Tumgik
#anthony lockwood x you
tangledinlove · 1 year
Text
just another love song
Tumblr media
pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader
content: almost six thousand words of yearning and fluff. everyone sees it but them trope! reader is implied to be shorter than him, reader neglects her personal health for a sec, but u can skip the acts of service section if this bothers u!
word count: 5.6k i have a problem
summary:
you dont believe you and lockwood are in love with each other. george and lucy prove you wrong.
or,
you and lockwood through the five love languages
notes: title from lovesong by beabadoobee its so fitting bc i can not stop writing about this boy. thank u anon for ur request i hope its ok i took many creative liberties with it lol!!
“Lucy, you’re insane.”
“I’m insane? You’re the one who’s in a relationship and doesn’t even know about it.”
The roll of your eyes was nearly automatic.
The both of you were sprawled out on Lucy’s blue and yellow sheets while you helped her paint her nails. She was complaining earlier about how she sucked at painting with her nondominant hand, so you offered to do it for her.
You probably would have changed your mind if you realized she was going to corner you about your apparent relationship with your best friend.
Lucy’s face was half pressed into her blanket while her hand was propped up on one of her pillows. You were only halfway done, but you fought the urge to leave the rest of her nails unpainted as a form of protest.
“C’mon, you really can’t see it?”
“See what?”
“The way Lockwood’s in loooove with you.”
“He’s not.”
“He is.”
“He’s not.”
“He i—”
Lucy immediately went quiet at the sound of a knock on her door.
“Who is it?” She called out while you put another coat of black polish on her index finger.
“It’s George. Lockwood sent me up here to tell you he’s starting dinner,” he voiced through the door.
“He’s in the kitchen?” Lucy asked.
“No, he’s getting dinner ready in the library,” George responded sarcastically. “Yes, Luce, he’s in the kitchen. Why?”
“Perfect. You mind coming in and shutting the door behind you, Georgie?”
Your confusion only seemed to grow, but Lucy did nothing but wave you off as the sound of George ascending the steps grew louder. He took in the sight of Lucy face down on her stomach while you painted her nails, a disgruntled look on your face. He sank into the mattress next to Lucy, prompting her to speak.
“How long would you say Lockwood’s been in love with her for?”
“Lucy!” You scolded, blood rushing to your face. “George, don’t listen to a thing she says, she’s crazy.”
“For as long as they’ve known each other, probably,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why?”
That shut you up rather quickly. The girl next to you let out a rather evil sounding cackle.
“She doesn’t believe it when I tell her they’re practically dating. Oh — and get this! She doesn’t think he’s in love with her.”
George blew air through his nose, one of his quiet laughs.
“That’s funny.”
“I know, right! And—”
“I’m literally right here, you know.” You cut in, aggrieved and a little embarrassed.
George tilted his head to look at you, genuine curiosity swimming in his eyes. “Well, why don’t you believe her?”
“Because he doesn’t like me like that,” you said simply. You ignored the way your heart oddly constricted in your chest.
You tugged a bit harshly on your necklace that now felt like it was choking you, missing the way George took note of the movement.
“What even led you two into thinking that we’re madly in love with each other?”
Lucy rolled over onto her back, effectively stopping you from painting her nails.
“I’m so glad you asked, because I can name a few.”
“Oh, can you?” You challenged.
“She’s been planning this intervention for a while,” George added.
You rolled your eyes again.
Lucy leaned over to rifle around in her drawer, careful of her wet nails. From it, she procured a bright pink magazine, the color nearly blinding your eyes. She rifled through it before finding the page she was looking for.
“Lockwood’s been a passenger on the Love Train for so long, he’s past the point of just having one or two love languages. He manages to hit all five. Daily.”
You had to admit, you were slightly impressed with how prepared she was, already knowing which page to turn to.
You couldn’t help but ask, “Just how long have you been thinking about this?”
“A while.”
The look on your face made George laugh. “Believe us, if you were around a couple like you and Lockwood for this long, you would go a little insane too.”
You shoved his shoulder playfully before leaning closer to the magazine Lucy had pulled out.
She pointed to a bulleted list on the center of the magazine page. The title, The Five Love Languages, was written in frilly cursive and surrounded by hearts and a drawing of Cupid.
You read on.
Want to know how to love your significant other better? Find out what their Love Language is! This article was written by Tammy, our resident love expert!
“I’m so glad we’re getting a real professional opinion on this,” you deadpanned.
Lucy jabbed a finger at the first bulleted point. “Suspend your disbelief for a second, alright?”
“Acts of service,” she began. “We all know how much Lockwood loves those.”
It wasn’t unusual for case research to stretch on for multiple days. With some visitors going back centuries, it was actually very normal. Records could be hard to find, which meant spending many late nights. Oftentimes, the four of you would be poring over documents under the light of the moon until it gave way to early morning sunrise.
There was nothing quite like finding the piece of information that made all the pieces fall into place, and you were clearly committed to finding it. You had been running yourself ragged over this job, scarily determined to find and secure the source.
Ms. Church was a kind old lady who pinched Lockwood’s cheeks and offered you all caramels from her bag. This particular visitor had been tormenting her for weeks. Terrified and unsafe, she came to seek Lockwood and Co.’s help.
Everyone knew you were insanely sympathetic. And when you saw the suffering of this sweet woman caused by this specific visitor, you would not let yourself rest until it was dealt with. Quite literally.
After the first late night of research, Lockwood had walked you to your room, ensuring that you actually got in bed. After months of working together, he was well aware of your working tendencies.
“Go to sleep,” he reminded you. “I know you’re eager to close this case, but get some rest first, alright? We’ll start early in the morning if you’re so eager.”
Your laughter was muffled by your blankets. “I can’t believe the champion of sleep deprivation is telling me to go to sleep right now.”
He gave you a fond smile. “I’ll only get some rest if you promise to as well, so you better close your eyes.”
An exaggerated sigh spilled from your lips as you turned over. “I suppose I’ll sleep. G’night, Anthony.”
He flicked the lightswitch off. “Goodnight,” he said into the darkness before swinging your door shut. You could hear the creaking of the floorboards get further away as he retired to his room too.
You shut your eyes as promised, and waited for sleep to take you. After being focused on a case for hours, it was near impossible to shut your brain off. You tried counting sheep, but found them morphing into visitors instead. Case facts tumbled around in your mind like clothes in a washing machine.
Groaning, you sat up in bed. If you were going to think about the case, you might as well look over the actual documents.
You made your way to your desk with all the stealth of a fox, wondering if Lockwood was awake. His room was just across the hallway, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were doing something wrong by staying up.
Why were you even worried about what he had to think? You weren’t a kid, you could do whatever you wanted.
Nevertheless, you made sure to keep as quiet as possible. When Anthony slept, he would either go into a sleep state similar to Ghost-Lock, or a sleep state that had him waking up at sounds half a mile away. You hoped that tonight was not one of the latter days.
It’s not even that late, you justified, looking at your clock. You promised him you would get some rest, but never said how much.
You could keep your promise to him while still doing something with your overactive mind. Sleep would come in a couple hours when you got tired, you were sure of it.
It did not.
Without you realizing, the clock was showing you a time you definitely should have been asleep by. A glance up from your papers showed the sun already risen through your window.
Oops.
You tried to reason with yourself. Against your will, you had nearly dozed off about a hundred times that night. Those brief moments of sleep had to have added up to at least an hour. Technically, you hadn’t gone back on your promise. Not really.
It would have to do. You pulled the documents into a pile, and made your way downstairs to make something for the four of you to eat. One by one, your friends trickled down the steps. Lucy was first, looking rather nice for someone who had just woken up. She lit up at the sight of the breakfast you had prepared and gave you a kiss on the cheek in thanks.
George was next, looking like the epitome of a good night’s rest with his ruffled hair and wrinkled tee. His dimples popped up when you handed him his special plate.
By the time Lockwood arrived, the three of you had finished your meals. The boy looked the complete opposite of the well rested George. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent as always, and you wondered if he also hadn’t slept. His face pulled down into a frown at the sight of you already filtering through papers this early in the morning.
Anthony took his usual seat next to you, studying your face carefully. “You look tired.”
“I’m fine,” you said honestly. Although you hadn’t gotten any sleep, you felt unaffected by it. If anything, you felt more energized than you were normally.
“Did you eat?”
“Yes, I had some biscuits and tea.”
“And you’re feeling alright?”
“Of course,” you assured him. “After I made breakfast, I went through our remaining files and divided them equally between the four of us. This way, we can be as efficient as possible.”
You motioned to the individual stacks of papers you, Lucy, and George were leafing through. His pile was sitting on the counter behind him, while his usual breakfast plate was placed in front of him.
He hummed. “Thank you.”
He began to eat, but you could feel his gaze on you from your peripheral vision. Glancing up at him, you found that you couldn’t read the expression on his face.
He was studying you like one of the crosswords in the paper he loved to do. You swear he was an old man in a teenager’s body.
The time ticked by steadily as he slowly finished his plate and the rest of you made your way through your piles. After a few more minutes of this, you excused yourself to get a pen you forgot in the other room. Lockwood didn’t take his eyes off of you until the kitchen door swung shut behind you.
As if he had been planning for this very moment, he put down his fork and slipped about a third of the papers in your pile into his.
George guffawed. “Looks like we know who the favorite child is.”
Lucy could not help but join in on the teasing. “You mind taking some of my pile too, Lockwood? Seeing as you’re being particularly kind.”
Lockwood shrugged, unashamed.
“Just trying to make things easier for her. She didn’t sleep last night.”
You burst through the door a few moments later, and dived right back into work, completely unaware of your missing papers. This did nothing but affirm Lockwood’s suspicions. On any normal day, you would’ve called attention to the difference immediately. Your sleep deprivation was getting the better of you.
He huffed, a little bothered. He wasn’t upset with your dedication to work, in fact, he admired it. He just wished that you would take care of yourself a little better. You wouldn’t know what a healthy life and work balance was if it hit you in the face.
Of course, he wasn’t any better, but at least he was self aware.
Looking over a rather interesting photograph, you took no notice of Lockwood washing his dish in the sink and rifling around for something on the top of the pantry. Your attention was drawn to him when he placed something in front of you.
“I picked these up for you yesterday.”
Trying to focus your eyes, it took you a moment to realize it was a tin of your favorite cookies.
He knew you so well, it made you want to explode.
You beamed up at him. “Anthony, thank you, thank you, thank you! Where did you find these? The corner store has been out of stock for weeks!”
“Found them at a little store in Piccadilly Circus,” he lied. He had taken a thirty minute cab ride to get these, but you didn’t have to know that.
Giddiness written all over your face, you got up, ready to squeeze the life out of him.
Instead, you became a victim of gravity immediately. The room went dark and you had to grip the table to keep from falling over.
“Woah,” you breathed out on shaky legs. Your hands went to hold your head, your vision still swimming. Lockwood grabbed onto your shoulders to stabilize you.
“Are you alright?”
He looked concerned, you think. You couldn’t really see that well. George and Lucy looked up from their documents, everyone now aware of the fact that you were not alright.
“I’m fine, I swear. I think I just got up too fast.” You rubbed your temples, trying to bring back your sense of sight.
Lockwood was not having any of it. His frown deepened.
“No, you’re tired and running on no hours of sleep. You need to get some actual rest,” he admonished you, guiding you to the door.
Thoughts about the job disappeared from his mind completely. You were now the only thing he was concerned about.
Already halfway up the steps, he missed the knowing look your two friends shared.
Instinct carried your feet towards your door, but you let yourself be led away when Lockwood steered you towards his own room.
“I take it you broke our promise, then?” He asked as he corralled you into his bed.
“Sorry,” you said into his sheets.
“Don’t apologize. Truthfully, I didn't get much sleep last night, either.”
He pulled the covers up to your neck, and you held back your comment about how much of a mother hen he was.
“Actually get some rest this time.”
“What about you?”
The chair at his desk squeaked as he pulled it out.
“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”
“You need rest too, though. You didn’t sleep either.”
He smiled warmly. “I’ll be fine.”
“Then we can stay up together.”
“We can’t help our lovely Ms. Church if half the agency is dead on their feet.”
“That means you need sleep, too. Lay down with me.”
“I’ll fall asleep before you, and who’s to say you won’t escape my evil clutches and go back downstairs?” He was settled into the chair at this point, one leg kicked onto the ottoman.
“I promise you that I won’t.”
“Because our last promise turned out so well?” The incredulous look on his face had you backtracking.
“Fine, I won't promise, I’ll swear it to you. Make a vow, I don’t know. If you really doubt your ability to stay awake while we lay down, then read a book or something. Just don’t sit in that rickety old chair. You’ll get back issues, you old man.”
That seemed to convince him enough to get up. He peeled back the covers and rolled you onto your stomach when you wouldn’t move off his side of the bed. Your hair now obstructing your vision from his manhandling, you could only hear when he opened his drawer and pulled something out.
Well, how were you supposed to sleep when you were this curious?
Rolling back over to face him, you felt the oxygen leave your body.
He was propped against the headboard, a hardcover book in his hand. He refused to read softcover books, and called them annoying repeatedly. The novel was one you had got him last month.
Anthony wasn’t doing anything remarkable, just lounging next to you and reading. But love made people act funny, and rather interesting thoughts started swirling in your head. You wouldn’t mind if you had this for the rest of your life, the two of you in one house forever.
“Can you read to me?” You asked before you could lose the courage.
Wordlessly, he dropped his right arm so you could rest your head there, letting you see the words on the page. Leaning on his shoulder and his voice in your ear, you fell into the best sleep you had in ages.
You smiled affectionately at that memory. Since that day, Lockwood had got on your case about selfcare whenever he could. If he even thought you were close to pushing your limits, he would cut you off immediately, forcing you to take a break.
Lockwood cared a lot, there was no doubt about it. But you were still rather unconvinced.
George cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the teasing that was about to ensue. “Lockwood left me and Luce all alone downstairs after that. What were you two even doing up there? Just sleeping, I hope—”
“He read me a book,” you said, amused. “And then I fell asleep. That’s all.”
Lucy continued to smile evilly.
“And that brings us to our next point. Quality time.”
George thought that the most interesting thing in the house was the piano.
It was interesting to him solely for the fact that no one ever played it. When he had asked Lockwood about it, he had claimed he was out of practice and didn’t know how to play anymore.
(He was a little liar, by the way.)
George tried convincing him to pick it back up again by listing off all the benefits of playing an instrument. Lockwood rejected him each time.
“Between running my very successful psychical agency and gracing you with my presence, I’m a little pressed for time.”
George reluctantly let that slide.
Lockwood was caught in his lie when George and Lucy had come back from a trip to Satchell’s. They had been low on flares for weeks, and this upcoming job forced them to actually go out and get some.
George had volunteered immediately, already planning his side quest to the grocery store to pick up snacks. Lockwood was such a by-the-list shopper, much to George’s dismay. If it wasn’t a necessity on the list, it wasn’t getting bought.
For someone who loved eating George’s biscuits, Lockwood sure had a lot to say about getting ‘unnecessary things while shopping.’
Lucy volunteered to go with him, not wanting to make him go alone.
This left you and Lockwood alone at home, left to do whatever two people who were in a relationship but not dating did with their free time.
He was really at his wit’s end with you two.
Weighed down by the supplies and very necessary snacks, George nudged the front door open with his foot.
The sound spilled out of the house immediately. It was the beautiful sound of the piano.
Lucy looked just as shocked as George was. The sound of the instrument was unfamiliar to hear inside 35 Portland Row. To the two of them, it was the first time the piano had ever been played.
The song was easily recognizable as your favorite, a tune you hummed under your breath all the time. They had no idea you could play as beautifully as this, and you were obviously extremely talented. The song continued on as the two entered.
The four of you spent almost all your time together, and neither George nor Lucy had ever seen you go near the instrument. Trying to be respectful, George chanced a quick look into the room.
The bags nearly fell from his hands.
At the piano bench wasn’t you. It was Lockwood.
His hands flew up and down the keys, clearly a natural. Lucy would’ve thought it was a trick of the light if she wasn’t witnessing this with her own eyes.
The song came to an end and it was only then that George noticed you standing at the end of the piano, smiling in awe. You began speaking animatedly, probably praising him for his great playing. He could see that your eyes were filled with nothing but adoration.
Lucy thought it was sickeningly cute.
The same look was evident on Lockwood’s face as well, pure fondness in the way he looked at you. He got up from the bench, giving you room to sit down. You sat down in the spot he just vacated, and he moved to stand behind you, a perfectly practiced motion.
He spoke slowly as he talked to you about the instrument, and you tentatively placed your hands on the keys before more notes sounded from the piano. You played the first half of the song before tapering off.
Standing over you, his arms came around your body as he placed his hands on yours. The rest of the song began to fill the room, although it was at a slower tempo.
Still frozen in shock, Lucy nearly dropped a bag on her foot when Anthony spoke directly to her and George. His eyes didn’t leave the keys the entire time.
“Would you two like to sit in on our lesson?”
George showed no signs of embarrassment at being caught. Dropping everything in his hands, he bounded right over to the nearest armchair and got comfortable. Adding her bags to the growing pile, Lucy took a seat on the armrest, only a little sheepish.
“Anthony’s been giving me lessons for a few weeks,” you explained, a giddy smile on your face. “He’s basically Mozart, you should’ve been here to hear him play.”
He smoothed a hand over your back, his eyes crinkling. “Chopin should watch out for you. It took me months to master what you’ve learned in a few weeks.”
You shifted on the bench, embarrassed by his compliment. Lucy piped up with a music request, a song from a couple of decades ago that all four of you loved. You made space for him on the seat, and the three of you watched, gobsmacked, as Lockwood played the song from memory.
So much for not remembering how to play, thought George.
You did nothing but shrug at your two friends. “I mean, caring about me and spending time with me? Those are things that we do,” you said, motioning between the three of you. “We can’t possibly all be in love with each other. So what’s the difference between me and Lockwood?”
Lucy grumbled, growing a bit frustrated at your blindness. She pointed to the next two things on the list. Words of affirmation and gifts.
“Lockwood doesn’t exactly wax poetic or spend hundreds of pounds on me and George, now does he?”
It had been months of you and Lockwood’s gross yearning, and frankly, George was sick of it. You denied the dating allegations fervently, but George was unconvinced. You two were lying to his face, he was sure of it. All he had to do was catch you in the act.
George was just leaving the bathroom when he heard Lockwood’s voice from inside your bedroom. The door was wide open, the both of you clearly uncaring about whoever was going to be subjected to whatever relationship business you two were up to.
“Hey,” he heard Lockwood say softly.
Wow. George had never heard someone say ‘hey’ so affectionately in his entire life. Clearly this was more serious than he previously thought.
“Happy one year, Anthony,” you said, just as quietly.
George’s jaw hit the floor. The makings of a grin pulled at his mouth.
He knew it.
You two were liars! He could not believe you guys thought you were being oh so secretive about your relationship. He guessed that your freaky affection could not be helped. Although smug at this revelation, he was still happy for the both of you. The love was evident whenever you interacted, and George was just glad the both of you had come to your senses a year ago.
However, he wondered why you were so adamant on denying it. Probably just trying to avoid the favoritism accusations.
Lockwood laughed. “I can’t believe it’s already been one whole year since you moved in.”
You’re kidding.
The self-satisfied look got wiped off of George’s face immediately.
One year since you moved in? You weren’t celebrating a relationship milestone at all.
George felt the need to rinse out his ears with soap. He could not believe what he was hearing. With the way you two were speaking, one year of marriage would have made more sense.
“It’s been the best year of my life, you know. Living here with my best friend.”
“Oh, I’m glad you like living with George.”
The boy in question made a face. He could hear you hit Lockwood on the shoulder.
“You know what I mean. I’m just grateful I know you. And… I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. You’re incredible. And one of my favorite people in the world.”
George suppressed a gag. Love was unfortunately in the air.
“I like you too, I guess,” Lockwood said stupidly.
Your laughter rang out into the hallway. “Come on, I pour out my heart and soul for you and I only get an ‘I guess?’”
“No, you get this, too.”
There was the sound of paper rustling, and then your shocked gasp.
“Anthony, I can’t accept this.”
He laughed lightly. “Yes, you can.”
“This must’ve cost you a fortune. How much was it? I promise I’ll pay you back eventually, just name the price.”
“There is no price. You’ve already paid me back tenfold by putting up with me.”
“I’m serious, Anthony.”
“So am I.” His voice lost the joking lilt to it. “To know you is to love you. And to be able to love you is the greatest gift anyone could ever receive.”
You were stunned into silence for a moment before you spoke again. Your voice was watery. “You’re the most important person in my life. I love you so much.”
“I love you too. You’re my best friend.”
The next day, you came downstairs with a shiny necklace around your neck. George tried not to slap his hand to his forehead.
You and Lockwood had officially made the words “best friend” lose all meaning.
“It’s a cute necklace, by the way,” Lucy teased.
Your face was on fire, and the piece of jewelry around your neck felt heavy suddenly. “George, you really heard all of that?”
He rolled his eyes. “That’s what you get for professing your undying love for each other with the door wide open.”
You pressed your face into one of Lucy’s blue pillows, not able to face them.
“It’s not like that.”
The call of your name made you shoot up off Lucy’s bed.
“George? Lucy?”
It was Lockwood, probably finished dinner downstairs.
“We’re coming!” You yelled down, eager to escape the room (and the conversation).
Lucy’s smile only seemed to grow. You feared for your life.
Lockwood was waiting for the three of you at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrows raised.
The pleasing aroma of his cooking permeated the air.
“Smells nice,” you greeted, your voice coming out breathless.
His hand skimmed over your arm as you continued past him to the kitchen.
Throughout dinner, you found yourself psychoanalyzing every single interaction you had with Anthony. From the way he pulled out your chair for you and the way he gave you his biscuit when George had his back turned.
He just violated the biscuit rule for you. You wondered if this was love.
You even found yourself questioning his cooking decisions. Tonight’s dish was your favorite, and Lockwood knew it. You gave him a scrutinizing look when his back was turned, much to Lucy’s delight.
You found yourself cursing your friends. You could barely function around him on a normal day, and these thoughts they planted into your mind weren’t helping.
You nearly collapsed when he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. He was just looking at you, and you could feel about eighty emotions rush to the surface.
This had to be love. You were so deeply in love with him.
Much too soon, the night was over. The leftovers were packed away, and Lockwood was at the sink, washing the dishes.
The thought of marriage never sounded sweeter.
Uncaring at this point, you wrapped your arms around his back, frustrated. Your thoughts were all jumbled. His body relaxed at your touch, and then he squeezed one of your hands at his front tightly. You didn’t even care that he got your hand all soapy.
You watched from over his shoulder as he finished drying the last dish and placed it on the rack.
Prying your arms off of him, he managed to loosen your death grip around his waist just enough to spin around and face you. His chin rested on top of your head while his own arms came to rest around your shoulder blades.
“You’ve been quiet. Everything alright?”
You made a noise into the hollow of his throat. “Just thinking.”
He leaned the both of you back against the counter. “Figurative penny for your thoughts?”
Being with him like this was like taking a blanket straight from the dryer and cocooning yourself in it. You felt like a cat resting in a sun spot. Encased in warmth all around.
Your sheer love and care for the boy in you arms made you so soft. This was love.
“George and Lucy made me realize something.”
“Yeah?”
Your knees nearly buckled at the sound of his voice. It was deeper than normal, and the way his voice raised slightly at the end made you feel a little insane.
With a start, you redirected your thoughts. He said a single syllable and it reduced you completely to mush. There had to be something wrong with you.
“What’d you realize?”
“That I’m in love with you.”
Your heart was racing. That six word confession had turned you into a bunch of nerves and clammy palms. Lockwood was quiet, beginning to rub circles into your shoulder with the heel of his palm.
He hummed, a sweet sound that had your heart doing flips in your chest.
“Was wondering when you’d figure that one out.”
If your hands were free, you would’ve hit him hard against the chest. Too reluctant to pull back from him, you settled for pinching his side. You tilted your head to the side and pressed your ear against his chest. His heartbeat was loud and only a little bit erratic. He smiled against your hair.
“I’ve been in love with you for longer, I bet,” he mumbled, always making things into a challenge.
“Really?”
“Definitely.”
“You wanna prove it?”
He leaned back, and you both looked a little shocked at how forward your words were.
“Uh, unless you don’t want to—”
He smiled, and the sight of it was infectious. His face got closer to yours and you had to swallow the enthusiasm that was beginning to bubble within you. His next words were practically breathed out into the silence of the kitchen.
“I’m going to kiss you now, alright?”
