted by one of your housemates or a call from Inspector Barnes or a request to dispatch a haunting.

“I feel like it’s been forever since I had you alone,” you agree.

His arms come around you and then slide down to your hips, settling you against him, and it’s clear that his body has gone from 0 to 60 in a heartbeat.

“You’re keen,” you purr against his mouth.

“Darling, you have no idea, he says huskily. “Bedroom, if you please. As distracting as the thought of bending you over a stair is-”

“You’ve thought about that?”

He gestures to the window above the door. “Do you remember that day last week? It was early afternoon. Sunny. You came down the stairs just as I got home. The sunshine hit your hair just so…” He strokes his fingers through the strands “..and I was transfixed. I’m used to seeing you in the dark, and you’re beautiful, but in the daylight….” He swallows and kisses your forehead. “You’re unforgettable.”

Emotion surges inside you at his sentimentality. It’s one of the things you love about him. He’s been through so much, but he still loves with his whole heart, has still opened himself to Lucy and George and you, even though it must be scary to do so.

“Stop. I can barely handle how gorgeous your voice is. When you’re saying stuff like that, I can’t think.”

His mouth drops to your cheek, and his hand in your hair moves to cup the back of your neck. “Maybe I like it when you can’t think straight. Maybe I want you wrecked.”

Oh, God.

The mouth on this man is going to destroy you. 

“Bed, bed, bed,” you chant, tugging his hoodie and walking backwards until your heels meet the stairs.

“No backwards walking,” Lockwood admonishes softly. “I want you there in one piece.”

You reluctantly turn, taking his hand, and you rush up the stairs, fingers tangled together, like excited children running towards a playground.

By unspoken agreement you go to Lockwood’s room (it’s closer). You both reach the bed and then you push him down on it, and he looks up at you breathlessly, like you’re his beginning and end. Like you’re everything, and in that moment you look into his big brown eyes and you think you can see his soul.

“Please,” he murmurs. “Please, touch me. Anywhere. Everywhere.”

“Promise you won’t shut up?” you smile, lying down beside him.

“Promise that I won’t?” he asks, softly, flashing that megawatt grin.

You trail your index finger from his collarbone down to his belly button and watch as his breath hitches. 

“Promise that you won’t,” you repeat. “We’re alone for the first time in bloody ages, and the way you were last time…” You trace your finger along the waistband of his jeans. “I haven’t stopped thinking about it.”

A rosy flush creeps up his neck. “I was loud.”

“I loved it.” You resume your exploration, taking your finger on the path delineated by the zipper of his jeans,

He bucks under you. “Please.”

His voice gets like this when he’s needy - half an octave lower, huskier. His pupils get lust blown, his cheeks get just a little pink, and he’s even more beautiful like this. He might have teased you earlier about wanting you wrecked, but it’s he who is now, spread out like an offering, primed to blow at your touch and your touch alone.

You pull the zipper down. “Use your words.”

“Please touch me,” he keens, and his hands are balled into fists at his sides, and he’s struggling for control.

You watch his face as you gently part the slit in his boxers and free him out, and his teeth sink into his bottom lip as you palm him greedily. 

“Oh, fuck yes. Do that. Please.”

His eyes flutter closed. He really does have that whole long-lashes-high-cheekbone thing going on, and it does it for you in a big way.

You take your time pleasuring him, your gaze on his face, drinking up all his lip-biting and uttered curses and best of all, his needy pleas, and for the rest of the evening, you completely and thoroughly rock his world.

Turnabout is fair play, though, and in the morning, he makes good on his promise to absolutely wreck you. 

You don’t make it downstairs for breakfast.

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

[saltwaterburns]

everyone adores you (at least i do)

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who makes possibly the best morning pancakes in London, just for you.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who is impossible to go to Tesco with, for he will slowly slip things into the trolley, going unnoticed by you until you reach the check-out.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who likes to sneak up behind you and wrap his arms around your middle, pressing his face to the crook of your neck, murmuring sweet nothings.

"You look so pretty, why're you in the kitchen? Tell Lucy or George to come downstairs and come be with me :("

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who had the hardest time letting his walls down for you, but when you held him as he cried, the little boy in him finally felt safe.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who never ever forgets to remind you how cherished you are by him.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who acts annoyed whenever you wear his coat, but the butterflies in his tummy say otherwise.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who acts all grown up and independent, often times rejecting your help, forgetting he is just a boy.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who gets excited whenever you ask about the artifacts cluttering the shelves of his home.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who hates pickles, yet still orders his cheeseburger WITH them, so he can give them to you.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who would rather sacrifice himself for you than think of a plan where everyone (including him) is safe.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who undoubtedly falls for you more and more every time he sees you bonding with Lucy or George.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who had to be convinced for MONTHS just so you could style his hair.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who was pleasantly surprised when you told him you preferred his dark eyes over any light ones.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who swears he hears wedding bells in his head when you start making him fresh orange juice every morning.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who comes into your room one evening and asks if you could put rainbow butterfly clips into his hair.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who pouts like a child when you usher him out of your room where you and Lucy are painting each others nails and gossiping.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who groans dramatically when you tell him all the experiments you've done with the skull along with George

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who is the master of rizz jokes.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who every year on your birthday gifts you a piece of jewellery his mother used to adore.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who is strangely good at making flower crowns.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who falls asleep by the tv, his head on your lap.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who insists you cuddle him inside his shirt.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who loves being the big spoon.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who always takes you out to fancy pancy restaurants.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who doesn't really want to let you out on missions, not because he thinks you can't handle it (because you can), but because he is terrified at the thought of you getting hurt.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who insists that you guys need a dog in this house.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who isn't very keen on nicknames, but loves it when you call him Anthony in the middle of the night.

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD who tastes like fresh mint and sweet peach whenever you kiss him.

[lady-ashfade]

Hi love! Since it’s almost Valentine’s Day could I request a Lockwood X reader?

Valentine’s Day HC’s

Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader HC’s

Notes: I know it’s out of character but it’s cute soooo. Also I hope you like it because I wanted it to be fluffy and romantic. Also I have not read the books

Type: Head-canons. And short.

Warnings: Non but grammar mistakes.

You would awaken in lockwoods bed ready to snuggle close to him but you found no one in sight. A wave of sadness hit you and you almost thought be forgotten but then you found roses on the bedside table.

There was a note attached to them that said to meet him in the kitchen so you got dressed and headed down. Then it happened again, he was no were in sight but George was standing with coffee in hand. “Thank you for waking up, I’ve had to stay in here. Now take this and tell lockwood he owes me. But- Happy Valentine’s Day.” He handed you a note and left the kitchen quickly. He was annoyed, but you didn’t blame him.

“Good morning, love. Sorry I left you alone this morning but it was for a good cause. Now, today you will need to follow a few notes and tips. For your second hint: The small smell of lavender as he sits by waiting for her. But when he sees her she’s dressed in pink, the small shop closed as he stared at her.” 

He set up a small scavenger hunt for you, so clever. Also so him to bring investigating and romance together, but it’s cute. So you got dressed and knew from the moment you read it where to him.

The dress store town. You dragged him along when you first started dating to find a new dress for a party. The shop owner always had the place smelling like lavender, sometimes it was to strong. You remember that dress you bought, how you loved the flowers on it and the color.

When you arrived to the shop then owner greeted you with a smile and welcomed you in. “Hello dear, I have something for you.” You were handed a box with a bow. “I have a dressing room ready for you.”

When you got into the little closed room you opened the box and saw a red dress inside and another note.

“I hope you enjoy the dress, I thought you’d like to have a pretty dress. I know you’ll look beautiful. But here is your next and final clue: The day lovely and bright as the wind picked up, that’s when the paper flew into his face. A angelic voice screaming at him to catch it and so he did. When their eyes met and he feel for them girl in front of him. The world around them swaying and turning at the true love they shared.”

Of course. It was the first place you two had meet, the perfect place to be on Valentine’s Day. It was a short walk from here to the park so it wasn’t hard.

Now is where you finally see him, dressed as he always did in a suit. But the set up behind him was pretty. Having lights connecting two tree’s together and underneath was a blanket and food set out.

That’s when his eyes met yours. His face brightens up and he rushes over to you and you do the same. “Beautiful as ever, my smart girl.” He leaned down to kissed your lips quickly.

“I can’t believe you did this, it’s so amazing. You made this the best day.” He was proud to hear you say that and he took your hand and rushed you over to the picnic.

The rest of the day was spent eating breakfast, kisses and walking around hand and hand.

He held you and didn’t let you go, that being by your hand or waist or your arm. And his lips always connecting to yours.

But that was the best part. Him sharing his love with you.

[meianslo]

Too Late

Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

warning: pure angst, second option reader, asshole lockwood :'D

word count: 1.2k

disclaimer: this isn't the best one i've wrote bc i probably forgot that i even wrote it but im just gonna post it anw hueheu

<3

(name) was walking on the pavement that leads to 35 portland row, the home of her best friend, Lockwood. Lucy had invited her to come to his house after not going there for almost a month now.

She started being friends with Lockwood just a few years ago before he even started his agency. (name) was a family friend but they got to knowing, and just clicked with each other. But for her, it was more than just being friends... or best friends. He was so much more than that to her. But she knows he'll never return the feelings.

Anyways, feelings aside, (name) has become great friends with his agency's members even though she is not a part of it. She was so excited for him when he hired his first assistant. But she remember that it didn't go that well for em' but luckily, he's now ended up with George and Lucy.

Which brings us back to (name), wondering why Lucy had invited her.

Finally arriving at the house, she knocks on their door and waited for a few until George opened up the door and greeted her.

"Hi, (name). Lucy told me that she's expecting you?" she nodded at George's confusion. George knows that only Lockwood invite her most of the times but, even if someone else did invite her, it was probably Lockwood's request (it was a demand..). And Lockwood is currently out of the house. He let her in and asked her if she wanted some tea.

"Yeah sure, that'd be lovely, Georgie." She gave him a small smile of appreciation. While waiting for the tea, (name) went up to the attic to talk with Lucy.

"Lucy? You here?" (name) shouted as she's climbing the stairs before Lucy appeared behind the railings. "(name)! You came!"

"Of course I did, you asked me to, silly. What kind of friend would I be if I didn't?" (name) chuckled as she finally took the last step of the stairs. "So, what's up? Why'd you ask me to come?" Lucy took both her hand, pulled her and sat her down on her bed. This made (name) smiled and just went along with her.

The brown haired girl sighed and look down on her hand. "Lockwood just asked me out a week ago," (name) smile dropped "That's great, Luce!" (name) put her smile back but this one was more forced.

"I rejected him, (name)-"

"What? Why?" (name) was so confused, Lucy liked Lockwood back. So, why did she reject him?

"I- I don't know, I just did! I started rambling about how work is a pressure for me and all ��� I barely remember what I said-" Lucy sighed loudly. "I panicked.. I like him, (name). I do but, I don't know what came over me. And now, there's tension all over the house!"

As much as she wished that she's the one that's getting asked, (name) know better than that will ever happen. So, she give Lucy some courage to talk to Lockwood and explain herself.

"Lucy, you have to tell him or you'll regret it." What (name) didn't know is that she might also regret encouraging Lucy, but she knows it's for the better. "Well, I'm gonna go downstairs. George is probably done with the tea," She stood up and headed for the stairs

"Alright, I'll catch up with you later!" Lucy exhaled and lay back into the bed, chest feeling heavy.

<3

"So, why'd Lucy invite you over?" George questioned. He set down the cup of the in front of the girl and sat down in front of her.

(name) took a sip and pick up the pen that is Infront of her and starts doodling on the thinking cloth. "It's nothing, just Lockwood and Lucy things, y'know?" George just shrugged at what she said. They suddenly heard a noise coming from the front door, it's probably Lockwood struggling to open the door.

George just stood up and went to the hallway to open the door for Lockwood. "Hey," Lockwood greeted him and headed for the phone.

(name) peeked through the kitchen to see what's up with Lockwood especially after getting rejected. "Anthony?" she revealed her presence and Lockwood turn to her.

"(name)! I was just about to call you, guess that'll save me some time."

"What's up? Need anything?" (name) played dumb about the fact that Lucy rejected him, trying to not break his heart.

"George, can you..? Need some privacy." Lockwood smiled thinly. George just pushed up his glasses, nodding and went back to the kitchen. Lockwood walked closer to her, five feet apart from each other.

"(name).." His gaze shifted, It's not how he usually look at her. He was looking at her with much more passion and (name) realized what's gonna happen and..

"No. Lockwood, no." She blurted out and this confused him.

"What? I didn't even say anything-" He steps closer, this made (name) take a step backward.

"I know, Lucy told me."

"I like you, (name)."

"No, you don't."

She refuses this because this is not good.

"I- Please, (name)."

"Lockwood." This surprised him, because she rarely ever calls him that. "You like her, not me. Her. And I've liked you since forever but that doesn't mean I'll accept you just because I happen to be your option!" she scoffed "You decided that you like me because Lucy rejected you, right? You're being desperate and I know you're better than that. I'd rather reject you than just be a second option for you, Anthony."

The boy sighed and massaged nose bridge. He muttered. "This is my second regret, now."

"What? Are you serious? Wow, did you really just said that? Do I really just become your second regret? Be fucking serious, Lockwood." There it is again. "You're actually admitting that I'm just becoming your second everything at this point. I'm fine not being your option at all because it'd mean I wouldn't have to hope anything from you."

"(name), I didn't mean that! I'm so sorry — I'm just being dumb and-"

"Yes, you are being dumb! And I'll just let it slide because I know what you're going through." She swerved around him and went for the door. She hesitates for a second but finally reach the door's knob.

Just when she was about to turn the knob, Lucy called out to her. "(name)!" She stood at the top of the stairs. "(name)?" she repeated looking a bit more confused. Lucy bit her bottom lip and glanced at Lockwood for a second before looking back at (name).

"Lucy.." Lockwood muttered under his breath. (name) can hear how hurt he was in his voice but it didn't excused him for what he just did.

After turning around for a second to look at Lucy then Lockwood, the heavy hearted girl knows to leave them alone and let them talk it out. (name) turn her back to them again, "Thanks for the Invite, Lucy. Tell George I love the tea.." She finally turned the knob and head out of the house.

<3

When (name) was finally far enough from the house, she sat on the kerb of the pavement. Breaking down into sobs, fingers running through her hair. She buried her head into the palm of her hands, getting them all clammy.

She didn't know whether or not this is her fault.

Because she was too late. She thought that if she had confessed sooner, maybe this wouldn't happen to her. Maybe, her heart wouldn't have to be crushed into pieces.

a/n: this almost become rusty because i forgot i have this in my draft

[ynbabe]

Lockwood & Co. X Fem!Reader:- Incorrect quotes pt.2

Y/n: Die. Lucy: Please don't die! Y/n: DIE! Lucy: PLEASE DON'T DIE! George, confused: Why are they yelling at a plant? Anthony, watching while eating popcorn: They bought it cause I told them to stop fighting and Lucy wants Y/n to accept it as their kid. George: ... Anthony: Y/n wants to co-parent.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Y/n: You know guys, sometimes I feel like Lucy doesn't like me much. Anthony: "Like"? George: "much"? Y/n: George: Change that to 'at all' and we'll talk.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

George: Why did you kidnap Lucy!?!?! Anthony: Ah- um- well- the reason for that is, uhh... Y/n: Sometimes, we must work together towards a common goal. George: NOT TO KIDNAP PEOPLE FROM DEPRAC!

