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websterss · 3 months

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𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, some fluff at the end

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,214

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk.

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had.

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier. You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror.

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin.

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground.

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.”

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible.

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela.

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form.

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor.

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered.

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart.

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright.

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant.

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now.

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic.

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble.

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?”

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim.

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #writings by juls #my gif

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kestisvrse · 4 months

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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

♫ - 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.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fluff #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fic #lockwood netflix #sienna’s fics

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lewkwoodnco · 6 months

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"Slut!" - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: been having a lottt of thoughts about this song. it wasn't what I expected like for a lot of ppl but this is immediately my favourite?? like idk man those hints of her rep era beginning mixed with the emotional vulnerability of being in love mannn im going to be annoying abt this for a wholeee month. Reader is a Fittes agent, wc 5.4k!!

Ch 1 | Ch 2 | Ch 3 | Ch 3.5 | Ch 4 | Ch 5

On paper, her employers had always commended her for her drive for excellence. What was usually glossed over was how it arose from an unhealthy obsession with perfection, not that it mattered. And yet, glowing articles about successful cases were rare and far between. She had led as many successful cases as some of her male colleagues, but those headlines were seemingly too dull for her sex. After all, who wanted to read about a woman showing up the men in her field? So the tabloids started to play dirty, spinning convoluted rumoured love stories from any and every photo of her in the vicinity of a man.

She remembered how devastating the first article was. Instead of publishing one of the many photos of her standing with her team, there was a shadowed, grainy photograph of her talking to their supervisor. She tried to tell anyone who asked her that no, they weren't kissing, not that it would have mattered if it did, but no one seemed much interested in listening. The shame burnt into the side of her face like a scarlet letter. A slut.

Eventually, she decided to just keep everyone at arm's length. Maybe if she kept her head down long enough they'd run out of knives to throw at her. And for a good two years, it somewhat worked, or at least helped. But then she met Lockwood.

She didn't think much of him at first - if anything, she resented his suave, silver tongue and how the press went nuts for his charismatic smiles. He tried to dazzle her with one when they first met, and she nearly scoffed.

"Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood and Co. And you are...?"

"Disgusted."

She tried talking to Barnes, throwing in some less-than-complimentary opinions on Lockwood, but he just waved her off. Eventually, she came around, but only because he was undeniably skilled, and it would have been unprofessional to freeze him out forever.

She remembered the first time he made her smile. Their supervisor was having them sign their case report, so she wasn't even looking at him. He whispered some inane remark which caught her completely off-guard, but it was enough to make her damage the tip of the fountain pen as she choked on a laugh. Her supervisor looked unimpressed, grumbling about the pen, but Lockwood's face had taken on an animated spark.

"Oh, good. I was beginning to wonder if you knew how to smile."

The smile is a foreign feeling on her face. Lockwood gently takes the report from her and starts talking in smooth tones that flow right over her head. She shakes herself and tries to pull herself together, trying to soothe the nervous flutter of her heart. She can only bear catching glimpses of his words and she struggles to string together coherent responses.

But then she hears the vans pulling up. Vans filled with news agencies and their bulky cameras. She's paralysed by a flash of fear and she jumps apart from Lockwood as if burnt, tripping over her words as she forces out some lame excuse of needing to check on her team. Lockwood looks mildly concerned, but she pushes it to the back of her mind.

They meet again a week or two later. She's sitting outside a conference room, waiting for Barnes to finish a meeting, and she realises with a start that the man in the room she's facing is Lockwood. To be fair, she hadn't seen him in an indoor setting before, and he seemed nearly unrecognisable with his typically crisp shirt dusty and wrinkled, with his sleeves rolled up his forearms. She watches him laugh over something with one of his associates as they leave the room, and she drinks in the sight like a man starved. There is something so desperately appealing about the vitality in his face and jaunty movements.

As the smile fades, she recognises the exhaustion on his face; the kind that made her want to do nothing more than stumble home and crawl under the covers. But then he sees her, and he gives her a teasing smile that stokes her spirits. His associate gives her a tired wave and walks out.

"Waiting for me?"

She rolls her eyes and nods towards the conference room. "Waiting for Barnes. Going home?"

He jerks his head noncommittally before sitting down next to her. He looks oddly bare without his coat, and it feels almost too intimate to have him sitting this close to her. She sits up, alarmed.

"What, you need to see him too?"

"You look like you could use some company."

"Lockwood, it could be hours before he's done. Besides, you look like death. Go home, get some rest."

"Joke's on you, I always look like death."

She shakes her head but smiles despite herself. "You're incorrigible."

"Thank you."

They sit in silence for a while, long enough until her breathing evens out. She wonders if he's aware of the way his fingers drum restlessly on his thigh, or the ash coating the side of his face, or how both of those things make him utterly irresistible.

"How do you do it? Stay so young, I mean."

He considers his answer carefully. She takes in the sight of a Lockwood without a ready quip at the tip of his tongue. "I suppose it helps that I'm not singly obsessed with the dead, though it does get close sometimes. Who do you live with?"

"Oh, my family lives outside of London." Thank god. She couldn't imagine the looks on their faces if they heard half of what London's tabloids had to say about her.

"You live alone?"

"Yeah. But it's not so bad. There's a cat that wanders in the street below my flat at night." He doesn't look completely convinced, but he lets it slide.

"Really, I owe it all to my friends - oh, you'd love them. You should come over sometime."

"That's sweet of you."

"Our weekends are generally empty."

"Oh...I couldn't. I don't know where you live."

"35 Portland Row."

"Lockwood," she admonishes. "Don't you think this is something you should run by your friends first?"

"I've done worse."

"I'm practically a stranger."

"Then how else are we supposed to get to know you?"

Her mind tears her away from Lockwood's silhouette, to troubling piles of tabloids dragging her to filth. After months of them, she isn't sure where she ends and where the fabrication begins. She barely manages a whisper.

"I think you'd regret getting to know me."

She doesn't realise how tightly her fist is clenched until he brushes her wrist, and the tension flows out of her. His eyes are liquid and his touch is golden and she's paralysed with dizziness. In that moment, it was enough to be young and in love.

"Only one way to find out."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She takes him up on his invitation sooner than either of them expected. They had just finished a job at a house just a street over from Portland Row, and her team was walking with Lockwood & Co. on their way to the main street. She pauses as George fiddles with the frozen door while the rest of her team walk on, tiredly waving them good night. But just as she turns to leave, she slips on a patch of ice, falling into a pile of snow while Lockwood lunges for her.

"Dear god, you must be freezing. Come in and warm up."

"It's alright, I can catch a cab home-"

"Y/N, I am not above pushing you back into the snow."

Her laugh morphs into a violent shiver, just as Lucy walks over concernedly.

"Everything okay? Lockwood's not bullying you, is he?" She cracks a small smile, but Lockwood just impatiently ignores Lucy.

"Stay for breakfast. Spend the day. Lucy would love the company. Luce, tell her."

"It would be nice."

"I'm soaked through. I need a change of clothes."

"Lucy can get you a change of clothes. Luce, tell her."

"I can get you a change of clothes."

"I wouldn't want to be an imposition."

Lockwood inhales and turns to Lucy, who smacks the breath right out of him.

"I'm right here, Lockwood. Don't be ridiculous, Y/N, we'd love to have you over." Lucy exchanges a look with Lockwood, but it's so brief she wonders if she's imagined it, but it's just then that George forces the door open, and she gets jostled into their warm and dry home. Lucy helps her dry off and tosses her some clothes, including a spare oversized jumper, before bundling her and setting her down in front of the fire in the library.

It feels wonderfully cosy at first, and she only realises she's dozed off when she wakes up with a crick in her neck and beads of sweat on her forehead and neck. She pushes the blankets off her, sighing in relief as she starts to cool down. She hears the rustle of a page behind her and turns.

Lockwood is sitting in an armchair behind her, tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, a magazine on his lap. He smiles weakly at her, wincing as he rotates his neck. She was beginning to feel convinced that he ate, slept and worked in the same set of clothes. Her voice is gravelly with sleep.

"Still up?"

"Someone had to make sure you didn't roll into the fire. Besides, it hasn't been long."

She squints at the clock hung near the door. Unless the shadows were playing tricks on her, it was only a few hours from dawn. The glance he shared with Lucy earlier flashes in her mind, and she presses him about it.

"Say, you haven't told Lucy anything particularly saddening about me, have you?"

He waffles a bit. "I haven't said anything that isn't true."

"Lockwood."

"Fine...I might have mentioned how you live alone, and that you've only got a cold, dark home waiting for you. Alone."

"I didn't say that."

"So you're saying it's not true?"

She hesitates, and he quirks the corner of his mouth triumphantly. "It's no bother, Y/N. Lucy feels as bad about it as I do - George too. Just let us fuss over you for a while, I promise it'll soothe us."