Not bothering with an answer, you leaned forward and planted your lips against his.
It was even better than you thought it’d be.
You had no idea how long you sat there, his face in your hands while you made up for lost time. A loud cough had you both springing apart.
Your face was burning up and Lockwood’s chest was heaving, but his smile was as smug as ever.
Lucy was grinning.
George looked disgusted. “Please don’t do that so close to the plates we eat off of.”
Neither of you were allowed to leave the room without about five more minutes of teasing.
As you made your way up the steps, you were stopped by a hand on your sleeve. It was Lockwood, and he pulled you back in to press another kiss to your lips.
“I love you,” he said, and his words sounded like your favorite song he learned to play on the piano just for you.
“Love you too,” you echoed back. Those words had been exchanged between the two of you countless times, but this was the first time it held the weight that it did. As you climbed up the stairs, you found that you had a smile permanently etched on your face.
“You know, we didn’t talk about the fifth love language earlier.”
Lucy was at the top of the next landing, a cheeky smile on her face. Less evil than before, her grin was now more amused than anything.
“What were you going to say?”
“I was going to tell you about the time Lockwood bribed me to switch seats with him so he could sit next to you at the cinema. But I think we just had a great live example of how much you two like physical touch.”
Lucy’s laughter resounded throughout the entire house as you chased her up the steps.
notes: ahh the tangledinlove special! pining and yearning that makes me want to collapse. he needs to be real… jonathan stroud what have you done to me.
as always: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!
2K notes · View notes
atlabeth · 10 months
Text
you’re beautiful — anthony lockwood
summary: a meeting goes wrong, feelings come out. you’d like to be sedated again, please.
a/n: so this started as part of “leave the door open” but then i decided i wanted something different (hence the wound dressing scene) but i really liked what i wrote there so here’s an entirely different fic! wow enjoy
wc: 2.5k
warning(s): reader gets stabbed, quite a bit of blood, couple death jokes, mention of not eating, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending tho
Tumblr media
There was a saying in Lockwood & Company, courtesy of its namesake, that, if you had enough confidence, you could dazzle any ghost into submission. 
Nothing but facetiousness of course, but it was true in a symbolic sort of way. If you didn’t believe in yourself, in every slash of your rapier and every circle of filings and every salt bomb measured to perfection, then there was no use showing up at all. You might as well sit down and wait for the ghost-lock to set in. 
Lockwood’s words kept coming back to you every time you doubted yourself, his charming smile and eyes popping up in your mind, twinkling as he made you laugh. 
And those words were certainly echoing through your ears as you stumbled through Portland Row’s door, a hand still pressed to your abdomen when you collapsed. Your rapier, still holstered, clattered against the floor.  
George called your name from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious to your joy. “You’re finally back! How did the meeting go?” 
When you could only groan in response, he emerged into the hallway and his eyes instantly widened. “Oh my god— Lockwood!” 
He rushed over and helped you up, propping you against the wall as his eyes darted all over. He took one hand away to push up his glasses, and you noticed he already had some blood on your fingers. “What in the world happened?” 
“The meeting didn’t go well,” you grit out, sucking in a breath as a sharp column of pain shot through you. 
“I could gather that,” George said wryly, and when you heard footsteps, you both looked up to see Lockwood taking the steps three at a time. 
“What in the world happened?” he asked brazenly, a wild look in his eyes. 
“That’s what I asked—” George said, and your breathy laugh was interrupted by a grimace. 
“The meeting didn’t go well,” you repeated. 
“I need actual details,” Lockwood called as he went off in search of the medical kit. 
“Everything was fine,” you grumbled. “But as it turns out, our lovely source Mr. Pallworth was more skilled in getting into trouble than actually being an informant. He was in debt to some even lovelier relic men.” 
“Oh, god,” George muttered. You winced as he put more pressure on your wound, having taken over for you. “I’m sorry, but this is so you don’t bleed out.” 
“Did you get into a fight or something?” Lockwood marveled, bounding back over with a white box in his hands. “Because it looks like you were stabbed.” 
“One point for Anthony,” you said groggily. “Mr. Pallworth ran off the moment he could, leaving me to deal with his mess. I was indeed stabbed. Only once, somehow. The relic men deserted when the police showed up, and I wasn’t far behind.”
Lockwood knelt down next to you, and he looked at you for permission. You nodded, and he pulled your shirt up to expose your wound. He did a good job hiding his grimace as he began to gently wipe away the blood, but it was still there. “Why did you come here and not immediately to the hospital?” 
“I don’t know if you remember, Lockwood,” you breathed, “but this job that we’re doing is not exactly legal.” 
“I don’t care,” he enunciated. “This is above our paygrade, and your life will not be on the line because of our lack of medical knowledge.” 
“We either have to help her here or get her to a hospital,” George said, “because if we sit here bickering, she’ll bleed out before we make a decision.” 
“I’d rather die here than a hospital,” you said.
“You’re not going to die here,” Lockwood said harshly, and his hands opened and closed into fists. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He eventually let out an annoyed sigh and glanced at George. 
“Phone 999,” he said. “She’s not dying because of her stubbornness.”
George nodded, grimacing at the blood on his hands—your blood, you supposed, which made it worse—and he ran off. 
“I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there alone,” Lockwood grumbled as he started taking things out of the medical kit. 
“No, you didn’t,” you said. “We had no reason to believe anything like this would happen.”
“Well— I should have known!” Lockwood’s voice rose, and his jaw clenched as he got himself back under control. He continued to clean out your wound, and you could hear George rattling off information in the distance to the authorities. 
“You’re cute when you’re determined,” you said. 
“I am determined to not let you die in our foyer,” Lockwood said.
“The foyer.” You mimicked Lockwood’s voice. “So posh.”
“If she’s being this annoying, she can’t be doing too bad,” George said dryly. 
“Loopy from the blood loss,” you said offhandedly. You frowned as it sunk in. “Maybe I should go to a hospital.”
Lockwood heaved a very dramatic sigh as he continued to keep pressure on your wound. “At least you’re coming to your senses now,” he said dryly. He was still kneeling next to you, his hands covered in your blood, that wild look in his eye. “What the hell took so long?”
“I’m not…” you blinked the black spots out of your vision, “good with hospitals.”
“Well, I’m not good with you dying,” Lockwood said.
George came back over. “I’ve called the police—an ambulance is on the way.”
You groaned, half from the pain and half from the thought of the police. “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”
“Leave that to us,” Lockwood said. For some reason, you found yourself grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, his throat bobbing as he laced your fingers together. “Just hold on for a bit longer.”
You nodded, your mouth going dry for a moment when you looked at him— really looked at him. 
There was unbridled fear in Lockwood’s eyes, the slightest glimmer of tears. If you weren’t slowly bleeding out, if the black spots weren’t taking over your vision, if your grip on his hand wasn’t loosening, you might have been embarrassed at his closeness, at his doting.  
But apparently, you weren’t. 
“You’re beautiful,” you murmured. 
And then everything went dark.
-
You were assaulted by a barrage of lights and beeping, too-bright fluorescents and the sterile scent of disinfectant alerting even your still groggy mind that you were in a hospital.
There was something in your arm—multiple somethings, actually. A tube with a lot of red in one arm, and another with clear liquid in your other arm. Blood and an IV, you guessed. 
Right. You were stabbed, and one does not just walk away from a stab wound without a few problems. 
You weren’t dead, though, and that surely counted for something. You would have to thank Lockwood later, for his stubbornness beating out your own. 
“You’re awake,” a voice breathed, and you realized it was just the boy you were thinking about. 
Lockwood sat next to you in a chair pulled up at your bedside. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and he’d draped his jacket on the back of the chair. His eyes were slightly red, but there was undeniable relief sketched into his face. 
“I am.” Your voice was raspy from disuse, and you grimaced at the soreness in your lower chest. “How long has it been?” 
“A few hours,” he answered. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair, and your eyes followed the movement. He was holding your hand— he’d been holding your hand. “You— um, you had surgery. A small one, it didn’t take too long, but—” Lockwood’s voice broke, and he laughed mirthlessly as he shook his head. “It was scary. Terrifying, actually, but…” he managed a smile. “You came out the other side. You always do.” 
Your breath caught for a moment, and your grip on his hand tightened subconsciously. “I’m so sorry.” 
“What are you sorry for?” Lockwood asked wryly. “It’s not your fault you were stabbed. You did a rather excellent job fighting them off, actually. It could’ve been much worse.” 
“I’m sorry for putting you and George through this,” you murmured. “I worry about the two of you every second of every day, and most of the time it doesn’t come to fruition. This—” you laughed, which immediately turned into a wince— “I’d say this is fruition.” 
“I’m just glad we got you here in time,” Lockwood muttered. He looked at you, his eyes boring into you with equal parts concern and desperation. You used to hate that about him, especially when you joined, how it always felt like he could look at you and know every single thing. “You said the police showed up in the fight. You were obviously injured— why didn’t you get them to call an ambulance? Why did you risk it all to come back to Portland Row?” 
“I told you. The job we took on was illegal, and I felt it was going to be a much bigger mess than we needed to deal with.” 
“I don’t care how illegal it was,” Lockwood said stiffly. “You were hurt— you were in danger. That comes before anything else, alright? You come before anything else.” 
The intensity of his voice made you pause, unable to do anything but… look at him. His hair was tousled, no doubt from running his hand through it endlessly as he was wont to do whenever he was stressed. His undone tie and discarded jacket, his eyes, red from… from crying, most likely. He cried over you. 
When your hand tightened around his this time, you did it on purpose. 
“Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re probably the reason I’m alive.” 
Lockwood managed to crack a smile. “It wouldn’t look good for the agency if my employees started dying. I don’t have very many to lose.” 
That got a genuine laugh out of you, and you tried your best to ignore the subsequent wince. “Of course. That’s why I pulled through, to make us look better.” 
“Your efforts are much appreciated,” he said, that small smile still on his lips as he rubbed mindless circles on your hand with his thumb. 
The door creaked slightly as someone pushed it open, and a smile broke out on your face when you saw it was George. 
“I was wondering where you were,” you said. 
“Tea,” he said, lifting the drink holder with one hand and a box with his other, “and donuts.” He looked at Lockwood pointedly. “You’ve got to get something in you. It’s not exactly healthy, but the sugar will help.” 
You looked at Lockwood. “You haven’t eaten?” 
“I was preoccupied,” he said dryly. 
“That’s no excuse,” you said. “Eat your donuts, and as soon as we get home, George is cooking you something.” You looked up at him. “Right?” 
“Right,” George agreed. He handed Lockwood one of the cups and set the box on the table, and he smiled as he took a seat across from you. “You look much better. You’re bossing everyone around again—I take it you’re doing better too?” 
“Much,” you nodded. “Thanks for getting me here, by the way. I’d probably have bled out if it weren’t for you.” 
“Of course.” George took a donut from the box. “I can’t let you leave me alone with him.” 
“Oh, I would never,” you said wryly. 
“I’m surprised you’re willing to be alone with him after what you said,” George said offhandedly, and both you and Lockwood stared at him. 
“George—” he started. 
“What do you mean?” you interrupted. 
He made that funny little expression where he knew he said something he probably shouldn’t have, and he busied himself with his donut. “Nothing.” 
“George,” you deadpanned, “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I have pity points. Tell me.” 
Lockwood sighed and leaned back in his chair, though you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand. 
“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you said,” George said slowly. “Before you blacked out, I mean.” 
“No.” Your eyes darted between the two of them. “Why? Did I say something awful?” 
“Not awful,” Lockwood said, still looking away. “Pretty far from it, I’d say.” 
“Why are you two acting so weird?” you asked. “Spit it out!” 
“You called Lockwood beautiful,” George finally said, and you just about died right there. “Right before you went out, you said he was beautiful.” 
You blinked. Looked at Lockwood, who didn’t seem to be the slightest bit embarrassed—god, was he smiling?—looked at George, who was this time busying himself with his tea. 
“You’re kidding,” you said. 
“...He’s not,” Lockwood said, tilting his head to the side. “You did do that.” 
“Looked up at him, said ‘you’re beautiful’, passed out.” George shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. “Quite dramatic, I’ll give you that. It drove Lockwood absolutely insane, too.” 
“George,” Lockwood said sharply, “don’t you have a phone call to make?” 
He chuckled. “Yeah. How could I forget?”
You weren’t even able to watch him as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Lockwood. You wanted to melt into the bed. This was the absolute worst way for your feelings to come out, feelings that you were content to let sit forever and never really reveal. Apparently, you couldn’t even almost die with dignity. 
“It’s alright,” Lockwood said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” 
“No, I do have to be embarrassed.” You stared up at the ceiling. “I do have to be embarrassed, because my last words could have been ‘you’re beautiful’.”
“Why?” he asked. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?” 
You groaned, and if you hadn’t been practically immobile, you would have buried your face in the pillows. “Get a nurse to sedate me again, please.” 
Lockwood flashed that irritatingly pretty grin as he took your hand again. You hadn’t even realized he’d let go. “Relax. I think you’re beautiful too.” 
You raised your eyebrows. “Even now?”
“Even now,” Lockwood said. “Always.”
“At least you’re not saying it half-conscious and dying,” you mumbled. 
“I think it’s better I’m saying it now,” he said. “You know I mean it.” 
You looked him in the eye. “You really do?” 
“What did I just say?” Lockwood chuckled. “Always. Forever.” 
You felt the heat creep to your cheeks. “I can’t believe this is what it took to get you to admit your feelings.” 
“It took this for you to admit your feelings,” he countered. “It took you admitting them for me to admit them. I never really knew you felt the same way.” 
“I guess I have a flair for dramatics,” you said wryly. 
“It seems so,” Lockwood said. “How about after all this is done, when you’re good and cleared by the doctor, I’ll take you out for tea. My treat.”  
“You pay my salary,” you said. “Everything is practically your treat.” 
Lockwood grinned. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?” 
You smiled, and you pulled your joined hands closer. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.” 
“Excellent.” He smiled as well, a breath of relief coming out of him, and he leaned closer. “Just remember that you don’t have to get stabbed to get me to ask you out on a second date.”  
776 notes · View notes
tiredofthehumanlife · 11 days
Text
Lockwood waiting for the food George made
Tumblr media
203 notes · View notes
bella-rose29 · 1 month
Text
paper rings
Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader
Word count: 10.2k words
Warnings: mild spoilers for the later books (this is set after TEG and they're all 18+), a LOT of mildly explicit innuendoes and sexual references, swearing
this is my Valentine's Day surprise that I've been talking about, so happy Valentine's Day to you all! <3
based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name
Anthony Lockwood masterlist
Tumblr media
It was nearly 2 in the morning, and Y/n L/n was exhausted. 
She had been on a case for the last seven hours and everything hurt and ached - including places in her body she didn't even know she had - and she just wanted her bed and an incredibly large cup of tea. 
So why was she having to babysit three other agents who really should have been old enough to look after themselves?
Two of them seemed to be high on flare fumes, giggling about absolutely nothing and making weird sounds every few seconds. The third was smiling fondly at his friends and coworkers, but wasn't doing anything to stop them from getting closer and closer to the edge of their sanity. 
Y/n sighed for the millionth time in the last ten minutes, and the third agent (the one who wasn't as insane as the other two - she'd nicknamed him Beanpole) looked over from where he was leaning back against the DEPRAC van with his arms crossed. Somehow he looked effortlessly cool and relaxed, despite the plasma stains and dirt covering his entire body. 
“Are you alright?” he asked. 
“I'm fine, just want to go home and stop looking after three other agents.” 
“Ah, that’s fair. Wait, 'looking after’?”
“Yeah, Barnes told me to keep an eye on you three 'cause you were in trouble or something.” 
“Oh, we're not in trouble,” he grinned, and although she rolled her eyes she couldn't deny the way her heart skipped a beat at his smile. “Barnes just likes being dramatic. We didn't do anything.” Somehow she didn't believe him, but the sheer amount of charm that was pouring out of him was making her disregard any concerns she had about how truthful he was being. 
“So what is it that you aren't in trouble for then?” His grin only grew wider, and Y/n found herself smiling back. 
“Minor property damage. But in our defence our client didn't warn us about the malignant smoke that she'd seen creeping out of the basement or even the intense waves of nausea she felt when walking past her under stairs cupboard. So we really can't take any of the blame for completely decimating her bannisters and front hall. Plus, we're insured.”
“No you're not,” Barnes interrupted, joining the conversation and holding a manilla folder. “You didn't have your DEPRAC standardised iron chains, Lockwood. Not according to this report.” That made Beanpole (Lockwood? Although that didn't sound much like a name) stand up, uncrossing his arms as a frown decorated his pretty face. 
“What? But we did, I made sure after Mrs Hope's house.” Y/n didn't know what had happened at Mrs Hope's house, but from the way Barnes was frowning even more than usual and somehow looking even more unimpressed with Beanpole she figured she didn't want to know. “You can go in and check if you like, they're still in the hall.”
“Fine. L/n, you go in and check.” 
“What?” 
“Just check the chains are there, then come back. They managed to at least get rid of the ghosts.”
“Alright,” she grumbled, hoisting her belt up a little and trudging off in the direction of the building Barnes had pointed her to. She shouldn't even be here, since she was meant to have been at home around half an hour ago, but now she was making her way into some random woman's house to carry out a job that any random DEPRAC officer could have done (if what Barnes had said about the other agents removing the Visitors was true). She pushed open the door, glad for her gloves at the chill in the air, and scoffed when she immediately laid eyes on the thick iron chains that had been kicked to the side in the fight. Y/n picked them up, huffing under the added weight, and was about to turn and leave when her eyes caught on the state of the front hall. “What the actual fuck…” she whispered, then shook her head and closed the door behind her, choosing to ignore the mess inside. 
“Well?” Barnes demanded when she'd made her way back. She dropped the chains at his feet. 
“Yep. I don't know why I had to do that though, anyone could have looked.” She was being irritable, she knew, but she thought she was perfectly justified in feeling that way.
“Alright.” Barnes looked unhappy about the whole situation too, but that wasn't Y/n's fault. “Then just sign these papers and you three can go.” Beanpole was smiling smugly, and he nodded and took the papers that Barnes handed him. 
“Thank you, Inspector. Luce, George, here.” They were both still laughing at something only they knew about, clutching their sides as they took the sheets of paper that Beanpole handed them. 
“Can I go home too?” Y/n asked Barnes while the others signed the forms. 
“Yeah. Maybe catch a ride with these three, they're your way.”
“Fine.”
A few minutes later the four of them were piled into a taxi and heading off down the road in the direction of Marylebone. 
“So,” Beanpole started. The moon was shining bright on his face through the taxi window, making him look like a Visitor himself when combined with his already pale skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. He still looked effortlessly gorgeous though, and Y/n found herself wondering if he was single. “You're an agent then. Solo?”
“Oh, yeah. Never liked working for the big companies. They never really cared about the people, you know? Shit,” her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said. “Are you a company?”
“Yes, but don't worry. We have a grand total of four people at our agency. Sometimes five or six if we get extra help from others.”
“That's... very small. Is the fourth your supervisor?”
“No, our secretary actually. Holly doesn't much like being in the field anymore though, but that works out alright for us. She still gets paid a good amount.”
“So if you don't have a supervisor…”
“I'm the agency head,” he smiled, but now instead of appearing chipper and light, he looked tired and weighed down by the responsibility of running a company and looking after his coworkers. “Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood and Co.” 
“Y/n L/n, formerly of Fittes.” They shook hands awkwardly in the limited space they had in the back of the taxi. 
“And you left because they don't care about the people?”
“That's right. I always wanted to connect more, but I guess that's because of my Touch. Fittes were much more businesslike about it all, just going in and getting the job done and not caring about anything other than having another successful case under their belt. It just didn't sit right with me.”
“Well if you ever feel like working for a company again, you could always come and work with us,” Anthony Lockwood said. “I'm sure we could do with someone like you helping us out. Besides, we do care about the people; it's pretty much the only thing going for us other than our skill in the field.”
“First stop?” the driver called out, slowing the vehicle. 
“Oh, that's me,” Y/n stated, grabbing the door handle and getting out. “Thanks for letting me ride with you.” She moved to the boot of the taxi to take her kit bag and rapier, and was surprised when Anthony Lockwood followed her, helping her to balance all the bags inside and making sure that nothing fell out. “Thank you.”
“Not a problem. And I mean it, if you ever feel like joining us on a case then just come and find us.”
“That's... that's actually nice of you, thank you.” He nodded with a smile, then clambered back into the taxi (which looked difficult with how long and thin his limbs were). She stood on the pavement for a few moments, waiting for the taxi to start moving again and waving at the three agents left in the cab as they drove off down the road. 
As soon as she was inside her shared house, door firmly shut and locked and kettle boiling on the stove, she pulled up the chair at her desk and switched on her computer, typing in her password and logging in. Ten minutes later she had a mug of tea brewing on her desk while she furiously tapped at the keyboard for any information on Lockwood and Co, and was pleasantly surprised by what she found. There wasn't much, since she couldn't access a lot of the full reports of cases, but there was a decent number of newspaper articles that had been uploaded for her to read. One detailed the £60,000 fine that the company had been given for setting fire to a certain Mrs Hope's home a few years prior, and from the blurry black and white photo the blaze looked like it hadn't left much behind. 
Further research provided an address for their agency at 35 Portland Row, not far away from where she currently lived. One or two articles were about the parade incident from the Black Winter and Lockwood and Co's success in protecting the people present, but other than that there wasn't much more. 
She sat back in her chair, sipping the last of her tea. Bedtime for now, but when she finally woke up she'd head to the nearest corner store and pick up some food. The fridge had been nearly empty when she'd looked earlier, and she knew that Portland Row was on the way back. 
She wanted to say thank you again (and totally not spy on their house), and everybody loved a doughnut.
~~~
Y/n had knocked on the door roughly two minutes ago, and nobody had answered. 
She knew that they were all at home, because she could hear them arguing about who was going to answer the door, but nobody had done it yet. 
Knocking once more while balancing the box of doughnuts in her other hand she sighed, waited another thirty seconds, and just as she turned to leave she heard the locks click behind her. The door swung open to reveal Anthony Lockwood, once more dressed in a suit (a lot cleaner than the one he'd been wearing in the early hours of that morning), and a wide smile on his face. 
“It's you! Miss L/n, was it?”
“Uh, yeah. Just Y/n is fine though. Um, I just wanted to say thanks again for the lift last night, and for being nice and shit when you didn't have to be, and I bought some doughnuts if you guys wanted them.” She tried to surreptitiously peer around him to take a look at his front hall, but the interior was quite dark and cluttered and it was difficult to pretend to not be inspecting somebody's home when they were stood in front of you. 
“Oh, you really didn't have to, Y/n.” He took the box out of her hands anyway. “Did you want to come in?”
“No, thank you. I should get back. I've got a lot of paperwork to get through and I think one of my housemates is cleaning today and wanted everyone's help, so…” she trailed off, rocking slightly on her heels while Anthony Lockwood watched her. 
“Right, well, thanks for stopping by! And for the doughnuts, that was very generous of you.”
She shrugged. “I've had taxi rides with people I was actually working with and they were complete arseholes to me, so I really appreciated you not being like that when you didn't even know me.”
“Anytime.” He paused for a moment, then frowned at her. “How did you find us? I know I said that you could always drop by but I don't remember actually telling you where we live. There's not a problem with it, by the way, just curious.”
“Oh, I looked it up. Figured you meant to tell me and never got round to it. Besides, I needed to go shopping anyway and I live nearby, so it wasn't too difficult for me.”
“Ah, that makes sense. Well it was lovely seeing you again, Y/n. I look forward to our next meeting.” His smile was infectious, and she still had a grin on her face at the thought of him when she went to bed that night.
~~~
For the next few months, both Y/n and Lockwood and Co were busy with their own cases, but regularly passed each other in the street. Anthony Lockwood had taken to sending her a wink or flirty quite early on, and because Y/n believed it impossible that someone like him was single and therefore able to chase after someone like her, she ignored him. Every now and then she would indulge him, of course, flirting back to see how he would react (he was always pleasantly surprised and kept their little game going for as long as he could before he was needed), but for the most part she would walk right past him. 
It wasn't entirely her fault, since many of the times they bumped into each other she was on a time schedule, and didn't have the extra minute or so to flirt with the pretty boy. 
The last time had been different, though.
~~~
“Hello again, darling,” a voice said from her left, and Y/n smiled when she recognised it right away as Lockwood's. They knew each other better now, from the few times that they had been able to talk for longer and ask how the other was doing, and when he had found out that she was calling him Anthony Lockwood in her head he gave her a look of barely contained amusement and told her she could pick one. 