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

*Everyone is playing a board game together* Anthony: I will put 'A' down to make 'A'. Y/n: I will add onto your 'A' to make 'AT'. Lucy: I will add onto your 'AT' to make 'RAT'. George: I will add onto your 'RAT' to make 'BIOSTRATAGRAPHIC'. Lucy: *flips the board*

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Lucy: What is it called when you kill a friend? George: Homicide. Anthony: Murder. Y/n: Homiecide.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Y/n: Subs are so fun to play with. All you have to do is hint at what you might do, back them into a corner with a look, or grab their wrist in a certain way and they're a wide-eyed mess. Anthony, professional denier: What the fuck kind of Subway are you going to? Lucy, did not the dots yet: Substitute teachers deal with so much shit. George, brain cell haver: Guys.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

*In a horror movie situation* Anthony: I've got no service in my phone here. Lucy: Shoot, I don't have a phone. Y/n: Sorry guys, I just broke my phone with a rapier. George: Guys, my phone is a book.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Anthony: Knowledge is knowing that a tomato is a fruit, and wisdom is not putting it in a fruit salad. Lucy : That's deep. Y/n: That means that ketchup is a smoothie. Lucy : That's deeper. George: ...You guys are idiots.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Y/n on the phone after going missing for a year: Hey, I'm gonna come there, kick Anthony’s door in, and let him know that I'm baaack. George: That ain’t the way we do things here. You may have to go in there and run a con, apologise, and do the smooth-talking. Y/n: Okay, you come in with me, you do the smooth-talking, let’s go. George: No, we can’t go in there and kick down the door, that's how I introduced the two of you. We need a plan. Y/n: Well who makes the plans? George: Me. Y/n: Okay, what's the plan? George: You are gonna come here, kick Anthony’s door in, and FUCKING APOLOGISE FOR DISAPPEARING, YOU PSYCHOPATH.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Anthony: What's the most efficient way to burn calories? Lucy: Exercise more Y/N: Set yourself on fire! George: There are two kinds of people.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Anthony: Everyone synchronise your watches. Lucy: I don't know how to do that. George: I don't wear a watch. Y/n: Time is a construct.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

George, trying to get them to stop fighting: You know, We give Lucy flowers when she's down. Y/n: Okay. *Later* Y/n, see's Lucy laughing: *Reminds her of all the bad things* *gives Lucy flowers* Lucy, hyperventilating: ??? Y/n: I don't know, I'm confused as well.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Anthony: I told Y/n to grab snacks for everyone. Lucy, looking through the options: Why did you grab fruit snacks? Are you five? Who even likes Fruit Snacks? *Anthony, Y/n, and George raise their hands*

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

George: You’re just being paranoid. Again. Y/n: When have I been paranoid? George: Um, when you first met Anthony you thought he was a murderer…? Y/n: No one falls in love with me without having problems, I thought he was trying to lull me into a false sense of security! George: And last week you were sure Lucy was in a fight club! Y/n: She keeps trying to fight me! COINCIDENCE?! George: YOU THREW DAGGERS AT HER WHEN YOU FIRST MET *Later, when Y/n’s theory is proven wrong* George: Do you have anything to say for yourself? Y/n: I still think Lucy is in a fight club.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━

Anthony, about to do something stupid, points to George and Lucy: Distract them! I'll be right back! *leaves* Y/n, suggested the something: Okay! *five minutes later* Anthony: *returns and sees George and Lucy unconscious on the ground* What did you do? I said distract them, not knock them out! Y/n: There's just no pleasing you sometimes.

[ms-fade]

Lockwood & co smut I’m now taking. But at this time I’m only taking Anthony lovkwood, but there might be some drabbles of the others soon. Love y’all.

(Also the character is age up)

[tiredofthehumanlife]

haunted house hookup

barbie dolls: Anthony Lockwood x reader

word: on average 3692 with smut (more specifically intro is 1800, fem smut is 1800, and masc smut is 1900) its like a choose your own story book so like the first part is the expostition and then you click on a link to get to the smut part when i say masc/fem version i just mean you have male or female gentalia but they are both written gender neutrel so boy pussy and girl dick havers welcome

summary: while gossiping, the rest of Lockwood & co learn that you might find having sex in a haunted house while on the job slightly attractive. George and Lucy think you are peculiar and Lockwood can't sleep thinking of you, and then he decides to act on his fantasies

warnings: talks of sex, who would’ve thought, you’re worried that Lockwood will fire you, inappropriate boss-employee relationships, oral in a haunted home, exhibitism undertones that aren’t really undertones, Lockwood’s a little bit of a cocky little bitch but he has his pathetic moments, Lockwood laps your cum up like a champ, heavy on Lockwood having pretty eyes, questioning your relationship a lil

female genitalia version warnings: you’re wearing shorts, its actually not that crazy now that im thinking about it he just gives you head thats about it

male genitallia version warnings: you’re wearing pants, lockwood gives you gentle sloppy, Bon appétit

Gossip was frequent in 35 Portland Row. Usually, it was just reporting to Lockwood because he enjoyed it the most, but sometimes you and Lucy would have hushed whispers. This morning was no different. You were still staring sleepily into your mug as Lockwood's spoon tinked against the sides of his cup while he stirred his tea at the counter. Lucy was slurping loudly. Everyone was still to tired to speak up, a gentle blanket of quiet thrown over you four. George was still pantless while reading a new book from the library. You heard Lucy gasp, everyone looking up to see the cause.

“I just remembered something.” George sighed and looked back to his book. You kept your attention on her although your eyes were still drooping.

“So I heard about this couple and they went on a mission, right, it was super simple like a type one.” You hummed, rubbing at your eye.

“And apparently they locked themselves in the bathroom and hooked up while the rest of their team was outside in the garden, you know doing their job.” Lockwood spun around at the sound of drama and quickly slipped into his chair at the table leaning forward on his fist.

“Did they get caught?” Lockwood asked, his tea left forgotten on the counter. Lucy squinted.

“Well apparently one of the coworkers overheard them but didn't interrupt and so they thought they got away with it but then the person who overheard snitched” Lucy explained. Lockwood dropped his jaw before closing it again.

“Did they get fired?” Lucy nodded. “Do you know who they were?” Lockwood pressed.

“No,” Lockwood's shoulders dropped. “But I know they were Fittes' agents.” Lockwood smiled brightly. George looked up from his book.

“That's so filthy, Let's go smash in the bathroom of a haunted house,” George said with a mocking tone. You shrugged and yawned.

“Kinda hot.” You muttered as your other two roommates agreed with George. The table went eerily silent. You looked around for a glimpse of approval.

“No like not the bathroom part, that’s gross.” You said, trying to backtrack. Lucy shook her head at you.

“That's not the part we're confused with,” George muttered. You shrugged again, feeling even more tired.

“In a haunted home? Really?” Lucy grumbled, feeling like she might've picked the wrong friends.

“Well, it's a type one. So like you're not going to die probably but like it's still like the chance of danger that would be exciting and then also like the possibility of your friends catching you, so like it's more like the idea of it. In practice though I see how that would be gross. Like there's dust and then your equipment would be heavy and uncomfortable, there's a higher chance of infection probably-” you pointed to your fingers as you babbled on. Lockwood reached out and grabbed your hand. You stopped talking and looked at him.

“You don't have to continue to explain yourself.” You squished your lips to the side at his odd tone. You distracted yourself with your tea. Lucy stared at you.

“You're such a weirdo, dude,” Lucy muttered. You scoffed, glaring at her.

“I was just voicing my opinion on the matter. Yes, it's gross, bathroom sex is nasty in my opinion. The situation is a different story though.” Lucy handed you a muffin.

“Stick this in your mouth and stop talking please.” You rolled your eyes, taking a bite out of the muffin. You watched George scribble on a piece of paper nearby as he looked back to his book. You felt a gaze on you. You peeked at Lockwood through the corner of your eye. His chin was resting on his palm, gazing at you. He sighed wistfully, keeping his eyes on you. You reached across the table and placed a muffin in front of him on the table.

You entirely forgot about that conversation within hours, A: you were quite tired, and B: it wasn’t all that interesting. It slipped your mind entirely. However, for Lockwood, it was all he could think about. He lost sleep although there wasn’t much left to lose. He’d lay awake staring up at the ceiling imagining himself on his knees in front of you. Every time he saw you he’d stare at you with wide eyes. You’d look at him before chalking it up to his sleep deprivation. Lockwood lost the ability to read gossip magazines entirely lost in thoughts of you.

You were off in your own world. You only took notice of his odd behavior when you got a new case, a type one. When you were researching Lockwood was lost, staring holes into the side of your face. You slowly turned to him, making eye contact with him. You pointed at the paper in front of him. Lockwood pulled the paper up, turning his head towards it but keeping his eyes on you. You nodded awkwardly and focused back on your own work. You grew adjusted to his stares, he’d been doing it for a while. You assumed he’d tell you eventually what was bothering but that wasn’t really your business.

Eventually, you were all lugging in all your equipment bags into the small cottage home of Mrs. Mckinney. She was an old lady who walked with a bedazzled cane and a limp. She explained to you four where the ghost was before quickly, well as quickly as she could, leaving the house. She left in a car driven by her niece off to her niece's house to spend the night.

You sighed, dumping the heavy bags onto the wooden floor. It had two floors. Downstairs was the library, kitchen, dining room, and bathroom. Upstairs was a master bedroom with an attached bathroom, another bedroom although this one was converted into a sewing room, and another bathroom. As the sun set you noticed Lockwood was getting more and more attached to you. Lockwood was suddenly standing next to you every time you turned your head. As you made him his tea he was next to you, talking to George. Although his eyes were on you most of the time. You thought he was just anxious about you messing up his drink, although he’d never cared before.

Finally, Lockwood split the team up to search the house. George and Lucy were to search downstairs while you and Lockwood were upstairs. Lockwood seemed excited more than usual to search this home. When you both made it upstairs you felt like this was it. He was acting weird, like a lot.

“So what’s up with you, why are you being all weird?” Why sugarcoat things when you can just ask your boss personal questions? Lockwood turned around to you with wild eyes. You reeled back, holding your hands up in surrender.

“I’m just thinking a lot.” He muttered. You nodded. You squished your lips picking at a nearby dusty fake plant.

“About?” Lockwood stayed silent, kicking the baseboard of the wall. You felt dread hit your stomach. You understood being an up-and-coming business is hard on him. It's stressful and expensive. paying for 3 employees must be a lot on his shoulders. Maybe that’s why he’s been acting so strange to you, he’s been planning to let you go.

“If you’re firing me, I understand.” Lockwood’s head snapped up. He raised his hands shaking them back and forth.

“No, no, no, no, no, no. that’s not it, that’s honestly more like the opposite.” Lockwood huffed and turned away from you. You racked your brain, trying to connect all the pieces in the right way. You sighed.

“Well alright then, out with it.” You demanded, tired of him beating around the bush. Lockwood turned back around, avoiding eye contact with you.

“Do you-yeesh-do you remember that conversation we had, a few mornings ago? We were talking about that couple who hooked up in a bathroom. in a haunted house, and you said it was-well-attractive?” You stared at the floor, skimming your mental timeline for such a conversation. You remembered Lucy’s disappointed face.

“Ah yeah no I did say that didn’t I?” You placed your hands on your hips. You weren’t totally shocked that you said that but you were a little upset that you made your boss uncomfortable.

“Hey, listen man. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable-”

“I liked it.”

The hallway went silent for a moment. It felt colder, and you couldn’t take in a breath properly. You raised your eyes from their spot on the floor to stare at Lockwood. He looked like a wax statue, frozen in his shrunken stance, a hand pressed over his mouth. You processed what he said, realizing now his stares weren’t ‘I want to fire you’ or ‘I want to leave this room with you in it’ they were ‘I want to fuck you’. This whole time.

“Ah.”

“yeah.”

Another moment of silence passed between you. Lockwood was still standing there, his shoulders pulled in towards him.

“Well, I mean, you know, we could-“ You started, avoiding his eyes, instead looking at the dust on the plant next to you.

“Really?” Lockwood asked. It left him like a gasp, breathy and barely audible. You glanced up at him.

“Well as long as you’re comfortable with it.” You babbled. You were just trying to fill the awkward silence, missing when you could both laugh comfortably.

“I’m more than comfortable with it,” Lockwood said, already shrugging off his long coat. He flung it onto the nearby table holding up the fake plant. Next, he reached for his tie, pulling at the knot. You felt like a man seeing a woman’s ankle in the 1800’s. Lockwood threw the blue tie on top of his coat before rolling up his sleeves to his elbows. You clenched your jaw, noticing again how attractive he was. Lockwood looked back to you. He moved closer to you. Although it was hard to see his face in the dark, the closer he got the easier it was to see his loving gaze. Lockwood nudged your chin with his knuckle, leaning in towards you.

“You’re sure?” You decided to answer his question by jolting forward. You met his lips. Lockwood gently wrapped his arms around you, pressing his hands into your back. You felt warm in his arms, even though he ran cold. He was kind and…hot. You nipped at his bottom lip. Lockwood sagged against you, pressing his body fully against you. Lockwood gently pushed you back against the wall. You slipped your tongue past his lips making him shudder. Lockwood pulled back. You slowly opened your eyes, worried you’d find it all a dream. Lockwood was still standing in front of you. Your shoulders relaxed.

Lockwood dragged his hands down your body, stopping at your stomach. He kept eye contact with you as he slowly sank to his knees.

turn to page 129 for pussy owner

turn to page 295 for dick owner

[fleetingvow]

‘ DEAD WEIGHT .

Anthony Lockwood x Female Reader

SYNOPSIS. the reader’s skills got rusty and with anthony breathing down her neck all the time, well, things that were better off unsaid were spoken. that’s when four became three. ( 6.87k words )

CATEGORY. angst. slight enemies to lovers ( not completely lovers because i write and stick to slowburn. )

WARNINGS. anthony being a total dickwad. usage of profanities. off the timeline. netflix series based. usage of “y/n”. lots of parallelism in statement structures.

NOTE. characters are aged up. written in third person’s omniscient point of view. room add-up for plot purposes.

REMINDER. this fic is written and copyrighted by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission.

TAGS. @superpositvecloudshipper

𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 shrouded in a misty veil. The room had turned bleary as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in her bathrobes. She closed her eyes and opened them again in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. When her feet led her to her room, she felt the pull stronger than what she had been feeling when she was washing up. Y/N gripped the doorknob and opened the door with a groan, and then there was a voice. A mere whisper to her ears.

“Help me!” She turned around, only to see no one but the pen she picked up from a previous home many months ago, mistaking it for the one Lockwood handed. It was surely just her imagination. They already contained the source from the previous mission, destroyed it even. George had done his research and there was only one soul that haunted the home. She was sure no other soul was left behind. Besides, Y/N made sure to set up a schedule to return the object to its rightful place.

However, just now . . . she felt as though it wasn’t just her presence that graced the room. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was no one, nothing. Why was it getting harder to breathe? The ringing, they were back again, but this time, it was higher in pitch and volume. She put both palms on her ears in order to block the noises, but it was too loud!

That was until she heard the knock on the door followed by the voice of someone more human, natural in his voice, “Prepare quickly, Y/N. We’re moving swiftly tonight, we have two missions!”

She didn’t respond. It didn’t seem like it mattered when his footsteps were already fading. The girl slowly ran her fingers through her damp hair, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. It was just her imagination — that ringing. But there was a protruding thought that maybe, there was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t place whatever it was.

Although, there was something far more important than that. She needed to be present for this other case. Y/N had been lacking for the past few days, and she was under the pressure of redeeming herself to prove something to Lockwood.

And she was going to prove it well.

THAT HURT! God, it hurt so much! There was no other thing in her mind than how much it felt, causing electric shock through her body, wanting to rip her ears out to just. get it. to stop!

“Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, losing her grip on her rapier therefore also failing to protect Lucy from the ghost that hovered before them. The clang of the blade on the floor only triggered a louder sound in her ears, putting her mind into shambles as she scrambled to the floor to regain possession of her weapon.

Before she could, however, Lockwood had already slain the ghost himself, buying them more time to pull themselves together. “Lucy!” Lockwood hurriedly rushed to her aid as she panted, refusing the help Anthony was offering.

“Y/N?” Lucy called, her voice combined with worry over the girl’s well-being. “Are you okay?”

It didn’t look like she was, but it was certainly better than before. The ringing had stopped, and what was left was an overcoming fear of when it will occur again. Her forehead was covere din beads of sweat, her mouth gasping for air, and clammy hands clutching the handle of her sword.

She had, in fact, once again failed to redeem herself. And what had she done? Make a complete fool out of herself to Lockwood who only looked at her with disappointment painted oh-so-vibrantly all over his face.

“I covered the source with the net!” George excitedly announced as he made his way into the bedroom where everyone was. It had been a rare occurence before that Lockwood allowed George to do this type of work, but since he’s proven himself to be the hero in most scenarios, he trusted him.

Y/N glanced up at George. She wasn’t mad at him. As a matter of fact, she was grateful for him, not just for containing the source, but also putting an end to the tension in the room. “Are you guys okay?” he proceeded to question.

She stood up from the floor and lowered her head before mumbling, “We’re fine.” She then walked past him swiftly and out of the room with shame as her feet led her to the gardens of the home.

“She’s definitely not fine,” George breathed out. Both of his companions looked at him in a questioning manner. He shrugged, “She’s been acting odd for the past few weeks - months, even. Am I the only one who noticed?”

“You’re always the one to notice something, George.” Lucy commented with a smile. Anthony did not appreciate the conversation, no matter how little. He’d much rather they didn’t talk at all.