She relents, but she's not happy about it. She watches him lazily flip through the pages with a becoming interest and decides that it's a nice change from the frantic energy running through him on cases. His eyes stay mostly fixed on the pages, but after a while the way he glances up occasionally makes her think his interest is waning. He looks at her strangely, and she unpleasantly realises that the jumper is likely his. She tugs at the hem, itching to take it off, but she isn't wearing a shirt underneath, so she settles for continuing to profusely apologise.

"I'm so sorry for burdening all of you-"

"Y/N, relax. As long as you're warm."

"Well...I'm awake now. And I won't stay too close to the fire. Aren't you going to sleep?"

"I'm a bit wired after the case. Might take a nap later in the day." He jerks his head towards the door. "My room's just down the hallway if you'd like to get some proper rest."

She flushes; talking about his bedroom while wearing his jumper feels too intimate to bear. "It's okay. I'd rather stay here with...you." She chews the inside of her cheek as soon as she says it, holding her breath as she gauges his reaction.

"That's a relief. I'd rather you be here anyway."

She doesn't understand how he says it so casually when she feels that she might run out of air. She tries to calm herself down, taking deep, long breaths. She could be normal if she tried hard enough. They spend the rest of the night like that, somehow never running out of topics to discuss. He tells her about Jessica. She tells her about her family. It's only as he gets up to get ready for breakfast that she asks him about the magazine in his lap. "What were you reading?"

Now it's his turn to look embarrassed. "Oh, er, I like to keep up with what's happening around town -"

"Is that...a tabloid?" She pulls out one of the magazines sticking out of the pile set to the side and blanches at the headline with a dramatically edited photograph of her. Shame burns the side of her face, and she wishes the floor would just open up and swallow her whole. She had stupidly assumed he hadn't heard of her before meeting her, but why shouldn't he have? The magazines beat her to making a first impression, just like they always have. Just like they always will.

"I can explain."

"No, no, it's fine." Was something wrong with her ears, or did her voice sound a bit too distant? "Lots of people read tabloids. It doesn't mean anything. Anyway, we should get ready for breakfast."

"Y/-"

"Lockwood. I mean it. Drop it." The cut-up look in his eyes is bad enough without an apology. What was he apologising for? For her being such For her being a laughingstock? He bows his head and shuffles out of the library. She stays there, frozen, sitting on the floor, until she hears George rattling about in the kitchen. She walks in, slightly disconcerted by the casual t-shirt Lockwood had changed into. So many of his hard edges and shadows in the the library seemed to soften into a more vulnerable outline that makes her regret snapping at him. She mumbles a greeting and George takes a long look at her. If he notices their matching eye bags, he doesn't comment on it, but while she's making tea, she hears a scuffle behind her and turns to see George standing next to Lockwood with the frying pan alarmingly close to his head.

"Eggs, Y/N?"

Lucy arrives soon after, and begins to spread jam on her toast despite George's aggrieved protests.

"Oh, Y/N, I hope you didn't spend all night on the hard floor. I didn't hear you come up to the attic."

"The attic?"

"Yeah, where the extra bed is." She brandishes her jelly-covered knife vaguely threateningly. "Lockwood told you about it, didn't he?"

The boy in question seems a bit too busy buttering his bread to look up. She mumbles an affirmative, but notices his reluctance to meet her eye for majority of breakfast. Still, she couldn't stay mad at him for long, and it didn't seem awfully polite to, either, not after he opened his home to her.

After breakfast, Lockwood left to scope out a potential client and George headed to the Archives for a bit of light reading, so she and Lucy spend the morning playing board games and watching crappy television while painting their nails. She hadn't felt so alive in months. After a few hours, Lucy suddenly remembers some paperwork she had to complete so while she's busy with that, she wanders around the stairs and hallways, reading every newspaper clipping and looking at every picture, eventually working her way down to the kitchen.

She hears a creak coming from the inside and looks in. Lockwood's returned from his excursion and he shrugs off his jacket, placing it on one of the kitchen chairs as she timidly steps in. He seems just as much at a loss for words as her. She tries to break the ice and, surprisingly, it works.

"Seems a bit full of yourself to litter the halls with your achievements." He gives her a small smile and she revels in the glimmer of success.

"Can't help that I'm especially gifted."

Emboldened, she takes a seat at the table as he pulls out an apple from the fruit bowl and a chopping board.

"Nasty business with the press, isn't it?"

She moodily fiddles with the thinking cloth. "Yeah, well. God forbid a woman be happy."

He looks at her like he's trying to figure her out. The attention makes her fidget nervously. They watch him slice the apple into halves, and then quarters, in silence. "Is that why you're so...highly strung on cases?"

"George tell you to talk to me?"

"Er, yes, but he didn't need to. I'm sorry about earlier, by the way. I have an uncanny ability of putting my foot in it."

"I'd never have guessed." She isn't even being sarcastic. She talks to the apple rather than him. "I hate it. They say all these...awful things about me. Not that I have to tell you." She blinks humourlessly. He sets down the knife.

"Y/N, if you think I believe a word those gossip rags have to say about you, I might be seriously overestimating your intelligence."

She swallows the lump in her throat. It's the nicest thing anyone has said to her in a long while. She never fully acknowledged it because that would mean admitting she cared, that she was weak. But she couldn't help it. She lived life forever looking over her shoulder, so wrapped up in what ifs that she could barely stomach what was, forever worrying that anyone would think it was true. Maybe it was true. Her self-perception contorts and convulses, until she feels strangely formless. But that was the beauty of the moment: hidden away in the dim light of the kitchen, with only Lockwood and God as her witness, she could be anything and everything.

Her hand trembles with repressed emotion. He steadies her by carefully covering it with his own.

And for one beautiful, transcendent moment, she thought she might love him.

She walks home in a pleasant haze, her senses enjoying the reprieve from their constant assault. She ambles by a florist, and she sees a rose. It reminds her of Lockwood. She buys the rose and takes it home, even though she knows she doesn't have a vase for it. Even after a day filled with the most fun she'd had in a while, a restlessness troubles her, making her feel feverish with some invisible affliction. She plucks the translucent petals one by one, holding them up to the setting sun streaming through her windows. She wonders what they would look like in his hair. She winces when one of the thorns break the skin of her thumb. She rubs the smear of blood onto her bottom lip. Looking up at the ceiling, her hair a mess, tangled with the rose petals strewn all over her wrinkled sheets, she realises what it means to be hopelessly and cluelessly lovesick.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

She remembers the first time she cries in front of him. They were on a case at some billionaire's acres-large manor. She ducks under the tape cordoning off the area and freezes, seeing reporters unobtrusively yet steadily setting up their cameras. There had to be some sort of mistake, they're never here this early. Certainly not before they've even started the job. She feels her senses heighten and a faint buzzing teases her ears. She sees Lockwood glance at her and start walking towards her, and she all but flees in the other direction.

She stays a safe distance away from him until the rest of the agents arrive for their briefing. The billionaire's assistant hadn't arrived yet, so they were standing around one of the outdoor picnic tables in the front garden...right in front of the gathering sea of reporters. She tries her best to pay attention but there's a muffled quality to the discussion as she listens for shutter sounds, real or imagined. Her hands grow clammy and her breathing grows jagged as the ominous feeling in her stomach grows. Something very bad was going to happen and it was going to happen soon, she was sure of it.

As if in slow motion, she watches Lockwood reach across to pick up a file from the table beside her on the table, and she feels her panic reach a crescendo as she senses the ripple of excitement in the press. She flinches so badly before he completes the movement that he gets startled, backing away. The question dies on his lips as she walks away, clumsily adjusting her rapier to give her hands something to do. To stop herself from sobbing over the lenses in her peripheral vision.

The press are just as ruthless as they were the last time she made the mistake of not leaving the scene as soon as she had the chance. And still from the chorus of overlapping voices, one made her heart stop dead.

"Y/N L/N, what do you have to say for seducing London's most eligible bachelor?"

She looks around desperately, struggling against waves of despair that threatened to drag her down into the abyss. No one was safe, not even charismatic Lockwood, and it was all her fault for dragging him into her messy life. It wasn’t fair that news agencies chose her life to screw with. She loved him silly with bruised eyes and an aching liver, but she couldn't even look at him properly. She couldn't scrub the image of Lockwood's face from her mind. Hot shame spread from her spine up her neck, an unpleasant prickling sensation. She felt flayed and grotesque, a hundred different kinds of twisted and messed up. Promiscuous on paper, manic in reality, enraptured by what she could never have.

Lockwood finds her sitting on the patchy grass of the backyard, head resting against the wall with suspiciously red eyes. He thinks for a moment before sitting down next to her.

“Hey.”

She’s too busy holding back tears to respond. She despairs internally when she first hears his voice, wishing he didn't care enough about her to follow her. God, they were going to make her pay for this tomorrow. He speaks in a low, soothing voice, but there's an underlying disquiet that comforts her. She'd never have imagined him to feel rattled by the press like she did.

"It all happened so quick, even George didn't realise."

"Doesn't matter. They got what they wanted."

"We'll talk to the assistant as soon as she gets here. We'll refuse to work until they clear out."