Anthony had felt too personal, since everyone else that spoke to him seemed to call him Lockwood, and she didn't think they knew each other that well for her to use his first name. 
“Come here often?” he asked, appearing in her field of view and leaning on the table she was sat at in the small night café. 
“Only when I know that you're going to be here,” Y/n responded, and delighted in the faint pink tinge that came onto his cheeks. 
“May I?” He gestured to the chair opposite her, and she nodded. 
“Not with your friends tonight?”
“No, they're probably at home already, lucky bastards. My case ran on a bit longer than I expected, and I couldn't wait for a cup of tea. Plus, when I saw you in here I couldn't not come and see you.”
They sat there for a while, making their way through two cups of tea each before deciding to leave, and Lockwood offered to take the taxi home with her.
When they were nearly back to Y/n's house, he spoke up. 
“I'll pay, if you like. I'll be paying for this stretch of the journey anyway so it doesn't make much of a difference to me.”
“Oh, Lockwood, I can pay you for my part at least, it's not a big deal to me.”
“Nonsense.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, just as they drove around the corner onto her street. “Or… you could come back to Portland Row with me?” Their flirting had never gone as far as properly inviting the other back to their place (although there had always been the comments of 'why don't we finish this somewhere else?' or 'wanna come home with me and prove it?'), and it took Y/n a moment to realise that he was being serious. 
“I mean... if you're sure? I don't want to impose or anything.”
“No, you won't be imposing, darling. George and Lucy will be asleep, I'm sure. I think there's half a bottle of wine that needs finishing off if you wanted to share? No pressure though.”
“That sounds great, actually.”
“So are you two both going to Portland Row then?” the driver called, and Lockwood nodded. 
“Yes please.” He turned back to Y/n, worry starting to creep into his expression. “You did agree, right?”
“Yes, Lockwood, I did. I think I need something that's not tea to be honest.”
“You can stay the night, too. If you need to. I'll sleep on the sofa and you can have my bed.”
“I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, Lockwood. How big is it?”
“Darling, I'm scandalised that you would ask me that question. You know that size doesn't mat-” He was cut off by Y/n smacking him in the chest, and he chuckled when she glared at him. 
“The bed, Lockwood, how big is the bed? If I wanted to know the size of your dick I'd ask you to strip.” She ignored the weird look that the driver cast them in his rear view mirror and focused on Lockwood's answer instead. 
“Steady, darling. We're not back yet.” He yelped when she whacked him again, and caught her wrists and held them so that she couldn't attack him anymore. “It's a double.”
“Well then we can both fit, can't we?”
“Asking me to strip, getting me into bed with you? If I didn't know any better, darling, I'd say that you were trying to seduce me,” he smirked, leaning in close. 
“Oh, Lockwood. I think we both know I did that a long time ago, don't we.” They were dangerously close to kissing, their lips only a couple of centimetres away from each other while their noses brushed with every jolt in the road, and then the taxi was slowing and pulling up to the curb outside 35 Portland Row. 
“Alright you two, out. And use protection please, you're too young to be havin' kids.” Y/n flushed and opened the door, moving around to the boot to take out her kit bag and rapier, and when Lockwood followed a moment later after paying the driver his face was red too.
~~~
“Here,” Lockwood said, handing over a tea mug filled with wine. 
“Thanks. You're sure the others won't mind us drinking this?”
“They've had plenty of time to drink it, and I own the house and therefore the kitchen and the contents of the fridge are mine too, so I say it's fair game.” His smile was slightly blinding, but Y/n had learned to see past the glare and look at his eyes instead, finding the pure joy behind the façade he put up for the world to see. 
They didn't know each other that well, when everything was considered, but Y/n did call him her friend when describing their relationship, and she did feel that if asked, Lockwood would say the same. 
Around thirty minutes later Y/n was nearly doubled over with laughter at some stupid thing that Lockwood had said (the wine had gone straight to her head and she had no recollection of what exactly he had said), clutching her sides as they sat in the cluttered library with the bottle of wine between them. 
“You, Anthony Lockwood, are ridiculous!”
“I am! In fact, have I shown you my hat collection?”
“Is that some sort of weird euphemism? Or are you genuinely more deranged than I thought you were?”
“Not a euphemism, love,” he grinned, and Y/n in her wine-addled state thought about how he was starting to look like the deranged young man she'd just accused him of being. 
“So... you actually have a hat collection? Why?” Lockwood shrugged. 
“It's good for disguises when I need to do a little bit of extra research for a case. I can do accents too!”
“No offence, Lockwood, but I've heard some of your accents, and I'm very surprised that you haven't been hunted down and killed yet.”
“Believe me, people have tried!” Somehow he didn't look concerned about that, still smiling just as widely as before, and Y/n thought he looked rather nice like that.
~~~
When she woke up in the morning, Y/n realised she had never taken the painkillers Lockwood had left on the bedside table for her to use. 
“Shit,” she whispered, grabbing the packet and the glass of water and swallowing the pills the best she could in an attempt to stave off the headache that had formed. After finishing off the wine, Lockwood had managed to find some more alcohol hidden away in a cupboard in the library ("It's my personal stash, so don't worry about feeling guilty about drinking this") and they had stayed up until it was nearly sunrise talking about everything and nothing. She was regretting not drinking the water before sleeping, and when she flopped back onto the bed and under the covers she realised that there was someone else in the bed with her. 
Lockwood looked peaceful asleep.
While she didn't mind waking up next to him in the morning (the view was actually rather nice), not being able to remember what had happened the night before was a little disturbing, especially since she was in her underwear and, as far as she could tell, Lockwood wasn't wearing any clothes. 
The bedsheets had been partially kicked off in the night, most likely because the heating was apparently on full from the very warm temperature of the room, and the duvet had bunched up around Lockwood's waist. She didn't want to wake him by trying to find out if anything had happened last night, since he probably never slept with the sheer size of the shadows under his eyes, so instead she carefully got out of bed and picked up her clothes.
Finding all of her things was difficult, since they'd been flung all around the room in what she hoped was drunkenness and not desperation, but after nearly ten minutes she was dressed and reaching for the door handle. She didn't make it that far though, because before she could leave the sounds of somebody waking up started coming from the bed, and Lockwood was asking her where she was going. 
“Oh, I just... I just figured you wouldn't want me to stick around-”
“Why would you think that?” He was rubbing his eyes and sitting up, and she had to force her gaze away from where the sheets were dangerously close to revealing whether or not they had slept together. 
“I don't know.” There was silence for a minute or so while Lockwood tried to wake up enough to work out what was going on, and Y/n stood by the door feeling very awkward. “Did we... did anything happen? Last night?”
“Don't think so. I feel like I would remember that, darling,” he winked, and she felt her face heat up. 
“Oh, right. Yeah.”
“You don't seem convinced.”
“No, I am,” she said, very unconvincingly. There was another silence while she hesitated. “Are you naked?” she blurted out, immediately covering her face with her hands to block out Lockwood's shocked reaction. His laughter didn't help, only serving to make her feel more embarrassed than she already was, and she stayed safely behind her hands while she waited for it all to be over. 
“No, darling, I'm not naked. But if you wanted me to be then I'm sure we could figure something out.” She could hear the amusement in his voice and groaned in frustration, knowing that he wouldn't ever let her live this moment down. 
“I'm good, thanks.” She didn't really mean it, but it was nice to have a friend like Lockwood, and she figured that having sex with him probably wouldn't help to keep that friendship at all. 
“Alright. Well if you don't want to see me in my pants then keep your hands there, I'm getting out of bed.” For the most part she obeyed, but she would be lying if she said that she didn't peek through her fingers briefly while he was getting dressed.
~~~
Luckily the other members of Lockwood and Co were not at home when Y/n left that morning, having said no to Lockwood's offer of breakfast (she would pick up something from Arif's, even if it was out of her way a little), and within half an hour she was back in her own house with a very large cup of tea and a plate of food in her favourite armchair in the living room. 
When one of her housemates asked her where she had been all night, a suggestive tone to her question, Y/n simply shrugged, and replied “What's it to you?”
~~~
One week later she was running for her life. 
It wasn't that this sort of thing didn't happen often, since her job required a lot of running a lot of the time, but normally she wasn't this exhausted from it. She wasn't even working on a case, either. Y/n had just been walking home from her actual case for that night when she'd accidentally taken a wrong turn in her fatigued state and had come face to face with a bunch of Type Twos. 
At least she had her rapier and a few flares and salt bombs left, and her boots were solid enough that despite how much running she had already done that night, she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet when normally her soles would be protesting in pain. 
“Fuck's sake,” she grumbled, heading for the nearest iron fence she could find. Unfortunately she still had to cross a road that was surprisingly busy at this time of night (or morning? she wasn't sure where the line between the two was drawn) and then vault over the fence into the park, which was probably also infested with Visitors. Going against every action movie she had ever seen she looked back (which was precisely what she shouted at the characters for), then immediately stumbled since she couldn't see where she was going. Her brief pause in her flight allowed the Visitors to catch up a little, and within a few seconds she was seeing her life flash before her eyes and throwing up her rapier in a last ditch attempt to not die. 
Then something else was flashing before her eyes, and the ghosts were being driven off. 
Y/n realised with a start that the flash had been Lockwood and his stupid grin, dressed in his stupid long coat that was stupidly attractive on him, waving his rapier around in stupidly perfect motions. 
“Did you miss me, darling?” She didn't even have time to respond, already ducking to not be hit by the bicycle a Poltergeist had sent flying their way, and Lockwood pushed her to the ground to dodge the railing that followed. They landed with a thump, and Y/n winced when her back hit the concrete of the pavement and then again a very brief moment later when Lockwood landed on her. 
“I did, Lockwood. I really did miss you.” She hoped that he could see how sincere she was, and he looked as though he was about to say something. Unfortunately he was cut off when a badly-aimed salt bomb exploded right above their heads, and a small “Sorry!” was called out from somewhere nearby. 
“Not to worry, George!” Lockwood yelled back as he got off the floor. He offered out a hand and Y/n let him pull her up, holding her breath when he pulled with more force than was needed and she fell into his chest. “Woah,” he said, voice quiet. “You alright?” His free hand had come up to steady her by the arm, and now he was gently stroking up and down. She wondered if he knew he was doing it. 
“Yeah. Can we maybe run away from the death bikes?”
“I think that would be a good idea. You going home?” Y/n shook her head. 
“One of my housemates has their partner over, and I'd really rather not be there. I was gonna put up with it but if you're offering your bed again I won't say no,” she teased. Lockwood's face went pink, but not from the cold or the running. 
“I'm always offering my bed, darling, you should know that by now.” His smile was as blinding as the flash he had appeared in, and then he was tugging her hand and leading her away from the ghosts (which wouldn't be able to follow after a while, since she'd already run quite far from their Sources), and instead heading for 35 Portland Row. 
When they made it inside (Lucy was already in bed, but Lockwood and George had been coming back from a case like Y/n), George bade the two of them goodnight, then tiredly climbed the stairs, leaving Lockwood and Y/n in the front hall. It was dimly lit, only the lamp on the hall cupboard providing any reprise from the darkness, and the yellow glow of it made Lockwood look ethereal. 
He had dust and dirt all over him, staining his usually perfect white shirt and tie, and his hair was a mess from the slight wind outside, but he still wore his confidence and his charm like a second skin, and he had never looked more like Anthony Lockwood in all the time Y/n had known him. 
“What were you even doing out there?” he asked. 
“I was coming back from a job, took a wrong turn somewhere, and came face to face with those fuckers. I'm just really glad that you were there in time because I probably would've ended up in hospital otherwise. Or a furnace.”
“I'm glad I was there too,” Lockwood said, stepping forward. He made to move his hand, as though he might reach out and touch hers, but then his fist was clenching at his side again, fingers flexing every few seconds. “I thought you would be alright, really. Then I saw you trip - why the hell did you look back? You always get annoyed when they do that in movies. I was scared, Y/n, that you might not get back up again.” She could tell that he meant it too, from the way he was looking at her. It was almost too much, his gaze, since it was heavy with so much emotion that they hadn't even properly addressed between them, and that was probably why he kissed her. 
She both had and hadn't been expecting it. 
It made sense when she thought about it, because beneath all the teasing and flirting there was attraction and a real desire, and she had always figured that being with someone was easier if you knew and trusted them. But she had never thought that either of them would act on it, since both of them seemed happy to let the friendship cover up the truth because at least that meant they weren't without the other. Bringing the truth to light could ruin that, and then they might not see each other at all. 
Now, though, she wondered why they hadn't kissed before. 
It had been brief, a few seconds at most, but it was enough to make her realise that they had been incredibly stupid in not doing it earlier. She had had such a long night - they both had - and when he pressed his lips to hers for the second time she knew that despite the fatigue and near death experiences involving bicycles, they would be alright. Her hands had moved without her fully knowing, and when they pulled away after the second kiss she realised that they were in his hair and clutching his coat that he hadn't taken off yet. His were nestled around her waist, holding her close to him while he searched her eyes for any sign to stop. 
The third kiss was the longest yet, and it took them a long time to move from the front hall to his bedroom.
~~~
Y/n had always been a fan of anything that shone, and had been called a magpie by nearly everyone that knew her. 
It didn't matter if it was expensive or not, if it was shiny, then she would have it. Growing up she hadn't been used to expense, and finding trinkets on the street was her speciality, but every now and then someone would buy her something a little less on the cheap side, and she would be overjoyed. 
Then of course there were the things she bought herself. 
The Fittes Ball that she was on her way to had invited agents of all kinds (a rarity for solo agents who usually went forgotten), and her outfit was one of the most expensive things that she had bought yet (other than her shared house). It was worth it, though, for the look on Lockwood's face when he first saw her. 
“You look incredible, Y/n/n!” Lucy gushed, immediately wrapping her new friend in a hug. George and Holly agreed, and while their fussing was nice it was Lockwood's opinion she really wanted. They hadn't spoken after the night they spent together two weeks ago, and now he had an unreadable expression on his face while he looked at her. It was ridiculous, really, how nervous she was to know what he was thinking, since she had never usually cared about what any man thought of her. 
“Thank you, I love your dress, Luce! And George, are you actually in a suit? No, no, no, you look very nice! Holly, you look incredible as always,” she said, returning the compliments her friends had given her. Her gaze kept darting back to Lockwood though, and after the others had moved away to talk to someone else, he cleared his throat. 
“Y/n.”
“Lockwood.” He took a step towards her. 
“You know I told you you could call me Anthony.” He had, not long after he'd taken her to his bed. 
“Oh, right. I didn't know if that was just... for then.” She was struggling to look at him now, so she missed the way his expression softened. 
“It's for whenever, darling.”
“Okay,” she said, and the small smile he gave her made her heart beat a little faster in her chest. 
“You look stunning, darling. Truly.”
“So do you, Anthony,” she replied, and this time she took a step forward to close the distance. A frown came onto her face, and when he asked her why she paused for a moment before answering. “What are we? Because we haven't spoken since... since that night, and now we're acting like we did before and I'm just quite confused.”
Instead of responding with words, he dug into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper, handing it to her a second later. She tried not to focus too much on his hands (the memories of two weeks ago were coming back to the front of her mind now) and took it with confusion, starting to unfold it. 
“Oh, I'll be back in a minute, George is calling me over.” He flashed her one of his winning smiles and was off, moving in what she assumed was the direction of George. She finally unfolded the paper and was surprised to see that it was mostly blank, just one question and two little points below it. A pen had been folded into it, and she bit back a smile when she'd read the words. 
Would you go on a date with me? Please circle one answer
yes
no
He was ridiculous, she had decided, but then again she couldn't deny how ridiculously cute it was that he'd written out this mini questionnaire and put it in his pocket, despite not knowing whether she would actually be here or not to take it from him. Why he'd left immediately she didn't know, but maybe he was just too nervous to find out her reaction right away. She clicked the pen and circled 'yes' the best she could with no hard surface to lean on, and winced when the paper punctured. He knew where to find her, but she wrote her address anyway and the house phone number, and refolded the paper. Looking around she couldn't immediately see him, but then she caught a flash of a smile that could only have belonged to one Mr Anthony Lockwood, and she made for where he stood. He blushed slightly when he caught sight of her, then his cheeks burned brighter when she tucked the piece of paper and the pen in the pocket just inside his jacket (standing much closer to him than she needed to), and walked away without a word.
~~~
Two hours later they had snuck into the Fittes building's public library, giggling about something stupid one of the stuck-up snobs who was far too old to still be alive had said while they sipped the fancy champagne that was being served. 
“Do you think they get many kids in here? Like, actual kids who would need entertaining?” she asked, making Anthony look round from where he'd been perusing the shelves. 
“I doubt it. Why?”
“They've got origami. Look,” she pointed, putting her champagne flute down on a sideboard and picking up a sheet. “I used to be able to make loads of things, but I reckon if I tried making a rabbit or something now it'd look like someone folded a bit of paper a bunch of times and then sat on it.”
“I used to make those snowflakes where you fold it into quarters and cut bits out. Got quite good in the end; I could make chains of them eventually.”
“Of course you're good at making paper snowflakes,” she muttered, no hint of malice behind it. “You're good at everything, I swear.”
“Oh, that's not true.”
“Really? Name one thing that you can't do.” He paused, and she could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “See? You can't do it!”
“Well, I don't think that was very fair, actually, because you didn't give me long enough to actually think about it!” She moved to sit down, picking out various colours of paper squares before settling on one she liked. Anthony sat down next to her, his thigh close enough to hers that she could feel his body heat through his suit. He chose his own square of paper, immediately starting to fold it in different ways. 
“What are you gonna make?” she asked him, not looking up from where she was attempting to make an origami butterfly. 
“That's a secret.”
“Alright then,” she snorted, “be mysterious. Is that because you're bad at origami and you're trying to hide it by making me guess?”
“Sure, that's what's happening.”
They sat in comfortable silence while they worked, and when Y/n crossed her legs she made contact with Anthony's knee and drew in a breath. She refocused and looked at the paper in her hands, frowning when she realised that she had no idea how to make a butterfly out of it anymore, and sat back with a huff. 
“You alright?”
“Yeah, just bored, I suppose. What are you making?” He had folded his piece of paper into a thin strip, and now he was pulling the ends together, somehow making them link. 
“May I?” he asked, gesturing to her right hand. She didn't answer for a moment, too busy watching the way his fingers moved. “Y/n?”
“Oh, right.” She let him take her left hand in his, holding her breath for the millionth time around him both at the tenderness of it all and at the way his hands were so cold compared to her warm ones. He lifted the origami up and slid it onto her fourth finger, tightening it by pushing the ends together further. 
“You can take it off, if you want.”
She wasn't sure she was breathing. “Are you proposing?”
“What? No, if I was proposing you'd know about it, darling. I just… I don’t know.” He looked nervous, and although he hadn’t let go of her hand, she could see that he was fidgeting. 
“I love it, Anthony. Thank you.” He smiled then, small and as under as the way he was holding her hand, and she couldn’t help but ask what she’d been wondering for the last two hours. 
“Did you read my response?” Somehow he softened even more, and his grip tightened ever so slightly before he nodded. 
“Yes, I did.” Had he moved closer? She thought the distance between them was no longer as frustratingly large as it had been, but he was still too far away. 
“Well?”
“Are you free on Saturday? There’s a great place for lunch I’ve been dying to show you for a while now.” He was definitely closer, and she could make out the small scar on his lip in perfect detail. 
“Midday work for you?”
“Absolutely.” He was still holding her hand when he kissed her gently, like he thought she might leave at any moment, and when he pulled back after a couple of seconds she dragged him right back to her lips, shifting somehow even closer to him on the seat. The gift he had made that now sat on her finger felt as heavy as a gold one, filled with the promise of what could be and happy endings, and she found herself thinking that if the two of them did ever marry, she would be happy to do so with a paper ring. 
They were sat there kissing for a while, not stopping until someone shouted outside the door in drunken laughter, making Anthony and Y/n jump back in surprise. Then they were laughing too, like they were teenagers sneaking off (which, she supposed, they almost were, if you ignored the fact they were legally adults now), and he pressed one last quick kiss to her mouth before he stood up. “We should head out. I’m sure the others will be wondering where we are.” Y/n stood up too, still holding his hand, and moved to straighten his tie. She had pulled on it when they were kissing, and now it was all crooked around his neck. 
“I think they probably know that we’re together, though. I doubt that they’re too worried about us.” She finished fiddling with his tie and draped her arms around his neck, and flushed when he wrapped his own arms around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. They stayed that way for a while, just trading small kisses and swaying gently back and forth. 
“I’m glad,” Anthony said suddenly, breaking the silence. “That we… you know.”
“Nearly died and then slept together?”
“That’s one way of putting it. I just - I’m glad.”
“I’m glad too, Anthony.” Normally accidents like having sex with her friends was something she hated, but given it was Anthony Lockwood that it had happened with, she was happy to make an exception. 
~~~
That night, while Anthony finally managed to sleep next to her, Y/n stayed awake. The glow of the ghost lamp outside had woken her a few minutes ago while she had been surfacing, and now she couldn’t get back to sleep. Her dress hung on the back of his desk chair, and various parts of his suit were slung around the room in piles from where they had thrown them earlier in their haste to be as close as possible to each other. 
The ring now sat on Anthony’s bedside table, and although it wasn’t light enough in the room for her to make out its shape, she still knew exactly where it was. Before the two of them got too caught up in each other she had slipped it off, saying that she didn’t want it damaged (as it likely would have been), and when she placed it to the side her eyes had caught on the photo in the frame. 
“Is that us?” she had asked, grabbing the frame with both hands. 
“Oh… yes. Sorry, it was just a really nice photo and we don’t get to see each other that much, and-”
“Anthony,” she interrupted, warmth flooding her face at her next words. “I’ve got cut-outs from papers that wrote about you framed, so this is perfectly okay.”
She flushed again just thinking about it, and how softly he had smiled at her, and then how softly he had kissed her afterwards. She had been dreaming about him, about both of them, and what would have happened if they had stayed in the library at Fittes for a little longer (a lot of hushed moans and whispered words, and his hair completely dishevelled). 
He was the one that she wanted, she was sure of it. There had been others, but none of them had featured in her thoughts about the future like Anthony Lockwood did. 
~~~
Months later, when the seasons had gone from wonderfully warm and sunny (or as sunny as England could get) to cold and biting air, Anthony and Y/n were on a case together. 
She had officially become a member of the agency not too long after they started dating, and while Lucy and George had originally been worried about the logistics of living space, they quickly realised that their new hire would be sharing a bed with their boss. Y/n had settled in quickly, getting used to how her friends lived within a few weeks, and the company had settled into a nice rhythm. 
“A hotel? That’s a pretty big location, shouldn’t we have Lucy and George with us?” she asked as the taxi pulled up to their destination. 
“It seems to be contained to one area, from reports, and since they had a couple of actual children give statements I’m going to trust them. Just the outdoor space around the back, apparently someone - a worker, it says here - died while manning a barbecue near the large pool.”
“How do you die manning a barbecue?”
“He fell face-first into the coals, this says,” Anthony replied, waving the paper report around. They clambered out the taxi, thanking and paying the driver, and once the kit had been collected out the boot and the driver was heading back down the road, they were alone. 
“Well that’s an awful way to go. Type One? Or manifesting as something stronger?”
“Everything points to Type Two, but that’s nothing we can’t handle.”
~~~
He was right, as he so often was, but unfortunately the way in which they handled the Type Two ghost of the Barbecue Man meant they ended up jumping in a pool. 
The Source had apparently been one of the tiles on the ledge, where the Barbecue Man had tripped after falling face first into the coals and cracked his skull open on the edge of the pool. A delightful scene, Y/n was sure, but they hadn’t figured out what the Source was until much later. While she had been scouring the barbecue for any sign of a trigger for the Visitor, Anthony had been drawing it closer to the pool. He seemed to be having a wonderful time taunting the poor dead man, and she couldn’t help but curse him out a little under her breath. “There’s nothing here!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes, Anthony, I’m pretty sure!” She was just about to tell him off for questioning her when he stepped back on his right foot and made the Visitor shriek an ungodly noise. “Wait! Draw it away from where you currently are!” She wasn’t sure if he’d actually been paying attention to her words since he didn’t give any indication that he had heard her, but a moment later he started moving away, the ghost following him, and she was able to dive for the tile. The second her hands came into contact with it she felt the pain and torment that Barbecue Man had been in in the brief minutes before his death, and at the same time that she managed to dislodge the tile (it had been knocked lose, most likely from his head after he hit it) and wrap it in a silver net, Anthony jumped in the pool. When he surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead and coat and suit completely soaked, he shouted at her to jump in too, leaving the Source on dry land. She just stared at him, but then a rush of cold air hit her and she didn’t think twice. Anthony was waving his arms around, making the water move about enough to fend off the second ghost that had appeared. 