“Stay here. I’ll talk to her,” Lockwood ordered. George and Lucy nodded followed by exchanged glances with subtle wide eyes. They knew it was not a good idea Lockwood would follow her, but what could be done? They just hoped he wouldn’t make an arrogant fool of himself again.

“WHAT WAS that?” Y/N’s ears suddenly perked up from the voice. She plastered a sarcastic smile as she replied, “You found me, then.”

“This is no time for foolish remarks, Y/N. What was that all about? You had it. Lucy could have been hurt! You could have gotten hurt! Do you realise what you’ve just done?” Anthony exclaimed. The leaves crunched from under his feet as he marched his way forward to the girl.

“You’re saying that as if I’ve done it intentionally. Is that what you think I do? Sabotage the team?”

“I’m not saying that,” he frustratedly protested, facepalming before placing his hands on his hips, his coat pushed back. “What I’m saying is for you to pull yourself together. Where are you, really? This, this state of yours is going to get us all killed!”

“Lucy’s fine! I’m fine!”

“You both wouldn’t be if I hadn’t stepped in and you had made an absolute mockery of yourself in the situation! You were flailing! Can I even trust you with simple tasks?”

“You call fighting off a type two, simple?” She fired back, trying her best to hold back her anger when she knew she had fucked up.

“We’ve done it before! We’ve dealt with harder cases. What’s going so wrong now?”

“Of course you’d say that! Everything’s easy for you, right?” Lockwood was taken aback by her words, yet instead of processing her words and taking it as a reminder of his past conflicts, he took offence of it, triggering his sense of authority and anger. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you just work with yourself? If you’re so obsessed with perfection, why don’t you eliminate mistakes and put down the team? Because that’s you, right? You’re the one who’s always so bloody perfect at everything!”

His eyebrow twitched as he blinked at her, his face getting softer, yet still inconsiderate as he lifted his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Anthony momentarily fixed his gaze on the floor before placing it back to her. His voice had become monotonous. Cold.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave the team?”

There was a moment of silence. If the rapier didn’t pierce her heart before, it definitely has now, but it wasn’t the steel sword that did its damage. It was those exact words he had uttered so confidently in her face. There was no hint of regret there when she searched his eyes. There was absolute nothingness.

Suddenly, the coldness of the wind got into her eyes — did it really? Or was she just finding an excuse to mask the reason behind her slightly blurry eyes. Y/N blinked and swallowed her spit in order to remove the lump in her throat. It was useless. She nodded slightly, her face stiff as she tried to muster up her thoughts to create a better expression.

But there was no better reaction.

“What?” she asked for confirmation. Lockwood slightly shifted in his position, standing upright. He looked at her eyes and down to her shoes slightly, taking the sight of the disappointed girl. He swallowed his spit, licking his lips.

“You heard me.”

“So, that’s it then?” she mumbled, trying her best to disguise the betrayal in her voice.

“That’s it.” Anthony replied in a stern tone, not leaving her eyes. “Don’t be so surprised now, Y/N. If it helps you feel any better, maybe you could still start somewhere — just not here.”

“You’re a fucking dickwad, do you know that?!” She yelled.

“I’m doing this for the team.”

“Like shit you are!” She exasperatedly gesticulated her hands in the open air and continued, “You think George and Lucy would fucking applaud you after they find out? I thought we were family! What now? I fuck up, and suddenly I’m gone for good?”

“You could just say n—”

“No, because that’s not it, isn’t it?” She bitterly interjected and combed her fingers through her hair irately. “You’ve hated me from the start! You ignore me every chance you get, but when you’re not, you berate me! You look at me as if I’m about to fail, and you undermine me every single time!”

“I don’t undermine you. I look at you, and I see transitions of how things start and how things end,” he started, chest heaving up and down from his bottled feelings of anguish and rage, not to her but to himself. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me doubt whatever it is I doubt. You were good at what you do, but you’ve been lost for the past few months. We don’t have a hold of you now, and you’re not telling us anything. To be completely blunt and forward, Y/N: Whenever you’re present in a case, something goes wrong.”

Even to herself, she could admit that he had a point. Every mission that she had with her friends, everything ends up a little bit too complicated than it should. She did feel like she was the cause for the performance of the agency lately. That information itself made her heart sink at the bottom of the pit, pushing her to another depth as he spoke once again.

“You’re a dead weight.”

That statement felt a little hypnotic that it proceeded to ring in her head. Now that was it, why did she feel defeated now? She felt as if he just called her useless. Huh, maybe that’s what she was. Completely and utterly useless for the best agency London has ever seen. She was the dead weight in their group, the failure.

“I just haven’t been myself. I—” Then, there was a silver streak of water that cascaded down her face. She cleared her throat and looked away, wiping the tear with the back of her hand as she sniffled and blinked away the glinting waterfall threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony’s chest felt different with that statement. His eyes that showed no remorse softened at this current sight of her, but there was something at that moment that told him to resist it. He had to stand firm, and he knew to himself he’d do just about anything for the sake of the team, even if it had to be removing Y/N from it.

The thought of questioning whether this decision was right began to rebuke him.

“Y/N, I’m only doing this for the best of everyone’s well-being.”

“You already said that,” she replied and took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and laughed to herself in bitter humour. She unsheathed the rapier from her side and took a few steps forward to the boy who gave her a puzzled look.

She took his hand and offered the handle of her blade, closing his palm with hers. Y/N forced a smile on her lips, looking up to meet his eyes. They were close.

Just. This. Close.

Y/N had seen his eyes numerous times before, but under whatever spell, she never got tired of it even despite the sharp daggers it threw at her. Her heart shattered once more, this soft gaze she’d sometimes thought was an illusion made the broken shards leap hopelessly that it left her dizzy for another minute or so.

The wind in the garden gently whispered.

Anthony felt this feeling before, but he dismissed it just like he’d always done. It was something that he believed to be unworthy of his attention. If he looked the other way, what of the path that he worked so hard for?

“Y/N, I—”

“I’ll be gone by morning. Don’t tell the others . . . for me please, would you, Lockwood?” She whispered. Goddamn it, she was going to go! Anthony couldn’t do anything. His body and soul were both locked in the position of looking at her, paralysed as he tried his best to catch his breath. His eyes quickly paid a glance to her lips before switching back to her eyes.

He hummed in response.

There was a palpable tension in such an open space. The girl decided to have had enough of it, leisurely stepped away without breaking eye contact, and walked off with his head turned to watch her figure fade away with the distance.

SHE SAID SHE’D be gone by morning. It was 3 AM, and he wasn’t sure what morning she was referring to, but surely she’d use more time for rest and packing her things. It wouldn’t be so early. He paced back and forth, almost creating a six feet deep grave of his own in front of her door, his hands secured in his pockets. His furrowed eyebrows almost reached each other to knit a whole line on his face, but he soon stopped with a sharp exhale.

Anthony realised how wrong he might have been. The fact that both Lucy and George don't know anything made him feel even more guilty knowing damn well they would have his head and ego once they learn of what he did. Not only that, he felt incessantly bad for being cruel with his choice of words without consideration to what Y/N’s explanation could offer. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even thinking straight! He had no clue where the idea of eliminating her from the team came from.

His mind hadn't been at peace nor was it sober in his library when they got back home. Y/N shut herself in her room after an awkward dinner in which they both pretended everything went well. Lucy and George, bless their poor naive innocent souls, seemed to buy it with Lucy feeling a little bit hesitant.

It was 3 AM, and he was at her door.

At her door.

His hand slightly lifted to knock her door, but it stopped mid-air. Lockwood sighed, pulling his hand back in his pocket with a shake of the head. He’d been horrible, and disturbing Y/N’s peace no matter how fleeting, would be more displeasing.

Anthony’s footsteps faded with Y/N listening intently behind the door, wiping her silent tears. He was outside her door for half an hour during her moment where she wrote her letters individually to the members of the team. She didn’t want to open the door, but her desire to speak to him drove her to a decision that if he knocked, she would let him in. If he asked that she returned, she would.

But alas, he didn’t do any of those, leaving her to conclude that his decision was final, and his words were deeply meant and intended. It was her fault, after all.

And maybe the agency would be better off without a dead weight.

WHEN MORNING CAME, Anthony was jolted awake when George shook him back to consciousness in the library lit with the sunshine pouring through the window. As soon as he fluttered his eyes open and saw the light with George’s frantic silhouette, it had been a clear indication that he was too late.

“Y/N’s gone!”

There was an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, bad butterflies taking control over his system. He quickly sat up and ignored the pounding headache he gained overnight. Anthony turned to George, “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Lucy called her for breakfast but she didn’t answer. She never didn’t answer! So we went up there to check, but all her things were gone.”

He got to his feet and went straight to Y/N’s provided room where all traces of her existence were never found, except for the envelopes clutched in Lucy’s trembling hands. Her face wasn’t warm and welcoming at all as she furiously questioned, “What did you do?!”

“She’s left the agency!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Why?” George asked in response.

“Ask Lockwood. Apparently, he’s the one who talked to her last night after the mission.”

“What are those?” Karim gestured towards the envelopes Lucy had. She raised the letters with their names engraved in jet black ink.

“See for yourself,” she answered and shoved each of the letters to the designated receivers. The girl then furiously marched out of the room, leaving behind both George and Anthony to themselves. Karim opened the correspondence and trailed his eyes along the letters scribbled on the tear stained paper, his face growing bitter word for word as he finished.

The boy turned to his companion, “You’re unbelievable.”

Lockwood wore the same frown he wore in front of her door a couple of hours ago. George left him in the room to self-reflect between the four walls of nothingness but the lingering memories of who used to occupy it.

He looked at the letter, opening it as he scanned the wirds carefully written yet stained with tears that dried on the ink that spread on the fibres of the paper.

“Anthony,

I didn’t tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I’m not sure if my explanations will suffice. I know Lucy and George are smarter than you give them credit for. Whatever happens, I want you to continue the agency with them. They’re your only family left.

I loved the memories with you and the others and I will continue to treasure them until it’s my prized possession that you will have to seek one day. I hated you for a while, and maybe I hate you now, but there’s nothing but the truth that you make a great leader, and I hope your passion will lead them to the path they want, and their loyalty will not banish even after eternity.

For a while, Lockwood, your home had been my home. Our home, but after tonight, it seems as though you gave the key to the wrong person. I hope you will find a better one worthy of the team.

Do not look for me. I will find a good place to find myself and start again and recover. And once I recover, I swear to George and Lucy, I will write. Take care of them.

I’m sorry,

Y/N.”

He wanted to crumple that letter, but that’s all he had of her. Each passing second that he stared at the empty room made him feel guiltier and guiltier. The blood in his veins rushed as he turned crimson with rage. Anthony had never been one to lose composure of himself, especially when he was angry, but it was different this time.

He knew to himself that he blew it. He had fucked up and now he was not the only one that was paying. Because of his arrogance, the house lacked Y/N’s annoying laughter, her awkward morning small talks and idle chatter, the familiar creaks on the wooden stairs because of how loud her feet become when she’s excited for a new case.

Her seat remained empty, devoid of the girl's presence. Her favourite cup had been set before the chair without any mark or stain of the hues she usually wore on her lips. The smell of coffee George brewed earlier for her wafted in a room, serving as an object to rub it in their nose of the bitter tension she’d left behind in that very room.

Lockwood cleared his throat, “Our next mission, er.”

Lucy’s scoff caught his eye, “Give us a break, Lockwood.” She put her mug down, her eyes piercing through his, speaking, “When will you ever learn to not only care about yourself?”

“Lucy, not now.”

“Yes, now.” George intervened. “No one knows why Y/N left, except you. Her family wouldn’t want her back even if she writes that on her Christmas list. You know it to yourself too, that’s a dumb excuse.”

“She left the agency because she made her choice,” Anthony monotonously replied, and quickly regretted it as he sighed and spoke again in a much gentler, more emotion-filled voice, “It was the best for us all.”

“Did she make that choice, or did you? No wonder she left.” Lucy mumbled as she was not having any of it. She slammed her feet on the floor and stood up to leave the kitchen with George leisurely following behind.

Y/N TOOK IN THE rotten interior of the home. Everything was mouldy and abandoned. It was an odd thing, for sure. The house was supposed to be sold months ago! Why was it deprived of human presence? Something was not right, especially with that voice slowly creeping in her ears again.

She wasn’t alone in that place.

“Help me,” she heard. There was a guess there. A guess she’d been doubting for weeks but knew to be believed by her subconsciousness. The girl grabbed the pen from her pocket and sighed, closing her eyes to allow itself to commune with her.

“What do you want me to do?” She questioned.

It was a bad idea, but it was daylight. The power of this type of entity, whatever it is, should be weak by now. Y/N felt herself being pulled in a deep void, forcing all her energy to go down with the force. It was her mind that felt lightweight and then her body with static. All sounds from her surroundings started to become collectively like the sound of electric waves until it was an absolute nothingness.

Just then, an ornate box appeared among the fog, its gold embellishments covered in crimson hues, dripping on the now visible desk. The event happened so fast, and what was once a flurry of foggy mess was now a warm room lit with glinting candle lights from above the ceiling before it turned into a ghost of the olden times. The doors were being pounded from the other side, followed by voices who furiously shouted a name.The girl looked around to see a cadaver on the floor, severely tortured and bloodied. Then, she looked at herself, taking note of how her hands were covered in the same liquid as on the floor.

“What happened here?” she whispered to herself in a frantic tremble.

“Give us the box!”

She looked at the object now in her hands. Every inch of her appearance had changed into someone else, feeling their sense of determination to hide and clutch the treasure in her possession. She turned frantically to look for a way out, but just as she was about to run for it, the door burst open and there came three men, one with a pen in his hand.

“You’ve signed the agreement my father’s given you!” She didn’t know why or how, but it must have been the ghost that kept haunting her that said it.

“Will it matter any longer?”

Just as she screamed, the world had turned into a fading vision. Y/N woke up with a gasp, finding herself on the floor with the piles of stones and rubbles, debris from the structure of what once was a home of an aristocrat. There it was again, that ringing. The girl groaned from the consistent hearing disturbance.

She stood up, only to find herself in an entirely different room. Her eyes made a quick scan of the structure. That was when she found an unusual glint inside the crack on the floor. “So that’s why.”

The death glows would have been seen by Lockwood before, but he didn’t, only because the home had been renovated long before it got destroyed again. The floor had been covered by another layer of floor.

Then, a glint caught her eye, the moonshine had reflected its light where she saw the intricate box. Quickly, she crawled over to it and pulled it out of the crack with force. The box was the same as before, only old and rusty. The surface was covered in dust and old traces of blood.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a series of the hushed voices of a woman. Y/N flailed side by side, falling on her knees as she crawled to grab ahold of the intricate box covered in dust and other filthy muck. “What is this for? What should I do?”

That’s when she realised the sun had finally set and she was in deeper trouble than she was. A glowing light appeared behind the door frame as it continued to hide. Her breath hitched, grabbing ahold of the rapier she managed to steal from Anthony’s library.

“I will help you! You’ve tormented me enough,” she mumbled, holding the rapier up as a barricade between her and the ghost.

The ghost let out a deafening shriek as it frowned at her, hovering through the air before her eyes.

“I promise!” Y/N exclaimed. “Just let me help you!”

However, it was not easy making deals with a dead-undead visitor made up of ectoplasm and substantial despair and anger toward the living. The ghost charged forward, making her lucky enough to move out of the way. She yielded the sword, and the luck of the draw struck again when she managed to hit the visitor with her iron blade, buying her more time.

The girl opened the box, revealing a pile of papers and an old silver pocket watch eaten away by old age and exposure to oxygen and insects that created their own home within the chest. The cobwebs were occupied by several tiny eight-legged creatures causing her to cringe as she dropped the box and shook the spiders off.

Upon the contact of the crate with the floor, a glowing spot appeared.

She looked at the ghost of the woman that haunted her. It stopped mid-air for a while before continuing with her new entertainment of tormenting the girl more. Y/N’s eyes widened at a sudden realisation.

That was it!

For the first time in a long time, she finally felt like she wasn’t being an absolutely bloody idiot. “I have to destroy it, don’t I? For you to find your peace, is that it?”

That was when she frowned and muttered under her breath, “But that’s not your source.”

Then, her ego was kicked off the curb with her guts. A hand reached out from the glowing spot on the floor. “That’s someone else’s source!” She raised her rapier and quickly wielded it to hit the box, preventing the ghost from coming out of it.