She feels an overwhelming amount of relief, not just for his help, but just for him. Sitting here solidly, away from prying eyes, rumours and lies, he felt like a precious secret she wanted to keep. The relief doesn't last long until it gets poisoned into grief. She rasps out an apology.

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"Everything." She feels herself shutting down, unravelling at the seams. But then there's this warmth next to her and a solid, reassuring weight across her shoulders. She shakes with mostly silent sobs, not realising that she's crumpled his shirt from clenching it until later. She sniffles into his shirt like a child, and clings to him with the desperation of a drowning man.

He insists that she sits out for the case, and for once, she listens.

The next time they meet is a little bittersweet. She tells him she's being posted outside of London for a month. It's sobering news, even for him.

"A whole month. Well, it'll go by faster than you realise."

"I hope so."

"How're you feeling?"

"Nervous, I suppose." She was dreading it. She didn't know how she ever worked on a case before Lockwood. At first, she thought it was simply because he took attention from the press off her hands. But there was just something about his presence that made the tension coiled in her body unwind. She tries to keep her tone light, but something must have shown on her face because he sighs and throws an arm over her shoulder, steering her away from the crowd of agents, medics and reporters.

"Don't fret. You'll be fine, trust me. You'll have your teammates with you, Barnes is supervising and you know he can't stand the press, and I've yet to read a headline vicious enough to knock you down for good. You're stronger than you realise, you know." She nods glumly, dragging her feet along. She looks up when he pulls away slightly, frowning at her face. He rubs at the furrow in her brow and she feels her face heat up.

"I said to not fret. You have everything you need." That earns him a weak smile, and though he doesn't look entirely happy with it, he can see George looking around for him. She watches him walk back as he mouths 'one month' to her, trying to smile encouragingly. The sun has started to rise, and the dusk casts a soft purple glow on his hair. She mumbles her response to the wind.

"What if...all I need is you?"

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The month drags by painfully, but it finally ends. She packs her bags and takes the first train to London, just in time to join Lockwood for a case after a bit of begging at Barnes' feet. The job is at another mansion, but somehow even more extravagant and sprawling than the last one. It's bathed in a soft bubblegum pink glow, spilling out into its lawns and hedges and fountains.

She watches him explaining something to one of her colleagues, making some light sketches on the report. He looks exactly the same if a little haggard, yet older somehow, and it tugs at her heart. She had heard that this was supposed to be the last of a particularly tedious string of connected cases, and it had clearly taken a toll on him. Her heart skips a beat at the boyish glow that washes over his features when he sees her.

"...and for the Limbless George was sa- you weren't supposed to be back till Sunday!"

She flushes, beaming excitedly. Part of her wants to hug him, but another part is too scared to, so she contends with her smile.

"We finished early, and I wore Barnes down eventually. Now, what's this about a Limbless?"

The case goes more than smoothly with the extra help of her and her team, and they end up finishing comfortably before midnight, though not without a few minor mishaps. She finds Lockwood with his sleeves and trousers rolled up, dangling his legs in the pool, scrubbing at his hands.

"Wet cement," he grunts as a greeting, looking peevishly at the not-so-clearly cordoned off patch of wet cement. "Ought to have told us. Someone could have gotten properly injured."

"Oh, who'd be silly enough to fall into that?"

"Let me rephrase that: Quill Kipps could have gotten properly injured."

She laughs, turning to add her own handprint next to his in the cement. She smiles coyly as she tenderly scrapes the residue of her palm. He leans in, then stops, sniffing curiously.

"Is that...smoke?"

"Had a bit of an incident with a salt bomb. Someone threw it in the wrong direction."

"Ah."

They're interrupted by a loud whoop from the other end of the pool. A couple of Fittes boys had broken into the liquor cabinet and were now the proud owners of three preciously high-end bottles of champagne. She tried to look at them reprovingly, but couldn't find it in her.

"Oh well. We'll put that down under property damage."

One of her teammates scurried over to clarify a discrepancy in her paperwork, and she leaves to sort it out. By the time she's back, Lockwood's tie is loosened and he's swaying along to some invisible music.

"Y/N! You've got to try some of this stuff, it's grrrreat!"

She shakes her head bemusedly. "Lockwood. How many glasses have you had?"

"Oh, just one." He blinks at the glass in his hand. "One and a half." He drags her in briefly, whispering into her ear. "Besides, what happened to being young?"

Her heart hammers as soon as she feels the tug on her wrist; she's never even touched him in public before. She scans the scene reflexively, but no one seems to have noticed. She supposed getting drunk and making ill-thought-out decisions was the youngest she could be, so she decided to have a little sip.

"Clink?"

"I don't think you're supposed to say it."

He makes a face, clearly more tipsy than he was letting on. "Whatever. I'm saying it."

Still, she humours him, and he looks at her with shameless adoration. Even while well on the way to getting drunk, there was an endearing tilt to his swagger and rosy cheeks that made his youth a delectable luxury. She takes a sip, then another, and then tries to drown herself in champagne, anything to distract her from the way he stole her breath, the fizz electric under her thrumming skin.

They return to where they were sitting earlier, watching some of the more boisterous agents splash into the pool. Someone manages to switch off the harsh floodlights overlooking the pool, washing everyone's outlines with a tangerine glow from the orange neon lights. They talk about their month apart, then catch the eye of the other in a way that makes them both look away, and the cycle repeats.

"I've missed you."

She can't tell which of them says it first, only that the yearning in her voice mirrored his. The look in his eyes scares her yet appeals to her daring all at once. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't have to.

"We...I...couldn't. It'd go horribly wrong, and you'd hate me, or they'd double down and it'd blow up in your pretty face."

"I'll take my chances." He says it so casually that it stings.

"This isn't exactly bearable for me either, you know."

The background noise fades away, and suddenly speaking at normal volume is too loud. She whispers, as if he might not hear if she's soft enough. "You give me your bed and twist your neck dozing in an armchair. You stick up for me when I'm too weak to stick up for myself. You pull me in when I'm breaking down and hold my fractured pieces together. I can't help but love you." He follows her line of vision to the camera lens peeking through the wall of foliage, not as sneaky as it was trying to be.

"And if I didn't know any better, I'd say you were in love with me."

He inhales roughly, and she recognises his unsteady breathing.

"Are you...?" Lockwood's voice makes her tear her eyes away from the lens, and focus on his soft brown tired eyes.

"...Might as well. Right?" She tries to hide how badly she needs his acknowledgement. He searches for something in her eyes she's not sure exists. Her heart is in her mouth as he tenderly covers her hand, and suddenly she's sitting at the kitchen table at Portland Row again; unsure and raw and hoping against hope for a love like his. He strokes the back of her hand with him thumb, deep in thought, as if soothing her, or maybe telling her to stop, breathe and think about this horrible decision.

"They'll publish the most horrible things tomorrow."

"I thought that didn't matter."

"Not to me. But it does for you."

"It's worth it. You're worth it."

He closes his eyes, and she watches his eyes shift restlessly behind his eyelids, as if fighting a losing battle. "They'll give you hell for it."

She whispers into his mouth. "Damned if I do, damned if I don't. They're watching either way."

His lips twitch. Her eyes flutter close. She inhales the space between them, their noses softly bumping against each other as they tilt their heads.

Slut.

She leans into him and her lips part as he deepens the kiss. She feels the tangerine neon light burn into the expanse of her exposed skin from her neck to her shoulder.

Slut.

She feels a hand on her lower back as she wraps an arm around his neck, craning her neck upwards. The kiss is equally delicious and bruising, and she feels herself getting drunk on his touch.

Slut.

The pressure on her lips fade and he pulls away, giving her the choice to back out. In the span of a second he shifts from a hazy sunset to the deep aquamarine pool in front of them, and then she's leaning in and devouring him like they could never be close enough.

Slut.

Her mind holds the whisper like a promise.

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gayandfairycore · 1 year

Text

Marmalade and mischievous mornings

Summary: spending a morning in 35 portland row, regular shenanigans ensue between the four of you.

Word count: roughly 800 words(?)

A/n: this is my first time writing for lockwood and co. So I hope I did the characters justice! Feedback is muchly appreciated but please do be kind, This is not proof read.

The smell of toast, and marmalade filled the little kitchen at 35 Portland row, the comforting yellow light of the kitchen casted a warm shadow over the inhabitants of the house. The thinking cloth white, and yet covered in inky black doodles, and words scrawled messily down on the white tablecloth. the biscuit crumbs that seeming always found home on the table had began to make your arms itch as you sat next to your friends around the table, a warm cup of tea in hand.

As an ever drying pen is left uncapped, and discarded. The soft linen curtains blew in the mid morning air a conversation started to arise between the group of four. The conversation went a little something like George rattling on about the case they had just completed, Lucy calling the fact that it was clearly was not a low level type one and was actually very strong type two and that George was getting rusty on his research skills.

you couldn’t help finding it a bit funny that everyone around the table were in their pjs having a slow morning like usual to rejuvenate themselves after exhausting nightly escapades.