Unfortunately that meant that when Y/n attempted to come up for air, she got a face-full of water. 
“Anthony!”
“Whoops. Sorry, darling. Here,” he said, offering out his hand. She took it gladly, still spluttering slightly, and they hauled themselves to the opposite side of the swimming pool. The water was freezing, but it was better than being ghost-touched, and besides, Anthony hadn’t let go of her hand yet. 
~~~
Her hands were turning a little blue from the temperature of the pool. 
It reminded her of when they had been redecorating one of the rooms in Portland Row about two months ago. George had complained that the room was lacking something, and all inhabitants (and Kipps, although Anthony didn’t pay him much attention) agreed that they needed to update it. They had painted it blue, not too dissimilar to the colour of Y/n’s fingers in the present day, and while it had been a wonderful day it had also been the day of her and Anthony’s first fight. 
She couldn’t even remember what it had been about now, something stupid and fuelled by external factors such as job stress and fatigue, but Y/n had slept in Lucy’s bed that night. 
It had been a while before either girl went to sleep, instead spending the hours attempting to stop Y/n’s crying and watching the old tapes of movies and television shows from before the Problem that Lucy had stashed away on her bookcase. When the morning had come, Lucy had offered to go downstairs and sort out breakfast for them both, so that Y/n wouldn’t have to run into Lockwood, but Y/n had shaken her head, saying that the two of them needed to figure something out. 
The moment she had set foot in the kitchen, seeing the back of Anthony’s white dress shirt while he stood at the counter making teas (he had made one for her too, in her favourite mug), she had started tearing up again. He’d heard her sniffling and whipped his head around to see her hovering just inside the doorway, and immediately he had crumbled and rushed over to her, wrapping her in his arms and mumbling “I’m sorry” into her hair. 
Now, back from their case with Barbecue Man, they were sat in the library, Anthony pushing a cup of freshly made tea into her hands in an attempt to get them back to their normal colour. “Feeling any better?” he asked, sitting down in the chair next to hers and picking up his magazine. 
“Yeah, a bit. I can actually feel things again now, so that’s good.”
“Good. Well, I’ll keep you under surveillance for a while, just until I know you’re better.” She snorted, lifting the mug to her mouth. 
“Thanks, Doc. Much appreciated.” His responding smile was enough to warm her up entirely. 
~~~
A few hours later she woke up feeling disorientated, most likely because she never remembered falling asleep in the first place. Anthony was still in his chair on her left, but he had fallen asleep too, magazine splayed across his chest. Y/n stretched, yawned, and checked her watch, then started at the time. It was nearly half six in the morning, and they had come back from their case at around midnight. She wasn’t sure how long Anthony had stayed awake watching over her, but she knew that the moment he did finally regain consciousness she would be sending him straight up to bed for another few hours of sleep. 
She heard somebody moving around in the kitchen and went to investigate, finding George in an oversized t-shirt and no trousers putting the kettle on to boil. “Morning,” she said, shuffling further into the room and stuffing some bread into the toaster. 
“Ah, morning. Lockwood still asleep?”
“Yep. He’s in the library. Did you need him for something?”
“Oh, not really. I woke up at about four and was shockingly hungry, and when I came down he was sat reading his magazine. I was just wondering how long it would be before he was up again.” It made sense for her boyfriend to have stayed awake until he literally passed out from exhaustion, given how little Anthony normally slept anyway, and she frowned when she heard the stairs creak. A few moments later Anthony Lockwood himself appeared in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and smiling like there wasn’t a thing wrong with him only getting about two and a half hours of sleep. “I need the toilet,” George suddenly said. “If you could move out the doorway, Lockwood, that would be great. Thanks. The kettle should be boiled soon, if you two wouldn’t mind?”
“Not at all, George,” Anthony replied, already taking mugs out of the cupboard. “Who’s toast is this? I think it’s burning.”
“Oh, shit, that’s mine! Fuck that’s hot!”
“Not hotter than me though, right?”
“Shut up, Anthony. My fingers are burning.” He reached over and took her hand in his, not caring for the piece of blackened toast that sat on her plate on the counter, and pressed a gentle kiss to each fingertip. She had flashbacks to the last time her hands had been near his mouth in a far less family-friendly setting, and tried to stop her knees from giving out. 
“Better?”
“Um… I guess. Yeah.” If anything she was worse, since now her whole body was on fire at how sweet that one gesture was. He hadn’t even thought about it, since there was less than a second between her saying her hand hurt and him kissing the first fingertip, and that had her knees weakening all over again. She took a step towards him, threading her burning fingers with his and placing the other one on his chest to grab at his collar and pull him in for a kiss. He’d had a long night, she was sure of it, and the more-prominent-than-usual bags under his eyes were giving her a solid argument. The kiss was short and sweet, and when she pulled back he followed her for a moment before realising that it was over. He pouted, his eyes practically begging for her to kiss him again, and she let out a small laugh before obliging. That kiss was sweet too, but lasted a little longer, and the third one would have gone on for longer still had George not come back from the toilet and pretended to gag. 
~~~
“Anthony?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you ever think about just… leaving for a bit? Not completely, I don’t think I could stay away from London forever, but just running off on holiday for a while. Getting a break from the ghost hunting and constant threat of death.”
“That’s… really? You want to ask that now? Darling, my mind is not in the right place for an actual conversation right now.” His hand trailed over her bare side and his eyes were looking at everything but her face, proving that he really wasn’t in the right mental place for a conversation like this, but she tried again anyway. 
“Okay, but do you?” He sighed, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to meet hers. 
“I suppose I’ve never really thought about it before.” He paused, shifting his weight to get comfortable. His legs knocked against hers and his hand hadn’t stopped tracing the skin of her body, and he had never taken off the ring he always wore. It had been a pleasant chill against her earlier when she thought she was going to combust from his touch. “I think because of the company I wouldn’t take a break. And I’d have a lot of guilt about leaving when there are people who might be in danger and I could have helped them.”
“But if you could drive away, would you? None of the guilt, or people getting hurt. Just… going off on your own for a bit.”
“I don’t know about alone. I think I would want you with me, darling.” He punctuated his statement by lowering his voice and pulling her closer by her hips, flush against his body, and although she was tired she couldn’t help but feel warm again. 
“I’d be happy to drive away with you, Ant. Anywhere you go, I’m going too.”
“You mean it?” he breathed, eyes looking almost golden in the glow of his bedside lamp. He looked desperate for her answer, like he needed to know that she would truly always be with him because he couldn’t stand being left alone again. 
“Of course I mean it, Ant. I want it all with you; everything. The complications and fights and of course all the good things too. The horrible Mondays where we get clients who don’t realise that what we do is a full-time job and we don’t really get weekends, the times we do get days off, and we can just be… together.” She ran her fingertips over his arms, marvelling at the hidden muscles she felt. Given how skinny and beanpole-like he appeared, the first time she had realised how toned he was she had been pleasantly surprised. It made sense, she supposed, since he was incredibly proficient with a rapier and had been from a young age, and being that good meant he had to at least be somewhat physically fit and capable (he was very physically capable in other ways, too, something else she had learned early on). She didn’t think she would ever get over how much she loved his arms, or his hands, or how they looked when he rolled his dress shirt sleeves up and folded his arms against his chest, and from the look he was giving her right now he apparently knew that she felt that way. 
“You alright, darling?” Good lord, had his voice gone even lower? His eyes had gone from being a honey-golden to a dark syrupy brown, and if what she could feel against her lower half was any indication she could tell that his mind was back to being somewhere other than their conversation. She sounded out of breath when she spoke. 
“I’m alright. Do me a favour?”
“Anything.”
“Wrap me in your arms?”
“Absolutely.”
She definitely shouldn’t have this much of an obsession with his arms, but the moment his arms tightened around her torso and her thigh, bringing her on top of him fully while he sat up with her in his lap and kissed her deeply, she couldn’t find it in her to care. 
~~~
On their one-year anniversary, Y/n woke up early. 
She didn’t want to, but the moon was shining brightly through the bedroom window, and there was a gap in the curtains that let the light through. It was landing on the books that had been stacked up on the bedside table, titles just about visible and all of them ones that she had read before. The moonlight was also resting on Anthony’s face while he slept, and he looked like he had in the taxi on that night when they had first met, ethereal and effortlessly gorgeous (but not quite so tired and weighed down by responsibility), and she found herself falling in love with him all over again. 
It was probably all forms of creepy to just lie and watch him breathe while she tried to go back to sleep, but there was something oddly soothing about it: the rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful expression on his face. It was rare she got to see him so relaxed, the only other times were when he had a day off and was sat in the library with a cup of tea, Y/n sat nearby, or when they had spent time exploring each others’ bodies, hands roaming over skin and through hair while they made love. 
The paper ring that he had made her just over a year ago, not long before they started officially dating, was sat on the bedside table next to the stack of books. He’d made her new ones at random points throughout their time together, but the original one that he’d folded from that piece of paper in the Fittes public library had remained in pride of place in her jewellery dish in their now shared bedroom at 35 Portland Row. 
Looking at it now she was absolutely certain that he was the one that she wanted, taking him in marriage with a paper ring, putting their pictures in frames to decorate their home, and he was the one she wanted in all of her daydreams. 
Anthony Lockwood was her future, and her future was looking wonderfully bright. 
Tumblr media
lockwood tag list: @anathemaloren, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss (hopefully you get this notification, ik it's been weird recently), @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining (hopefully this works for you too my lovely), @karensirkobabes, @locknco, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @no-morning-glories, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @zoom1374, @light-23, @ahead-fullofdreams
and then I'm tagging @neewtmas, @oblivious-idiot, @bobbys-not-that-small, @maraschinomerry, @uku-lelevillain, and @lewkwoodnco because I've been promising you this for a while and you just didn't know it :D
if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here! I am aware that it has been a while, but from now on I will be checking this post every time I write a new fic to see who is there, so head on over to give a comment or a like and I'll pop you on for next time! <3
245 notes · View notes
kestisvrse · 3 months
Text
stealing kisses
inspiration credit ❤️
pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff.
synopsis ⋆ christmas at lockwood and co. gives anthony the perfect opportunity to make a move.
warnings ⋆ implied shorter reader, idk how to write kissing, very fast paced sorry, swearing. | wc: 0.5k
tags ⋆ @mitskiswift99 @novelizt @karensirkobabes @initialchains @eedwardss
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
♫ - bet u wanna by sabrina carpenter
the holidays somehow made 35 portland row even cozier than usual.
the living room decked out with christmas decorations, a few more scattered around the house.
it was a quiet night, you were reading in bed as snow fell, coating the streets in it, the perfect winter wonderland.
your peace was interrupted by a knock at your door, opening to reveal anthony lockwood, both arms raised above him, one leaning against the door frame, as the other held something above the both of you.
mistletoe.
“now, what’s going on here?” you joked, grinning up at him
“just came to say hi, no idea how that got here.” he nonchalantly adds, inching slightly closer.
you chuckled, staring up into his eyes.
ever since you met lockwood you had been drawn to him, whether it was his looks or his personality, they both made you have a crush on him.
it wasn’t until recently (with the help of lucy) that you realized he liked you too, but was denying himself from the feelings, so you didn’t act on it.
but clearly, he had realized and didn’t want to wait.
“should we… uhm.. follow it’s tradition?” he questioned, blushing.
“i don’t know..” you teased, walking closer, “what would the george and lucy think?”
he was looking at your lips now, refusing to look away, “i don’t think they would mind.” he spoke barely above a whisper.
you hummed in response, taking your turn to look at his lips.
and then the space between you two closed.
his lips are soft against yours, like the snow falling outside. you hadn’t realized how complete this simple kiss could make you, like the whole world disappeared and it was just you two left, and it was all you needed.
the mistletoe dropped to the ground, so he could bring both his hands to your waist. you brought one of yours to his cheek and the other squeezed his bicep.
his brows furrow as he tries to bring you closer, impossible as you were already both stuck together like a puzzle piece.
reluctantly you pull away, your lips feel cold without the warmth of his. you don’t open your eyes straight away, just taking in his presence and the moment.
he brings his hand up to trace your lips, opening your eyes you find him admiring you.
“i think i might need to kiss whoever created mistletoe.” he chuckled.
“just kiss me instead.” you responded, tilting your head.
“oh gladly.” he breathed, pulling you in for another kiss.
this one felt more heated, more desperate, like you were each others oxygen, like you needed it.
he brought both his hands back to your waist, clutching at your shirt, as you wrap your arms around his neck, one hand sliding up into his hair, playing with it causing him to grin into the kiss.
“fucking finally!” lucy yelled, you both break apart, snapping back to the real world. you see lucy standing excitedly at the top of the stairs with george, who had a disgusted expression.
“dinners ready, by the way, but clearly you both were already eating.” george mocked.
“gross george!” you groaned, hiding your face in lockwoods shoulder.
“oh yeah says you! hurry it up.” he retorts, stomping down the stairs, lucy giggling following close behind.
as you pull away from lockwoods shoulder, and begin to follow the other two, lockwood is quick to grab your hand and spin you back towards him.
he lands a peck on your lips, “needed one more.” he whispered.
306 notes · View notes
novelizt · 4 months
Text
EXPECTO PATRONUM (MASTERLIST) ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.
WC ➺ 30.8k
SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.
DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'my dearest vexation' (+'my girl'). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon lockwood being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)
WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader), love potions (misuse of magic), dragons on the loose, wizard duels, boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.
SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife
NOTES ➺ it's been a long time coming. i got lost in the sauce. can you tell? this was originally a oneshot but tumblr's block limit was exceeded lol we can still pretend it's a oneshot!
i hope this finds you when you need it. this is for the girlies who are forever spellbound by london boys 💙 happy nanowrimo !!
Tumblr media
CARDINAL STORYLINE — COMPLETE!
PART ONE ! 13.7k
PART TWO ! 17.4k
Tumblr media
⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡
208 notes · View notes
initialchains · 4 months
Text
Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
10 things i hate about you | anthony lockwood.
pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader
summary: george karim falls in love with your sister, and the only thing standing between him and the love of his life is the fact that she isn’t allowed to date unless you do, too. luckily for him, anthony lockwood would do anything for a bit of publicity.
wc: 5.8k (part one)
a/n: hii i felt so bad for leaving you all hanging, but finals week left me extremely burnt out and tired. luckily, the lockwood brainrot is neverending, so as a way of saying sorry here’s the first part of this silly ol’ fic. (including the first five things to hate about lockwood.)  i’m also super sorry for the next part because it will be 90% angst lol ++ this is inspired by the movie but not completely based on it bc it’s my all time favorite film and i was scared of not doing it justice.
Tumblr media
Lucy swore she was going to quit the agency again if George didn’t stop pacing around the kitchen like an idiot. She kept thinking of things to say to get him to stop, but a part of her also wanted to see how long this pathetic situation in front of her would take, she knew it wouldn’t be long until their researcher got tired of walking back and forth. And that’s where she is now. Sitting in the kitchen, an empty mug staring back at her, while George kept pacing in front of her and Lockwood.
“Hey, George! I have an idea. Why don’t you sit down and tell us what’s going on like a normal person, instead of just muttering I’m so fucked over and over?” 
George finally stopped and looked up at her. He stood still for a few seconds before taking a seat next to Lockwood.
“Well, I’m fucked.”
“Yeah, I think we heard that part.”
“Luce, stop,” Lockwood said in the softest voice he could muster, before turning to George. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we can help.”
George took a deep breath before starting. “So, you know how I’ve been telling you both and Holly about that one girl from the archives?”
Lockwood smiled at that. The thought of George crushing on a girl after bonding with her about their love for research is still one of the cutest things he has ever heard.
“Oh, right. How are things going with her? Is everything alright?” 
“Well, sort of. I mean, everything is alright, but just when I thought of finally making a move on her, she kind of, um… dropped a bomb on me?” 
“A bomb? But you already knew she’s a Fittes agent, that’s not new.” Lucy stated. 
“Yes, I know. And trust me, there’s nothing wrong with that.” George continued, “She is the sweetest, most intelligent, beautiful human being to have ever lived. I mean it.” 
Lucy and Lockwood shared a knowing look. George was totally a goner for this girl.
“Then.. just ask her out?” Lockwood suggested, watching carefully as George fidgeted with the thinking cloth, now too shy to look at his friends.
“That’s the problem, I can’t,” George explained, before pulling his glasses away and rubbing his eyes. The stress of the situation clearly getting the best of him.
“Okay, this will probably be a stupid question, but.. why?” Lucy asked, genuinely confused by the problem her friend was going through. Sure, asking someone out is frightening, but it’s not like George was about to fight a type two without any kind of protection.
George took a deep breath before finally explaining. “She can’t go out with me unless her sister gets a date, too.” 
Lucy almost laughed at how stupid the so-called bomb was. “Well, ask one of her colleagues to woo her or something. She’s a Fittes agent too, right?” She suggested, remembering the only fact they knew about said sister. “She must know a bunch of people willing to date her.” 
George found the strength to look up, making eye contact with Lockwood and then turning to Lucy, before finally dropping the bomb on them. “I can’t, everyone at Fittes despises her.” 
Shit.
Lockwood and Lucy didn’t even have to think twice about who the sister in question was. There’s only one person who is loathed by every single Fittes agent, and surprisingly it isn’t Quill Kipps. George was talking about Fittes’ very own heinous bitch. (Obviously, the nickname was granted by the one and only Bobby Vernon. But to be fair, it’s not like he is the most reliable of people. Lockwood took note of that.)
Portland Row was silent for a few moments until Lucy finally spoke up. “Well, George. The world is wide, there will always be other people for you to fall for.” 
“Luce.” Lockwood warned her. 
“I’m trying to help!” 
“I know you are, but George really likes this girl.” He explained
“I think I might be in love with her. No, scratch that. I am in love with her.” George confessed in a small whisper.
“Oh, fuck.”
“Luce.”
“Sorry!” 
“I told you we would try to help, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Right, Lucy?” Lockwood looked at her, an unspoken beg passing between them. 
“Fine, yeah, we will. What do you know about her sister? Maybe we can find someone with the same interests as her. Like umm.. Holly? or the guy who sweeps the floor at Arif’s?” Lucy almost winced at how stupid their repertoire of options was, the three of them were friends with a limited number of people, and by limited she meant Holly and a guy who always greets them when they get something from Arif’s
George thought for a few moments about everything he knew about her. “I know she’s a team leader–” He couldn’t even finish his list, let alone his sentence, because before he could even continue, Lockwood stood up. 
“I’ll do it.” He said with a small shrug, almost as if it was the most normal thing in the world. 
A chorus of “I’m sorry?” and “What the fuck?” were heard at the same time, but Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to do this. 
“What? You said you wanted someone to woo her. Right, Luce?” He explained as he took Lucy’s empty mug away from her and moved to the sink. 
Lockwood’s back faced them while he washed their used dishes. “Yes, but.. why do you want to do it?”
“It’s a win-win situation. If I go out with her, George will get to date her sister, and we will get publicity.” The way Lockwood explained the situation with such ease had Lucy thinking he had planned this beforehand.
“Publicity?” George finally spoke up. 
“Yes. You said she’s a team leader, which means she is important, and we also know she’s disliked by every single one of her peers, which means the press will be surprised to see her hanging out with someone. So, if we get photographed together, everyone will want to know what’s so special about the agents of Lockwood and Co. Which means–” 
“More cases.” George finished the sentence for him.
“See? It’s easy.” Lockwood, finally done with the dishes, turned around.
“No, it’s not. I think it’s a stupid idea. You won’t be using someone to get this agency more clients, are you insane?” Lucy stated, indignation lacing her words. 
“Hey, George. You said you were taking her sister out for breakfast tomorrow, how about we make it a double date?” He said with a bright smile, ignoring Lucy’s words. 
“Oh, um.. Okay.”
George was right, Lucy thought. They are so fucked. 
1- I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair.
“George, calm down. Everything will be okay, I promise.” Lockwood said, sending an encouraging look to the boy next to him. George was sweating, he didn’t expect your sister to accept the double date. He didn’t expect you to accept the double date. 
“I know. I even practiced a speech and everything, it will be alright.”
“You practiced a what?”
George wasn’t able to answer his question because right when Lockwood asked him, they were able to see two silhouettes standing outside of the café they were walking to.
“Oh, they’re here,” Lockwood stated plainly before walking up to them, George looking nervous as fuck next to him. 
Sure, George was a sweaty mess, but he knew this would happen. He even expected you to look at him with disgust in your eyes and say something along the lines of “I was dragged here against my will. Fuck you, Karim. You will never date my sister.” 
What he didn’t expect to see was your face painted with confusion. George was about to greet you with the long speech he spent the entire night workshopping, but before he could even mutter a word, you let out an exasperated sigh and looked George in the eye before you gaze slipped to Lockwood and then back to him. 
“What is it, asshole day? Why are you two here?”
Lockwood was about to open his mouth and answer your question, but luckily your sister spoke up just in time.
“I invited my two friends to have breakfast with us!” She said with a bright, almost angelic smile. George felt like he was in heaven just by seeing her. 
“I know about Karim, but why are you friends with Anthony Lockwood?” 
“Oh, so you’ve heard of me? Only the good things, I hope.” Lockwood said, his charming smile making a way to his face.
“Yeah, like the houses you’ve burned down, and how stupidly reckless you are to the point that you even got shot.” You stated, repulse evident in your eyes as you looked at the man of the hour. 
“It’s adorable how much you know about me.”
“Have you ever been to a psych ward? I can get you an appointment set and ready by tonight.”
“You want to see me tonight?”
George feared you might slit Lockwood’s throat with the way you were looking at him. “We should, um, get inside.” He said, trying (and failing) to break the awkward tension, guiding the four of you into the café. 
George looked at your sister and whispered into her ear “It’s not my place to assume but.. you didn’t tell her we were coming, did you?”
She gave him a shy smile before answering. “I want her to make some friends, and I think someone like Lockwood might help her come out of her shell.”
She looked so innocent that George wanted to break down crying and tell her all about Lockwood’s dumb publicity plan. This was eating him alive. 
You took a seat next to your sister in the booth George had reserved for the four of you. Lockwood smiled when he saw your eyes widen at the sight of him sitting right in front of you. 
“Karim, can you switch places with your friend?” 
“Why? Are you embarrassed I’ll see you blush whenever you look into my eyes?” 
“Have you ever been told that your hairline will recede by the time you’re 30 years old if you keep cutting and styling your hair like that?”  
“Have you ever been told that you’re incredibly beautiful?” 
Your sister had to place her hand over yours before you could reach for the knife placed in front of you by a waiter. Lockwood couldn’t contain his laughter at the look on your face.
“What’s so fucking funny, Lockwood?”
“Nothing. Don’t mind me, please continue with your insults. I relish being the reason behind your thoughts and words.” 
That was enough to shut you up. Your sister, George, and Lockwood shared jokes and stories while you looked down at your plate, the conversation flowing easily between them. Sometimes you’d look up to find Lockwood staring at you, he’d send you a small smile and try to include you in the conversation, but you didn't intend on giving him the satisfaction of getting you to speak, so you’d shut him down with an eye roll. 
The rest of the morning went by smoothly until your sister had the brilliant idea to tell you about her plans for the rest of the day. 
“You’re going to the archives with Karim.. alone? Just the two of you?” 
“Did you not hear her the first time, love?”
“Shut the fuck up, Lockwood.” You snapped at him, hoping your anger was enough to mask the blush rushing into your cheeks. 
It wasn’t. 
“Did I just make you blush?”
“You made me want to throw up.”
“Deny it all you want, but the pet name clearly had an effect on you.. love.”
“Ugh, whatever.” 
The four of you stood up and walked to the café’s exit, Lockwood opening the door for your sister and you. As soon as you got outside, your sister began to apologize for not telling you about her impromptu archives plan with George.
“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Just.. text me when you get there?” You said softly. Way too softly, Lockwood noticed. He had never seen you this vulnerable, maybe your sister was way more important to you than he expected. 
“I will. Promise.”
You said your goodbyes before turning around, planning on walking to your car, but the universe definitely wasn’t on your side today.
“Wait! I’ll go with you.” Lockwood said as he tried to catch up with you, matching the pace of your long strides. 