The first visitor shrieked again and charged forward as Y/N fumbled on the floor, miserably looking for the pen. Her breathing was audibly fast, waving her sword desperately through the air to ward off the ghost that had been restless in chasing after her.

She scanned the cracks, there was nothing. Then, under the desk, nothing. That’s when she noticed the object she sought right next to an empty cobwebbed shelf on the floor next to a book.

Y/N removed her sword out of the way, darting towards the pen to grab ahold of it, quickly swerving to get rid of the visitor. After that, she hit the box again and once the glow disappeared, her fingers found themselves holding onto the chest for dear life. She put the smaller object in it, and placed it between her side and arm, her other lifting the rapier up.

Dumb! Literally dumb!

Her foot got caught in a lifted crack on the floor, causing her to plant herself on the floor. A groan emitted from her lips as she tried to ease the pain on her chest. Upon realisation, she swiftly turned and held her sword up, fighting the phantom.

“My ears hurt from your constant shrieking!” she yelled.

Due to the movement of her arms, the box had slightly drifted away from her clutch as she busied herself warding away her enemy. “I even wonder why it isn’t Lockwood that you could have bothered! You would have been at peace by now, but no. You chose the weakest link! I’m practically useless, and I might possibly be losing my talent! Now you’re the one who’s mad? I didn’t choose me! You’re the one who screwed up!”

Maybe she was the mad one, in different terms. She was talking to a ghost, for Chrysler’s sake! Even worse, having a verbal feud with it!

If only Lockwood could see her now.

That was until the ghost disappeared after a swift, almost invisible lightning speed strike. She gasped for air and turned around to see what the cause of it was, but no. What’s better is to destroy the sources and get peace once and for all. She sat up and crawled over to the object, grabbing a nearby rock and destroying it for good. The pained wailing finally died down as she loudly caught her breath, exhaustedly falling on her back with her sword clattering on the ground.

“L/N!”

That voice. That god-awful voice. She closed her eyes shut, unable to open them for a second due to her strong will to rest and recover. Look, now she was even hallucinating Lockwood calling her by her last name. It was impossible that he was there, and even if he was — she laughed slightly. He couldn’t be. If he was, she would tear the world apart just to get away from him. She wanted to be millions of miles away from him, avoiding his gaze, getting rid of his smell, and that stupid voice with that arrogant tone of his. He had crushed her dreams and hope like it was nothing, even with just a brief conversation, everything that she clung to in that agency faded in one statement that she wished she never heard from him.

But good riddance, right? At least now she knew it was the wrong agency for her. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.

“L/N.”

“Can voices just stop — ” she angrily mumbled, almost in a slur of words, “ — pestering me all the time? Can I just have peace for once? Is that too much to ask for?”

“If they stopped now, you wouldn’t hear what I have to say now, would you?” Now that was it. The girl’s peace had been completely shattered once and for all with that single question built in a rhetorical structure. Her eyebrows now knitted together — an exaggeration, but they almost did. Just a little smidge and they’d be meeting. It couldn’t possibly be him, could it? Her heart fluttered both bitterly and in a way that she hoped that there was hope, but knowing Anthony, he was only here as a figment of her hostile imagination. He wasn’t truly here. That would be asking for too much — only she didn’t ask anything to send him here.

“I’m sleep-deprived,” she muttered under her breath.

It took Lockwood his whole body and soul to stop himself from smiling. He thought he wouldn’t see her here, that she would be off somewhere else, and not the usual destination she would go to whenever she was upset.

A hallucination: that’s what he was to her as of this moment. She still had her eyes closed, refusing to open her eyes, and what was worse was the constant question whether she refused to see the disappointment of a world with Lockwood there or the opposite.

Then, that’s when she felt a gentle contact at the back of her neck, slowly lifting her from the ground. Panic covered her bones and took over the nerves to her brain as she mentally screamed repetitively.

She quickly opened her eyes to see him kneeling just before her, holding her as if she was a fragile glass compared to all that he's seen in his entire life in his basement.

He was there.

He was real.

He was touching her.

And he was — "Your hands are cold."

"I don't care, L/N."

There was something different. All the passionate hatred she had for him was slowly starting to well up in her chest, but being swallowed by a big flurry of adrenaline that made her blood flush in her veins faster.

It was his gaze. They'd changed into something atypical. Too . . . soft, and upon realisation, the double volume of her disdain started knocking her off again.

"No," she mumbled and quickly sat up, pushing him away from her as she scrambled to get her rapier and stand up. "You can't just come here and play the hero, and look at me like that! No!"

Confusion changed his expression, "I just helped you."

"Why do you do this to me?" Her voice has all but given up standing sturdy. She trembled both in excessive fatigue and strong emotions. "You can't just — just look at me like that after you made me feel like shit! And then what? You pity me, and you say sorry and things will go back to being shit again and the cycle continues? What do you think I am?"

"I—"

"You what? You're sorry? Why did you come here? To tell me worse things, that I'm hopeless or that maybe you're so noble that you just felt the need to help me get started with my life?"

Lockwood understood every bit of what she was saying. Her absence in that home has made him realise just how much of a cowardly bastard he was. How undeniably much of an asshole he had been to her and how much hell he'd pay. Her wrath was just the start of it.

But his understanding was growing weary. He knew in a way that Y/N had her wrongs too, "You never told us about the voices."

She halted. She really didn't have any other reason than she didn't want to appear weak and bother anyone. Besides, she doubted the existence of the voice. But there was no excuse.

"I wanted to figure things out on my own," she stated before turning to leave. Before she did though, he spoke.

"I look at you," he started as she stopped and slightly turned to her side but not completely enough to meet his eyes, "like this, not because I pity you, Y/N."

That was her name. Her first name.

"I look at you because I've been. Whenever you were unaware that I was looking. I've always seen you from the start, hence why when I said you reminded me of how things begin and end, it was because you were the first person to make me get up from my bed and the only person I want to see when the day ends. When I'm tired and weary." He then averted his gaze to the ground, "I looked at you like that earlier because I couldn't bear to look at anything else or see you in another state."

"I regret everything that I said, and I wanted you to know how hard it's been to look at your door and think that in the next few days, someone else or no one will occupy that room knowing that there were traces of you — any traces, just anything but physical. It's been torture, not just for me, but for both Lucy and George. So, I thought maybe you'd gone to the place you've been going to peculiarly for the past few months," he continued.

Indeed, he knew her, watched her, examined her.

Possibly even admired her. From afar. But he looked the other way, believed the other way because how could he afford that? How could he afford these feelings knowing he had nothing? He had himself, but he did not have anything stable that he could give her. Will that make her happy? Not at all.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out. "I know it's not enough, but I'm willing to prove to you how sorry I am. Just — I want you to know that I never intended things to be so bad and out of control, and I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but this isn't an excuse. I just want you to know that I regret everything."

"You are not a dead weight, Y/N. If anything, you're a breath of fresh air, and you make things easier every time one of us feels down. You make the mornings lighter, the end of every exhausting day a moment of opportunity to think about how thrilling life can be. You make the next days, weeks, months, and years something to look forward to. When you left, thinking about those future moments without you with us, it feels empty and terrible. A few hours without you had turned us into malfunctioning lunatics. We're in shambles — I'm in shambles. What more with days? The truth is, it's not you that's the problem. I keep causing you pain, and I'm trying to be better, because I want to be better for you. When the time comes that I do, I will try to be the best. You deserve that. It will take time, and that is why I'll understand if you don't want to return to the agency with me."

Come to think of it, as she observed his state, his Lockwood hair wasn't in its best today. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot. His always tidy flat clothes were wrinkly and his tie was out of place. He looked like he'd been through hell, and his next elaboration explained why.

"Thinking about you every now and then, especially now, I've always shifted in my seat, trying to decipher just how you affect me this much. When I found the possibility of how, I felt the sense to hide it. Every smile that you caused, I hid it all, because secretly I love bickering with you every chance we get, because I get to see the thrill in your eyes and the fire that you hide. I thought that maybe if I hated you, I would selfishly gain more feelings and learn to embrace the things I might possibly find distasteful if my feelings started the other way. And I did, I managed to admire everything you hated about yourself. You've made me feel things strong enough that whenever I run away, I still end up going back to you."

"Lockwood," she finally spoke and swivelled to face him completely. "Anthony."

"Yes?" He eagerly lifted his head to wait for her response.

She chuckled, "I thought you were about to recite Mr. Knightley when he was confessing to Emma."

That's when he laughed and nodded, accepting the fact that maybe he said too much that all she could reply was Jane Austen’s Emma joke, "Well, I have been told that I have a knack for paraphrasing."

"Do you mean all that?"

"The bickering part, most especially."

"Do you want us to bicker now?"

"I think we're already starting," he commented, which made them snicker.

"I'm sorry," she stated. Lockwood thought that was her way of telling him that it was too late. His heart was pierced by a shard of mirror which he failed to use earlier for self-reflection. That was when she smiled, "I just don't know what to say."

"You can start by accepting our job offer. We, er, have an open position looking for someone with a talent like yours," Anthony cheekily replied with a playful smile. "Our agency is one of the most prestigious agencies in London, and we ensure the safety and warm welcome — new addition, of our team, old and new. Do you accept, Y/N L/N?"

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I think I’m losing my talent.”

“And you still managed to beat a type two with a frenemy in one night with a rapier, a pen, and a box?”

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

"I'm taking that as a yes. Come on, if you say yes, we'll bicker nonstop and you’ll get endless coffee privileges."

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

“Just so we could hate each other again, and be able to speak about our fondness more.” offered his hand for her to take. She leisurely took it, trying to ignore the warmth her hand provided to his cold one. He was holding her. Touching her, when a few hours ago, he couldn’t even as much as lay a finger on her.

And when they got back home, the block had been covered with missing posters of Y/N, with additional apology notes and “Lockwood sucks!” extras. That was true.

[stray-kaz]

Honey, I’m Home : an Anthony Lockwood x f!reader oneshot

The Gist of This: The reader is caught dancing in stolen underclothes. Reader and Lockwood are not together at the beginning, but oh, they are at the end.

Warnings: 18+!! You have been warned. Lockwood calls reader ‘honey’.

Lockwood heard the music from the bottom of the steps leading up to his front door. He stared at the door, imagining the wood pulsing with the force of the beat. It wasn’t too late yet, so it was unlikely he would receive a noise complaint, but he knew that George and Lucy were out, George visiting his parents and Lucy hanging out with Kat. That left...you.

He jogged up the steps and found the door locked, which tracked. He knew you hated to leave the house vulnerable if you were the only one there; an event in your past had left you perpetually concerned to be alone, but he had never pressed to find out what it was.

He turned his key in the lock and inched inside, a little cautious. He had once entered too quickly and received a flying egg cup to the head for it. But you were nowhere in sight, the music pounding from the direction of the kitchen.

“Honey?” he called out, shedding his coat and leaving it in the hall. “Are you okay?”

Lockwood kept moving and turned the corner into the kitchen, at which juncture his steps faltered, his mouth went dry as cotton and his mind blanked. All three very unusual things for Anthony bloody Lockwood.

It was clear you hadn’t heard him come in, hadn’t heard him call out for you. Your back was to him and for the first time, he could see all of it, a flawless expanse broken only by the band and clasp of your bra, pink and shiny against your skin. Still unbeknownst to you, his gaze dragged down to the flare of your hips inside his striped boxers.

The radio was on, and tuned to a golden oldies station playing some sort of salsa tune Lockwood had never heard before. He had a memory of being five years old, watching his parents spin around the kitchen table, but that was a waltz. You had no partner and you were not waltzing. Your bare feet were moving in patterns on the kitchen floor, your hips tilting and rolling.

Now, Lockwood could understand why you might be tempted to dance in your underwear on your own in the house, but why were you wearing his? You had plenty of your own; he had folded piles of your washing and left them on your bed often enough to know.

The sight of you in his clothes had an unexpected effect on him and he shifted uncomfortably on the spot, trying to ease the tension in his pants.

The song stopped and you moved to turn the volume down on the radio, then turned to face the empty kitchen. Only it wasn’t empty any longer; Anthony bloody Lockwood was standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his white shirt, a lazy half smirk tugging at his mouth. Your mouth dropped open and you hurriedly tried to cover your chest with your own arms, cheeks burning.

“How long have you been standing there, Anthony?” you demanded. “How much did you see?”

He shrugged and it wasn’t until he spread his hands out wide that you realised he was trying to steer your attention away from his lower body and that he was much less calm than he wanted you to believe.

“A minute or so” he answered. “I saw enough, honey. Why are you wearing my boxers?”

He hadn’t meant for it to happen, but at his question, you dropped your arms and looked down, as if you’d forgotten. The movement left your satin covered chest open to his gaze and his pants became still tighter. You fiddled with the waistband of the striped boxers and Lockwood nearly passed out when he glimpsed skin and shadows and realised you were only wearing his boxers.

He let out a shaky breath, stepped toward you and reached out, grasping you by the hips and pulling you in until your lower belly brushed his cold belt buckle. You gasped at the cold touch and jerked a little, your covered breasts pushing into his chest. You felt Lockwood’s strong fingers curl around your chin, tugging your head up and back so he could see your eyes; his were dark chocolate on a wintry day, dark and welcoming, drawing you in deep.

“Tell me, please, honey” he said low, his rich voice smooth and slow. “Why are you wearing my boxers?”

You breathed in a fortifying lungful of air, inhaling his ever present clean scent as you did so and briefly bungling your thoughts. That was the reason you put on his clean boxers after your shower. No matter what detergent he used, his clothes always smelled like him, the scents clung to the fabrics. Fresh aftershave and citrus. Always.

“Because they smell like you” you murmured, finally. “I always know when you’re around because you carry this scent with you. It smells like home to me. Makes me feel safe. You make me feel safe.”

His breath caught at your words, his heart clenched and he shifted his fingers from your chin to your jaw, cupping it and sweeping his thumb over your bottom lip.

“Is that true?” he asked quietly.

You nodded.

“I wouldn’t lie to you, Anthony” you said softly.

His shirt tickled your stomach as he moved closer still, toe to toe with you.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispered, eyes flicking from yours to your lips and back up.

Something flashed in your eyes and he tensed, waiting for a rebuttal, afraid he’d misread it all.

“Can you?” you retorted, a little shrewd. “I don’t know. May you?”

You raised your eyebrows slightly and Lockwood sighed, a small smile snatching at the corner of his mouth.

“May I kiss you?” he asked formally.

You nodded again.

“Yes, please.”

Lockwood grinned at the please and quickly lowered his head to yours, brushing his mouth over yours ever so gently, weakening your knees and sending butterflies skittering in your stomach. A faint moan escaped you and Lockwood’s hands found their way into your hair, his hips pressing against you. He had waited a long time for this and now here you were, clinging to his forearms for dear life, as if he might disappear if you didn’t get a firm grip of him.

You opened like a flower, relaxing and melding into him like you wanted to be one. Want blossomed in your chest and speared lower, leading your hips to bump up into Lockwood’s and a breathy moan to pass from him to you. He started to move, walking you further into the kitchen until he located a chair and fumbled it around so he could sit, tugging you down onto his lap, your legs open to either side of his hips. You moved instinctively, your hands moving up to grasp his shirt collar.

“Buttons” he gasped against your mouth.

You fought with his buttons, slipping each through its eyelet with more force than truthfully necessary. When his shirt was open to his abdomen, you smoothed your hands across his chest, feeling his heart beating into your palm. His skin was warm and firm to the touch and at the tentative scratch of your nails down over his stomach, Lockwood shifted and canted his hips up into you, his dark eyes opening and boring into yours.

“Minx” he muttered, and your eyes widened at the wildness in his gaze. “My turn.”

You were pretty sure you stopped breathing as you spread your legs so wide you thought you might split in two when Lockwood cupped gently between your legs and started to grind his palm against you, the heat and friction of his hand and boxers rubbing against you sending your heartrate up and your eyes fluttering closed.

Then your eyes flew open at the hot, damp sensation of Lockwood mouthing at your clothed nipple, and a raging heat started in your belly. You clenched your fist in his hair to keep him there and he hummed, pleased.

Lockwood could feel the restrained desire in your fingers as they gripped and tugged at his hair, messing it thoroughly. He switched to your other breast and heard your breathless moan at the contact, lost and then found. He continued rubbing against you at the same time, and was taken by surprise when you shuddered above him, one of your hands still in his hair, the other gripping his shoulder, a broken whimper pouring from you as you let go and wetness flooded against his hand through the fabric of his boxers.

He released your breast and sat back, staring at you as you swayed a little on his lap. You had just come in his boxers and he was about ready to follow, his confounded trousers too damn tight.