George had yet again refused to wear trousers, Lockwood a plain white tshirt on, as opposed to his regular suit and cut tie. Lucy an oversized shirt, and some comfy shorts, you having adorned something quite similar to Lucy. opting for a band shirt, pj shorts and some fluffy socks. It didn’t look like only last night three out of the four had almost died, in fact it looked as if the four of them had just had a slumber party.

Sadly it wasn’t a slumber party, instead they spent majority of last night running for their lives in a panic, away from a powerful ghost that they were unprepared to face. so majority of the group were surely going to be aching for the next few days.

munching down on a piece of toast and sipping your tea, the warmth from the chipped glass radiated to your hands, the steam from your tea momentarily being inhaled. a soft smile graced your features as you sipped your tea, Lucy and George’s bicker had yet to be stifled.

When you joined the agency Lockwood had actually warned you to usually just tune them out, that’s what he did. It made you laugh originally but dwelling on it now you’ve decided tonight you’ll pull him aside an ask him to teach you to tune out the friendly bickering.

“clearly you’re just a bit rubbish of a ghost hunter then!” George yelled, clutching his biscuit as he swung out his hands, shrugging his shoulders.

“Rubbish?!” Lucy exclaimed in faux outrage, a piece of buttered toast hanging from her mouth as she spoke the gravity of her exclamation declining as it came out muffled by the aforementioned toast.

“I am not rubbish, george karim! how many times have I come to your rescue? Hmm. You wouldn’t call me rubbish then!” The brunette persisted pointing her half eaten toast piece at him her eyes glared at the boy.

Knocking the piece of toast away from himself, “that’s different!” He retorted as slumped back in his chair slightly coy smile adorning his features.

“Oh is it?” The brunette raised her eyebrows her voice no longer yelling, George gulped quietly slumping impossibly deeper in his chair at the girl, her voice lowered in a warning. The same warning voice she used when they had first met. Watching the scene play out from across the table, toothy grin on your face as you admired your friends, your eyes caught Lockwoods. majority of his face hidden behind a crumpled and tea stained newspaper.

You watched as he shook his head at his friends antics, chuckling into his tea cup. Your eyes meeting in a silent melancholic comforting moment.

your attention only moving when you heard your name called, ”cmon y/n back me up!” Lucy’s expecting gaze told you that you had missed something.

Your eyes darting between the pair nodding unsurely and feigning confidence as you replied with an “oh yeah, absolutely what she said.” Before tilting your head in subtle exasperation taking a large sip of your tea, to mask your embarrassment of admiring Lockwood so much that you had managed to tune out the pair.

“No! Y/n how could you!” George exclaimed mock outraged taking over his expression as he slumped back in defeat, Lucy’s laughter filled the air, a lost expression passed over your face as you glanced between the pair, Lockwood pulling you into his side to answer your unspoken question,

“she just stated she’s the better researcher than him, and that anyone would agree she could do it with her eyes closed.” Lockwood smirked stifling a chuckle as he let go of your arms “and you just agreed with her”

The boy smirked, flicking out his news paper with flourish.

Your mouth formed a ‘o’ at the revelation, before a cocky smirk overtook your face “I mean George may be a the best researcher- No offence, Luce-” you pause, looking at their confused and impatient faces with a coy smile hands in in the air as you point to them.

“But what I want to know is, whose the best ghost hunter?” Leaning back in your chair you watch as chaos ensues clasping your hands tigether like you were an old villain

“I’m sorry?”

“Excuse me?”

Both Lucy and Lockwood exclaim, the latter dropping his news paper onto the table and the force shaking and spilling his tea.

A silence formed over the room, as George watched as his competitive friends began to turn on eachother in friendly competition.

“No offence Lockwood, you may be a prodigy and all that but it’s got to go to Lucy!”

“Y/n!” Lockwood exclaimed his eyes darting wildly as his mouth agape

George reclining in his seat as he stifles a laugh lockwood whirling around to face the boy attempting to look serious and upset.

“George- do you think this is funny?!” The ebony haired boy exclaims, as a chuckle breaks midway through his facade as he speaks.

A mischievous grin adorns George’s face as he replies “I do actually I think this is very funny!”

“Lucy cmon back me up here!?” Lockwood pleads his hands together in a prayer eyebrows raised

“Sorry Lockwood!” Lucy retorts “But y/ns right I’m just the superior ghost hunter.” The girl replies straightening her posture and flipping up imaginary jacket cuffs.

A plan begins to formulate in lockwoods mind “Well if it’s like that then” he states before pulling you into him and tickling you

Between bouts of giggles you exclaim “lockwood! Lockwood! No! Oh cmon!”

His fingers never stopping their assault at your side no matter how much you try to wriggle away, he only stops tickling you to bargain

“Say that I’m the best ghost hunter you’ve ever known!”

Struggling to breathe through your laughter you chuckle out an estranged “No!”

Lockwood smirks “Alright then.”

His fingers moving at your sides painfully fast breathlessness taking over you, as tears well in your eyes loud laughter fills the kitchen.

pouting your lips you exclaim in defeat“okay! Okay! You’re the best ghost hunter I’ve ever known!”

Lockwood stops his assault at your sides smiling and slinging his arm over your shoulder before he taunts the brown eyed girl

“see Luce, there’s only one person here whose the best ghost hunter-“ mischievous looks are shared between you, George, and Lucy. As you move yourself from under the arms of the boy.

Lucy exclaims a “sorry Lockwood! But it’s not you, george get him!” And with her exclamation both you and george begin to ambush the boy flinging your body onto his back watching as he loses his footing. Your arms wrapped tightly around his neck like he was giving you a piggyback.

“Ah- uh oh!” His yells voice high pitched and shrieking laughter fills the room despite the mess that had somehow accumulated over the time you had been in a tickle fight.

The spilled tea over old newspaper clippings a spilled tub Or marmalade staining the thinking cloth

As the sound of a camera flashing momentarily blinds both you and Lockwood as you both come toppling down the wooden floor your body above lockwoods.

Bashfulness blooms in your chest “oh uh sorry-“

Lockwoods narrows his eyes in disappointment “No it’s quite alright” he murmurs. Moving to sit up on his elbows a look of surprise takes over his face as you turn to look behind you

Your two friends about to dog pile you both both you and Lockwood exclaim almost at the same time “George, Lucy you don’t have to do this!”

The two share a glance at eachother before flinging their bodies onto you both collectively collapsing your attempts to get up. groans leaving you and Lockwood at the added weight.

#Lockwood and co #Lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #Lucy carlyle x reader #george karim #George karim x reader #Lockwood and co fluff #x reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 23 days

Text

Punch At First Sight

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

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

It was meant to be an easy case.

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

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

But, no.

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

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

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

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

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

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

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

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

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

Then came a scream.

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

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished.

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

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

“Run?” you offered.

“Run.” Lucy replied.

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

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

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

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

“Relax. I’m safe enough.”

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

“Are you?”

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

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

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

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

“Move here.”

“What?”

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

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

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

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.”

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

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

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

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

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

You moved in three days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they know? They have to know.”

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

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

George just nodded.

“Seriously?”

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

“Yeah…”

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

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

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

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

But it didn’t take too long.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

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

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

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

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

“And why not?”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

“Are you-”

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

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

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“She made a mistake.”

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

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

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

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

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

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

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded.

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

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

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did.

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

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

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

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

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

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

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

“What truth?”

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

“Lucy-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

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

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

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did.

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

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

Until you kissed back.

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

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

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

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

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

“Not this time,” you laughed a little.

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

“Like Victor?”

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

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

“You are.”

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

“Good.”

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

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice.

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

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bella-rose29 · 7 months

Text

Hopeless Romantics

Lockwood x f!reader

Their relationship through various hopelessly romantic dates.

With the tickets discount thing I have no idea if that's an actual thing but I figured it would work in the same way as a student discount or something.

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: literally none other than maybe wondering why you can't actually have an anthony lockwood for yourself

Tag list: @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @karensirkobabes, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @wandamaximoffbae, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

Let me know here if you'd like to be added or removed from the tag list! <3

Stargazing

It had been an incredibly long night, all members of Lockwood and Co wanting nothing more than to collapse in their beds and fall right to sleep. George and Lucy had done just that, bidding goodnight to their fellow agents and heading up the stairs. Y/n had been about to do the same when Lockwood dragged her by the hand through the house, out into the back garden.

"Anthony, what are you doing?!"

He turned his head to look back at her, smile bright and blinding despite the darkness. "Taking you on a date," he said, just as he pulled her to the floor, lying down next to her.

"A date? Ant, it's the middle of the night!"

"Yeah, and for once it's not a cloudy British night. Look." He pointed up at the night sky, and Y/n realised he was right. If she concentrated she could see the Milky Way. The sheer number of stars was overwhelming, and she didn't think she'd ever seen so many.