“I don’t know if you can tell, Lockwood, but I’m trying to get away from you.”
“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t drive you home after our first date?”
“You’re not a gentleman, and that wasn’t a date.”
Lockwood pressed a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Ouch, not a gentleman? Thank god my mother isn’t here to hear those words.”
You finally stopped walking and turned around to face him. “What do you want?”
“To.. drive you home?”
“No, Lockwood. What do you want? You tried to include me in your stupid conversation earlier, then paid for my breakfast, opened the door for me, and now you want to drive me home. What the fuck do you want?”
Lockwood stayed silent for a while, just staring into your eyes. “I was trying to be nice to you, is that too hard to believe?” 
He took notice of how you looked away from his eyes and tried to keep your hands busy by playing with the hem of your shirt. 
You cleared your throat before saying, “Fine, but if you fuck my car up, I swear to god, Lockwood..” 
2- I hate the way you drive my car.
The car was silent the entire first half of the ride. Sometimes you’d catch Lockwood staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you never looked back, deciding that looking through the car window was a better sight. 
“You don’t talk much unless it is to deliver a well-crafted insult, huh?” Lockwood said, trying to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, it was just.. tense. 
“Do you want me to talk to you?” You answered, slightly surprised by the fact that Anthony Lockwood of all people, wanted to have a conversation with you. 
“Yeah.”
“And what do you want me to say? It’s not like I know a single thing about you.” 
“You can say whatever you want, I don’t mind. I’ll accept it whether it is you cursing my entire bloodline, or you saying you’re deeply attracted to me.” 
The car came to a stop, a red light illuminating Lockwood’s sharp features. You hated to admit it, but fuck, Anthony Lockwood was attractive. 
“Me? Deeply attracted to you? Holy shit, did you fall and hit your head as a baby?”
“You so are.”
“Am I that transparent? Because you’re right. Oh, Lockwood, I am so attracted to you and your stupid fucking personality. I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.”
“You have such a beautiful way with words, love.”
That was enough to get a small laugh out of you. Lockwood kept surprising you, he didn’t back down after an insult or two, and he actually seemed to enjoy being indulged in them. 
He turned his head to look at you as soon as he heard you laugh, a smile adorning his face. A feeling of pride (and maybe something more) swelled in his chest.
“I can’t believe I just made you laugh for the first time and we’ve been on a date for about three hours now. God, I’m making such a bad first impression.” 
“You still won’t let the idea of this being a date go?” 
“Nope. I enjoy being on a date with you. You’re a nice person to hang out with.”
The corners of your lips curled up into a small smile. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do, I would rather take you out on a million dates than spend 30 minutes with any other person,” Lockwood confessed, and he meant it.
“Like you could find a person who would willingly spend 30 minutes with you.”
“Oh, see? That, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”
The two of you spent the rest of your ride home talking, the tension slowly evaporating, leaving room for the back-and-forth quips that Lockwood and you kept throwing each other. 
Lockwood stopped the car when he heard you say, “Alright, this is my house.” You were about to open the door, but before you could even extend your arm he said a quick, “Wait!” and got out of the car, rounding it to open your door.
“Thanks.”
“Anything and everything for you.”
Just as you were about to answer, a flash and the sound of a camera clicking disrupted the moment you were having. 
“You’re fucking with me”, you muttered under your breath. Lockwood looked surprised too, he had completely forgotten about his plan. 
Take her out for a few days. Get photographed together. Gain more clients.
His heart sank at the reminder of the reality of this situation. He had been so busy having fun with you, that his mind decided to blur out the reason why he was hanging out with Fittes’ most hated agent. 
“Alright. I should, um, go.”
“Do you want me to walk you to your door? Or is the first date too soon to meet your parents?”
“Fuck you, Lockwood,” You said with a smile.
“It doesn’t really seem like you want to.”
He found himself smiling, too. 
3- I hate it when you stare.
“What a fun coincidence to find you here, love.”
You rolled your eyes at Lockwood’s annoying voice. “Yeah, it’s such a fun coincidence that you almost burned this house down and my team had to come help your incompetent agency.” 
“Third time’s a charm.”
“There’s no way in hell you’ve been the cause of more than two fires.” 
“If you let me take you out on another date, maybe I’ll tell you more about them.” You almost stabbed him with your rapier. “Shut up, people might hear.” That brought a bright smile to his face and an incredulous look to his eyes.
“Oh, so you want to keep our relationship a secret? Fine, I’ll take it. I love a forbidden romance.” He whispered, the smell of lavender and lemon engulfing you as he kneeled a bit to whisper in your ear. 
“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway, I need to go check out the paperwork for the mess you made, can you keep an eye on my team?” You shyly asked, breaking the eye contact he was desperately trying to keep.
“You trust me with your team? I thought my agency was incompetent and I wasn’t good at anything.” 
“It’s just for a few minutes, don’t let this get to your head.” 
“Oh, it’s way over my head, love.” 
You showed him a very special finger, before walking away to talk to Barnes. You tried to remain professional and listen to what the inspector was saying, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of a pair of eyes looking at you. “Sorry for calling you again, you know how it gets whenever Lockwood and Co have a case,” Barnes said, breaking you out of the cage your mind had trapped you in. 
“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s my pleasure to help.” You tried to muster up a small smile for the man, you liked Barnes, he never treated you differently, not even when the way you acted and decided to express yourself wasn’t the most appropriate. 
“And I think it's their pleasure to be helped.”
“I’m sorry?”
You turned around, following Barnes’ line of sight, only for your eyes to meet Lockwood’s. He gave you a small smile but didn’t look away, it was almost as if he longed for your eyes to make contact. You sent him a small frown, wordlessly asking him what was wrong, he just shrugged and waved at the two of you. 
“He is so weird.” You said, turning to face the inspector. “Tell me about it. Well, we are all done here. Have a nice night, and make sure to get home safely.” He answered, eager to get away from the group of agents surrounding him, and walking away. 
Lockwood didn’t miss a beat before making his way to you. “So, I’m thinking we make the second date happen over some tea at Portland Row?”
“Not happening.”
“I’m not one to make a woman feel uncomfortable when she says no, but may I ask why?
“I’d rather spend my time hanging out with ten type threes, than with the group of miscreants you call friends. No offense to Lucy and Holly, though. I quite like them. I was talking about Karim, tell that thing to stay away from my sister.” You answered, finally finding the guts to maintain eye contact while you spoke. 
“You know Lucy and Holly?” He decided to ignore your entire statement, now only focused on the fact that you knew his friends. Anxiety making its way through his body at the thought of Lucy telling you about his plan. 
“Yeah, and they told me some really interesting things about you. I never took you as the type of person to do that type of stuff.”
Lockwood’s heart almost gave out. “What did they say?”
“That you wear pink socks.”
He felt his heart start beating again. Lockwood thought he was about to die in front of you, he made a mental note to thank Lucy for being nice enough to not tell you about his schemes. He found the strength to give you a charming smile. 
“That surprised you? Lord, do you think I’m the type of guy to have a fragile masculinity? My mother raised me better than that.” 
“You mention your mother a lot, are you close with her?
They should give out awards for Feeling your heart stop two times in the span of 3 minutes because Lockwood was sure he would get one delivered to Portland Row’s doorstep by tomorrow morning. 
“I.. um, yeah.” 
Fuck. You made it awkward. You almost dropped down to your knees and begged him for forgiveness. 
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude into your personal life, it’s not my place to ask and assume shit about your family. I’m so fucking sorry, Lockwood.” The light in your eyes dimmed, the sight of it made Lockwood want to tell you all about his past. He wanted to go back to ten minutes ago when your eyes were shining and looking into his. He internally swore to never let the light leave them again.
“You’re good, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He reassured you in a small voice, clearly not fine. 
“No, I will worry–” You couldn’t finish your sentence because, once again, the light of a camera flash illuminated Lockwood and you, blinding you both for a split moment. 
“Of course they’re here. Jesus Christ, do they not have lives? A family?” 
“Maybe they just like taking pictures of your beautiful face.”
The light came back to your dim eyes at his statement. “There he is.” You said, noticing how his gaze slipped from your eyes to your lips, before going back to the eye contact you had.
“What can I say? I can’t stop myself from complimenting you when you’re around.”
4-  I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.
The streets of London were quiet while Lockwood took a small walk in the early morning. Lucy told him if he walked around the city for a few hours, he’d be able to break in the new pair of combat boots she got him as a present after he made it through 10 cases without almost dying.  
“It’s 8 am and you’re already up being pathetic. I should say I saw this coming, but I really didn’t. Holy shit.” A familiar voice snapped him out of the daze he was in. He was so busy going through a list in his head of all the things he had to do this week, that he didn’t notice you walking next to him. 
“How long have you been walking by my side?”
“Long enough to see you staring straight ahead and not noticing how incredibly pathetic you look. Your boots are hideous, by the way.” You answered, looking into his eyes and noticing how he smirked at your last remark.
“I don’t think Lucy will be happy about you calling her well-thought gift hideous.”
You let out a genuine laugh as soon as he said that. It was the type of laugh that bubbled up from your chest and had you throwing your head back. It made Lockwood feel as if all the morning clouds had disappeared and the sun shone only on the two of you. Sure, you had laughed at Lucy’s gift, but the sound was enough to let the sun shine its warm rays through Lockwood’s heart. An infinite sunbathe.
“Oh, so you find this funny? Hurting my best friend’s feelings?” He asked in a teasing tone, squinting slightly at you.
“So.. I take it she didn’t tell you?” You asked, a small giggle escaping your lips and going straight through Lockwood’s heart. 
“Tell me what?”
“That our plan was to get you the most ugly, repulsive looking, and incredibly stupid boots that we could find? I wasted my money on that, you’re welcome or whatever.” 
He should’ve been offended. Offended at how Lucy wanted him to humiliate himself by walking through the streets of London with a pair of bright neon green combat boots. Offended that she had asked for your help to choose the ugliest pair she could find. But he was too busy fighting the urge to press his lips against yours and to run his slender fingers through your hair. 
Did you not notice how you always bit your lip after laughing because you thought that would stop you from falling into another fit of laughter? 
“Yeah, yeah, you two are so funny,” He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Thank you, love.” He was about to nudge you with his shoulder, but as soon as he turned to look at you, he noticed you weren’t next to him anymore.
His heart stopped for a second until he finally looked back and caught you staring at two women through a café window, clearly on a date. One of them gave the other a bouquet of different types of flowers and brushed back a strand of her girlfriend’s bright red hair. That brought a smile to your face. 
“Hey, you okay?” He whispered as soon as he stood next to you, noticing the sad smile on your face. 
“Oh, yeah. I was just..” 
You didn’t have to say a word for him to be aware of what you wanted to mention. The look in your eyes, and the small smile on your face.. this was the look you always got whenever you saw your sister with George. 
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Lockwood reassured you. Not wanting to scare you off after seeing the look on your face and the small voice you used to answer. 
“Do you think I’m holding my sister back?” You asked, turning around to look into his eyes, your hands trembling a bit.
He didn’t miss a beat before taking hold of your hand and lacing your fingers together, giving your gentle hand two squeezes. “I think.. you care a lot about her, and that’s completely fine. But it is not your job to dictate what she can or can not do. It’s okay to let her have her freedom and life, just like you deserve to have yours.” 
You took a deep breath before pulling Lockwood into a hug, your arms surrounding his neck. Lockwood was startled for a second but didn’t have to think about it twice before wrapping his arms around your waist, letting you take the lead in this display of affection. 
“I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I know, but.. um”
“You don’t have to say anything, come on,” He said, breaking the hug and taking your hand into his, pulling you forward to continue the walk you were on.
5- I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.
Lockwood looked down at your intertwined hands, thinking of things to say to get the fog of sadness blinding you out of the way. “So you’re a hopeless romantic, huh?
“What the fuck?”
Alright, so maybe this wasn’t his greatest icebreaker ever, but at least it was something. He chose to continue. 
“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you always stare at every couple we walk past. It’s kind of adorable. Fittes’ heinous bitch being a hopeless romantic? Sign me the hell up.”
“You’re sick in the head, Anthony Lockwood.”
“I didn’t think of you as a hopeless romantic, like.. at all. But I assume this means you’re the type of person who wants flowers and love letters delivered to her doorstep. Right?”
“No.”
“Sure, love. I’ll keep this in mind for future references.”
Lockwood made sure to walk you back to Fittes’ building after spending the rest of his morning with you, choosing to take the weird looks his boots got with pride and a bright smile. Whenever someone stopped him in the street he’d answer with a happy “my best friend and this beautiful lady next to me gave them to me as a gift”. 
You spent the rest of your day going back and forth through Fittes’ small yet numerous offices, talking to different people about your previous and next cases. Sometimes you’d stop to take a breather outside a door, but quickly remembered the importance of your role as a team leader, and snapped out of your seemingly neverending exhaustion. 
“Am I dreaming or is that my best friend in the whole world?” You turned your head to the right to find Bobby Vernon smirking at you, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.
“Fuck off, Vernon.”
“Woah, no need to get all pissy, love.” You clenched your shaking fists, trying to keep your anger in. You may have a short temper, but you would never let someone like him get the satisfaction of making you angry, or at least of noticing the effect his words have on you. 
The thought of someone other than Lockwood calling you by that pet name made you want to burst into tears. How dare they see you as someone who’s weak? After everything you’ve done and fought for to get the role you have as an agent? 
“I don’t have the time for your bullshit, so just spit it out and let me go home.” You said with an eye roll.
“Your sister wanted me to tell you that you got mail. Well, it’s more like a gift, I guess. I assume it’s from your parents because I can’t think of a single human being who genuinely likes you.” 
You knew better than to take his words to heart, but the venom he said them with stung. You knew you were unlikeable, probably even unloveable at this point, but he didn’t have any right to say those words to your face. It made you feel disgusting, you had to fight back the urge to throw up.
“Yeah, alright. Have a good day, Vernon.” You replied as you walked past him and out into the street, calling for a cab to take you home.
The ride back home was silent, and it surprisingly made you miss Lockwood. It made you miss his stupid jokes, his ugly haircut, and his reckless way of driving your car. You were sure the poor guy didn’t know what a stop sign meant. 
As soon as the cab driver got you home, you made sure to pay him and wish him a safe drive, after all, the curfew was 15 minutes away from starting. A sigh escaped your lips after opening your door and heading into your room. The day had left you completely worn out, and Bobby’s words didn’t help at all with the shit day you were having.
You quickly got changed and were about to head to bed when you noticed a package sitting in the corner of your room. A frown made its way to your face when your eyes caught the unfamiliar handwriting with your name on the box, curiosity taking the best of you as you opened the package with a delicate touch.
A gasp left your lips when you opened it and found the same bouquet of colorful flowers you saw the woman give to her partner at the café. A white envelope sat next to them.
With a small smile and shaking hands, you opened it and were greeted with Lockwood’s handwriting.
Hey, my love. 
I’ll be really honest and say that my mind is completely blank as I write this, but I just wanted to let you know that right after I dropped you off, I went to Arif’s with George and heard a love song playing — I couldn’t help but think of your hopeless romantic self as soon as I heard these lyrics: You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you. 
Jesus, I know you’re having a field day reading this. Me? Embarrassing myself and sending you a bouquet and a love letter? You’re right, I must be extremely sick in the head.
Anyway, I hope you have a good day. You deserve it.
With lots of love,
Lockwood. 
(PS: You don’t have to say it back! But I thought it felt right to say it since we’re kind of besties now.) 
The tears you spent the entire day holding back decided to come out right after you finished reading the letter. Sobs escaped your lips as you sat down in your bed, the flowers and letter still in your hand. A strange feeling bubbled up inside you, you didn’t quite know what it meant, but decided to guess it was that disgusting sickening feeling Bobby left you with. 
When you laid in bed and tried to go to sleep, you took notice of how different the feeling you were having right now was from the one you got with Bobby Vernon. Sure, this one made you want to throw up, too. But it also made you want to stare into Lockwood’s eyes again and to feel his arms wrapped around your waist for a few more seconds. You drifted to sleep with a craving of feeling Lockwood’s hand intertwined with yours for the rest of your life.  
329 notes · View notes
g1rld1ary · 2 months
Text
bloody genius ; anthony lockwood x fem!reader
➻ rushed to get this out before I go out tonight (wish me luck lols) but am pretty fond of it !!
➻ word count: 1686
➻ synopsis: after a long night of sifting through research for an impossible case with lockwood, you do something you didn't quite mean to
➻ warnings: light mentions of series typical murder/violence, kissing, idiots in love
════ ⋆★⋆ ════
You groaned, tipping back in your chair and rubbing your eyes, trying to make them see straight. You and Lockwood had been pouring over photocopied newspaper articles, floor plans and assorted research for hours and you weren’t getting any closer to stringing any of it together. With Lockwood & Co steadily improving their reputation, the company was getting more and more cases with shorter and shorter timeframes. To combat this influx of cases and the consequent research that needed completing, you’d all decided to split the load where possible. This meant that currently George and Lucy were in the library researching one case whilst you and Lockwood had shut yourselves in the kitchen to struggle through another.
You supposed you had the better deal, though, supplied with easy access to tea, the thinking cloth, and, of course, Lockwood. He was your secret favourite out of your coworkers-turned-family, though if you asked Lucy she’d say it was no secret at all. Regardless, that brought you to the current moment where the thinking cloth was filled with nonsensical lines following trains of thought, all edges punctuated with a frankly ridiculous number of question marks.
Lockwood himself looked almost as frustrated as you felt, but you could tell he was trying to hide it and save face. He caught you staring and flashed a smile, but it lacked its usual charm when his eye bags were more pronounced than usual.
“Hey,” He said softly, putting his hand over yours to stop you drawing stress doodles — the latest one a crudely drawn murder scene, “We’ll get it soon, just gotta find the connection between it all.”
“Sure, Lockwood.” You tried for a smile but it came out as more of a grimace and Lockwood could see the exhaustion etched into your features. He frowned, more concerned for your wellbeing than the case at the moment.
“Maybe you’ve done enough for tonight? Go get some sleep and we can pick back up in the morning?”
“Are you going to go to bed?” You asked, already sure of the answer, “I’m not leaving you to do this on your own, not this time.” He opened his mouth to argue but you shut him up with a glare. He held up his hands in light-hearted surrender. As an alternative Lockwood suggested a break; only a few minutes, but enough for you to make two new mugs of steaming tea and him to crack open a new packet of biscuits. “I’ll even let you break the biscuit rule,” He stage whispered, ducking out of the kitchen to check on Lucy and George and refill their own stash of snacks.
You watched him go, smiling softly. You loved evenings like this — well not like this where trains of thought didn’t quite make it to the station and you had the infuriating feeling of knowledge being held just out of reach, but nights where you were all home and together. You liked them even more when it meant you got to spend time with Lockwood and he got like this; treating you just a little bit differently to George or Lucy, offering you extra biscuits and giving you that soft smile, the one that made your heart flutter in a way it probably shouldn’t when looking at your boss. It fed your delusions of one day telling him how you feel, sure, but the lightness of his attention overpowered the inevitable heartbreak you’d face when he got a date that wasn’t you.
He returned with a confident grin, snapping you out of your stupor. You buried yourself in a new file, scanning for anything that could make sense of the mess of a case you were given. Maybe a Type Two, could be a poltergeist or not, who knows who the ghost was — the whole thing was ridiculous and you had no idea why Lockwood would even take it, but he said he felt sorry for the poor old man who came to the doorstep of 35 Portland Row. The both of you sat in comfortable silence for what felt like hours, knee-deep in paper.
Your eyes were glazing in and out of focus until you caught a snippet of something that had you gasping and tumbling out of your chair, standing frenetically in front of Lockwood looking ready to perform.
“What if I told you,” You said grinning, “That your dear old man had a sealed criminal record until a few years ago? For being a suspect in a murder case no less!” Lockwood was solely focused on you now, dark eyes searching your face for more information. You were no less enthusiastic, eyes scanning the police report quickly for the relevant information. “He was a suspect in the murder of a Charlotte Black back in the 50s. Her sister alleged that the two were involved but the police found no evidence of his involvement, nor of their relationship at all, with the exception of two letters the sister sent during the time of the investigation. Officers on the case said his apartment was ‘severely lacking a female touch’ — ouch — and said to them he was definitely not in a relationship. The record was sealed because the allegations had a dire impact on his accounting firm!” You were buzzing despite the grim subject matter, as you’d finally found the link that could tie the case together.
Lockwood was similarly ecstatic. “Obviously the relationship had to be a secret for whatever reason which was why there’s no marriage certificate or record of letters between them. The letter I was looking at before must’ve been from this sister, it detailed her desire for independence and her interest in his business. She found out about his shady numbers—” He jumped up to grab a letter of complaint over botched figures from a client, “He got mad and killed her! Y/n you’re a bloody genius!” You flushed at the compliment.
“And she’s here now because he’s coming out of retirement, he bragged about it when you were hearing his case! God, it would just be great if we had, like, one more piece of evidence, just to confirm they knew each other,” You sighed, clenching your fingers at the single hole in the puzzle.
The door opened suddenly and George appeared, holding a small folded piece of paper.
“I think this might be from your case, not ours — odd looking couple,” George said, popping the photo on the edge of the dining table, giving a quizzical look at the two of you standing in the middle of the kitchen before heading back to the library. You and Lockwood exchanged a look, almost too scared to take a peek, it was too perfect. You grabbed the photo of Charlotte Black her sister had attached to the letter, plus the one of the man that you’d found in a local newspaper in the archives and laid them both out on the table for comparison.
Lockwood sucked in a nervous breath before slowly peeling open the photo. You couldn’t contain your joy, it was them! The whole night was suddenly worth it, the two of you jumping around the kitchen like little kids on Christmas. One second you were doing a stupid victory dance and the next your lips had pressed themselves to Lockwood’s. The moment you’d become cognisant of what had happened you stepped back, feeling your heart plummet to your toes. This was not how you’d imagined that would happen. Plus, Lockwood’s unusually stoic face was igniting your anxiety, cold spreading through every branch of your veins.
“Oh my God,” You breathed, willing your legs to work, “I am so sorry, Anthony.” Your body caught up to your brain and you headed to the door until you were pulled back, a hand on your waist twisting you to face him again. And then his lips were on yours with purpose this time, the hand not on your waist finding its way to cup your jaw. When your brain was done short circuiting you matched his fervour tenfold, bringing your hands up to rest on his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt to bring him impossibly closer.
You only pulled away when you were at genuine risk of passing out, unable to conjure a single word. Lockwood gazed at you with glossy, blown out pupils. That, mixed with the pink blush on his cheeks and swollen lips created your favourite ever version of Anthony Lockwood — an image you hoped would be privately yours from now on.
“So, is this where I ask to take you on a proper date, love?” He asked, his smile melting your heart into a puddle in his hand. You couldn’t let him have all the fun, though, and willed yourself to produce a teasing grin.
“Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” Your eyes strayed to the clock on the wall that showed an inappropriately early hour of the morning, “I think we both ought to get some sleep, tomorrow’ll be a big job. Goodnight, Anthony.” You punctuated it with a soft kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room to silently scream as you bound up the stairs, victory dance making a reappearance behind your safely closed door.
Anthony was left standing in the kitchen like a fool, hand sitting softly where you’d kissed him. A lovesick smile passed his face, thoughts of the impending case long gone from his brain, and in their place sat pictures of you and a looping memory of you slotting your lips between his. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there basking in your light, but Lucy walked past to drop her mug in the sink, shooting Lockwood a knowing look before heading up to the attic. Lockwood found himself giggling uncharacteristically, giddy with the glee of finally telling you how he’d felt since you first walked through the door of 35 Portland Row.
144 notes · View notes
lewkwoodnco · 4 months
Text
buy me presents! - Lockwood x Reader
Tumblr media
A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
Tumblr media
She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.
Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.
She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.
"How are the accounts?"
"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."
George yells again and they wince in unison.
"How long has that been going on?"
"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."
He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.
"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"
"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."
"Still. Christmas, all alone?"
George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.
"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."
He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.
"You think my hair's fancy?"
She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.
"What's this?"
"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."
She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."
"He made an exception for you."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I might have...tipped him extra."
"Lockwood."
"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."
She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.
It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.
"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.
He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.
Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.
"It's not too late for me to stay."
She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Y/N!"
"Lockwood? Hello?"
"Ho - How have you been?"
"What?"
There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.
"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"
"Sounds busy."
"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."
He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"
"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."
"Really?"
"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."
She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."
"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."
"What's the popcorn for?"
"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."
She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."
"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”
“…Belinda?”
“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”
“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.
“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."
She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.
"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."