You opened your eyes and gazed unsteadily back at him, his eyes blown black.

“Oh, honey” he murmured, gently bringing you back against him to kiss you again.

Lockwood helped you to stand on shaky legs and guided you into his sitting room, shutting the door behind him. He laid a thick blanket out on the couch before gently pushing you down to sit.

He hooked two fingers in either side of the waistband of his boxers on you and caught your eye before he spoke.

“Now” he said soberly. “I want nothing more than to taste you, but if you don’t want me to do that, say so. Say the word and I’ll stop and we can go back to pretending that we’re fine sleeping in separate beds.”

He gazed up at you and slowly worked the material out from under you, eventually dropping the boxers down on the carpet next to him as he knelt in front of you. In response to him, you slumped down slightly and bit your trembling lip as you opened your legs once more.

Anthony bloody Lockwood gave you the cockiest, loving grin and then drank you in, your fingers catching in his hair again.

You didn’t say another coherent word for the remainder of the evening.

[vampcrystal]

Don’t look at him, look at me.

Anthony Lockwood x reader

Summary: Kipps asks the reader on a date. Anthony sees and him and the reader get into an argument, leading to a confession.

Requested: Yes

TW: Some swearing

Reader uses she/her pronouns

btw this probably won’t be entirely accurate to how things played out because I’ve forgot and I can’t be bothered to go and check lol. I also don’t know how many words this is, but it’s a bit long.

Enjoy :)

-

The invitation to the Fittes party seemed awfully suspicious. You, Lucy and George all agreed on that. Lockwood, however, thought that getting noticed by England’s biggest agency was like a gift sent from God. He didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned, but none of you were surprised. It was Lockwood, after all.

The same boy you’ve been in love with since you arrived at his front door 6 months ago.

You needed a job, and after getting rejected by Fittes multiple times you decided to just give up, but then you saw the advertisement in the newspaper. It was for a small, ramshackle agency called ‘Lockwood and co’, and it seemed real enough. The pay looked good, so you decided to apply. That was how you met Lockwood and George. You all hit it off rather quickly, George taking longer to warm up to than Lockwood, but you weren’t surprised after learning he had grown up having 3 older brothers and the only female figure in his life was his mum. You passed the interview with flying colours, having an above average ability of sight, with also an above average listening talent. You and Lockwood got on like a house on fire. He was secretive though, never fully opening up to you, and even now you still don’t know everything about him.

He was, and still is, a closed book to you.

Then Lucy came along. You and her got along pretty quickly, both being girls and all. She became the sister you always wanted but never had. Lockwood and co was your family, and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

Then your feelings for Lockwood started becoming a problem. They turned from a little crush to a full on infatuation with the boy. You always got jealous when he was smiling while talking to Lucy, or when he and Lucy were joking around. You were sure he didn’t like you back. He flirted with you a lot, always complementing you on your outfit, or how smart you were while researching for a case. You learnt to love a lot about yourself all because he said he liked that part of you at one point. But then, he started flirting with all the girls he saw, even Lucy. It confused you.

Even George was confused, and that was saying something. He saw the lingering looks he gave you when you weren’t looking, or how when you were laughing with another boy that wasn’t him he was giving you an unreadable expression.

Man, love is confusing.

Flash forward to present day.

“How did we, of all people, get invited to a Fittes party?” George questioned to no one in particular, sitting at the dining table facing you and Lucy, who were leaning against the kitchen counters. Lockwood was pacing around the room, obviously unable to contain his excitement. You and Lucy shrugged simultaneously, eyes falling to the tall brunette as he spoke.

“Who cares how, Penelope Fittes knows who we are”. He stopped his pacing to turn towards you three.

“Well…are we going or not?” You spoke, looking at Lucy and George who both gave you mixed looks of unsure and confused.

“What kind of question is that? We have to!” Lockwood spoke, turning to face you. “This could be a brilliant opportunity to finally get noticed, maybe pick up a case or two”.

“We could use the money I guess, so finding some cases could help” Lucy spoke, siding with Lockwood.

Lockwood shot her a look of agreement, which you noticed. You quickly looked away, awkwardly coughing, which caused George to give you a comforting look.

He figured out you had feelings for the other boy almost exactly after you did. He was quick to catch onto things like that. Lockwood however. He was the only one who the brainy boy couldn’t decipher. He was like a code he couldn’t crack, and it frustrated him, like he had all the numbers except for the last one. He was annoying. All his continuous flirting made George second guess a lot, and George second guessing something used to be a rare occurrence. But it wasn’t his place to say something, and besides, he wanted to see how it would all play out without him intervening.

Wanting to get out of the now tense atmosphere, you made an excuse to leave, stating you had a book you wanted to finish before you got ready for the party later tonight. George and Lucy smiled at you, while Lockwood had barely even noticed you had gone, only shooting a quick ‘ok’ before you left the room.

Now that that was out the way, you had a bigger problem: deciding what you were going to wear.

-

“Are you sure this is the one? Do I look ok?” You asked Lucy, turning round to show her the 5th dress you had tried on. Her eyes looked up from the necklace she was trying to sort out around her neck, the one you had noticed Lockwood had given her earlier, but you weren’t going to reminisce on that, and her mouth broke out into a big grin.

She turned around, hair swishing around her shoulders now that she had slightly curled it. Her blue satin dress suited her perfectly, and her makeup looked like it was done professionally. No wonder Lockwood liked her so much, you wondered.

“That’s the one. You look gorgeous!” She said as she rushed up to you and grabbed your shoulders, shoving you in-front of the tall mirror in the corner of the attic bedroom you shared.

The red satin flowed neatly down your body, accentuating all your curves. The loose sleeves hung carefully off your arms. It stopped at your shins, making the black heels you wore visible. It sounded vain in your head, but you really did look stunning.

The other girl left the mirror for a moment, returning with something in her hand. She held it out for you, grinning. It was a beautiful silver necklace with a tiny red pendant.

“Wear this” Lucy spoke. “It’ll really suit you”

“Luce..”

“Nope, no buts” She said, turning you around to put it on for you. You recognised it as the one Kipps had gotten her a while back. He had asked her out, given her a little token in the form of the necklace, and they went on one date before realising that it wasn’t going to work out. She hadn’t worn it since.

“Now” Lucy spoke, pulling you from your thoughts. “Time for makeup”

-

20 minutes later and you were ready to go. You and Lucy both looked like you had stepped out of the front cover of some fashion magazine.

“What do you think?” You asked the girl, posing with her in the shared mirror. “Do we look important enough to look like we belong at one of Penelope Fitte’s balls?” You joked.

Lucy chuckled. “Oh, absolutely” she chimed in. “Remember, the main reason that we’re going is to find that book”.

Right. The book by Mary Dulac that was important in the Bickerstaff case that was only available at the Fittes’ Black Library. Lucy had clued you in earlier on what the plan was to obtain it, as well as letting you know George wasn’t coming because he had research to do, or something.

“Yea yea, I know. Doesn’t mean we can’t look hot doing it” You winked at her and laughed as she rolled her eyes and smiled. Just as you were about to speak, you both heard Lockwood’s voice from downstairs.

“Hurry up you two, the taxis waiting!”

You both took one last look in the mirror before descending down the stairs, Lucy going down before you.

Lockwood was waiting by the door, attaching his rapier ,just in case, to his waist. He always brought it with him everywhere, saying it was for protection, but you knew he just didn’t like to go anywhere without it.

As soon as he heard the click-clack sound of your heels on the hard wood floor, he looked up, and when he did, his breath hitched.

My god, did you look stunning. He quickly looked away to try and hide the red that was creeping up his neck, but his avoidance to look at you didn’t go unnoticed by Lucy, who gave him a smirk and a knowing look. He just gave her a confused one in return, clearly trying to play off what just happened. You, however, hadn’t noticed the silent escapade of glances between the other two, simply saying goodbye to George and following Lockwood and Lucy out to the taxi, where you all left for the ball as soon as you shut the car door.

-

The party was already buzzing by the time you got there. Music was blasting loud in your ears, not the kind you’d expect at a ball, but still good none the less. There were people from all sorts of backgrounds there. Businessmen and women, kids who looked to be no older than you three were mingling here and there, and everyone looked rich. Thankfully, so did you, so standing out wasn’t really an issue.

As soon as you arrived, Lockwood split ways with you and Lucy, drink in hand, probably off to go see if he could score you guys another case, one that would pay well. You didn’t think he’d have too much trouble finding someone who’d pay a handsome wage , everyone here looked like they kept £50 notes as pocket change.

“Thank god you’re here, I’d hate being by myself” Lucy spoke, having to make her voice louder even though she was standing right next to you over the sound of everything else.

You chuckled, nodding in agreement before noticing something, or someone, out the corner if your eye.

Kipps was staring at the two of you from across the room, clearly paying no mind to the conversation that another Fittes agent was trying to have with him.

“I think Kipps is staring at you” You nodded your head in the direction of the boy, sipping your drink. Lucy turned around just to see the aforementioned boy walking towards you.

Lucy looked between the two of you quickly. “Actually, I think he’s looking at you”

You turned your head to give her a confused look just as he reached you.

“Lucy, Y/n, nice to see some familiar faces” He spoke, smirking while taking a sip of his drink. Lucy showed him a small smile before averting her eyes to something else.

“Kipps, what a wonderful surprise” You spoke, voice laced with a hint of sarcasm. You didn’t mind Kipps. He didn’t do your absolute head in unlike Lockwood, who thought the world would be a much better place without him in it. But that didn’t mean he didn’t sometimes get on your nerves.

The taller blonde boy laughed, eyes scanning you up and down, much to the chagrin of a certain tall brunette who was watching the whole ordeal not far from where you stood, close enough to hear what was happening but not close enough to be seen.

Kipps’ eyes landed on the necklace you wore, the one he bought for Lucy before they ‘broke up’ if you could even call it that, and rose an eyebrow.

“Nice necklace” he spoke, and there was a hint of some kind of sadness in his voice when he said it.

You looked down, remembering what Lucy told you, and met eyes with him.

“Shit, sorry, Lucy gave it to me, I didn’t think you’d-“

“No, it’s fine” he cut you off, voice laced with sincerity. “I’m guessing you already knew that me and her didn’t work out, but it’s fine. Besides it’s just a necklace”.

You slightly smiled at him, and he returned the gesture. You looked around to see that Lucy had wandered off, most likely gone to find Lockwood.

“Listen..um” Kipps’ voice brought your eyes back to his. “I know this is sudden and all, but… did you want to maybe grab coffee with me tomorrow morning?” His eyes held a glint of hope, and you almost felt sorry for what you were about to say.

“Kipps I- I’m sorry but I-“

“-Am not interested” A voice cut you off, rudely filling in your words for you. You quickly turned your head to meet the face of the person you were but also weren’t expecting it to be.

“Sorry, Kipps, but I think she’s got far more interesting and overall better things to be doing with her time. Goodbye” Lockwood grabbed your arm and pulled you away from the blonde. You quickly shot Kipps an apology look before being pulled into a lonely corridor by Lockwood.

“What the hell were you doing talking to Quill bloody Kipps?!” Lockwood half shouted at you, letting go of your wrist.

You turned around to face him and gave him a look of utter bewilderment. “What?! What the hell?!”

Lockwood just scoffed. “I heard the whole thing, I know that he asked you out”.

“Well I for one don’t think it’s got anything to do with you” you replied, shooting him a dirty look. “You didn’t seem to mind when he asked Lucy out and she said yes”.

Lockwood looked exasperated. “That was different”, he muttered.

“How? Because it didn’t work out? Anwser me dammit!” You shouted at him, growing annoyed because he was purposely avoiding your gaze.

“No, because I don’t fancy Lucy!”

“What?”

Both yours and Lockwood’s eyes grew wide at the sudden confession that just came out the brunette’s mouth.

Lockwood, knowing there was know way out of this, spoke. “I..I don’t fancy Lucy”

“But… what’s that got to to do wi-“

“I love you for gods sake! It’s always been you, never Lucy”.

You were in shock. All this time, thinking your feelings for the boy weren’t reciprocated, yet here that same boy was, confessing his love for you after you just got asked out by another guy.

This felt like a dream.

“Well…. say something” Lockwood said after you hadn’t replied to his sudden outburst.

You didn’t know what to say, so you just laughed. It started out as a little chuckle and turned into a full on nearly- on- the - floor laugh, which confused the hell out of the boy.

“I’m guessing that means you don’t feel the same-“

“Are you kidding me?” You loudly spoke, still half- laughing. “I’ve been in love with you since the minute I stepped through your front door for the first time!”

Lockwood’s eyes widened. “Wait- really?”.

“Yes, really” you replied, your smile growing every passing second, and his doing the same. “I didn’t know if you felt the same because…well..you were a bit confusing at times. You flirted with like, every girl you layed eyes on and I just assumed you didn’t like me back”

Now it was Lockwood’s turn to laugh. “No-I- I only flirted with them because I was positive you didn’t like ME back” he gestured to himself as he said that.

You two both looked at each other in silence, until you both simultaneously burst out laughing.

“God, we’re such idiots”

“We really are”

Just as you were about to say something else, you noticed Lockwood’s eyes drift down to your lips, and as you were leaning in, the door opened to reveal Lucy.

“Jesus Christ, finally! You two are so oblivious it was actually driving me insane.”

You both looked at her exasperated.

“You knew?!”

“Yep! Took you two long enough to figure it out yourselves.Now, i’m gonna go see if I can scope out the library, come find me when you’ve finished making out”, She spoke as she left, making kissing noises with her lips, slamming the doors behind her.

You and Lockwood returned to looking at each other, chuckling slightly.

“Bet George knew aswell?”

“Oh 100%”

You laughed again, and remembering back to what Lucy had said before she left, looked down to Lockwood’s lips.

It didn’t go unnoticed by the boy though, as he carefully placed both his hands on each side of your face, his fingers feeling cold against your warm cheeks, his touch gentle.

“Can I kiss you?” He asked with sincerity, eyes looking down at you with admiration. His gaze made your knees weak, and if he wasn’t holding you ,you were sure you would’ve fallen to the floor there and then. Heat rose to your cheeks as you slowly nodded yes.

His face leaned in closer and you closed your eyes as you felt his lips ghost over yours, then finally, they met.

His lips were soft against your own, moving ever so slightly as your hands gripped his waist. You felt his breath hitch at the touch, and you deepened the kiss.

He pushed you slightly so your back met the wall, and you broke apart, eyes looking longingly at each other. God, he was pretty.

“I love you so much” he spoke, thumb stroking softly over your cheek.

“I love you too, and I always will”

Sorry if this is bad, I don’t really know how to write kissing scenes and stuff like that, so keep sending in your requests so I can practice pls. Anyway hope you enjoyed :)

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Lockwood wants Reader to go to the hospital. Reader does not want to go to the hospital. A mysterious visitor arrives...

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Language, alluded medical trauma, Reader has a past, dealing with fear via anger, allusions to unfortunate and untimely demise, canon typical violence... pretty sure that covers it!

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Two chapters in one week?? Who am I. There's only been a few major changes to this one since the original release as I was actually pretty happy with it, so I didn't want to make you wait any longer than was 100% necessary. Shorter word count on this one too since the next two are already monsters

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 2.66k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  “For the last time, I am not going to the fucking hospital!” she spits, the final threads of her restraint turning to spider’s silk and breaking under the weight of the fear hiding behind her anger.  Lockwood’s narrowed eyes glare daggers at her across the thinking cloth.  He scoffs as he leans back, crossing his arms defensively over his chest.

  He swears he can see steam pouring from her ears.  She swears he’s an argumentative prick.

  Their… ‘disagreement’ has been slowly building over the course of several hours, culminating in an explosion of epic proportions in the kitchen around lunch time.  She insists she’s fine, that she barely even has a headache left over from the incident the night before.  He insists she’s irritable, and is clearly having difficulties focusing.  George – who had spent the previous night in his old room after losing track of time researching an upcoming case – chimes in to mention that isn’t exactly out of the ordinary, and the look she gives him in response could probably peel paint.

  He mutters something under his breath about picking something up from Arif’s as he flees the room, grabbing his coat from the floor in front of its designated hook and opening their front door just as Lucy reaches the top step.  She quirks an eyebrow and opens her mouth to question his urgent departure, but he vehemently shakes his head to silence her.  Grabbing her by the wrist, he drags her behind him as he flees the scene of what he is certain will soon to be a crime.

  The first one to break the terse silence of their glaring contest is Lockwood.