They laid there for a good hour or so, only going inside when Y/n started complaining about the chill (Anthony immediately moved the two of them inside and up to his room, saying he'd be a terrible boyfriend if he let his girlfriend freeze). They'd been talking about whatever came in to their heads, occasionally wondering about the constellations and trying (and failing) to name them. Once changed into pyjamas and snuggled in his bed (really Y/n needed to just move in with him, she was in his room so much), they continued looking at the few stars that they could see from the window, and when Y/n finally fell asleep, Anthony carefully crept to close the curtains, slipping back under the covers and drawing his girlfriend closer, falling asleep himself moments later.

~~~

Dancing in the Rain

It had been raining all day.

George had complained, since he'd been planning on going to the Archives, but at the sight of the torrential downpour he'd decided to forgo the walk and holed up in his room instead. Lucy hadn't minded so much; she was in the attic reading, enjoying some peace and quiet.

Anthony was in the library, trying to get paperwork done, but with his girlfriend sat in the same room as him he was struggling. He huffed for the millionth time, making Y/n look up.

"What? You keep huffing and puffing. Is something wrong with the papers?"

"No, nothing's wrong with the papers. Just... How am I meant to concentrate when the most beautiful girl in the world is sat so close to me?" He turned on his chair, smiling dopily at her.

Y/n snorted, looking at him over her book. "Charmer."

"Is it working?"

"It doesn't need to work, Ant, we're already dating."

"I've got to make sure you know how much I love you though," he pouted, and Y/n giggled.

"You've also got to make sure your company is running properly?" His pout didn't leave his face, and he huffed (again) as he turned back to his work, running a hand through his hair in mild frustration. "Ant?"

"Yeah?" He looked over at her, immediately perking up at the sound of her voice.

"Wanna dance in the rain?"

"Right now?"

"Yeah. It's not as bad anymore, I think we'll be fine."

"Okay, yeah. Sure."

Y/n pulled him up from his seat, and he all but ran out the front door into the street, barely pausing to pull his shoes on. They were immediately soaked, Anthony's white shirt sticking to his body and Y/n's thin top doing the same within seconds. She was right, it wasn't as bad as it had been earlier, and they were laughing as Anthony held his hand out for her to take.

"May I have this dance, m'lady?" he said, his smile wide.

"You may," Y/n replied, placing her hand in his. He yanked her in, pulling her close to his chest, and she reached up to move some of his soaked hair out of his face. It wasn't much good, since she couldn't see that well from the raindrops that fell into her face, but she'd practically memorised the shape of him. He held her close, gently swaying as the rain fell all around them, the couple only moving when a car came around the corner and honked at them for being in the middle of the road.

When they came back inside a while later, George was just coming out of the kitchen, piece of cake in hand.

"No, nope, stay there, don't move! You two are dripping and I'm not letting you get that everywhere!" he rushed up the stairs, coming back a few minutes later with towels and changes of clothes for the two of them. "You can get changed there, then put your wet clothes in here. Let me know when you're done, so I can dry them and mop the floor." He handed over a plastic bag, one for each, then left, heading into the library.

"Oi, turn around, Ant. You might have seen most of it before but I'd like some privacy, please," Y/n lightly slapped his arm, nothing menacing in her tone as she turned her back on him. She'd barely finished pulling on the jumper (Anthony's jumper, really, but she wore it more than him at this point) than he'd wrapped his arms around her, pulling her back against his chest to hug her from behind.

"I love you, Y/n, you know that right?"

"I do. I love you too, Anthony."

~~~

The Picnic

"Anthony, where are we going? And why do you have a huge ass basket?"

"You'll see!" Y/n had been chatting with Lucy in their shared room (not that Y/n used it much now, she was in Lockwood's so much), when Anthony had burst through the door demanding that his girlfriend come with him. Y/n had laughed at his antics, taking the hand he offered and yelping when he all but ran down the stairs, girlfriend in tow. He'd been practically bouncing while he waited for her to put her shoes and coat on, and his excitement had only grown the closer they got to their destination. All of a sudden he stopped, making Y/n crash in to the back of him.

"Ant?"

"Close your eyes."

"What?"

"Just... just close your eyes, trust me. Don't open them until I say, okay?"

"Okay..." Y/n shut her eyes, squeezing them so tightly closed she could see patterns. She heard the rustling of something plastic, followed by the sound of him moving around and getting other items out of the basket, and after what felt like forever he finally said "Open!"

She did so, gasping slightly at the sight of the picnic blanket and various food items laid out. "Wait, you did all this?"

"Yep! Well, not all, George did the cooking, and Lucy helped me carry all the stuff back from Arif's without you noticing, but the rest was all me." He looked nervous, something Y/n hadn't seen her boyfriend be for a while, and she realised that he was waiting for her approval. He was scratching the back of his neck, slight blush covering his cheeks.

"I love it, Anthony. Really, I think this is amazing," she smiled at him, and immediately he relaxed, his own grin forming on his face. Y/n moved over to where he stood, planting a soft kiss on his lips. "And I love you."