"Nicholas?"
An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.
"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."
"...Nicholas."
"Yeah."
"Never heard of him."
"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."
"Hm."
"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."
"So, you're spending time...with him?"
"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."
"Workshop?"
"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."
"I'm sure he is."
Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.
It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-
"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.
"Nothing, go back to sleep."
"Y/N?"
"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"
"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"
"He's helping with the caramel apples."
"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"
"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."
She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."
"He's doing fine."
There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.
"Get anything in the mail?"
"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."
"I see."
"Why? Did you mail something over?"
"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."
"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.
"Did Nicholas get you anything?"
"He really only goes by Nick."
She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."
"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.
"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."
"He is."
"Good."
"Great."
"Glad we cleared that up."
They fume at each other through the phone for a while.
"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."
"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."
"Like...a circus?"
"...yes."
"Well. As long you're having fun..."
"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?
"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.
"Merry Christmas Lockwood."
She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.
'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'
The dial tone reverberates through her skull.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.
She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.
Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.
"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"
"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."
George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.
"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"
Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"
"Lockwood, wai-"
"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."
"Will you stop, for a minute?"
"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"
"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.
George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.
"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."
"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."
It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.
"Merry Christmas."
TAGLIST: @mischivana @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @elenianag080 @houseoftwistedspirits
187 notes · View notes
avdiobliss · 4 months
Text
thinking about my husband manspreading on an electric chair
Tumblr media
250 notes · View notes
Text
Don’t Tell
Tumblr media
Anthony Lockwood x f!Reader
Warnings: None this is just fluff only ;) 💖💖💖
Summary: Y/N and Lockwood have been together for a while now, but they’d rather have the first few moments of their relationship to themselves. Still, that doesn’t stop them from having a few mishaps before they finally decide to let George and Lucy in on the secret.
A/N: I really really hope you guys like this one :) 💖💖💖 It took a while cause it is slightly longer :’) 💖💖💖 but I just wanna say I love the fake dating trope, I legit live for it :) 💖💖💖 and I hope you do too ;) 💖💖💖 Other than that I hope you have a great day :) 💖💖💖
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He pulled away, leaving her breathless. She laced her fingers through his hair, pulling herself to be closer to him. It looked desperate and it was desperate, she could admit that. It had been a long day. Somehow they had ended up entangled, on his bed, it was sinking in under the weight of them. He hovered over her, chewing his lip slightly, “So maybe we shouldn’t tell George and Lucy yet ?”.
“I- Why ?”, her forehead was crinkled. There didn’t seem to be any proper reason to withhold them from this fact.
He frowned, collapsing over her. She gasped, her lips parted in shock. He didn’t seem to notice, resting his head on her chest, “It’ll ruin the whole group dynamic”.
“Plus George is not the best with change”, his voice vibrated on her skin, sending chills down her spine.
She adjusted herself to face him, a brow raised, “That is true, but still are you sure it’s not cause you don’t want people to know we’re together ?”. It was teasing, but a small voice in the back of her head taunted her. What if he was embarrassed of her ? What if this was all for the sake of his reputation ? She hurriedly shook the thoughts from her mind. He would never do that to her.
“I am most definitely sure”, he leaned back, gaze fixed on hers. Her heart pounded in her chest. She turned away, feeling vulnerable.
He tilted her head back to his with a finger, “Why would anyone ever want to hide you ?”. His voice was quiet, like he was asking himself a question. His eyes flickered to her lips before coming back to meet hers.
She suddenly felt self conscious. Whining she covered her face with a hand, “Lockwood”.
“I’m being serious, I promise”, he laughed, pulling her arm away.
His palm remained on her cheek, gently running his thumb back and forth. She leaned into his touch. Gently he pressed his lips onto hers. His taste of bergamot and honey never got old. She smiled into the kiss. They parted for air and he gave her a lopsided grin, “Just for a few months, until we finish our current jobs and then we’ll tell them”.
“I promise”, he linked their pinkies, curling them together.
“Fine, but if anyone asks, this was your idea”, she rolled her eyes. Somehow, he could always convince her to do anything, and he was all to aware of that. He was lucky she loved him. Still, what was a few months right ? They could pull this off, they have done worse before.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Morning”, he whispered, tugging her closer to him.
She yawned, “Mmhm, good morning”. She pressed her lips against his cheek, before snuggling her face deeper into his neck.
“This is nice”, he smiled, running his fingers through her hair.
Her eyes fluttered shut and she pulled the covers up to her nose, “Yes it is, but now you have to get out”.
“What ? Why ?”, his eyes went wide.
She patted him on the chest, “You were the one who wanted to hide our relationship”. Was it a little mean ? Maybe, still it was his idea and so he had to suffer the consequences. Plus, she wasn’t going to be out of bed at 6 am if she didn’t have to. If she had to sacrifice his heat and comfort for that, so be it.
“No one’s awake right now”, he groaned into her hair.
She pressed her lips together, trying hard not to giggle, “George is an early riser”.
“Darling, don’t make me”, he was annoyed, but his legs were already hanging of the edge of the bed.
The springs of the mattress creaked at the loss of his weight. He was mumbling under his breath, but she just laughed, “Bye-bye”.
The door clicked open, and he padded out, but just as it was about to swing closed it just didn’t. She opened an eye at the offensive lack of noise. The room was dark except for a sliver of light shining through the hallway. She winced at the sudden bright light, hissing at the cold air as she got out of bed, but stopped when she heard another door.
A part of her longed to tuck herself back to sleep, but her other half won, as she peered out the crack in the door. His back was to her, hair still ruffled, “I- George”. She could only imagine the look on his face.
“Lockwood what are you doing awake at this time ?”, his brows were furrowed inquisitively.
“I- I uh- Actually I wanted to talk to you”, she wondered if George could hear the unsteadiness in his voice.
“About what ?”, he sounded even more confused.
She held her breath, silently reassuring herself that he would be able to think of a believable lie, though his track-record said otherwise. This was it, a whole 2 weeks in and they were about to be caught. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, “About- You know I think we need to reevaluate the effectiveness our organisation system”.
“You really think so ?”, he grinned. What ? How had that worked ? She figured she should just be thankful that it did, and that he hadn’t gotten suspicious.
“Definitely”, he was nodding his head.
She watched as George’s shadow descended the stairs, “So was I, I had a few ideas that I wanted to run by you”.
She clamped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter, sneaking a glance at him as he threw his head back, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. He caught her eye and glared, but again, this was his plan she thought. She could only give him a sympathetic smile and shrug her shoulders.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Has anyone seen the forms that we needed to send to DEPRAC”, his fingers ran through his hair. She chewed her bottom lip. He was worried, and she couldn’t blame him. As an agency they haven’t exactly had a great relationship with the government, which could be a problem at times. Let’s be honest, most of the time.
Lucy sat across from her, forehead creased, “No, can you remember where you last saw them ?”.
He frowned, “I-”.
She felt her chest tighten at his expression and thought hard. “You put them into that book, I can’t remember what it was called, but then you put it into the second drawer of your desk”, she snapped her fingers, putting her mug down.
He was beaming, “Right, thanks”. She grinned back. Sending her a wink, he bounded out of the room, presumably to fetch the papers. She looked away, her stomach doing a flip. How is it that this still happened, despite them being together for a month.
“Great memory ?”, Lucy took a sip from her cup, eyeing her suspiciously. The smile fell from her face, she blew over her cup, the steam flying up. She could think of a believable, convincing response.
She bit her lip, “I uh- Yeah”. Right, so maybe it wasn’t one of her best moments, but in her defence, it was hard to think of a good enough answer under Lucy’s piercing gaze. She was only glad he was not here to catch it, knowing she would never hear the end of it.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Is that- Is that a hickey ?”, her eyes went wide, a heat rising to her face. She hastily put away the groceries in their cupboards. Shit shit shit. Tilting her head to the left, she could see that his mouth was gaping just a little.
She spun around, with tight-lipped smile, “I- No, no of course not, I actually”. George and Lucy shared a glance, and she took the opportunity to send him a pointed look. She had specifically told him not to make it visible, but he was persistent and stubborn. It’s not like she wasn’t enjoying it in the moment, but now she was beginning to regret it. She cursed under her breath. Think of something, she mouthed at him.
He grinned, “She fell down yesterday”. He nodded at her. Another one of his brilliant ideas, she thought she could cry right there.
George raised a brow, “She fell down, on her neck ?”. He didn’t sound like he believed them. Hell, she didn’t even believe them. Still, he looked so confident, she wanted to laugh. Hopefully it would just blow over their heads.
“Yes, while we were doing the shopping, she just missed a step and there she was on the ground”, he gestured plaintively. Please give up she thought. Thankfully they shrugged their shoulders and continued their breakfast. She sighed, relieved that their interrogation was over, but she still punched his arm as she took a seat at the table.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It had been 3 months of sneaking around and lying, of stolen kisses and secret dates. They never went a week without a single slip up or mistake, and despite it all they had somehow pulled it off, George and Lucy both did not have an inkling of an idea that they were in a relationship. Still, they had had enough of it. Everything was becoming a bit overwhelming and they would much rather let their friends in on the secret.
They stood on the stairs out of view, she on the step above him, making her slightly taller. He had his arms around her waist and hers were around his neck. She tilted her head to the side, watching him closely, “Are you sure ?”.
He only nodded his head, giving her a kiss on the forehead. This was hard for him, change, it had always been the four of them, friends. He was worried that this, them, would change all that, and a part of her worried that too, but the greater part of her was sure that their friends would be welcoming to the idea. She pressed her lips together to stop the wide grin from forming. Gently he entangled himself from her, except for their hands still interlocked, leading her to the living room.
The room was dimly lit, their heads immediately turned as they entered. Their gaze shifted down to their intertwined hands for a second before coming back to their faces. He squeezed her palm, “Right so, I um- We have something to tell you guys”.
“That you guys are dating ?”, George didn’t even look up from his book.
She was puzzled, pursing her lips, “I- How did you know ?”. They were so subtle, so discreet. Just a few minutes ago they were giving each other pats on the back for their acting abilities. Clearly it was starting to look like the exact opposite.
“We both knew for the longest time, it was quite obvious”, Lucy gave her an apologetic look.
“And you never said anything ?”, he ran a palm across his face. Well now she just felt embarrassed. They shared a sheepish smile.
She shrugged her shoulders, “I mean we just wanted to see how long you too would manage”.
She rolled her eyes plopping down onto the sofa. He was not far behind her, an arm was instinctively at her side, and she leaned into him. At least now they didn’t have to second guess every choice they made. George grinned, finally peeking up from behind the papers, “That and it was extremely entertaining, for us at least”. They both laughed. He groaned, chucking a cushion at their friend, which he easily dodged. She couldn’t help but laugh too as he buried his face in her hair.
697 notes · View notes
tangledinlove · 1 year
Text
you can hear it in the silence
Tumblr media
pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader
tags: reader is female and uses she/her, no use of y/n, fluff then angst then fluff again, canon typical violence/content, near death experiences, reader gets injured, BEST FRIENDS TO LOVERS MY BELOVED, title from you are in love by taylor swift sorry not sorry
word count: 7.5k woah howd that happen
notes: btw i have not read the books and have no idea how the series lore works. im just a tv show enjoyer who loves using Every Single Trope in the book <3
You decided to blame it all on the black cat you passed that morning.
There was really just no other explanation as to why you were having the worst possible luck imaginable.
It started when George insisted that the four of you celebrate the latest win for Lockwood and Co. Hung on the fridge was a chalkboard that was updated daily, labeled ‘Days Gone Without a Near Death Encounter’. The company had reached its latest milestone, which was reflected in the large number ten written on the board in Lucy’s neat handwriting.
“Oh, come on, Lockwood. Just smile for the picture,” Lucy demanded, not able to keep the smile off of her face. George peered over her shoulder at the sight of you wrestling him into position next to the fridge.
“And why am I the one being subjected to this?” He asked indignantly.
“Well, we had to have the sign’s number one offender in the picture, of course,” you explained simply, dodging his hand that aimed to yank at your ear.
He shot you a flat look, but you could see the way his eyes shone with mirth and the way a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth.
Without a doubt, this was your favorite thing about being a part of Lockwood and Co. Sure, you loved the adrenaline that came with containing visitors and looking for sources, but nothing would beat this. Laughing around the kitchen, stomachs full from George’s great cooking, Lucy inevitably poking fun at Anthony, and everyone’s spirits high after a successful job.
You particularly loved the way that Anthony was finally able to bring himself to relax. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, you could see how the burden of his responsibilities was affecting him. You had known him long before he became the sole resident of 35 Portland Row, before the business, and before George and Lucy managed to fight their way into his heart. You had remained each other's constant through it all.
Thus, all of his attempts to hide his internal struggles were not lost on you. You tried to make things easier for him at every turn, triple checking the kits before you left for a job, washing the dishes even though it was definitely his turn, and doing absolutely anything you could to make his life easier.
“You’re too soft on him,” George accused you one day, kicking your foot lightly with a sly smile on his face. “You nearly tackled me over the couch the last time I tried taking the last of the noon khamei that, must I remind you, I made.”
“You must be going mad, Karim, because that never happened,” you said with a laugh, looking up from your drawing of George and his scheming face that you were sketching onto the Thinking Cloth. Cartoon George’s eyebrows were furrowed together, a frown on his face while he was trying to figure out how to beat Anthony at chess. Real George grinned back at you, ready to fire back a retort before Anthony spoke up after moving one of his pieces.
With a mouth full of noon khamei, he said, “And that’s why she’s my favorite.”
“I’d better be your favorite, after putting up with you for this long,” you said in disbelief. “I would’ve made you choke on that pastry if you said it was George.”
Anthony used his ankle that was hooked around your chair leg to pull you an inch closer to the table.
“You were the only candidate for the spot.”
The two of you shared a smile while Anthony checkmated George’s king.
After another minute of arguing, you were able to corral him into taking the picture by the chalkboard. George and Anthony left the kitchen to set up the movie in the next room, a whirlwind of arguments over what you would be watching. You and Lucy trudged up the steps in the meantime, going to return her camera to her room. The two of you placed bets on who would break the company’s streak next, and Lucy was insistent that it wouldn’t be her.
Still laughing when you reached the top floor, you pushed open Lucy’s door and moved to land face first on her bed.
You adored Lucy’s room. After a few months at Lockwood and Co., her room was now completely transformed from the attic full of extra junk to an actual bedroom. Her bedside table was full of her small belongings that you loved to look through. A pair of small scissors that she used to trim her bangs whenever they got the slightest bit too long. A stack of her audio recordings she had yet to send to her friend Norrie. Her black nail polish. At the foot of her bed was her pair of Converse that she had kicked off earlier.
“Oh, look, the picture developed.” She held the picture out to you to see, pulling your attention away from the pictures pinned on her mirror.
You took the freshly developed photo out of her hand and couldn’t help but let a smile take over your face. Anthony was half grinning and the board was tilted from when you accidentally knocked him into it. You could see where your hand was curled around his bicep to keep him from ducking out of frame. You moved to hand it back to Lucy, but she shook her head, smiling like she knew something you didn’t.
“It’s for you.”
“Really?”
This confused you. Lucy never really gave away the photos she took, instead choosing to stick them on her walls. She was almost completely done covering one of the posts in her room, and you assumed she wanted to add it to her collection. Except she nodded, the odd grin still painted across her face. She moved for the staircase, leaving no room for argument.
“I guess you’re right, if Anthony got his hands on this, he’d probably toss it,” you agreed, moving down the stairs after her.
Lucy had to fight the urge to hit you. You and Lockwood were really some of the stupidest people she had ever met.
Slipping into your bedroom that was next to Anthony and George’s, you reached onto your shelf for your photo album. You had lots of pictures of the four of you, but not nearly as much as Lucy. All of yours fit into one photobook, and you flipped to the nearest empty page. You froze while sliding the picture into the sleeve. It was actually really cute.
Well. No one would know.
You darted down the steps after Lucy, the photo safe in your wallet and your album back in its spot on the shelf.
The small television sat in the center of the living room, the movie already playing. Everyone was sitting in their unassigned assigned seats, Lucy in her armchair on the left and George lounging on the single couch opposite her. Anthony, ever the annoyance, was sprawled out along the length of the entire couch, his long legs kicked up on the arm rest while his feet, clad in pink socks, hung off the edge. You grumbled to yourself and cursed everyone for starting the movie while you were gone. You laid down hard on top of Anthony, causing the air to leave his lungs. You repositioned yourselves for a while, before finally ending up with you laying down on your back and him draped on top of you on his stomach. His head rested under your chin, and your legs were tangled together. He shifted and you could smell cinnamon.
“You smell nice,” you mumbled into his hair.
“Quit sniffing me.”
“You remind me of a flower.”
“You’re terribly allergic to them.”
“I know.”
The film played for a few more minutes. The movie was actually pretty interesting, and you watched in amusement as the main character slipped down the stairs and toppled into the love interest.
“This movie sucks,” Anthony mumbled into your neck.
You smoothed a hand over the back of his messy hair.
“Why would you let George choose it?” you whispered back.
“I didn’t. I chose it.”
You rolled your eyes and did not respond, opting to watch the movie instead. Anthony had a terrible habit of talking whenever anything played on television. The only times you could pay attention to movies was when he was fast asleep. Your hand began to card through his brown hair, and it felt like his body melted into yours.
He groaned, reaching up with his arm to half-heartedly swat your hand away from his head.
“Stop that. I’m going to fall asleep.”
“The only other way to get you to fall asleep is by taking a bat to your head. I’m up for that too, if you’d prefer.”
“It’s so fun when you threaten me.”
George shushed you both from his side of the room, oddly defensive over a movie he was arguing against less than half an hour ago.
“If you guys could stop talking, that'd be great.”
You held up your hands in surrender. Anthony did too, you guessed, as he quickly reached to pull one of your hands from the air and back to his head. So much for not wanting to sleep. After a few more minutes of lightly dragging your hands through his hair and sweeping stray hairs out of his face, he was out like a light. You craned your neck slightly to see if he was actually asleep. Your heart constricted in your chest.
As his best friend, you would admit that Anthony looked nice. Most people would agree. When he wore his trademark button up shirt and tie and had a blinding smile plastered on his face he could charm his way into whatever he wanted. But nothing would beat the way he looked here at home, in a tee shirt and comfortable pajama pants, his hair haphazard from you running your fingers through it.
You fell asleep to the sound of church bells as the man on screen kissed the bride.
Your neck tickled. You moved your right arm, not surprised to find it stuck. Opening your eyes, a familiar scene was before you, the sight of you and Anthony tangled together on the small couch. Ridding yourself of him was always like solving a difficult puzzle. In his sleep, Anthony always found a way to cling, as if you’d run away in your sleep. It appeared that your position had not changed much while the two of you were off to Dreamland. He was hung half on top of you, his right leg sandwiched between both of yours, an arm curled over your waist and his hand stuck under your back. His face was burrowed into the area between your shoulder and your jaw, and when he exhaled, you could feel the warmth tickle your neck.
Your favorite blanket was falling off of Anthony’s leg and onto the carpet. It was your favorite blanket, a funny one that George had knit for your last birthday. Stitched above a slightly lopsided cartoon ghost was a stupid joke.
Why do ghosts ride lifts?
It raises their spirits.
Lucy must’ve thrown it over the both of you last night, but she didn’t take into account how Anthony was a living, breathing, fully functioning human heater. You were convinced that all of his thoughts bounced around his head like crazy and significantly increased his body temperature. He said it was from the high blood pressure he got from being around you so much. You decided to agree to disagree.
A clink could be heard from somewhere in the house, presumably the kitchen. Your stomach echoed its hunger at you. You snuck a chance at Anthony, who was still fast asleep.
During the night, Anthony had herded you between the cushion and the back of the couch, his body effectively creating a barrier between you and the door. You could practically feel your heart soften at this. Another new change that came from the start of the company was a rather… fierce protective side that came out of him. Even asleep, his mind was working at a million miles per hour. One of your free arms rubbed up and down his back, which seemed to make him stir awake.
“Anthony, let go.”
He ignored you and his grip seemed to get even tighter. “Good morning,” he rasped instead.
Your heart, still softened from thoughts of your best friend, lurched violently against your ribcage. Not even you were immune to the way he sounded first thing in the morning.
“I’m going to starve to death if you don’t let me go eat.”
“Oh no,” he mumbled, moving you in his arms so that your back was pressed firmly to his chest. “What wood would you like the coffin to be made of? Do you prefer an open or closed casket?”
He caught your wrist and held it against your chest when your arm moved to hit him in the face.
“Mmm… Mahogany. And open casket, but only if you get Lucy to agree to do my makeup. You can’t have me looking like a corpse at my funeral.”
“As if I’d ever allow that. But I’ve just remembered we’d have to use silver for the coffin, actually. We can’t have your ghost coming back to visit us.”
You smiled as you absentmindedly spun the ring around his finger. “You could do the eulogy, I guess. I wouldn’t want to overwhelm George, as I’d like him to do the catering.”
He hummed noncommittally into your shoulder, and you could tell he was nodding off again.
“And invite Kipps for me too, please.”
He stiffened. Scoffing, he tightened his grip on you the slightest bit again.
“If he even thought about showing up, I’d put his rapier right up-”
A new noise chimed in now, a crash from the kitchen.
You sat straight up, senses heightened.
“Hello?” You called out.
There was no response.
You pushed yourself up off the couch, climbing over Anthony’s legs.
You padded across the wooden floors, your socks quieting the sound of you moving across the room. Nearly tripping over a stack of books from the library that George left sitting around, you walked past the other couches and reached to grip the doorknob in your hand. Anthony beat you to it, though, and he slipped into the hallway before you.
Prick.
The hallway was empty. A quick glance up the steps showed that it was also void of life. You caught a glimpse of old newspaper clippings that mentioned the company and of course, ones mentioning Lockwood himself. You turned back around, and was met with the sight of Anthony brandishing his rapier, having silently pulled it from its stand next to the front door.
“Relax,” you whispered. “The scariest thing you’ll see this early in the morning is George without his trousers on.”
It was able to get a slight laugh from him, but the crease between his eyebrows told you he was still worried. Your hushed tone and nervous shuffling told him the same thing.
In the corner of your eye, the both of you caught movement through the frosted glass that led to the kitchen. A figure moving, one that was much too tall to be George or Lucy. Your breath caught in your throat.
Anthony turned to you, a serious look on his face now. Stay back, he seemed to say. He continued towards the door, his sword held defensively in front of him. You slid yours out of its holder as well and followed behind him.
His hand rested on the doorknob and he turned to face you again.
One.
Two.
Three.
He slammed the door open, its hinges creaking in protest. It seemed like the glass would rattle straight out of the door with the force of it colliding into the door stop. Anthony’s gaze swept around the room, surveying the danger. You held your rapier up in front of you, ready to jump into action. Instead, you watched as he pulled his sword out of view from whoever was in the kitchen, and rested it on the doorway.
“Well, good morning,” he said, cheerily, and you already knew he had his endearing smile on. “To what do we owe this pleasure, sir?” He stepped over the threshold and continued conversing with this person in the kitchen.
Taking it as a sign that no danger was nearby, you lifted his sword and returned both of yours to the rack before following him into the room.
Sitting in your usual chair was a young man, probably in his early twenties. He had messy blonde hair, which looked like he, too, had just rolled out of bed and come straight to 35 Portland Row’s kitchen. His face was sickly pale, and it looked like he was going to pass out right on the chair in the middle of the room. George was standing in front of the pantry, looking rather upset with a broken glass in hand.
All of that worrying because of a young man and a broken cup.
“Forgive my state of dress and rather abrupt entrance, Mr. Moore. You can never be too careful these days, can you?” Lockwood asked, smoothing his own hair back into place while continuing to beam at the strange man in your seat.
You made your way over to George, who ran a hand through his unruly curls in frustration.
“What’s up, Georgie?”
He sighed, tossing the remains of the cup in the trash before turning around and pressing his palms to the counter. “Yesterday, Lucy was badgering me so much about picking up last nights’ movies that I completely forgot to restock our food supply.”
“So?”
“Usually, I wouldn’t care, but,” his voice dropped to a whisper, “this man looks like he’s a second from keeling over, and we have nothing to offer him. You should’ve seen the way he looked when he came knocking about an hour ago. He looked even worse than he does now.”
You two dared a glance at the man in question, who was swaying slightly in his seat. Tears were forming in his eyes, and his hands were shaking. He tried to clench and unclench his fingers to hide it, but the tremors were clear as day.
“I could run to Arif’s, pick up some doughnuts,” you offered. If he was this unwell now, you could only imagine what kind of state he was in when George opened the front door.