  “Look, I’m not trying to be an arse-”

  “Since when do you have to try?” she interjects bitterly, pushing away from where she’d been leaning against the counter and raising her arms to rake her fingers through her hair.  He grits his teeth, trying to bite back a scathing rebuttal.  Her fingers lace behind her head and she stares at the ceiling as if begging for strength.  She paces back and forth in front of the kitchen sink like a caged animal, and his heart aches at the sight.  Even if he disregards whatever past she’s unwilling to disclose and only considers what he knows about the strength and nature of her talent, it’s understandable why she isn’t keen to be surrounded by the painful echoes of lives lost in a multitude of traumatic ways.

  That being said; some things are worth facing discomfort for, and her long-term safety will always be at the top of that list to him.  He takes a deep breath, schooling his expression into something more neutral before trying another approach.

  “I understand you don’t like hospitals, and I respect that you have your reasons,” he assents, “so what about a clinic?  Something small practice, with no ghost-locked patients?”  He uncrosses his arms and raises his palms in a placating manner, silently imploring her to be reasonable.

  She fixes him with a suspicious glare and he worries he’s accidentally stumbled upon a landmine, but it isn’t long before she visibly deflates, dropping her arms and staring intently at her now fidgeting hands instead of meeting his gaze.  While it wouldn’t remove the discomfort of the dull lights and surgical cleanliness, nor the chill she still gets from being around doctors in general, not having to be around ghost-locked residents would help a considerable amount…

  “Fine,” she eventually mumbles, more misery and reluctance packed into one syllable than he’d ever heard before.  She wants nothing more than to hide and wait for the problem to go away, but when he looks at her with those eyes – soft, pleading, filled with distress – she can’t say no to a half-decent compromise.  No matter how desperately she wants to. “but only on one condition.”

  “Anything,” he replies instantly.  He’s too relieved to be embarrassed by his immediate willingness to do whatever she’d ask of him, or by the breathless quality of his voice.

  She picks at the skin around her fingernails as she gets lost in a maze of tumultuous thoughts.  Showing any sign of weakness isn’t exactly easy for her.  Vulnerability is terrifying, and the concept of actually relying on someone else is as intimidating as it is foreign.

  Familiar with this pattern by now, Lockwood takes the time to gently rotate his neck and release some of the tension he’d built up.  He gives her the space she needs to muster the courage necessary to coax her thoughts into words.

  When she does speak again, it’s so quiet he almost can’t hear her.

  “Come with me,” she begs, her voice hardly more than a whisper.  It’s such a contrast to the bravado and indignant fury from earlier that it almost steals his breath away.

  He has to fight every fibre of his being as it screams to cross the table and hold her, to protect her from anything and everything that has ever made her feel the need to make herself small.  Suddenly he’s filled with hatred towards faceless memories he’s never even heard as more than fearful cries echoing through the house on the nights she wakes from night terrors she never speaks of come the light of day.

  It takes a moment for him to remember how to use his voice again.

  Anywhere, he wants to say.  “Of course,” he says instead; as though it were a fact, some kind of indisputable truth.  As though there was never any other way he could answer.  If he were to be completely honest with himself, there wasn’t.  He would do anything to have a front row seat to every glimpse of vulnerability showing through the cracks of her perfectly constructed mask. 

  

He’s distracted from his lovesick internal monologue by the sound of an urgent knocking on their front door.  

  The noise startles her. She jumps, lifting her head to meet his eyes.  She raises a challenging eyebrow at him.  It’s a look he knows is accusing him of arranging a meeting with a client today and forgetting about it.  He shrugs, replying with a series of nods and puzzled looks that he hopes conveys his understanding of her reasons for doubting him, but he genuinely doesn’t know who it could be.  He pushes himself out of his seat to go greet their guest.  

  The sound of her quiet footsteps on the linoleum tells him she’s not far behind, likely planning to eavesdrop from out of sight in case it happens to be trouble knocking.  Considering their track record, that’s probably a good call.

  His hand grasps the door handle– but something stops him from opening it immediately.  A strange shiver down his spine urges him to look through the peephole.  The first thing he sees is the top of a balding head, the portly man attached to it coming into view a few seconds later as he steps back to wait and wring his hands.  The man looks harmless enough.  Lockwood shakes off his unease, slides the locks back, and swings the door open theatrically.

  “Good afternoon, sir.  Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and Co., at your service.  Do you have an appointment today?” he asks, extending his hand and donning his megawatt smile despite knowing damn well the startled little man did not.  

  The man in question stares with too-big eyes from behind too-small spectacles, and for a moment Lockwood can almost see a terrified mouse standing frozen on his welcome mat instead.    The man gasps and lurches forward, quickly stuffing a clammy and trembling hand into the one offered to him.

  “Oh, yes!  Yes, very good.  My name is Oscar Hughes, pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the mouse/man proclaims, shaking the offered hand vigorously, “I don’t have an appointment, but I do have some information that I think will pique your interest.”  

  The name lights a spark of recognition at the back of his mind, but Lockwood can’t quite put his finger on why, leaving him standing in awkward silence for a split second longer than he’s comfortable with.

  “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but are you the same Oscar Hughes who owns the Lighthouse Theatre?” asks the woman behind him, and Anthony has the urge to either give her a raise or sweep her off her feet.  He makes a mental note to check their wages budget.  Oscar dips his head in confirmation, glancing down the street behind him with what seems to be concern.  

  “It appears I’ve been quite rude.  Terribly sorry, Mr. Hughes, why don’t you come in so we can talk in private?” Lockwood accepts the man’s cue and steps aside to allow him entry, returning to the picture of professionalism with zero hesitation.  He can almost feel the girl behind him fighting the urge to roll her eyes at him.  It’s only once he realises that the shorter man hasn’t moved that he sees the cane in his right hand, bowing under the strain of supporting the majority of his weight.  Internally scolding himself for becoming so distracted, Anthony offers Oscar his arm to cross the raised threshold.  

  As her boss helps the fidgety man into their foyer, she offers him a reassuring smile and extends her hand to take his jacket.  He bows his head repeatedly in thanks, firing off a few rapid sentiments of gratitude before allowing himself to be led into the sitting room to discuss the case.

  Lockwood takes a seat in the armchair, gesturing to the loveseat to convey his want for their potential client to sit across from him.  Oscar hesitates for a split second before shuffling over and dropping onto the well worn cushions.

  “Now, that’s much more comfortable.  All that’s missing now is some tea and biscuits; would you mind, love?” his voice is soft, the pet name slipping past his lips before he has a chance to think about it.  There’s a pause, the slight twitch of his brow the only significant outward sign of his immediate panic.  Thankfully, she takes it in stride and exits the room with a quiet affirmation and an air of purpose.

  He doesn’t see the blood rushing to her cheeks, or notice her relief at being given an excuse to exit stage right to compose herself.  He does find the lack of ribbing slightly unusual, but he figures she’s probably trying not to embarrass him in front of their client.  That theory is swiftly dismissed when he remembers she would definitely jump at the opportunity to do precisely that.

  He’ll have time to worry more about the implications of that when there isn’t a potentially high-profile client sitting less than five feet away from him, he reminds himself.  

  Clearing his throat, Lockwood leans back into his seat, crossing his legs and fixing the cuffs of his sleeves in one smooth motion.  

  “Excellent!  While we wait, Mr. Hughes, I believe you’d mentioned having some information that might interest me?”

  “Right, to the point, then.  You may have heard of the tragic case of Alexandra Wright?” he stares at the younger man expectantly, waiting for confirmation as if the whole of Marylebone hadn’t been following the case for years.

  Alexandra Wright had been a young local stage actress at the start of a very promising career when she’d suddenly disappeared without a trace.  She’d been playing Titania in a production of A Midsummer Night’s Dream in Mr. Hughes' own theatre on the last evening anyone had seen or heard from her.  She’d declined her Oberon, Matthew Moffat’s invitation to have a celebratory drink with the cast on the eve of their final performance, opting instead to go home for a quiet evening with her feline companion and a bottle of wine.  

  Unfortunately she’d never made it back to her flat.  Death wasn’t exactly uncommon even in those days, but it was the mystery of it all that made it so hard for the town to move on.

  Occasionally there would be whispers of spottings; the grocer down the way who closed late one night would swear he’d seen her hurrying along from ghost lamp to ghost lamp, or Mrs. Peterson who swore her granddaughter had told her of seeing a ghost perfectly matching Alexandra’s description.

  Despite the small town rumblings and rumours, no legitimate reports of a Visitor matching her description had been seen since her unusual disappearance.

  Until now, if one were to believe the claims of Mr. Hughes.

  Apparently, the ghost of Ms. Wright had been Visiting an alley adjacent to the theatre, leaving those unlucky enough to have to pass through even before curfew with a persistent sense of dread.  Those with Talent who lived in the flats above the alley reported seeing her wailing as she tried to drag herself away from the invisible echo of the assailants responsible for her untimely demise.

  His associate had returned part way through Oscar’s account, and when she steps away after handing their guest his cup she looks downright nauseas.

  Lockwood can’t resist the urge to reach out and run the back of his fingers comfortingly up and down the back of her arm.  She turns her head to give him a grateful little smile, and surprises him by moving to perch on the armrest of his chair instead of taking one of the other empty seats in the room.  He’s never been more unsure about what to do with his hands.

  “As you can imagine, these rumours haven’t exactly encouraged paying customers to come knocking,”  Hughes laughs dryly, his eyes portraying an edge neither of them had thought him particularly capable of.

  “My team and I will investigate tomorrow evening, and I assure you we will do so with the utmost discretion,”  Lockwood flashes him his signature grin, easily gathering the underlying meaning behind the man’s words as he leans back 

  “Oh, well, you see…  Time is of the essence, if I dare be so bold.  I was hoping you’d be willing to take a look this evening.”

  Lockwood considers him for a moment.  On one hand, he’s certain Lucy would tan his hide if she caught wind of him taking on a case of this magnitude without her.  On the other, there are so many similarities between the cases of Alexandra Wright and Annabel Ward that even after all these years he finds himself eager to solve it without sticking her in the middle of it all.

  And George…  Well, with his Talent now gone, George preferred to avoid being in the field whenever possible.  The likelihood of a scolding from him was much lower than it would have been when they were young.  Hell, Flo would probably even thank him for keeping the man out of it–

  A hand resting featherlight on his shoulder pulls him from his thoughts.

  When he turns to look at her, her eyes are already on him, and they’re glittering with excitement.  She knows as well as he does what solving this mystery could do for Lockwood & Co., and for him.  He’d told her about Fairfax and Ward when they had started becoming closer to friends than colleagues.  About the crushing frustration and disappointment that had hounded him for years after, urging him to make impulsive and reckless decisions to try and regain what he felt had been stolen from him.

  Frustration at a system supposedly put in place to protect Agents being manipulated to treat them as tools and nothing more, disappointment at having the crown jewel accomplishment of the legacy he’d been trying so hard to build torn from his hands mere moments after earning it. ‘Do it,’ her eyes seem to urge, ‘say yes.’  His heart soars.

  Emboldened by her touch and eager to right a wrong once done upon him, ignoring a strange sense of dread as that familiar feeling of invincibility settles over him, he fixes his eyes on their client once more.

  “All right, Mr. Hughes.  We begin at sunset.”

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!):

❁ @shakespearseclipse ❁ @tessas4 ❁ @chloejaniceeee ❁ @ettadear ❁

❁ @kassandra1000 ❁ @stardust611 ❁ @ell0ra-br3kk3r ❁

❁ @hellojameshowyadoin ❁ @Sarahhelpimsinking ❁ @soapshipper ❁

❁ @myownpainintheass ❁ @furblrwurblr ❁ @sleep-i-ness ❁

❁ @uku-lelevillain ❁

[teaandransacking]

In response to the Lockwood x reader smut I think that the “we might die tonight” concept is good thank youuuu

Hi! I hope you like this.

fever dream high in the quiet of the night

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x female reader ~ Words: 1600 ~ content: heavy petting, swearing, sexual tension

a/n: let's agree that Lockwood is 18 or over for the purposes of this fic, ok? ok thanks.

The room is very still around you.

You wish Lucy and George were here, but they’re back at Portland Row, recovering from rapier wounds. Barely a scratch, Lucy insisted, but Lockwood won’t have anyone working unless they’re at full health.

That should count you out, really. You’re never at full health around him. He’s as distracting and frustrating as he is magnetic. You could just as likely kiss him as punch his stupidly handsome face. Most of the time you think you’d choose to do both simultaneously.

Lockwood eventually shrugs off his coat. You’re in the third (?) sitting room of this manor house in Surrey, waiting for the clock to strike seven. That, according to your clients, is when the Visitors arrive. It’s quarter past six - you’re always early, and for once, Lockwood is, too.

“Getting comfy, are we?” you snark.

He folds his long body into the armchair, and you have to resist looking at his lap. You could easily curl yourself up on it.

He lifts one shoulder in a half shrug. “We should rest while we have the chance. We’ll need our strength later, especially with our reduced numbers.”

You swallow. “Yeah. We’ve got this, though.”

He meets your gaze and nods one, decisively. “We’ll do admirably.” He stretches, and you almost miss it - the tiny wince that passes over his face.

He’s still in pain from the gunshot wound.

It was months ago, but-

Your throat goes tight to think of it. How you and Lucy and George closed ranks around him. How his eyes seemed so dim when he finally opened them. How limp he was.

You must make some sound of disquiet, because his eyes narrow and as always, he sees too much. “Are you all right?”

“Fine.”

He smiles, a little. “I’ll allow that I don’t know a huge amount about girls, but I do know when when they say fine like that, they’re far from it.”

You fold your arms over your chest. “You’re a massive hypocrite, you know that? You force Lucy and George to stay at home and rest, and meanwhile, your shoulder isn’t even fully healed.”

Something flashes across his face - vulnerability or pain, you can’t tell. “It’s fine.”

“Oh, and now who’s insisting they’re fine when they’re not?” You hiss, stalking over to him.

He stands from the chair, his face murderous. “You do not get to be in charge here. It’s my name on the door. I am responsible for all of you.”

“Yes! A job that, might I remind you, you cannot complete if you are dead!”

The word comes out in a sob and, startling yourself, you crumple against him.

His arms come around you instantly, and he gently tugs you down into the chair, urging your legs up so you are curled in his lap. You panic for a second but manage to arrange your rapier so it doesn’t stab either of you.

“You have a fucking death wish, don’t you, you prick,” you try to snap, but the seeing as you’re half-crying, the words don’t have the desired effect.

“Believe it or not, I fear death much more these days, now I have the three of you,” Lockwood says softly, pressing a kiss to your hair.

You freeze, and something in the air crackles.

You’ve never been alone together like this before. There’s always someone else in the house, or you’re walking somewhere - Tesco, Arif’s shop - and suddenly the yawning pit of need that constantly lives inside you around Lockwood opens its maw and begs.

“Can’t you just stay home just once?” you murmur into the soft, clean cotton of his dress shirt. “Just stay safe, for fucking once.”

“I’d be a pretty poor agency head if I did, darling.”

It’s the first time he’s used the endearment and it turns everything inside you to liquid. 

You lift your face and see that he’s gazing down at you, his dark eyes lust-blown, and he’s so tempting and so close. You slide your hand up his chest, cup his cheek. “Every time we do this, we court death. And I don’t want to die before we’ve had the chance to live.”

He inhales sharply at your words, and then his hands - warm and rapier-callused - cup your face and he captures your mouth a kiss.

It’s soft and sweet at first, then hungrier, deeper. Your tongues tangle. He tastes of bergamot and marmalade and it’s both exotic and comforting, and his mouth is pliable and delicious. You have limited time, so despite the fact you could kiss him for hours, days, you want more.

He makes a sad little sound when you break the kiss, and that alone makes you want to dive back in. 

Instead, you shift upwards, move to straddle his lap. When you next look down at him, his gaze is fixed on you, his eyes as black as night. He looks at you as if you personally hung the moon and every single star, and it’s heady, these feelings he always stirs inside you.

His hands slide down to your hips, pulling your body flush against his, and oh. He is definitely as into this as you are. 

His throat bobs as he swallows, and then he says, thickly, “Dreamed about this. Being near you. Like this.”

Your heart clenches. “Me, too,” you admit. You glance at the door. You’ll have to go out there soon. Endanger your life. Lockwood will protect you with his. You know it without a doubt.

“Hey,” he begins, and then he whispers your name in that low, buttery smooth voice. “Just be here with me. Don’t think about anything else.”