"I love you too," he whispered, kissing her again.

~~~

The Aquarium

"Two day tickets please, we should get a discount too?"

"You agents?"

"Yes, Lockwood and Co." Anthony handed over his licence card to the woman behind the desk, and she handed it back with a nod of approval.

"Here you go, that'll be ten pounds altogether then please."

Anthony handed over the notes, then accepted the two tickets with a smile. "Thank you!"

Y/n grabbed his free hand, taking her own ticket and pocketing it. They made their way into the aquarium, stopping to read every sign and press their faces to every glass, and Anthony was sure that he was the luckiest guy in the world to have Y/n as his girlfriend. He told her as much when they stopped for something to eat in the aquarium cafe, and she'd laughed and gone pink.

"Well then I'm the luckiest girl to have you, Ant."

They'd left the table not long after, disposing of napkins and empty sandwich packets, and when Y/n squealed in delight and grabbed Anthony by the arm, he knew that the tunnel was just around the corner. Y/n was always going on about the tunnel where the fish swam right overhead, surrounding you with water that was held back by thick glass smeared with little children's fingerprints. She spent the next few minutes pointing out various creatures, and Anthony nodded along, listening intently to her descriptions of each one, from the largest shark right down to the smallest fish, a huge smile on his face at her awe.

"Ant, look!" She smushed her face against the glass, jabbing a finger at the ray that had started coming their way. When, a few minutes later, a second ray did the same, Y/n looked on in as much wonder as she had the first time, and Anthony found himself smiling softly at his girlfriend's apparently limitless fascination with the animals.

They sat in the tunnel for ages (they did have a day ticket, after all), chatting quietly about anything that came to mind, Y/n interrupting every now and then to excitedly list off facts about the fish.

When they finally left a while later, going around the rest of the aquarium, hand in hand, Anthony knew then that he never wanted to be with anyone else. She was still smiling at everything she saw, laughing at the pufferfish and marvelling at the lion fish, and her joy was infectious. A few times she stopped to talk to some small kids, exaggerating her movements and discussing the animals so seriously with them that anyone would think she was talking about the threats of the Problem, not seahorses. She was so good with the kids, and not for the first time Anthony caught himself thinking about their future together.

It was nearly dark when they left, having been kicked out because it would soon be curfew, and Y/n was pulling him along the pavement on their way home, still talking excitedly about her favourite parts of the day.

Yes, Anthony thought as he unlocked the front door and ushered Y/n inside. Yes, this is my future.

#I want an anthony lockwood so bad #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #idiots in love #lockwood x you

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writtenontheport · 9 months

Text

Just a Night at Portland Row

(pt.1) (pt.2)

Anthony Lockwood x (gn) Reader

Warnings/Tags: Literal romcom, These people are silly, Everyone’s so sillycore here, teary confessions, someone accidentally confesses, nothing dramatic happens he’s just silly, Childhood friends to lovers, Lockwood is kinda stupid (affectionate), no smut or suggestive content, Lockwood and co and reader friendship, whether or not what Lockwood says at the end actually happens is up to you!!

Notes: I have quite a few issues with this one, and I’m not entirely satisfied with it, but I think it’s one of the better ways I could go about it. I also put all the flowers meanings at the bottom, so if you were curious I did in fact plan the flower meanings (I am a nerd). This finale has gone through about 20 revisions on the first day alone, so if anything seems jarringly out of place, I am so sorry 😭 I was all over the place with my ideas.

Summary: Just before supper time, you and Lockwood have a heart to heart, and it starts as it always has: with flowers, with tears, and a little funny thing called love.

word count: 2.4k+

“George,” Lockwood says seriously. It’s the first time George has ever seen him so serious about something that isn’t Lucy or him dying and it shocks him how quick he is to steel himself for whatever it is. “I need you to get Lucy to bring them down here, if you can, please.”

Now, ‘them’ is obviously referring to you, who’s laughing away upstairs with Lucy so loud they can hear it ring through the vents. If this wasn’t something George has genuinely been excited for, he would have smacked Lockwood upside the head for using that terrifying tone. “Don’t say it like that, prick. Thought someone was dying there.”

Lockwood grins at him from where he’s messing with the bouquet stood up on the table. The paper wrapping hasn’t been removed, courtesy of the empty vase and that water would most likely melt it; ribbon still intact. They stand, not quite fully in bloom (which is the best way to buy flowers, because otherwise they wilt right away) but just on the precipice of it. It’s packed with other, smaller additions, but at the heart of it, well. Maybe Lockwood did know something about the language of flowers.

“How’d you even pick them out?” George asks instead, watching Lockwood’s grin wobble.

“I made friends with the shopkeeper. He wouldn’t tell me what any of them meant, but he said they were good flowers— like the carnations. One of them though… these white ones here, just felt familiar somehow.” He kept messing about with the bouquet, meddling with any loose leaf or bud. “Can you please go get them? I want them to be able to see the flowers before they wilt.”

George does swat Lockwood for that, but he goes upstairs to get you. You and Lucy have moved to her room on George’s urging (he made Lockwood wait outside before coming in to make sure you didn’t know) and were lying in her bed on your stomachs, reading and sharing books. Lucy’s the first to look up at him, raising a brow as she nudges you.

“George? Everything ok?” You ask, propping yourself up to sit criss cross on the mattress. “Has Anthony come back yet?”

“He has,” he says simply, “He says he needs you in the kitchen. Lucy should stay since she must be tired from the case yesterday.”

From behind you, Lucy has a moment of realization that has her tucking her lips to hide a smile. Quietly, she puts a hand up to her forehead in a salute to George.

“You should go check,” she says, “Who knows what kind of trouble he might be in.”

“A lot of trouble,” George adds, nodding slightly along. You narrow your eyes in suspicion, but you get up off the bed.

“I’ll save your place!” She calls just as you’re headed down. George walks 2 steps behind you to hide his expression before he can school it, feeling giddy with nerves that aren’t even his to have. He wonders how Lockwood’s doing, stopping just at his bedroom door.

You turn back, asking “You aren’t coming?”

“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” He rocks gently on his feet and pulls his hands behind his back, reassuring you with a calm nod. “Off you go, Lockwood’s probably burnt himself making tea by now or something.”

“I’d hope not…” you mumble, each step down like a crescendo in the world’s most suspenseful piece of music— every floorboard creak like the lead instrument and your heartbeat acting a steady base. On a sheet you’re sure it looks hideous, but it levels out when you open the door and Lockwood’s waiting there by the counter, looking like he’s straight off a magazine. The silence creeps in, but the piece rises to new heights as the sound of everything— the floorboards, the vents— suddenly dulls out.

You step into the kitchen, and let the door shut behind you.

There is your Anthony, standing there in the middle of the kitchen with a bouquet full of dazzling pink tulips, red roses, and spots of white jasmine flowers. There is Anthony, the boy you’ve known and loved for years— looking at you like he always does: like you’re the whole world and sky and everything he wakes up for.

Neither of you speak for a good minute, but it’s not without trying. Lockwood spends that pregnant pause fumbling for words, before—

“I love you,” He says.

The words come rushing out his lips, hurried and desperate. It shocks you how simply he puts it, like a sudden rest in the notes that takes you by surprise. He looks surprised too; horrified, really, that he’s just blurted that out. He swallows thickly, steeling his expression into something determined.

“I—“ you pause, the words caught in your throat, blood pounding in your ears. You think you tear up, but you can’t really tell when the whole world narrows down to Anthony Lockwood across from you in the kitchen of Portland Row, professing his love in the spur of the moment. You grow warm with affection, taking a step closer to him as the music of your singing heart drowns out everything but his words.

He takes a deep breath, his face pale with fear as he swallows and says quietly,, “Today, when I went down to the shops to get you these flowers, I met the really old man tending to them. Don’t look at me like that, he was really old, alright?”

“Anthony,” you scold quietly, tutting at him as you wrap your hands around his.

He bites the inside of his cheek before he keeps going. “Anyways he isn’t the point— I brought him up because he made me realise that I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I never gave telling you a shot. He lived loving someone else until they died— even after they did, and if… if there was a chance I could have that with you, I wanted to take it. I can’t promise you that I’ll be alive for as long as you will be, but I can promise you that I will love you for everyday I live and breathe if you let me.”

“Anthony,” you start, breathlessly. You take his face in your hands and he puts the bouquet down to cover your hands with his. He looks so scared like this, fragile like glass in your hands and pale with nerves.

“I can’t promise you forever,” He says solemnly, “But I can promise you my heart for as long as it beats.”

You take a deep breath through your nose, and will yourself not to kiss him. Years down to minutes— minutes to seconds. The silence hangs like a winding note. You glance back quickly at the bouquet, picking out one of the jasmine flowers before sliding it behind his ear and resting your hands on his face.

“Do you remember the first flower I gave you?” You ask just as quietly. He shakes his head, cheeks rubbing against the skin of your palms. “We were… quite young at the time, and I must have been mad, because I stole it from the neighbour’s garden. Yes, the grumpy one, you remember her. Well, I ran straight over from all the way from home with this crumpled little thing in hand— stop giggling. I’m telling you an important story— and you lit up like a light. Cheeky little thing you were, finding a way to give it back to me when I got scolded the same day for stealing and I was awful sore about the whole thing.”

“You looked all sad,” He cut in, voice hoarse in a mumble, “It made me happy, so I wanted it to make you happy too.”

You laugh, just as breathless, “And it worked, Anthony. It’s still one of my favourite flowers. Did you know that? They were the first flowers I read up on when I learned flowers could have meanings.”

“What’d you find?” He asks, the nerves fading into a hopefulness that fills his eyes with stars. It’s helplessly endearing where you see them shine, nearly nose to nose with how close you’re holding him.

You hum and close your eyes, pushing your forehead against his. “We gave each other white jasmine flowers, that day. A lot of people say they mean purity or innocence, but the one that stuck out to me was that people say it meant “everlasting love” too. When I look back on it now, it must’ve been fate.”

“Cause I always loved you and you probably realised that with how stupid I get about you?”He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

You chuckle quietly, just as helplessly lost, “Not quite. I didn’t even think there was a chance you could love me back, though that does make everything a bit easier… because I’ve always loved you, Anthony.”

Like a child on Christmas day, Lockwood’s eyes grow wide; he’s helpless to the grin that splits his face. “Really?”

“I’m no liar, Anthony, and certainly not about this,” you laugh, unable to help yourself as you tip back and rest your nose lightly against his.