George’s entire face seemed to light up. “That’d be great. I’m going to get the kits ready, it looks like we have a job on our hands.” He disappeared down into the basement, whistling down the steps. You could hear the sound of keys jingling as he swung the keyring around his finger.
You continued toward the front door, and squeezed one of Anthony's shoulders to let him know you were heading out. Still deep into his serious conversation with Mr. Moore, he nodded his head slightly towards the coat rack. Don’t forget.
You gave him a show of sliding your arms through the sleeves of your jacket and even throwing on the warmest scarf you could find before shutting the door behind you.
It passed you when you were crossing the street back to the house.
A small black cat, sprinting in front of you like one of its nine lives depended on it. You nearly dropped the dozen doughnuts in your hand, and you watched as it dived into a nearby bush. How cute.
(You would later retract this statement.)
You opened the door and were met with the sound of voices coming from your right, in the sitting room. Anthony and Mr. Moore were immersed in their discussion, a piece of paper full of notes in the former’s lap.
You placed the box in front of the older man and insisted he take one. Up close, his condition looked even worse. Dark circles, much more severe than Anthony’s, hung under his eyes. Wrinkles littered his face although the man could have been no older than twenty-five.
“Sir, I assure you that coming here to Lockwood and Co. was the best decision that you could have made. We will deal with this issue as soon as possible, and I hope that we are able to give you peace of mind.”
When Anthony spoke to clients, he tended to slip into a persona. He would play up his confidence and feign concern. But the sympathy that dripped from his words now was genuine, and you felt yourself worry for this Mr. Moore.
You settled down on the couch next to Lockwood. Anthony handed you your tea, which had a splash of milk and a small bit of honey, and he took his usual doughnut from you, which was filled with creme. The man gave a weary smile after finishing off a jam doughnut.
“Me and my love Elizabeth were just like you two,” he whispered, voice catching.
You sat a bit straighter on the couch.
Mr. Moore stood up, and Lockwood followed suit. “I assume that you can understand how I feel, son.”
“I understand completely,” agreed Anthony.
“Promise to take care of your love, Mr. Lockwood. Better than I took care of mine.”
The two of you responded at the same time.
“Oh, we aren’t-”
“I swear it.”
The two men shook hands before Lockwood directed him to the door.
You could do nothing but sit on the couch in shock. Anthony’s words echoed in your head.
I understand completely.
I swear it.
I understand completely.
I swear-
“It’s rather cold out. Were you fine on the walk to Arif’s?”
Anthony asked you this while pulling the scarf from around your neck and slinging it over the back of the couch. The words were sweet, and while his voice usually made you feel as happy as the tea he made you, you currently felt about as sick as Mr. Moore looked.
“Why did you say that?”
He looked taken aback for a moment before he pinched your side.
“Sorry, if it’s a crime to wonder if someone with Touch was about to get her fingers frozen off.”
“Not that,” you sighed, shrugging your jacket off. He took it from you and hung it up on another coat rack. “That thing you said to Mr. Moore. We aren’t… We aren’t lovers. Why didn’t you deny it?”
He stood as still as the rack he was in front of. He turned to face you with no sign of his Anthony Lockwood confidence on his face. It was a bit eerie. The two of you stared at each other for a few moments longer in silence. He pursed his lips before one of those fake smiles you hated to see took over.
“Just building rapport with the client.”
Your heart sank.
“Right.”
“The mutual understanding is good for-”
“I know, Lockwood.”
His fake grin seemed to flicker off his face at the use of his last name. He was always ‘Anthony’ to you. But Lockwood was who was standing in front of you now, having this conversation with you.
“I’m going to go get ready now,” you explained, shifting your weight awkwardly as you slipped past him out of the sitting room. You looked about ready to bolt away from him. “I assume we’re heading out in a few hours?”
He wanted to say something. Your fingers were already gripped tightly around the banister, your feet carrying you halfway up the first flight of steps.
What did you want him to tell you? That he was in love with you? That you were the first person he looked for when he walked into a room? That he did nothing but worry about you, wonder if you were okay, and desperately need you to be safe?
Instead, he nodded. “Yeah.”
You could do nothing but accept his response and wonder why it hurt so bad. You gave him one of your fake smiles, too, it only getting slightly genuine when you passed Lucy on her way down the steps. Lucy reached the bottom of the steps and her and Lockwood stared at each other for a few beats of silence.
“You’re even more dense than she is,” she complained, before making her way over to the box of sweets.
You were right to worry about Mr. Moore. Lockwood had explained it to you on the way over, his recap filling the silence of the cab instead of your usual joking. It was just the both of you. Lucy had planned months ago to go see Norrie today, and George had gone to do the much needed food shopping he had forgotten about in his haste yesterday.
Mr. Moore, or Leonard Moore, was now the only one living at 15 Ashburn Way. His wife, Elizabeth, had been murdered last week. The tragedy was a result of a rogue burglar that had struck her over the head before fleeing the scene. Leonard was away on a business trip and came back to find her body in their bedroom.
They had been childhood sweethearts and were married on Elizabeth’s twenty-first birthday. The lovely couple bought a nice house further away from the busy city, a home big enough to start a family in. She hadn’t been born with a Talent, but Leonard had. His gift of Sight was just now beginning to wear off, and every night after her death, her death-glow stayed beside Leonard, a harsh reminder of everything that happened.
Mr. Moore had no idea what the source could be, but her personal effects were all located in her bedside table on the second floor. He said that he saw Elizabeth early this morning. She was rageful and charged for him, Leonard narrowly being able to escape dying by Ghost Touch. The situation had utterly destroyed him.
“That’s tragic,” you mumbled. Poor Mr. Moore.
Lockwood went silent after your acknowledgment. He had been talking to you, but your lack of response the entire ride made it seem like he was talking to himself in an empty taxi. You had spent the better half of the cab ride staring out the window, watching the buildings get sparser and the greenery begin to take over as you neared the suburbs. You could see his face reflected in your window. He looked surprised at your response.
His call of your name was cut off by you turning to him abruptly. “We’re here.”
You slipped the cab driver his payment and as always, Lockwood beat you to opening your own door. You swore he could teleport.
The house was beautiful. It wasn’t too big or small, and you could see yourself wanting to live in a house like this in the future. It was in a nice, quiet neighborhood, too. The two of you smiled at a passing neighbor who wished you a good night.
Anthony seemed to read your mind. “It’s cute, isn’t it? I can see why they chose to live here.”
You couldn’t help but give him a real smile. “Yeah.”
The gate to the house was wide open, a testament to how fast Mr. Moore had left. The grass was neatly kept, although a little overgrown. A swing was hung from an oak tree in the front yard. Although they did not have any children, it was already on its way to becoming a picture perfect family home. You could picture little kids running around here and summer picnics in the grass. It all made you so unfathomably sad.
You were lagging behind. Lockwood had already climbed up the porch steps and was watching you look around the property. You knew he was just observing and not rushing you, but you couldn’t help but pick up your pace to join him.
“Alright, let’s go,” you said, adjusting your grip on your bag.
He blinked a bit sadly at you and a soft call of your name slipped past his lips.
Your stomach churned. You reached out to grasp him firmly by the wrist, the one without his watch on it. “Anthony, I know. We can talk about it later, alright? The sun is setting.”
He wanted to argue with you about it. It was written clear as day on his face. But he knew you had a job to do.
“Right.” With one final look at you, he slipped the house key into the door and pushed it open.
You shined your torch on the light switch, and flicked it on. The house burst into light, bringing life back into the home. Anthony looked at the thermostat.
“It’s broken.”
You shared a look before walking through the kitchen. At the table was leftovers for a meal for one.
A crunch could be heard under Anthony’s foot. A broken glass, the liquid once in it sitting around the debris. A knife was sitting uselessly on the ground a few feet away.
“Do you think he tried fighting back?” you asked quietly.
“Probably. Neither of them strike me as the kind to throw knives in their free time.”
No matter how upset you were with him earlier, there was no way that you would walk into a haunted house without listening to the plan first. The two of you walked straight up the wooden stairs as planned, each step creaking and protesting under your combined weight. Following Leonard’s directions to the bedroom, you were continuing down the hallway before Anthony caught your wrist.
“Do you hear that?”
You furrowed your brows. It was completely silent, save for the sound of your own breathing. You were about to respond when you heard it, too.
Crying. No, not crying. Wailing. Quiet gut wrenching sobs, that you could hear as loud as day, now.
But, you couldn’t really hear it. You could feel it. It was like the crying was coming from the walls, from the ground, and from all around you.
“You ready?”
He nodded and drew his rapier as you closed your eyes. You gingerly placed your hand on the wall, and sensed.
Using Touch felt like being suspended in open air.
It was like you were nowhere, but everywhere at the same time. After you came into contact with the wall, you began to see things. Flickers of the Moores’ life here. Them sharing a romantic dinner over the kitchen table. Them laughing in the living room. As you began to continue down the hallway, you could see more. The two of them fighting in the doorway, them kissing in front of the Christmas tree.
The source was definitely in the bedroom.
You opened your eyes.
Anthony was still behind you, and his sword shined under the fluorescents. You drew yours as well before nodding at their bedroom door. After a silent count of three, you pushed it open quietly.
The bedroom was in about the same state as the kitchen. One of the red curtains lay in a heap on the floor, clearly torn off. The sheets were unmade on the bed, and you could smell it before you saw it. Blood. Using the end of your weapon, you lifted the blanket off the bed. On the right side, a dark red puddle was soaked into the mattress. You covered up the stain, not wanting to look at it anymore.
The house was starting to get cold. A shiver went down your spine; she was near. You could feel Anthony’s warmth from behind you as you both dropped the kits so he could prepare the chains.
You moved towards the bedside table on the right, the net in hand. The top of it was completely empty, except for a single framed picture of Leonard and Elizabeth’s wedding day. She looked absolutely gorgeous in her white wedding dress, and her and her new husband were sharing a smile so full of love. Both of them deserved better.
Suddenly, the lights flickered before the room was plunged into total darkness. The new moon in the sky did nothing to help your case, and you and Anthony reached to turn on your torches.
“Looks like Lizzie doesn’t like us looking through her stuff,” he mused. “We have to go faster.”
“No, really?” you couldn’t help but fire back.
You gripped the handle of the top drawer and tugged it open. It was neat and ordered, totally unlike the rest of the house. You could feel the energy radiating out of the drawer, a pull strong enough that it felt like you were being drawn into it.
“Lockwood, the source, it’s… it’s definitely in here.”
“Good, keep looking.”
He was crouched down, lining the salt up in a circle around the both of you.
You began to reach for the trinkets inside the drawer, feeling the emotions and memories tied to each one. There was a wide range of them, some sad, but most were happy. You had touched her diary, a necklace, and a ticket to a carnival when you saw it. A box, tucked into the very back of the drawer. You reached for it, and brought it into the light of your torch. When you popped the top open, there sat a ring in the middle. A gorgeous diamond was embedded in the center of the box, and it seemed to shine even under the harsh light of your flashlight. It was beautiful. And then it was like the box was on fire.
You cursed, wildly, clutching your hand as you staggered back. It was like you were drunk. Unable to control your limbs, you flailed like a baby deer. You ended up on your back a few feet away from the drawer, your palm burning like somebody had pressed it to the inside of an oven.
Your vision was swimming in and out, and you were vaguely able to make out Anthony’s panicked face in front of you. He stepped out of the circle. Why did he step out of the circle? Your fading vision turned into black. Maybe you had passed out. But you could hear Anthony calling your name, and you could definitely feel the way your hand was aflame, the pain completely unbearable.
“Anthony… Anthony, I can’t see. It hurts. It hurts so bad.”
You could feel yourself wave your burning hand in front of your face, and fear gripped you by the throat. It was taking so much effort to breathe in and out. You couldn’t see anything. You reached out with your good hand and felt for him. Felt for anything. But your sense of Touch felt dialed up to one hundred. Touching the floor made you see nothing but Elizabeth slow dancing with Leonard here. Touching the wall behind you gave you a rush of euphoria, the memory of the couple painting their house together for the first time.
You could hear Anthony’s voice next to your ear. “I know, I know it hurts, but I need you to move. I’m sorry, I know.”
You could feel his quick breathing on your back as he attempted to control your limp body long enough to pull you to safety.
He dropped you somewhere on the floor, a bit roughly. You knew the circle was not intact, The chain and salt who knows where, now.
You could vaguely register yourself mumbling. Whether it was coherent or whether it was nonsense, you didn’t know. The overstimulation of the room didn’t let you think, your brain overloaded with nothing but memories and voices and feelings.
You felt hands on your face. You started to sweat. Fight-or-flight mode kicked in, and you decided to fight. You swung your fists at nothing, crying out in fear the entire time. Your hands were caught with ease, but then you heard his voice.
“It’s me, it’s Anthony, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but you need to tell me where the source is, please.”
Calm flooded through you at the sound of his familiar voice. The recognizable way his words echoed in your ears gave you something to hold onto. You felt yourself grounded immediately.
“The… the box, there’s a… there’s a ring inside,” you managed to get out. But you could feel the way his hands slipped from his face and knew.
Elizabeth was here.
Your heart rate began to pick up. Anthony wouldn’t be able to fight her off and secure the source at the same time. You felt panic surge through you, the thought of your best friend fighting a Type Two alone, the thought of your best friend Ghost Locked. The thought of your best friend dead. The sounds of the shrieking ghost faded to the background, and you began to feel around the floor.
To save your best friend, you would have to push all of it away. You had to put your trust in Anthony to do his job, and get yourself to do yours. You fought Elizabeth’s memories that were rising to the surface, suppressing them completely. You blocked off every single thought and focused only on the mission before you.
Secure the source.
You shut your eyes and felt. You felt for the strength that coursed through you when you briefly touched the ring, and trusted your body to move. Your hand knocked against something hard, and you felt the unbearable warmth surround you again. Gritting your teeth, you picked it up one last time. White hot pain seared through you again, and you wanted nothing more than to drop the box. The ground shook with vibrations and his footsteps.
Anthony. You had to do this for Anthony.
If you had dropped the net near the bed it couldn’t be far now. You blindly reached out towards the vague area you thought it to be in, your arm going numb due to the sheer pain you were in. Your knee snagged on something, and you felt relief course through you. The net. You dropped the box on top of it and wrapped it clumsily, your arms shaking, and your right hand unable to move.
Then it was silent.
“Anthony?” you nearly sobbed.
Dread coursed through you.
No.
No, no, no, no.
You couldn’t hear yourself.
You cleared your throat and tried again.
“Anthony?” you yelled, screaming this time, uncaring of the poor, sweet neighbors nearby. Yet still you heard nothing. You put your hand to your heart and could feel it hammering wildly against your chest. You were alive. You were breathing, although unsteadily.
But was he?
Your unsteady breathing became hyperventilation.
You felt around blindly, moving further away from the bed and deeper into the room. Another wave of nausea hit you. It was stronger this time.
“Anthony, please.” You were begging now, begging for something. Anything. You could feel your mouth make the sounds but nothing was coming out. Your hands raked through your hair, tugging at the roots. You couldn’t hear and you couldn’t see, but you could feel. And you felt awful. Your body gave out a few feet from the door.
You felt warm, all of a sudden. Not warm like the heat of the source. But warm like falling asleep at the kitchen table and waking up with a blanket around you. Warm like wearing someone else’s jacket after you refused to bring one. Warm like Anthony. You wondered if this was what dying felt like. You stopped fighting.
Hands. Hands were on your back, you could feel them wrapping around your shoulders and pulling you up. Hands wrapping around your front, hands gripping your face. Your head lolled forward into something hard.
Cinnamon.
You smelled cinnamon.
You hiccuped.
“Anthony?” You tried again, knowing you would not hear it.
A hand sliding to the back of your head. Pulling you towards something warm and firm. A body. His body.
Cinnamon.
You were safe.
And you felt yourself slip out of consciousness.
You woke up seeing and hearing more than you would have liked.
Bright lights shone through your eyelids, and the steady beeping of monitors was quiet next to you. Your fingers twitched and the sound of a chair scraping the floor nearly exploded your ear drums. Reluctantly prying your eyes open, you were met with Lucy’s pretty face. Her hair was unbrushed and her bangs were pushed out of her face. Her jaw was hung open, her eyes wide as if she had just seen a ghost.
Ha.
“Luce-”
She surged forward to capture you in the tightest hug you’ve ever been a part of.
“You had us worried sick,” she sobbed into your hair. “Never do that again, do you understand?”
“I’ll try not to,” you whispered, not used to the sound of your voice again.
You pulled back far enough so you could give her a wet kiss on her cheek before she wrapped you in her arms again.
“I’m so glad you’re okay. I can’t believe you almost left me alone.”
“You can’t get rid of me that easily.”
You smiled into each other's necks.
“I have to go tell Lockwood,” she murmured, reluctantly pulling back from the hug. “He’s been going insane.”
You nearly jolted up at the news.
“Is he alright?”
She nodded, pressing the button to call for a nurse.
“Physically, he’s all good. He had to get stitches on his arm and has a couple of bruises, but he was out of the hospital a week ago. Didn’t even have to stay the night.”
“A week ago?”
You sat back against your pillows, letting it sink in. You had lost consciousness for a week. Missed out on an entire week of your life.
Lucy nodded, before reaching for your left hand. A quick glance to your right one showed a thick layer of bandages over your palm, where you had held the box.
“We’ve had to wrestle Lockwood out of your room a few times. He’s barely been eating and sleeping, but seeing you awake will hopefully soothe his state of mind.”
Your heart skipped a beat in your chest. Poor Anthony, he had to deal with you in hysterics and the aftermath of the job. The door opening caused you and Lucy to look up, but seeing a doctor in the doorway instead of your best friend made you slouch.
“Don’t look so happy to see her,” teased Lucy, before she slipped from the room.
Dr. Anderson was very sweet. She checked you over and found everything to be perfectly fine, and even let George into the room when she saw him sitting outside. He brought you a plate of his best shirini morabai and updated you on everything that went on in the week you were gone.
Lockwood had taken to sitting by your bedside during every minute of visiting hour. It was quiet at Portland Row without you. Lockwood was apparently unbearable to be around, sleep deprivation and stress turning him sour. He would snap at people when they would do something as small as breathe too loudly or he would go silent altogether. Today was one of the rare days where the two of them could convince him to go home and function normally for a few hours before returning to the sterility of the hospital. Lucy went back to Portland Row to pick him up and would be back any minute now.
You were letting George take the last pastry when the door nearly slammed off its hinges. George stood up abruptly, getting ready to aim his plate at any violent attacker who stepped in.
It was only Lockwood.
You took him in for a second. His hair was disheveled and his tie hung loosely off his neck. His jacket was missing completely, and you couldn’t help but wonder if he was cold. The dark circles that you had worked so hard to get rid of were back. Your feet were moving before your mind could tell them to, and you were yanking wires out of your arm.
You could hear George say, “You really shouldn’t have done that,” but you didn’t care.
Anthony was here. He was alive. And he was right in front of you.
You stood on unstable feet, and your first steps had your knees buckling. But it didn’t matter, because he had already crossed the room and swept you into his arms. He was warm.
“You’re… You’re okay,” he mumbled shakily into your skin. The two words took an insane amount of effort for him to choke out. The next four words came easier.
“You’re my best friend.”
You pressed a kiss to his chest, rattled by the sheer amount of love you had for him. “You’re mine too.”
Anthony’s next three words came even easier.
“I love you.”
It felt like someone had taken a vacuum and sucked all of the air out of the room.
“You what?” You pulled away from him, the shock painted all over your face. Your hands interlocked around his neck to steady yourself. You wondered if you were going to pass out again.
“I love you,” he repeated, his voice steady. His hands slid down your back and went up to cup your face again and again, as if he needed proof you were real.
“I nearly lost you a week ago and never got the chance to say it. So, I’m telling you now.” He let out a deep breath before knocking his forehead against yours. “I love you. And I couldn’t sit here for another moment without you knowing.”
You laughed. Anthony’s heart did a triathlon in his chest.
“I love you too. I think I have for a while now. It was true five years ago and it’ll be true for the rest of my life,” you said, beaming directly at him.
He gave you a real, golden, and shining, Anthony Lockwood smile before leaning down and kissing you.
He smelled like cinnamon.
And everything was okay.
2K notes · View notes
atlabeth · 10 months
Text
leave the door open - anthony lockwood
summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.
a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!
wc: 8.2k
warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending
Tumblr media
127.
128.
129.
13–
Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again. 
Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.
You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security. 
You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise. 
35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign. 
You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.
It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.
It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.
You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up. 
“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.
He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”
You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”
“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him. 
You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”
“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”
“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down. 
“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”
“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”
“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”
“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”
He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”
Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”
“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”
“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”
“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”
You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”
“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”
“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”
“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”
You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch. 
“Thank you,” you said softly. 
Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”
“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”
“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile. 
You chuckled. “Good to know.”
“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”
“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.
Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”
“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.” 
He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.” 
You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes. 
“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”
"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.
You closed the door behind you.
You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow. 
-
It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night. 
Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking. 
And you did adjust, that was true. 
You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least. 
Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all. 
Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open. 
You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map. 
He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.” 
“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.” 
“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.” 
You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?” 
“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.” 
“I like the sound of that,” you mused. 
“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.” 
“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.” 
Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.” 
You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.” 
“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh. 
“Just get on with it, Lockwood.” 
He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.” 
You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?” 
He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.” 
Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.” 
Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.” 
“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.” 
His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”
Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.” 
“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.” 
“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.” 
“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said. 
You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.
“You don’t have to—” 
“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”
Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued. 
“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”
Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”
“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.” 
“Your family would care.” 
You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”
He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever. 
“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.” 
That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.” 
“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.  
“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything. 
“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.” 
You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.” 
He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around. 
“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.” 
He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.” 
-
And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour. 
It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented. 
Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you. 
But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases. 
The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile. 
“What in the world are you doing?”
You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.
“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.
“At two in the morning?”
You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”
“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”
“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”
“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”
You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”
His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.” 
“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”
“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.
“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”
Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”
“The best,” you confirmed.
He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.
“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”
“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”
You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”
Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.”
“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”
“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.” 
“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed. 
“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual. 
As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.” 
“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?” 
You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.” 
“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.” 
“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.” 
He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.” 
“Good. Now get out of here.” 
Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste. 
“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.” 
-
(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its. 
One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again 
He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it. 
Normally good, he thought with a slight smile. 
A fine addition to the team indeed.)
-
You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it. 
Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his. 
You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open. 
You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar. 
You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name. 
“You should be asleep,” he said.
“So should you.” 
“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.” 
“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.” 
Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.” 
“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.” 
He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.” 
You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along. 
“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.” 
All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you 
“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…” 
“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised. 
He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.” 
“Then the same goes for you.” 
“Obviously.” 
You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do. 
The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—” 
“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.” 
His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.” 
You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much. 
“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position. 
“Thanks.”
“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.” 
Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.” 
You smiled. “Very true.” 
“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.” 
“It seems you’re always up.” 
“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library. 
“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.” 
“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.” 
“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.” 
“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”  
Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.” 
“Always.” 
-
Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on. 
Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head. 
That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so. 
Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.  
When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior. 
When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him. 
He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange. 
And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain. 
You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.
You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask. 
Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad. 
Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push. 
Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though. 
It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything. 
“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed. 
Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader. 
“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said. 
“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?” 
“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly. 
“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.” 
“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.” 
“Don’t forget stupid.” 
Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.” 
“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.” 
This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment. 
-
“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider. 
“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.” 
“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?” 
“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.” 
Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.” 
“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.” 
“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly. 
“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.” 
“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond. 
He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone. 
You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him. 
You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood. 
“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed. 
He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.” 
“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?” 
“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.” 
“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.” 
“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?” 
You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.” 
Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it. 
A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals. 
This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done. 
The other half was getting out without being spotted. 
The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together. 
“That was good work.” 
You ignored him. 
“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.” 
You ignored him.
“Seriously. You work well on the fly.” 
“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly. 
“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.” 
“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left. 
You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you. 
“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?” 
“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed. 
He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?” 
“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?” 
Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head. 
“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly. 
He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.” 
“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.” 
“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.” 
“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?” 
“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped. 
“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.” 
“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.” 
“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.” 
Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”
“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze. 
“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—” 
His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.  
It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen. 
The guard pulled the trigger. 
Lockwood lunged. 
You screamed. 
-
“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.” 
“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.” 
“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added. 
“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.” 
“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?” 
“...A bit,” she admitted. 
You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.” 