You almost snark back that he finally has a good idea, but this moment is perfect. You don’t want to ruin it, so you dip your head and kiss him, let your hands start to work on the knot of his tie. It slides through your hands, silky smooth, and then you’re deepening the kiss, plundering his mouth while your slip one, two, three of his shirt buttons through the tiny eyelets, then spread your greedy palms over the smooth, warm skin of his chest.

He groans into your mouth, and it’s a powerful thing, to rob Anthony bloody Lockwood of words, but then you find that any possible clever quip is stolen at your own mouth as his hands burrow under your jumper and cup your breasts through the bra. You arch into his touch, and he mutters something like “perfection” against your lips as he caresses you.

You grind into each other on the wide, soft armchair. He’s hard where you’re soft, and the pressure is exquisite. Impatient, you reach behind yourself, under your sweater, to unclip your bra, and when Lockwood feels the cups release and your bare skin against his, he swears, low and guttural, and making him come this undone makes you feral for him.

He pushes the hem of your sweater up, breaks the kiss, and then sets a hand under your bottom, urging you up so he can put his mouth on your breasts. His face is just a little rough from half a day’s stubble, and the tiny hurt grounds you as he lavishes attention on one breast and then the next, while the push and pull of pleasure makes you dizzy. You fist your hands in his hair, and it’s warm and silky.

You arch your back, pressing into his mouth, and all you can think is yes and don’t stop, and he doesn’t. He is nothing if not thorough, but then it’s not enough, and you’re impatient, every iota of you on fire. You unsnap your jeans and almost rip open the buttons, taking one of his hands from your chest and shoving it right where you want it.

To his credit, Lockwood is a fast learner - he can’t have become the UK’s youngest agency head for nothing, you suppose - and he finds your clit after a only few fumbles, quickly learning which movements make you cry out and press into his hands. 

You’ve wanted this for so long that you’re soaked, and it doesn’t take long before that tell-tale sensation begins to coil in your belly.

“Say my name,” he murmurs against the curve of your breast. “Please.”

And he circles his finger over you twice more and you come like that, squirming against him, breathing his name -  his first name - and he sighs as he works you through the orgasm, until you’re shuddering from it.

You drop a kiss on his forehead, and you’re about to ask if you can return the favour, find out what he likes, how he tastes, Christ that’d be hot - and the clock strikes seven.

Lockwood withdraws his hand, pulls your jumper down.

“This is not over,” you whisper.

He flashes that megawatt grin. “Not by a long shot.”

And reluctantly, you break apart and get ready to face whatever is behind the door in this old house. 

But you’ll do it together.

[givemea-dam-break]

a/n: part two for this request - "may i request a fem reader x anthony lockwood where reader is a super talented fittes agent who constantly trades barbs with lockwood but he soon realises she fancies him so he ends up teasing her during missions by doing small stuff like pulling her close and calling her babe when no one is around - since quite a few of you wanted one! if you want to find it on my masterlist, it's called Love, simply because I'm terrible at naming my fanfics lmao. i hope you enjoy!

warnings: mentions of death/suicide (very vague), language female reader taglist: @cassiopeiia24 @nessa-stark @galactidiot @randomfanficreader @tom-foolery-time

part 1

Loneliness. Terrible, suffocating loneliness. It's thick and cloying and it's getting harder to breathe. God, your throat is closing up and your lungs hurt, weighed down by this strong sense of isolation and abandonment. How are you meant to function when it's so powerful, so heartbreaking? It's overtaking your heart, filling your lungs, intoxicating your blood.

With a feeling like whiplash, you're torn from your vision, and your hand is tugged away from the tree branch and placed on someone's chest. You can feel someone's heartbeat, steady and reassuring, and your own slows. Breathing is a little easier now.

"You're okay, love. I'm here."

The voice shakes you out of your daze, and your eyes snap open, only to be met with the face of Anthony Lockwood.

The setting sun is working wonders on him. Gold and orange rays of light fight for dominance on those high cheekbones and the tip of his nose. His dark eyes swirl with hues of copper and caramel. His lips, turned down slightly with worry, hide the possibility of a bright smile as you look at him.

"Don't -"

"Call you that," he finishes. "Yes, I know. You realise that the more you tell me not to, the more I will."

You scowl at him, but you don't move. A month ago, you would've pulled out of his grip and away from him within a second but, now, you can't bring yourself to.

He knows this all too well, and he revels in it. More often now does he find some excuse to have you touch him. Oh, (name), pass me some salt bombs, won't you? Followed by a not-so-subtle brush of fingers. Do I have lavender in my hair? Get it out, please, the scent becomes too strong sometimes. And there's usually no way for you to get out of shaking it out of his hair because he often puts your hand there himself. Let me walk you home. Then he'll drape an arm over your shoulders, keeping you close or safe as he calls it.

Maybe you've bolstered this attitude of his because more often than not, you don't object. Yes, you'll call him an idiot or a twat or something more insulting, but you've come to welcome these touches, however fleeting they may or may not be.

So, now, with your fingers splayed over his white shirt, it's almost as if you can't bring yourself to move. It doesn't seem like Lockwood is particularly fussed about moving, either.

"What did you see?" he asks, eyeing you carefully. "Something seemed different."

Despite your team's displeasure about paired up so frequently with Lockwood and Co for certain cases by DEPRAC, you haven't been too bothered by it. You and Lockwood have begun working like a team, figuring out each other's tells and habits while still throwing insults and remarks back and forwards. He's become used to watching you use Touch to figure out where sources are, learning how your body reacts in accordance to different things.

You don't want to tell him that this particular vision fed into your own feelings, so instead you say, "It was just stronger than usual. We're close. Very close."

At last, his hand releases yours, and he places his hands on his hips, staring up at the towering tree before you. Members from both of your teams linger around the whole park, scouting out for any clues as to where the source is, seemingly with no luck. The reason for that is likely the pairings. Lucy and Kat and Ned, George and Bobby and Kipps. None of them are getting on particularly well.

"You think it's the branch itself?"

"I'm not sure." You flash your torchlight on the thick branch. "This guy, well, you know... His body was found here after days of just..."

"Hanging there."

"Thank you for that input. But yes. It would make sense. The rope had to be cut off because it was tied so tight. And the emotions were extremely strong, so it would be my best bet."

"Well, whatever you say, love."

You purse your lips. "You're insufferable."

"You love that about me."

Fighting down the urge to strangle him, you pull your silver net out of your belt. "I say we place the net over the branch, see if the ghost still appears. If it does, well, we're fucked, to put it simply. I'll be completely clueless. But, if it doesn't, then we can secure it in place overnight and get someone to remove the branch in the morning."

"Aye, aye, captain."

"Shut up."

Lockwood grins at you then, so bright and dazzling that for a moment you're frozen.

Maybe it affects you the way it does because it's something you've lacked for years. You can't remember the last time someone smiled at you with such joy before Lockwood, as if you've done something to deserve it.

Gently, he takes the silver net from your hands and swings out over the branch before stepping back and looking at it like he's just finished some incredible piece of art. You roll your eyes, glancing back at your teams again.

"I think Barnes pairs us up on purpose," you say. "He knows we don't all get on."

"We get on tremendously," Lockwood remarks. "We went from you insulting my clothes and face, and me making fun of your moods, to being the best of friends."

Frowning, you say, "I wouldn't say 'the best of friends'. I tolerate you, Lockwood. And your face and fashion haven't improved over this last month, I hope you know. I mean, come on, grey tie and pink socks? It's like you're taking inspiration from some raw salmon. Do I have to buy you some socks for your Christmas?"

He nudges your shoulder with his. "You hear yourself? You're on about getting me a Christmas present!"

His fingers brush yours then, and you almost jump from the contact. His hand is warm against the back of yours, and your fingers twitch slightly with the urge to entwine with his, even if part of you is telling you not to do it.

With a jolt, you step away. "Let's wait for this ghost. I'll let the others know about the plan."

There's something in his eyes, an unfamiliar spark within their darkness, that sends heat to your cheeks and a flutter in your stomach. But you turn away, adamant that you won't fall for his charm or whatever this is. You won't. Maybe.

--

"Oh, I've been looking for that!"

You turn as you throw a bag of pasta into your shopping basket, stopping short when you see Lockwood standing on the opposite side of the aisle. He's dressed in his usual shirt-trousers-ridiculously-long-jacket get-up, grinning with a basket hooked over his arm. For a minute, you're confused about what he means, and then you realise which hoodie you're wearing. His grey one.

In your defence, you thought you had picked up your grey Fittes one and had been a little confused by the length of it on you, but now you realise that it is not yours at all but the one he gave you a month ago. The one you keep forgetting to give him.

"Oh, yes. Um, I'll get it back to you soon."

He laughs and says, "You've told me that for weeks now. You might as well keep it now, love."

You glance down at the hoodie, fingers fiddling with the old hem. "I'll get it back to you."

"Whatever you say."

His smile is blinding, and you find yourself smiling, too. It's only a little tug at the corner of your lips, but you can see the happiness in his eyes at the sight of it. It makes something in your chest feel warm and proud and loved.

Loved. The word sends sparks down your spine. When was the last time you felt like that?

"Well, I have to get going," Lockwood says, gesturing to his basket. "George is getting tetchy and we have almost no food left in the house. I'm worried I'll get home and the house will have been destroyed in his rage."

You snort. "Kipps is the same at the Fittes offices. I try and steer clear of him when he's in a mood. He's worse than me."

"Worse than you? Sorry, love, but that's hard to believe."

"Oh, be quiet." You give him a look, and humour glints in his eyes. "I was going to offer to give you warnings of when he's particularly irritated, but I won't, now. You can just suffer."

"You have to admit," he says, "that Kipps is awfully funny when he's mad. He goes red as a tomato."

"He does."

Lockwood's smile softens to something more private, and your heart skips a beat. You want to curse at yourself. It's been a month of spending more cases together, of him walking you home late at night or catching you unawares, and already you feel differently about him. Once, you saw him as nothing more but an arrogant boy whom you couldn't stand, whose very presence had you on edge. Although you enjoyed taking the mick out of him and riling him up, you wanted to keep your interactions to a minimum.

But now?

God, you're not sure what changed. Maybe it's the way he smiles at you like he's proud of you for everything you've done and gone through, and so endlessly happy with you for simply existing. Maybe it's the gentle touches of reassurance and how he has somehow come to know your tells of nervousness or apprehension. Maybe it's how he's come to know you so well, well enough to slip little snacks you like into your kitbag for you to find on later cases when it's just you and your Fittes team.

Even now, you can spot your favourite biscuits in his basket - biscuits you're aware nobody in his house likes.

"I'll see you around," Lockwood says with his enchanting smile.

It brings out a slightly bigger smile from you. "See you, Lockwood."

As he brushes past you, his fingers twitch as if to latch onto yours, and he says, "Call me Anthony from now on, love."

"All right," you murmur. "Anthony."

--

"I'm going to kill you one day."

Lockwood breathes a laugh, peering around the corner of the street. "Who would provide you such amazing entertainment if not for me?"

You draw your rapier. "Anyone. Quite literally anyone. You know, there's this thing called salt, and Kat puts it in Bobby's coffee when he's not looking sometimes. However, now is really not the time for that. Are those Rawbones still looking for us?"

"No."

"Oh, good."

"Well, not really. They've found us."

A horrible wail pierces your ears, one that Lockwood can't hear, and you flinch, glancing past him and to the ghosts that are leering at you. Rawbones, terrible variations of Wraiths, with no skin and bulging eyes. The sound of their teeth grinding sets the hairs on your arms on end., and the glare you send his way is scathing.

"I told you we should've just left!"

"Nonsense." Lockwood's rapier is moving fluidly in front of him, keeping the Visitors at bay. "You're the best agent I know besides myself. We can handle these."

Scowling, you throw a salt bomb at each of the two Rawbones. "Just because we can, doesn't mean we should. We've no way of finding a source!"

"Hey, think about it. If these guys kill us, then at least you won't have had to get your hands dirty killing me. Either way, we can dispatch them easily."

You glower at him and throw another salt bomb, watching the flakes disintegrate parts of the other-light and speckle the ground. "Who would even want to haunt a street with a greasy chippy and stinking public toilets?"

He grins as he looks back at you. "Maybe they were particularly fond of the chippy. Can't beat fish and chips on a Friday night. Are you a mushy peas or gravy kind of girl?"

"At the moment, neither!"

One of the Rawbones takes its chance with his peas-or-gravy distraction and launches towards Lockwood, but it never gets the chance. With all your force, you shove him out of the way, and you both slam into the wall. A harsh chill overtakes you, and you're dimly aware of a tingling pain in your arm, but you ignore it, throwing another salt bomb.

Lockwood takes up holding them back with his rapier, and it's then that you notice your jumper's sleeve steaming, a section of it burned away by ectoplasm. You hadn't been expecting to be out so late and for so long, so you didn't think to bring your thick jacket with you. Regretting your decision, you stare as the skin of your arm starts turning blue.

"Anthony?"

"Mm?" He doesn't look away from the ghosts.

"We - we have an issue."

"Do we? I think we're handling this quite well. My shoulder hurts from slamming into a brick wall, but -"

"Anthony!"

He glances back at you, his eyes immediately drawn to your burned and smoking sleeve, and the blue, swelling skin beneath. He pales momentarily, gritting his teeth, and something overtakes his expression. Anger. But not at you.

"Cover your ears and get back behind that bin over there."

"You can't be serious. It's surrounded by mouldy bananas and -"

"Go!"

The urgency in his voice has you moving before you even realise it. Ducked behind the big bin a few feet away, you peer around it and try to block out the horrible smell. Lockwood is still holding off the pair of Rawbones, but he's holding something in his free hand. It's only when he's running over to you to take cover that it was a magnesium flare.

An explosion shakes the ground, and although you had covered your ears, they still ring loudly. You can't hear what Lockwood is saying, but he drags you away by your good arm and down the street in the opposite direction from the ghosts. They're not gone permanently, but the flare has given you enough time to make your escape.

It's only when you're a few streets away that you both stop to catch your breaths beside an old phone box. You're struggling, feeling as though you're trying to breathe through a single straw, and your skin feels weird. Overly aware of the inner workings beneath it.

"Anthony," you repeat, but your voice isn't as strong.

Your legs are shaking, and you can't feel your arm anymore. You can faintly hear him speaking in the phone box, asking for an ambulance, and then he's in front of you, catching you as you stumble against a shop wall and to your knees. He tears the sleeve off your jumper, preventing any more ectoplasm from getting on your arm. Not that it would make a difference. It's already getting worse.

"You'll be all right, love," he promises, holding you close to his chest as you shiver. "An ambulance is coming. They'll be here soon."

You don't have the energy to speak, but you manage a small nod.

"They'll give you an adrenaline shot, and you'll be fine. You can get right back to insulting me."

His shirt is warm beneath your hand as you grip it weakly. It's a strange sensation feeling your organs slowly stop working. Already, your pulse sounds weaker in your ears.

"Hey, stay with me."

Your eyes find his and, for a moment, everything's all right. They're warm and soft and so, so comforting, and he's giving you that private smile he's taken to sharing with you. His cheeks are rosy, and salt is dusted in his hair like snow. Your lips tug in a meagre attempt at a smile.

"You're an asshat," you manage. "We should've gone the way I said."

He breathes a laugh. "Yeah, we should've."

His hand brushes hair from your eyes, lingering on your cheek for a moment, and you lean into the touch, relishing in the feeling of his pulse against your skin. If you don't think too hard, you can pretend it's yours and that your organs aren't on shutdown.

"Hey, look," Lockwood says gently. "See the lights, love? Ambulance is here to help you. You'll get that adrenaline and you'll be fine."

And you know you will be. His voice is so genuine that you know he's not just saying it to ease your mind. You've seen agents and civilians with ghost-touch, seen their skin turn blue and swell and their lives slowly drain away when the ambulances took too long to reach them. But you'll be okay. As long as Lockwood stays with you.

--

Giving Anthony Lockwood your address was the best idea you've ever had.

He knows where you hide your spare key outside of your flat, so he lets himself in as you lounge on your sofa, watching the news on your old TV. For now, you're out of action, your arm still taking time to recover from ghost-touch, though you're all right in most other senses.

Your arm aches still and has taken to staying a faint shade of blue, and sometimes you have the unshakeable fear that you've not been cured of the ghost-touch, but you always come out of it fine.

The one benefit of being on sick leave is that Lockwood stops by every single day without fail with a coffee from your favourite café, along with a fresh packet of your favourite biscuits and a newspaper. You're not big on reading the newspapers, but you figure he brings them simply because his face is appearing in them more and more, and he wants to show off.