“No like— you mean it?” He asks, voice cracking with hope as he searches your face, “You love me? You love me?”

You’re helplessly endeared, helplessly in love and helplessly lost to it, so you just whisper back with a grin as wide, “Yes, Anthony. I love you.”

What little space between you both is gone in a second when he pushes his lips against yours. It’s a desperate thing, all relief and comfort and love pouring out. At some point, you’re both smiling too wide and too much for it to be anything more than just pushing your lips against each other’s and you pull away with a wet laugh.

He grins wider, and you didn’t think it was possible but he manages it. “I’m so glad, because if I had to go back to the shopkeeper with a terrible story about how I got rejected by the love of my life—“

You giggle and swat at his arm, wrapping your arms around him, “Of course that’s what you worry about. This is all a publicity stunt, yeah? To boost your ego.”

“Of course,” he says, with no weight to the words as he sniffs and blinks away the last of his tears, “Though that just means we should make it a bigger stunt and get married. I’ll even invite Kipps just to rub it in his face.”

You hum, helplessly amused, when the door slams open and George shamelessly walks in with at first his usual deadpan, then a pleased expression. From behind George, Lucy is brimming with happiness, smiling cheek to cheek.

“Gross,” George says, simply and without malice. He steps around you and Lockwood, patting you both on the back sincerely and pulling out pots and pans. It occurs to you a little late that he’s starting on supper. “Took you both a while to actually confess. Mental, the two of you.”

“It was cute,” Lucy says kindly, taking you from Lockwood (he does pout lightly, but she just sticks her tongue out at him) hugging you dear. “George just means that we’re both very happy you two finally got together. He was starting to go bald actually from pulling his hair out too much, look at his hairline—“

“You can’t even pretend like you weren’t too, Lucy.” George sends her a glare as she separates from you. Lockwood quickly fills the space at your side again and all but wraps himself around you. Lucy pats him on the back with a congratulatory smile.

“You can’t go bald before my wedding, George, that’d just ruin it,” you say, clicking your tongue as you reach over (not without struggling over Lockwood) and pat his curls into place. The pot nearly slips out of his hands while Lucy’s eyes grow big as saucers.

“Wedding?!?” They ask simultaneously. Lockwood giggles into your neck, the cheeky bastard.

“This one here,” you gesture at Lockwood with a look, “said we should get married since this whole thing is a publicity stunt or whatnot. Said he might even invite that Kipps bloke he hates.”

“That is the lamest proposal I have ever heard,” Lucy immediately cuts in, the most disappointed scowl pointed at Lockwood’s head.

“I’ve got to agree. You could absolutely do better than that, Lockwood. Also, Quill Kipps? Do you want to have start a fight at your wedding?” George asks, his back turned to everyone. You pull away from Lockwood to pick up the flowers, but not without him frowning as you do. He stops frowning as soon as you smile at him, though, before he turns his attention to Lucy and George when they both pretend to gag.

“I gave them flowers, a really sentimental bunch I think, then I had a good speech,” He says to Lucy first, who raises a brow at him.

He turns to George next. “I need to rub it in his face that he’s probably miserable and forever alone.”

“I thought it was gonna be a publicity stunt, not a revenge plot,” You mutter, clicking your tongue.

“I’m not letting you have a lame wedding, Lockwood, because that means they—“ she points to you “— will have a lame wedding and I will not let that happen.”

“But you’d let me have a lame wedding if it was just mine?” His face is scrunched in offence as he ‘discreetly’ wraps himself around you again.

“Yes,” Lucy and George say simultaneously.

“I’d marry you at a lame wedding.” You play with his hair where you can reach it, pressing a kiss to his forehead where he’s dumped it again on your shoulder. Lucy and George gag, Lockwood beams so bright you’d think he won the lottery that night.

They manage to convince you that it’s too dark out to leave (it was past curfew, the sun had set already) so you spend the night recounting everything you can with them until the stars had gone to sleep and the sun started rising.

The next day, he brings down the bouquet of carnations you’d first given him, and you mix both the bouquets into one. A year later, Portland Row becomes home to not only to the people living in it, but a garden full of flowers blooming with love, laughter, and a lot of hard work. White Jasmine flowers bloom on the veranda and a house of three becomes home to four.

A/N: Finally finished this series!! Whew, that was… hmm!! And just because I couldn’t add it to the story without it getting clunky, have these idk, headcanons? fun facts?:

Reader tells Lockwood all about the flowers after, and informs him about why the Jasmine flowers were so familiar

The grumpy neighbour reader stole the white jasmine flowers from was actually the old man gardener’s wife

Lockwood goes back to tell the old man, and they have a laugh about the whole thing

It is so hard to get one straight meaning for a flower, but if you dig enough you can find flowers that mean so many cute things:

Red carnations mean deep love and affection

Pink tulips mean caring and affection

White Jasmine flowers can mean many things but for this story I went with: Eternal love, persevering love, and new beginnings

Everyone knows red roses, but I also like to think Lockwood’s bouquet had thornless red roses because they mean love at first sight

Yes he one upped the reader even without knowing what all the flowers mean because he’s a competitive little freak (affectionate) and I love him

This series has been very dear to me, and I am especially thankful to @tangledinlove <3 Thank you for your kind reblogs, I hope you know I read them and always look forward to seeing how you find each part in the series even if I don’t respond to them <33333

Also @milesmorals asked me to tag her too!!

#portie writes fanfic #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you

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atlabeth · 11 months

Note

Hey! I saw your requests were open so I was wondering if I could get an angsty/sad Anthony Lockwood x reader? Maybe they're friends or work together, and there's pining? Ending up to you :) Anyways, thank you for your time! Have a wonderful day!

are we too young for this? - anthony lockwood

summary: there was the illusion when you were younger, that you would be together forever. the day you walk back into 35 portland row, you know that illusion is broken.

a/n: thank you for the request! this definitely is angsty and there's not really a happy ending lol. this idea popped into my head as soon as this came into my inbox and i think it's an interesting one so hopefully you all like it. it's like "what if lockwood had any normal non-ghost hunting friends" and the result is sadness. thank you again for the request i hope you like it! title from softcore by the neighborhood

wc: 3.3k

warning(s): childhood friends to lowkey strangers with a hint of very sad possible lovers lmao </3 angst, pining that goes nowhere, not a happy ending it just kind of. ends. mentions/discussions of familial death, some crying, just sad all around. this gif is you all kicking me for writing this

You couldn’t help the haste with which you hurried down the sidewalk with. Night was steadily falling, your arms ached with the weight of your bags, and you were sure you were going to be late for dinner. Of course, it wasn’t your brightest idea to head out on errands so late, but it also wasn’t your fault that the bus was so late.

As you continued down the sidewalk at a pace rivaling the slowest of racers, your eyes darted around your surroundings as an instinct. The ghost lamps hadn’t turned on yet, the Ainsworths were walking their dog together, the light was on at 35 Portland Row.

You almost didn’t even question it, almost continued walking, but then you froze in your steps.

The light was on at 35 Portland Row?

You nearly dropped your groceries as you ran up the steps, furiously knocking on the door until it swung open. You weren’t met by Anthony—instead, a boy wearing glasses with dark, messy curls stared at you.

“Can I help you?” he asked, rather tartly. He looked down at the bag in your hand. “Are you Arif’s girl?”

You shook your head, though it took you a moment to gather your bearings. “No, I’m not. Um— does Anthony Lockwood still live here?”

“Did you see the sign outside the door?” he asked, pointing a finger at the fence.

You blinked. “No.”

He just stood there, brows raised, and you realized that he wanted you to go down and look. With a sigh, you went down the steps and over to the fence, and your jaw dropped when you read it.

A.J. Lockwood & Co., Investigators

After dark, ring bell and wait beyond the iron line.

“He started an agency?” you asked incredulously.

“You know him?” the boy asked in turn. He seemed incredibly bored with this conversation.

“Is he in right now?” You paced back up the stairs, trying to peer behind the boy inside the house. “I have to talk to Anthony.”

The boy studied you for a moment before he sighed and stepped aside. “He’s in the basement. Take a seat wherever—I’ll get him.”

You nodded thankfully as you walked in, and he shut the door behind you. It had been a while since you’d stepped inside the house, and everything felt different and the same at once.

It was a lot more of a mess than it used to be. As soon as you stepped in you noticed there were granules of salt scattered near the entrance, telltale signs of salt bombs. A stray rapier laid on the kitchen table, over a large white tablecloth that seemed to have words and symbols scribbled haphazardly all over it. You nearly tripped over a bucket of water, housing boots with glowing green stains on them, and everywhere you looked there seemed to be artifacts of every kind.

It was as busy as you remembered, as crowded as you remembered, but it was crowded with the mess of underage agents rather than the organized chaos of researchers.

It really had been a long time.

“Um— may I ask who you are?” You introduced yourself as a middle ground, offering a slight smile to the boy.

“George Karim,” he said. “I’m Lockwood’s deputy.”

Lockwood. Not Anthony— Lockwood.

You nodded, perhaps a few times too many, and you took a seat on the couch. Your spot, actually, as it always had been whenever you were over at his house. You noticed with delight that the pillow you’d crocheted for his mother still sat against the side. It was your personal thanks to her for letting you spend so many nights at their house, and though the yarn was slightly worn and a few loose ends stuck out, it was in remarkably good shape. Especially considering the state of the rest of the house.

“What are you here for?” George asked, rather bluntly. “Are you a client?”

“Not a client,” an achingly familiar voice answered, “a friend.”

You whirled around, immediately shooting up from your seat and breaking into a smile at the sight of Anthony. “You’re back.”

“That I am.” He smiled back at you, and though it was like the thousands of times he’d smiled at you before, there was something heavier in it. You couldn’t help but notice the bags under his eyes.

“She just showed up at the door,” George said. “Asked to see you by name. She wouldn’t leave.”

“Good.” Anthony quickly closed the distance and pulled you into a hug, one you returned with vigor. It had been far too long since you were in his arms, and it wasn’t long enough when you both pulled away. “What’s brought you here?”

You laughed shakily. “Um, the sign on your door. Actually, I saw the light was on first, and it hadn’t been on in a while, so I thought I would—” you cleared your throat, your eyes flicking away for a moment. “See if you were here. Still.”

Understanding passed through Anthony’s eyes, and he nodded. “I finished my grades recently, and I decided it was time to go out on my own.”

“Your own,” you repeated.

He nodded again and, a credit to his intelligence, didn’t let you continue in that vein. “Where have you been? I feel like it’s been forever.”

“It sort of has,” you said with a slight laugh. “I’ve been busy at school. My parents— they sent me to boarding school.”

“Boarding school?” Both boys spoke at the same time, but where Anthony was surprised, George was almost disgusted.