“A bit.” 
“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.” 
“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said. 
“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.” 
She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?” 
“He cares about all of us, Luce.” 
“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.” 
Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.” 
“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said. 
“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.” 
Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.” 
“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said. 
“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.” 
You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.” 
“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?” 
“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.” 
“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.” 
“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.” 
Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.” 
“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”
“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her. 
Sometimes you really hated your friends. 
-
It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel. 
Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous. 
You were just… strategically not talking to him. 
And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related. 
It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong. 
You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight. 
All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but… 
You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife. 
You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.
Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood. 
“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.” 
“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives. 
“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.” 
Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?” 
“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.” 
You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was. 
“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.” 
Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.” 
Lockwood’s eyebrows rose. 
“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.” 
His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.” 
“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.” 
“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.” 
“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.” 
“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.” 
Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.” 
“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.” 
Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.” 
It was his turn to frown. “What for?” 
“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.” 
“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.” 
“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.” 
“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh. 
“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.” 
“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.” 
“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.” 
Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around. 
Your Lockwood. 
“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?” 
“Because you’re a reckless idiot?” 
“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.” 
You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him. 
The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.
“Thank you,” you said. 
He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you. 
“Always.” 
And it was as simple as that. 
-
It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs. 
Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic. 
And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous. 
So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do. 
You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs. 
Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer. 
The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you. 
You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe. 
Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside. 
“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.
Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.
“Always.”
668 notes · View notes
wordsarelife · 1 year
Note
so my idea was that reader never had her first kiss and is very inexperienced. they‘re all making fun if her but in a loving way. but lockwood decides to rescue her and teach / practise with her.
—london boy
Tumblr media
pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader
summary: lockwood and y/n finish a study about what defines the greatness of a kiss
warnings: kissing ig
note: this was so fun to write!! such a good idea, I hope I did it justice!!
"yeah" Lucy laughed "but that wasn't the weirdest thing, when he kissed me, he had so much spit in his mouth, I nearly had to throw up"
"ew" George exclaimed, the rest of the table irrupting into similar sounds at the story of Lucy's horrible date
"I hate it when people do that" Lockwood agreed and you grew quiet. you had never kissed anyone, so it wasn't like you would now what should and shouldn't be done while kissing.
you found it some what embarrassing, but at the same time you had only turned sixteen, you had all the time in the world to kiss dozen of people. you internal monologue, had totally occupied from listening to the conversation and now all eyes had turned to you
"what is it?" you raised your brows. you sensed the growing reservation from your friends
"nothing" exclaimed Lockwood quickly, but you didn't buy into it
"we just wondered if you had ever kissed someone before" George said. Lockwood threw an angry look in his direction and Lucy admonished him loudly
"what?" you asked, startled by the sudden question
"well" said George "we all had a fair share of relationships, but we never saw you with anybody.. that begs the question" George left the rest of sentence unfinished, due to the kick he received from Lockwood under the table.
"oh" you looked down in shame "well, in that case I guess you're right"
"its nothing to be ashamed of" muttered Lucy. you looked up and send her a grateful smile
"it's a bit funny. but in a good way" George send you a smile "hopefully you will never have to kiss such a douchebag like Lucy, with a mouth full spit, there are enough of them in this world"
you all broke into laughter, the tense atmosphere suddenly blown away by you guys falling into your usual comfort.
an hour later, you were cleaning up the kitchen, when there was a soft knock at the kitchen door. you turned around and were met with Lockwood
"hey" you smiled "you know you don't have to knock, right? this is still your house"
"I didn't want to startle you" he walked into the room and sat down at the table
"I just finished" you sat down beside him "its quite late, we should go to bed"
he had taken your hand and stopped you from standing up
"wait" he muttered and watched as you sank back in your seat again "what you said earlier, was that true?"
"what? that I've never been kissed? do you think I would lie, because I like to feel embarrassed all the time? it's bad enough already, I don't need you to make fun of me"
"I would never, and there's nothing to be embarrassed of, a few less douchebags you have kissed, what does it matter?"
you just shrugged
"not every kiss is awesome. some of them are bad. so bad even, that you later regret them" he smiled reassuringly "maybe you avoided a few of them"
"this might sound stupid" you breathed "but are there bad and good kisses or just bad and good kissers?"
"well, what's the difference?" Lockwood smiled
"I presume there's a big one" you said "the difference is noticeable wether you measure the quality of a kiss by the circumstances or more by the person giving them. statistically-" you were interrupted the moment Lockwood suddenly leaned forward and plastered a chaste kiss onto your lips
"wha-?" your eyes turned big
"that was a good kiss for example" he said lowly "and just for measurement purposes" he leant forward again and repeated his action, this time leaving his lips a few seconds longer
"yeah" you breathed confused "those were pretty good"
"I think I understand what you meant now" he said "is it the kiss or is it the person giving the kiss"
"yeah" you nodded, leaning forward and kissing him again "I think it's the person giving the kiss" Lockwood shrugged and you smiled
"well, maybe there's another possibility we haven't thought about yet"
"is there?"
"yeah, what if it's the length of a kiss?" you planted a short and chaste kiss onto his mouth
"yeah, what if the quality is defined by time rather than skill?" Lockwoods hand wandered to rest on your cheek. he pulled your face forward slowly, connecting your lips.
it was in that moment you realised that kissing was much more easier than you had initially thought. it was a lot like falling asleep. all the time it didn't happen, you would worry and think, but when it finally did, it just happened, you knew what you had to do suddenly
your hands went into his hair, his hand was still resting on your cheek, the other gliding down towards your waist and pulling you off your chair and into his lap. his lips were soft, not that you had anything to compare them too, but still. you opened your mouth slightly, his tongue slipping inside.
you slowly broke the kiss, leaning your forehead against his and smiling. you stayed like that for a few minutes.
"do you think those are enough kisses to determine a measurement?"
Lockwood shook his head. "we still have to find out if quantity stands above quality"
you stood up from his lap. "I think quality's more important" you giggled, watching his face fall dramatically
"well, only one way to find out" he laughed, chasing you up the stairs.
the next morning George and Lucy would complain about having heard you two giggle all night.
you would send a conspiratorial look in Lockwoods direction, having continued your study up in his room
you were no longer the only one in the house who had not been kissed. and you had Lockwood to thank for that. although he had gotten quiet angry when you had suggested to expand the study by testing out different kissing partners.
he was much more keen on him being the only one you were kissing. well, let's just say, it's not like you minded...
616 notes · View notes
bella-rose29 · 3 months
Text
Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 5
Christmas Eve part 2
Word count: 4.1k
Warnings: swearing, family members are mean (are we seeing a pattern?), can you tell that I love lebkuchen from the number of times it got mentioned, they kiss again but for like 2 seconds, then they kiss again later for longer than 2 seconds 👀, reader's grandpa isn't supportive of her job (but it's ok because lockwood saves the day), a pigeon was harmed in the making of this chapter (but it lives!), drinking (alcohol), lockwood talks about his family and the Christmases he spent without them, reader comforts him, there is so much communication but somehow so much miscommunication at the same time??? and I'm annoyed at myself for doing this (but it's necessary), this part does not have a happy ending at all (I'm sorry)
series master list
Tumblr media
"Well," Lockwood started, looking around at everyone gathered. "I suppose it started in March."
He paused for a moment, trying to figure out where to go from there. "We were on a job, just the two of us, in Kensington. A couple wanted their house clearing out before they properly moved in, and called us. Everything was going perfectly fine, and then we realised that our clients hadn't told us everything about the property, and we were dealing with three Limbless in an enclosed space." Y/n remembered that job well. It was one of the few cases that she'd actually gone on with just Lockwood, and they had been arguing for most of it about the best way to get rid of a Limbless.
Their argument had attracted the other two that were out in the garden.
"Y/n was brilliant, of course, using her Talent to locate the Sources of the three of them while I covered her, but I got held up in the corridor by some Type Ones that had appeared and she was left on her own. I only just got there in time to throw a salt bomb at the Limbless behind her and give her the extra second that she needed to wrap up the Source, but I don't think I've ever been more scared in my life. I really thought I was too late and that I'd lost her." His voice sounded thick with emotion, and when Y/n met his eyes they were watery. She tried not to frown, since it was strange for her to see him so affected like this. Lockwood cleared his throat, and looked back at the crowd. "Then of course I realised that I couldn't live without her and I asked her on a date. She said no, despite my attempts at baking her favourite cake and all the flowers." He cracked a smile, and people around the room laughed.
"Well you did look rather pathetic, Ant. I sort of wanted to watch you suffer a bit more." That much was true at least, since any time she got to watch him squirm was entertaining to her.
"Well you certainly got your share of that, darling," he huffed, and Y/n bit back a snort at the frustrated look on his face. "I had to ask her about six times after that first one before she finally said yes. We've been dating since the middle of April."
"It was eight, but who's counting?" Something about his story didn't sit right with her, but she couldn't put her finger on it. Maybe it was how close it was to what had actually happened on the job, or maybe it was the dread of all the questions she'd get about her job once people started mingling, wanting to know if she had a backup plan in case this line of work failed, or if she realised how dangerous it was.
Maybe it was the way that Lockwood had looked at her when he was talking about losing her.
~~~
"What are your intentions with Y/n?"
"Don't be stupid," John said, whacking his brother Sam on the arm.
"No, but really, what are your intent- oof!" Sam had been tackled to the floor by John, and Lockwood did his best not to flinch.
He'd been dragged into the library a few minutes ago by Y/n's brothers, and although he was the smallest, Tom was currently the most frightening as he stared Lockwood down from across the room, despite the two eldest brothers currently scrapping on the floor.
"Did... did you want me to answer that, or...?"
"I mean, it would be nice to know," Will piped up, eating straight from a packet of lebkuchen in the armchair opposite. Lockwood didn't think he'd ever seen the man without some sort of food nearby. He sat forward in his chair slightly, trying to come up with a good enough answer that would mean he could go back to the party. John and Sam stopped punching each other to hear his answer.
"I'm mostly just happy that she even gave me a chance, if I'm being honest." That much was true, but Y/n's brothers didn't need to know that he was talking about her acceptance of a position at his company and not the mythical relationship that the two of them had been in for eight months. "I know that I'm incredibly lucky to have her, and I can promise you that I won't do anything to screw that up."
Sam and John seemed happy enough with his answer, and Lockwood started breathing a little more easily. Tom was still staring at him, and Lockwood could have sworn that the boy hadn't blinked the entire time. Will snorted, shaking the bag around to get the last crumbs of lebkuchen out. "Yeah, sure. What's the real answer? No more of that crap, because it's obvious you rehearsed that to make us happy." When Lockwood didn't say anything for a moment Will prodded him again. "Go on."
He clenched his jaw, wondering how he could say anything nice about Y/n when she hadn't said anything nice about him for nearly three years, and looked out the window. A memory flashed up, and despite it having only been that morning, he was surprised at how quickly he'd forgotten the interaction.
Since when had she memorised how he took his tea?
He didn't think that Y/n had ever made him tea before, always making it a deliberate point to make a pot for everyone but him, and yet that morning while they sat in bed she had done it perfectly as though it were second nature. Then his mind drifted back to the night before, and he felt his face warm up at the memory of the mistletoe. He cleared his throat.
"I guess..." Lockwood sighed through his nose and clenched his jaw again. It was starting to ache. "I guess that's true, what I said before-"
"You guess?" Will interjected. Lockwood hadn't thought that he would be under this much scrutiny, but he was starting to sweat uncomfortably. He'd rather be dealing with Barnes right now than be sat here.
"It is true," he amended, making wary eye contact with the man. The packet of lebkuchen was neglected in Will's hand, hanging limply as he sat forward to question his younger sister's boyfriend. "She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me. I'm not exactly... easy... to be around sometimes because of my agency, but she deals with me perfectly. She deals with me more than she should, to be honest." He frowned, thinking again about how he needed to figure out how to apologise to her. Nothing he had said was a lie; in fact, he didn't think he'd said anything more true about Y/n the entire time that he had known her. She was incredible, since her Touch was so powerful and unlike anything that he had ever seen before. And he did count himself lucky that she, despite his horrible words, still decided to work for him. And she did deal with him, more than anybody should, and she did it by being just as much of an arse to him as he was to her.
Maybe they were good together after all.
A thud on the window made everyone turn to look at what had made the noise, and Tom finally broke eye contact with Lockwood.
"Pigeon," Sam said, having been closest to the window. "I think it might be- oh no, it's just got up and flown off. Don't tell Mum though, she'll have a fit if she sees the mark it left."
"Alright, I think we're done here. You're free to go, Lover Boy," Will said, waving his hand vaguely at Lockwood and scrunching up the empty lebkuchen packet. Lockwood got up to leave, but upon opening the door a body fell face first into his chest with a small 'oof!'
"... Darling?" Lockwood asked, confusion lacing his voice. The figure looked up and offered a smile.
"Oh, hi! I was just... wondering where you were, Anthony." He tried to not let it show how much it affected him to hear his first name in her mouth, but the slight intake of breath that he took probably gave him away. It didn't help that Y/n was in that dress, since she looked so stunning that he couldn't focus on anything but her.
"You're so obsessed with each other," Lockwood heard Will mutter from behind him, and he realised with a start that they had just been staring at each other and blocking the doorway, penning the others in the library. When they went to move, however, Sam stopped them.
"Mistletoe! You can't break tradition!"
"Ugh, again? Did Mum plant an entire fucking garden of it?" Y/n said, peering up at the sprig that hung over their heads. "They're not gonna let us leave without doing it."
"Alright. Let's get it over with then," he whispered into her mouth, and he couldn't help but feel the exact opposite when she pressed her lips to his.
~~~
"So," Y/n's grandfather Richard started, and internally she groaned. He had used the tone of voice that meant he was about to start asking about work, and she was dreading this conversation. "Being an agent. Are you still sure it's what you want to do with your life, Y/n?"
"Yes, Gramps. I'm sure. I have been doing it for years now."
"But there are so many other things you could be doing! Jobs that you could actually be good at!"
That stung a little, and Y/n sat back slightly in her chair. She loved her Gramps, and most of the time he was one of her favourite family members, but he'd been alive before the Problem had started and didn't understand that things had changed since he was a kid. He believed in her in most other ways, just not when it came to her life as an agent, which was one of the only things she was truly passionate about (other passions included drinking tea and hating Lockwood).
"I don't mean to intrude," a voice piped up, and once again Y/n found herself wondering how the hell Lockwood managed to always turn up at the right time. "But Y/n is one of the best agents in the country, sir. Her Talent is so incredibly unique and that's what makes her so brilliant at her job." He perched on the arm of the chair that she was sat on, and she frowned when she felt the urge to rest her head against his thigh.
"Well how can you possibly know that!"
"Gramps, this is my boyfriend, Anthony? You met him briefly last night?"
"Oh, is it? Right, well I suppose you would know then! Tell me, is she too much of a pain sometimes?!"
Lockwood hesitated slightly, glancing down at where Y/n sat in the chair and frowning a little at her Gramps' question. "If anything I'm the pain. I don't know why she keeps me around to be honest." He sounded so sincere about it that for a moment she forgot that he had ever said anything horrible about her. The rest of their conversation faded into background noise as she remembered what she'd overheard earlier.
It was probably breaking all sorts of moral laws to eavesdrop on her brothers' interrogation of Lockwood, but then again she'd made her boss her fake boyfriend to fool her entire family, so she figured that she was well past being entirely moral about things. And besides, she hadn't been intending on listening in at first, she'd just been walking back from using the loo and happened to hear them. She couldn't get Lockwood's words out of her head, and she'd been replaying them over and over since.
"She's incredible - the most incredible girl I've ever met - and I truly am aware of how lucky I am that she chose me."
What the hell did that mean? Was it a lie that he'd made up to make them happy? But then she'd also heard Will prodding for the truth and his exclamation that whatever Lockwood had said before (which she hadn't heard) was obviously fake, so did he just come up with a better lie?
Tonight, she thought. Tonight I'll talk to him.
~~~
When the last guests had stumbled out of the front door, singing loudly and bumping into each other because they had had too much to drink, everybody left in the house let out a sigh of relief.
Y/n mumbled a tired 'good night' to everyone as she pulled herself upstairs, and Lockwood followed after her. He'd been helping her father tidy up a little before turning out the lights, to save some of the food that needed refrigerating and chucking other things in the bin. She had been worried when her dad first started talking to Lockwood, but then she'd heard her father laughing and had decided that they would be perfectly fine together.
Now she collapsed face first onto the bed, not yet worrying about the chill in the room.
"I can see why you were dreading that," Lockwood said, his voice sounding too loud. She'd had to down a few drinks that afternoon to deal with the sheer number of questions and comments from family members and friends, and now her head was aching slightly.
"Can you get me some water?" she asked, but since her face was still buried in the duvet it came out muffled. Lockwood's footsteps shuffled around for a while, and then went silent, and Y/n huffed in annoyance. Of course he'd just get himself ready for bed and not worry about her, that was so typical of him. She pushed herself upright, wincing when the room wobbled a little and the pain increased in her head, then frowned when Lockwood reappeared, something in his hand.
"Here. I couldn't find any painkillers though, so I'll just go and fill that up when you're done so you can try and sober up before bed."
Oh. Maybe he wasn't being so typical after all.
"Thanks," she muttered, taking the glass from him and eyeing it warily.
"It's not poisoned, darling. If I was going to kill you I wouldn't do it in a way that might mean you could come back to haunt me."
"Charming."
He sat down on the bed next to her with a sigh, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "You know," he said, not looking at her. "This hasn't been... the worst Christmas I've ever had."
"No? You're spending it with me." He gave her a wry smile, finally bringing his gaze up to meet hers.
"Yeah, that's not really that bad."
Oh.
"Really?"
He hummed in answer, nodding slightly, then got up and walked over to the fireplace. They sat in silence while Y/n finished off her water and Lockwood got the fire going, and once she headed over to sit next to where he was crouching she realised how cold she had been before. He sat back, leaning on the chair behind him. Y/n was hunched over her knees, empty glass dangling in her grip. She could have done the same as Lockwood with the armchair behind her, and god knew her head needed something to rest against because despite the water dulling the ache it was still pressing against her temples, but she didn't think she could see Lockwood's face at that moment.
"The first Christmas after Jess passed was the worst."
Her head snapped to look at him where he sat to her left, but he was staring into the fire, eyes transfixed on the flames but looking at something far away. She didn't say anything, instead just letting him go ahead in his own time.
"The ones after my parents died were hard, sure, but at least I had Jess around and we knew what the other was going through. Then she was gone too, and I was nine years old in a big house that was suddenly empty of the family I had spent my life being loved by."
She knew that his family were dead since the absence of any of them was shockingly present in 35 Portland Row, but he had never told her anything. She'd had to learn it all from Lucy, George, and Holly.
"That first one was horrible. I don't think I stopped crying for longer than an hour the entire time, and I couldn't sleep because I kept replaying it over in my head. I could have helped," he whispered, and Y/n could see that his eyes were glistening in the light of the fire. "I could have saved her, if only I hadn't-" he cut himself off, his voice growing too strangled to continue. Quickly she placed her hand on his arm, turning her body to face him.
"Hey, hey," she said quietly, drawing him into her arms. Her glass had been abandoned on the floor, her hands now holding Lockwood's body in her lap instead. His head was resting on her chest while his arm wrapped around her stomach, the other supporting his weight, and Y/n told herself that she was only allowing this to happen because she hadn't yet sobered up.
She wasn't sure how long they were there for, her leaning back at an awkward angle to allow room for Lockwood to lie on top of her and curl into her side while he sniffled, but after a while she found that she didn't mind stroking her fingers through his hair (which was surprisingly soft) or having his weight on her (it was like having a weighted blanket).
"Thank you," he muttered after a while, sitting up and wiping at his face. He paused in his movements when he realised that their faces were much closer together than was normal for two people that didn't like each other. The memory of that morning when she had smoothed out his collar and he had been about to say something came back, and when his gaze flicked between her eyes and her lips she drew in a breath.
"Anthony?"
And then he was surging forward, kissing her with the same passion that he had hated her with while she reached up to grab his shirt, not caring that she was wrinkling the fabric that she herself had smoothed out that very morning. How could she think of anything but him when the two of them had finally crashed together like a tsunami hitting cities?
How could she think of anything but him when he pulled her on top of him?
And how could she think of anything but him when he sighed her name into her mouth and it sounded sweeter than the tea he drank?
And then she was thinking about him entirely, and remembering everything that had happened since they met, and suddenly kissing him was a terrible idea.
"She's not good enough for the company."
She pushed away from him with a start when those words blared in her mind like warning alarms, the memory of what she had overheard in the library around four months after starting to work for Lockwood and Co. She hadn't heard anything before, but the disdain in Lockwood's voice told her it was about her. She had run upstairs to make sure she didn't hear any more of what he thought about her.
"Y/n?" he asked now, voice hoarse from crying and kissing, and his expression was desperate as he watched her press her hand to her lips and take shaky breaths. "Y/n? What is it? Wh-"
"Don't," she snapped, standing up and trying to forget the feeling of his hands on her body. "Don't... just don't, Lockwood." He was getting up too, scrambling after her and reaching out to stop her from slipping away.
"I don't understand-"
"Don't understand what?! We can't- we hate each other, Lockwood!" The venom in her voice made him stumble back a few steps. "You never wanted me at your company and you made sure that I knew that!"
"I-"
"I heard you telling the others that I wasn't ever going to be good enough for you, and then a few hours later after a job you're telling me that my Talent is incredible?! What am I supposed to think?! And then you spend the next however many years being a complete dick to me and complaining about me, so I do the same because clearly being nice didn't work, and now you're here at my fucking family Christmas event pretending to be my boyfriend and kissing me when you don't need to-"
"Of course I need to! I know I was horrible to you-"
"An understatement," she scoffed, crossing her arms.
"-but I'm trying to figure out how to apologise to you because I know that I've fucked up and I need to fix it!"
"So you kissed me?!"
"No! Yes! That wasn't an apology!" He rubbed his hand over his face, clearly frustrated with how it was going. "It was a mistake- no, Y/n, I didn't mean it like that!"
"A mistake?" she whispered, her eyes stinging with fresh tears. "Kissing me was a mistake?"
"No," he said, tone filled with desperation. "No, Y/n, I just meant that I shouldn't have done it before apologising to you because then it would seem like... I don't know! Like I was doing it just to try and trick you into accepting my apology or something!"
"Were you? Doing it to trick me? Because right now I can't tell what the truth is, Lockwood!"
"It wasn't a trick. It was never a trick, and I'm an idiot-"
"Yes, you are."
"Would you just listen to me?!" he shouted, anger seeping in to his body, and Y/n took a step back at the look in his eyes.
"What, like how you listen to me?"
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Yesterday, on the platform, when I was talking about my family being a lot and how it was hard for me and I'm actually related to most of them, and I couldn't imagine how hard it would be for someone to be introduced to all of that in one go. You just assumed that I meant it would be hard for you because your family is dead, and then when I tried to explain you cut me off and gave me the cold shoulder because you didn't fucking listen, Lockwood. What I meant was it would be a lot for anyone, no matter their own experience. Hell, even George has said that he would rather be blocked from the Archives for life than ever meet my family, and he's got almost as many relatives as me!"
Lockwood didn't say anything for a minute, instead just standing still and staring at her while the fire in his eyes died down, and Y/n shook her head. "This?" She gestured between the two of them. "This will never work. We will never work. Because you never wanted me and no matter how much I want you to like me in the same way that you like the others, you never will. And I will never be good enough for you." That was one more person to add to the list of people that she needed to meet unnecessarily high expectations for in order to be even noticed. She wiped at the tears that had slipped down her face while she was talking, the salt making her cheeks itch.
"You're right," Lockwood finally said. "I won't ever like you in the same way as the others." He stopped there, looking down at the floor. When he went to speak again, however, he lifted his head to an empty room, and the bathroom door shutting him out.
Y/n ignored his attempts to talk to her through the door, shoving the duvet and blankets that she had quickly grabbed into the bathtub and plugging her headphones into her walkman so that she didn't have to hear the rest of his cruel words and excuses.
She had craved something different with him, and it had fucking destroyed her.
And now she had to wake up on Christmas Day and pretend that she was hopelessly in love with the fake boyfriend who had just broken her heart.
part 6
Tumblr media
Tag list: @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @aysha4life, @bobbys-not-that-small, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife
let me know if you want to be added to/removed from the tag list! <3
188 notes · View notes
fleetingvow · 1 year
Text
‘ 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
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
“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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
Tumblr media
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.
574 notes · View notes