"Oh, you're an angel," you murmur as you take the coffee from his hands, taking a long sip of it and sighing contentedly.

He beams at you, scattering the biscuits onto a plate. He does that so you can gradually eat them over the day without having to struggle to pick them out of the packet, but you're sure he knows that you scoff them all the minute he leaves. As soon as you're back out of your flat and working, you're going to have to get back to your morning runs. Maybe the runs can be you running to the shop to buy more...

"I think that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me," he says, bringing the plate over and setting it on your coffee table. "I'll pretend you've said it because you adore me so and not because I've turned into your slave."

You smile sweetly over the lid of your cup. "You don't have to get me stuff. I've told you this. It's your fault for being a stubborn ass."

He laughs, sitting at the end of the sofa, just beside where your feet are curled up. "And there's the name-calling. Glad to know you're getting better, love. Besides, if I can make life a little easier for you, I may as well. Now you owe me."

"So it's not out of the kindness of your heart, then?" You roll your eyes, taking another sip of coffee. "And I thought we were friends."

Raising an eyebrow, he says, "Just friends?"

For a second, something in your chest constricts and you can't look at him. "I mean, if you really want to say best friends, you can go for it, but I'm not really in the business of -"

"Just shut up and admit you like me already, love. It's agonising watching this play out."

You freeze, mouth slightly opened and eyes wide. Lockwood looks at you with a smug expression, eyes glittering with something - mischief, glee. Swallowing the lump in your throat and closing your mouth, you look away from those dark eyes of his.

Growing up how you did, it's always been hard for you to discern your feelings beyond irritation and anger. The more time you spent with Lockwood, the more things you felt and the more confusing everything became. Finally, you had a friend, someone you could laugh with and explore a part of you that you've never been permitted to. You've found out that you like things you never thought you would, like walking home in the dark, pulled close to someone's side. Shopping with the hopes of seeing the people you know and care for. Reading. Feeling someone's arms around you. Being smiled at in a way that makes you feel warm and mushy inside.

Lockwood has been the one to start the change, to awaken these feelings inside of you. Before him, you were lonely. Horribly so, and your anger was a way for you to mask that. But ever since your time spent together, one particular feeling has always stood out, and you've never been able to understand it.

Love.

You're not really sure what love is, but you know you feel it when he's around. When he grins at you in that special way of his, or when he plays with your fingers on long walks home, trying to figure out what each line and crease means as if he's a palm reader. When he keeps you close to his side and steps in front of you, shielding you from ghosts even though you're more than capable of taking care of yourself.

Love might be the feeling of happiness in your chest when you look at him. It might be the flutter you get in your tummy when his name is spoken, or his skin touches yours.

"I..." You struggle with the words.

But he understands. You know with the way the corners of his lips twitch and his nose crinkles that he understands. You've never been good at communicating verbally, something he's begun to learn.

"I've known for a while," he says. "I'm irresistible, after all."

The humour helps ease the whirlwind in your mind. "You're insufferable."

He leans over, his fingers brushing yours before latching on. You've had this exact conversation before. "You love me for it."

You do. You really do.

So you don't move away when his face nears yours, watching as he slowly comes closer, closer, closer. His eyes are so bright, speckled with so many shades of bronze and copper and gold, and so happy.

No, you do move. You lean forward, and all of a sudden your lips are on his and his hands are pulling your face impossibly closer and you're clutching onto him with your good hand. And you're spiralling, down and down into this feeling people call love, falling onto it like a soft bed you've never had the privilege to sleep in before. There's an ever-so-faint taste of bitter tea on his lips, which are so soft it shouldn't be real.

But it is. It's so, so real, and you're kissing him. He's kissing you. The world melts away. You feel like you're exploding in bursts of colour and flowers and stars until you're nothing more than the air that surrounds you.

And when he pulls away, you smile wider than you ever have before.

[meianslo]

Diaries of Her Life

George Karim x Fem!reader

summary: george helps the reader around the house after a bunch of injuries and wounds on the legs caused from a case. while the reader is going through some struggle that is making her vurnerable, george's curiosity take over him and made him invade some privacy and take a little peek into his 'beloved's' colleague diary.

theres a bit of locklyle as well!

word count: 2.7k

disclaimer: last time i wrote anything this long is probably 2 years ago so pls uhh dont expect too much.

<3

George had try to warn the team of traps lying around after his research on the case but he warned (name) much more than the others because he knows of her clumsiness.

But that didn't work. For (name), at least.

The others have almost fall for the traps but (name). She has fall for almost every single trap that's in front of her. They sometimes wonder why they hired her at Lockwood & Co.

This is what happens if you go on a case in the house of a hunter. Fortunately, all of the traps are not the ones that kill you but just the ones that scares intruders away and injure you not severely.

They're finally done with the mission. They are all sitting at the front porch of the hunter's house. Taking a few breaths. Well, except for George. He's pacing back and forth, his pointer finger and thumb stroking his chin, eyebrows furrowed. Anthony, Lucy, and (name) just stares at him as he paces.

"What's wrong, George?" Anthony finally asked, "Something is off." George finally stops in his track, facing the three that is now Infront of him. Rolling her eyes at his answer, (name) rests her elbow on her thigh that is painfully sore then bending a bit lower and places her chin on the palm of her hand.

"Clearly," Lucy stated with a sarcastic smile. "No! I mean, I'm pretty sure the forensics would have the traps removed after the guy died, right? Also, didn't you guys see the ghost earlier? He looked much younger than my research says. It said that the owner of the house is like what, 50 years old? How did I not notice this?" As George starts asking questions to them instead of answering Lockwood's question, (name) scoffs, leaning back and fold her arms under her chest.

"Well, old guy or not, this guy surely wants me to stop walking, Karim." (name) grumble and George's face soured.

"I'm sorry you were too busy being clumsy to notice that something is clearly wrong here." He bite back.

"But anyways, first of all, the ghost that we fought was not the old man the neighbors thought was. Second of all, someone surely didn't want us to be in there. I know that it's a bit stupid but I'm not stupid! He lives alone, literally no relatives, no friends. Even if he does have friends, it's probably that bear rug or the hanging tiger by his probably a century old fireplace!" He throws his arms in the air as if he was pushing the thoughts aside. He turned around, his back now facing the three.

"So who could be placing those traps? Who is trying to get us out of here?" George places his hand on his waists and turned around again, facing them for the second time.

All four of them looked at each other, waiting for a guess. But everyone was silence, no clue of who could be behind this. Well, that was until they heard someone clearing their throat and it was none of them but someone who is walking behind George. It was Quill Kipps. "That would be me, Karim. I hope you didn't mind," Kipps smiles mockingly innocent. All of them turned to him.

Lockwood's demeanor changed. He stand up, straightening his back up. "Kipps."

"This case was my team's until you and your so-called team took it. Luckily for us, we were able to secure the source of the old man's." Claimed Kipps, "After your arrival here has made my team realize that there was another visitor."

"Then why would you lay traps around?" George sneered at him, folding his arms. "Some precious treasure, I presume." He added.

"Can't say, Karim. Confidential." Kipps said sternly, "So I suggest you all to leave before my team comes, I'm feeling kind today." He glances at (name) who has bruises all around their legs.

So they did. They couldn't risk (name) getting more injury and since the walk from the house of the hunter to the street are a bit far, Lockwood has offered to give (name) a piggyback. She accepted even though she'd rather walk but knowing the pain in her legs wouldn't even be able to endure more than four steps.

"Gee, It's freezing out here." She complained as she climbed on Lockwood's back. Hearing that, Lockwood glanced at George and nod his head towards her, signaling him to give the girl his puffer.

"What? No!" George exaggerated.

"Oh come on, just for tonight." Lockwood nagged.

George sighed as he rolls his eyes and took off his puffer and gave it to her, "You better give it back the second we reach our front door, (name)." He's now left with only his flannel and orange shirt.

<3

(name) didn't realize that her ear was damaged as well until they reached the pavement of the street. The sound of steps on the concrete and wind that passes by is ringing in her ear. It was probably caused by the flares that almost caught her earlier. The gush of the wind from behind them brought the scent of George's puffer to her nose. It smelled like old parchment and biscuits. It smelled like 35 portland row.

They called a cab because surely, Lockwood wouldn't want to piggyback (name) all the way home. George sat by the left-side window, Lucy in the middle, and you by the window as well. Lockwood took the front seat. Lucy and George are having a small conversation about the case and Kipps while (name) is just taking in the scent that is wrapping her. The scent that smelled like her home. And with home in mind, she fell asleep.

They finally arrived at their house. This time they didn't have to piggyback (name) but she just hanged by Lockwood and Lucy.

George walks in front so he can open the door for them. Lockwood had to let go of the girl as they walk in so all of them can go through. By the time they reached the living room, (name) let herself fall into the couch along with Lucy. And Lucy chuckled at this.

All of them let out a big sigh, finally able to rest. Lucy let go of her and goes into the bathroom while (name) took off the puffer and placed it by the arm of the couch and Lockwood and George goes into the kitchen.

(name)'s eyes are drooping. Feeling sleepy, she let herself drift off. The last thing she saw was Lucy walking towards her with something that she thinks is bandages, alcohol, and a few more stuff from the first aid kit.

<3

(name) woke up with a blanket wrapping her body, her legs still sore and now covered in bandages and band aids. She's still on the couch from last night. She sit up and tries to stand up but fails miserably and sits back down. She glances around the room for a minute trying to wake up for a second time. She rub her eyes with the back of her right hand.

As she look to her left, there's pancakes and still hot-and-steaming tea on top of the end table. The sound of footsteps coming down the stairs made her peeked from the living to the hall. "Good morning, (name). How's your leg?" It's Lucy with a small smile on her face as she walks into the living room.

"Uhm, a bit sore but I think I'll manage." she pursed her lips. "By the way thanks for.." she pointed toward her legs that are covered in bandages.

"Oh no worries, George did most of the work. I just dab on some alcohol to make sure you didn't get an infection," Lucy sits down on the arm chair by the couch and took a biscuit from the coffee table in front of them. (name) had confused look on her face. George? Out of everyone, George was the last person she thought would help her. Guess she thought wrong. "He's the one who wraps the bandages and places the band aids. I guess he's always done that for Lockwood as well, you know? Before either of us came, I mean." The brown haired girl shrugged at the thought.

(name) thought he'd be to prestigious to even help a bit.

Her stomach suddenly grumbles. And It was loud enough for Lucy to hear. She chuckled and pats (name) lightly on the shoulder. "Eat up, George made them for you." She stood up and went into the library.

George. Again? She quickly look around the floor, looking for her bag. When she did, she reach in and shuffle around. Finally, she found a pencil and a small thick book. It's her diary. Where she writes little poem, tells about her day, or just spills her feelings. She starts writing in the book, biting her lips, eyebrows furrowed.

She was so focused writing that she didn't notice George standing in front of her until he spoke up, "Eat your food, It'll get cold." She quickly close the book. "What's that?" George asked, head tilting in curiousity.

"Nothing." She responded and stuffed her face with the warm pancake to avoid answering anymore questions.

"Uhm, okay.." George looks at her suspiciously then turned around and walk into the library and greeted Lucy who is in there as well.

(name) sighed out of relief. She puts the utensils that she pick up out of panic down and puts her little book down on the end table.

This time, the front door opened and Lockwood appeared. "Morning, (name)! Feeling better?" She just nodded with a thin smile. "Uhm, ya know where Lucy is?" He suddenly whispered. (name) raises an eyebrow at his hushed tone.

"In the library…" She whispered back, "Why are we whispering again?"

"You'll see, (name). You'll see.." He smirked and gave her a small fist bump on her shoulder before he walks towards the library.

(name) just watched him walk away in confusion. Then, she looked down on her bag again and take her diary and write something again. She didn't write much because she suddenly had the urge to go to the bathroom. Fortunately, George just got kicked out of the library by Lockwood and (name) has the chance to ask for help. Even if it's from George. "George! Uhm, can you help me?" The boy close door to the library before he walks towards her. "What is it?" George popped out from the hall.

Chuckling, (name) put her book into the pockets of her pants that barely fits the book. "Bathroom." She smiled awkwardly, her eyes begging for help. The boy scoffed and pick her left arm up. Her arm hung by his neck while George's right hand holds her waist to keep her balanced and his left holds her arm from falling. The girl just limped with the boy.

They finally reached the bathroom upstairs. It felt like they went through a battle when going up the stairs. George let go of her arm and now both of his hand are on her waist trying to guide (name) to the toilet. When she was in front of the toilet, George left and waited in front of the bathroom to assist her after whatever business she's doing in there.

Glancing around, George saw something on the floor. It was (name)'s little book that he saw earlier. It must've fallen when they were going in and she probably didn't hear anything fall because it landed just on the rug that is infront of the bathroom so it didn't make a sound for any one of them to notice.

And remembering how secretive you were about the book just this morning made George curious and so he lets curiosity takes over and picks up the book.

He opened a random page, it was just (name) telling about her day. Nothing much.

He then, skipped a few pages. Lucy was mentioned, just describing her personality. This was probably the day Lucy joined, just right after (name).

He skip a few more pages and catch a glimpse of his name. Under his name, theres something that seems like poems. Lots of poems. It's romantic poems.

He stared at one part a bit too long than he thought he would.

My chest tightened as he walks by

My chest twists itself over a thousand time when he looks at me

He can feel heat rising up to his cheeks. He was about to turn to another page when (name) shouted. "George, help me. I'm done!" He quickly close the book and stuff it in the pockets of his flannel. He opened the door. The girl's hands holds onto the counter, supporting herself from falling. He pursed his lips and help her wash her hand.

After she's done washing her hand, George clears his throat and asks "Do you want to go to your room? Or go back downstairs?"

"I think I'll just go downstairs, I haven't eat all of my pancakes anyway." She smiled, quite happy that George is helping her.

<3

Getting down the stairs is easier than getting up the stairs. They barely struggle. They finally reach the living room. George sat (name) down on the couch. She thanked him and start eating her pancakes again but George didn't go away and (name) only notice this when she had to stop stuffing food down her throat before it exploded.

"What?" She managed to make out with all the food in her mouth.

George was having a battle in his head on whether or not to give her book back until she talked. Or almost talked. He takes out the book out of his pocket and gives it to the girl with the full mouth. "Ahem, you dropped this earlier."

If it wasn't for the food in her mouth, her jaw would fall to the core of the earth. Dropping the fork and spoon, her eyes widen. She takes the book slowly, eyeing George. She finally swallow the pancake

"You didn't read it, right?" She stares at him sternly. The curly haired boy smacked his lips and opened his mouth to answer but Lockwood and Lucy came into the room, interrupting him.

"What's up, guys?" Lockwood asked nervously. "Hello, dear friend!" Lucy exclaimed.

(name) turn her head towards the other two and looked a bit lower to see that Lucy and Lockwood's fingers intertwines. (name) scoffs at the sight, holding back a laugh. Seeing (name)'s expression, Lucy and Lockwood look down to their hands which made George to look at it as well. The boy fixes his glasses with wide eyes. The two suddenly let go of each other's hand. Lucy folding her arms under her chest, tucking her hands between her arms and chest while Lockwood tucks his hand into the pocket of his pants.

"Ha! What's up with you two?" (name) teases "Nothing, nothing!" Lucy stated. (name) looks at Lockwood and raises her eyebrow at him like she did last time as if asking him this is the reason he was whispering this morning. Lockwood understand what she meant and nods and smirks at her.

"We uh.. We gotta go!" Lucy stammers and pulls Lockwood by the arm, leading him to the front door.

The two got out of the house. Leaving the two speechless but not that much because both (name) and George already kind of called it. They've always tease the two about the other.

Realizing the peace of the house is back, (name) looks back at George and lean back into the couch and ask him again if he read the book.

The boy sits down beside her, then nods. "Sorry, (name). I didn't mean to look at it. Well, I did but you know-"

"What did you read?" She interrupts.

"I saw the one about me." George admits.

This time, (name)'s jaw is able to fall to the core of the earth but she resists and try to stay calm. "And...?"

George gulped "And what?"

"Come on, Karim. You're smart I'm pretty sure you know what I mean in that book and if you do, what are your thoughts towards it? Towards me. Honestly." (name) looks at him with eyes full of hope.

"Well, I like you too, (name) but I thought you hated me-"

"Oh shut up, Karim." She leans towards and closes the gap between the two. Their lips embracing one another but then she pulled away for a few seconds.

She looks into his eyes while his are studying her face like she's a treasure.

Then they pulled each other to another kiss, much more passionate than before.