You nodded. “Boarding school.”

“You’ve got no Talent,” George realized.

You blinked at his bluntness, but he wasn’t wrong. “Guilty.”

“George,” Anthony said, eyes never leaving your face, “could you give us a moment alone?”

“Gladly,” he mumbled. George walked off, and then it was just the two of you.

You, a star pupil at boarding school with the boring aspirations of becoming a solicitor. Anthony, a star seer starting his own agency so he could better march headfirst into death.

“You’re still alive.” It had been what you wanted to say the moment he walked back into your life, but only now could you find the courage.

“I’m still alive,” he agreed.

“You’re starting your own agency.” You looked around, brows slightly creased. A position they’d been stuck in since the moment you read the sign on the railing. “Where are your supervisors? Where— where are the rest of your agents?”

“It’s just us,” Anthony said. “George and I. Two is really all you need for most cases.”

“Just you and George?” You continued to look around, gesturing with your hand for no reason at all. “It— it can’t just be you and George. It can’t be just you and George against every ghost in London.”

“Technically, it’s not every ghost in London,” he said. “Just the ones ailing our clients.”

“That’s not what I mean, Anthony!” You let out a frustrated sigh, using your gesturing hand to rake it through your hair. “It can’t just be the two of you.”

“I don’t see why not.”

“Because entire teams die out in the field, Anthony,” you ground out. “Entire teams, from Fittes and Rotwell and Tendy’s and— and Grimble, they die out in the field. They’ve got adults, they’ve got backup, they’ve got every bloody thing they need at their disposal, and you think—” Your voice broke, and you took a deep breath. “And you think you can do it alone?”

“I’m not alone,” Anthony said. “I’ve got George.”

“You really don’t get it,” you whispered with a pained laugh, “do you?”

“Can I get you some tea?” Anthony offered that smile again, and it should’ve been the same but it wasn’t.

“I don’t want tea, I want you to see what the hell you’re doing!” you exclaimed. “We had this exact same conversation when you went off to do your grades with— with that freelancer. I woke up every morning and wondered if you hadn’t. I went to bed every night and wondered if you hadn’t. It drove me insane, Anthony, and it’s part of the reason my parents sent me so far off for boarding school! I couldn’t stop thinking about you and what you were doing, and now you’re telling me that you’re not only going to be an agent, but you’re doing it with one other boy as young as you are?”

“I don’t know what else I can tell you except that it’s going to be okay!” Anthony ran a hand through his hair, letting out a frustrated sigh. “I told you I would be okay when I went off with Sykes, and I was. Why can you not just trust in my ability— trust in me?”

“You know why I can’t just trust,” you uttered. “We’ve both been through this before, Anthony.”

He opened his mouth to say something, but it just shut as he stared at you with desperation in his eyes. It took him a moment to gather himself.

“I…” Anthony sighed, looking at you fully. “I thought about you every day that I was gone, same as you. Wondering how you were doing, what I would say when I got back. Because I knew I would come back.”

You bit your lip. Whereas you’d shrunk into yourself after you lost your brother, Anthony forced himself to be more confident, more sure of anything and everything when he found himself on his own. You supposed he had no other choice.

And right now, it felt like you didn’t have one either.

“I have to go,” you murmured absently. “It’s getting late.”

You picked up your bags from the couch, your lips pressing into a sad excuse for a smile as you walked past him. Anthony said your name, the pleading of it all almost enough to make you stop, but you continued on your way.

“Have a good night, Anthony,” you said.

And then you walked out.

Dinner with your parents was hollow. They talked and joked around you, tried to include you in conversation, but you felt none of the usual warmth.

You couldn’t stop thinking about Anthony and his fated stubbornness, about that stupid sign on the railing and his stupid agency, and try as you might, you couldn’t stop thinking about your brother.

Your parents were kind enough not to ask any questions behind the cursory ‘are you okay’s, leaving you to your own devices when they retired for the night. You wondered if they knew that Anthony was back, and if so, if they knew all this agency business.

Maybe they did. Maybe they just thought it would be better to not tell you, because they knew you would act exactly the way you were acting.

You just sat on the couch, staring at the required reading on your lap as the whir of the washing machine filled your ears, unable to absorb any of the words.

You grew up next door to Anthony, and it didn’t take long for the two of you to become friends. You bumped into each other on walks with your family, you saw each other at the supermarket, and soon enough you were knocking on each other's doors begging the other’s parents to allow for hangouts. You became the best of friends with the biggest aspirations for life, aspirations that the world was sure to crush.

Tragedy struck a multitude of times, first in your brother, then his parents, and lastly his sister. You lost count of the nights you spent sleeping over with each other when you couldn’t stand to be alone—in the first few months after his parents, he practically lived at your house—sometimes talking through the late hours, sometimes crying through them. Either way, you did it together.

You did everything together, and then Anthony went where you couldn’t follow.

After Jessica’s death, he withdrew into himself. It took a while to break through, and it felt like just as you did, Anthony was telling you his decision to go off and study under a freelancer that went by the Gravedigger of all names. You questioned if you would ever see him again, and he assured you with a smile that of course you would.

How many nights you spent staring at the ceiling questioning why you had been born without talent, you couldn’t remember.

And now Anthony was back, and he was throwing himself even further into his work, into danger, and it was like you were reliving the empty months all over again.

The knock on the door rang out, jarring you from your thoughts, and you knew who it was immediately. You still took a moment of pause before you pushed the book off your lap and walked over to the door, your lips pressing into a thin line when you opened it and saw Anthony.

“Can we talk?” he asked bluntly.

You stepped aside wordlessly, adjusting the iron charm that hung over the door after you closed it.

“I like what you’ve done with the place,” Anthony said.

“I haven’t done any of it,” you said. “I only got back the other day. My parents did all the holiday decorating while I was away.”

“Ah.” He still smiled. “It looks lovely either way. Very festive.”

“They’ll be happy to hear it.”

Anthony sighed, finally turning to look back at you and your crossed arms. “Has it really been that long?”

You glanced away. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“Long enough that we’ve been reduced to niceties.” He shrugged. “We’ve always known what each other meant without even having to ask. We could have entire conversations just with eye contact, and now you can hardly even look at me.”

“I guess it has been that long,” you murmured. “You’ve been off training to become an agent, and I’ve been off doing schoolwork.”

“That’s never stood in the way before.” Anthony gestured with his hand, his laugh strained. “Remember what we said when we were younger? That we would always be friends, that— that we would always be together.”

“That was before everything changed,” you said quietly.

“Before my parents,” he said bluntly. “Before our siblings.”

You blinked away tears, turning away so he couldn’t see. It had been years and the simple mention of him was still enough to open the wound again. Maybe it never really closed.

“I just don’t understand how you want to be an agent after everything that’s happened,” you said.

“I don’t expect you to understand it,” Anthony said. “I just know that it was what I was meant to do.”

That got you. You turned around, disbelief painted on your face, and you shook your head. “How can it be what you’re meant to do, Anthony? People— children— die every single goddamn day! How can anyone be meant for that?”

“Because I’m able to help people,” he said. “I’ve got what some people call the best Sight they’ve seen in a long time, and if I can use it to help innocent people be rid of Visitors, I’m going to.”

“Why does it have to be you?” You gave up trying to hide your emotion, your voice cracking in full force. “Why does it have to be you on your own?”

“Fittes and Rotwell…” he shook his head. “They’ve lost sight of what this is all meant for. They don’t care. Lockwood and Co will care.”

“You’re needlessly reckless,” you said. “I mean— you don’t even see it! You’ve been on your own for so long with only ghosts for company that you’ve forgotten there are still people out there that care about you.” You wiped away a loose tear in frustration. “People like me, Anthony.”

He stayed silent.

“You will never have any respite,” you continued. “People make errors in their jobs every day and they move on— if you make an error, that’s it. A— am I going to find out you’re dead the same way I found out about all this? I’m going to come home for the holidays, I’m going to see that sign on your fence is gone, someone new has moved into 35 Portland Row, and that’s going to be it.”

“That’s not going to happen,” he said.

“And how can you be so sure?”

“I’m better with a rapier than any agent in London, my Sight has only grown more powerful, and I’ve got connections,” Anthony said. “George used to work with Fittes, he’s an all-rounder, and he is the best researcher I’ve ever seen. We’re going to be fine.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “That’s exactly what my brother told me.”

Anthony’s face softened, and you felt like you were ten again. Sitting on the floor of the living room with him, watching some old-timey movie your parents had on DVD as you passed a bowl of popcorn between you two. The door rang, you ran over to get it, and you were met by two stone-faced men.

“Are your parents home, miss?”

Anthony said your name, but you shook your head.

“I already lost him,” you said quietly. “I’m not going to sit around and watch as you throw yourself into danger and lose you too.”

“Then I guess this is it,” Anthony said.

Your throat burned. “I guess it is.”

The two of you stared at each other for a good long while—it was like Anthony was trying to call your bluff, trying to see if you were going to fold. But you meant every word. You loved him too much to watch him face death on every job, not when you couldn’t do a single thing about it.

You let Anthony pull you into a hug, and try as you might you just couldn’t. The dam broke inside of you and you wrapped your arms around him as tight as possible, a silent goodbye that meant everything.

Perhaps it was selfish, pushing him away on your own terms because you couldn’t stand to watch him meet his fate. Throwing away a decade of friendship all because you were too weak to wait with bated breath every time he went on a job, to go back to staring at pictures of you two together when you were kilometers away at school wondering if he was still alive.

But you wouldn’t— you couldn’t— go through it again. You had no Talent, so you had no choice but to stand idly by as children better and braver than you went out into the field to keep the streets of London safe. As Anthony risked his name showing up in the obituaries every day.

You wondered every day if things would have been different had you been different, if you had been able to follow your brother to Grimble. And now, if you were able to join Anthony’s agency to make sure he didn’t lose himself. Your brother had been facing his death without fear for five years until it finally caught up to him, and the darkest part of you couldn’t help but think when it would catch up to Anthony as well.

He pressed a kiss to your forehead before he pulled away, and you could have dissolved into tears right there. You always wondered if he knew how you felt about him. It was a shame you’d never get to see what could have been.

“I promise that everything will be okay,” he murmured. “My door will always be open to you.”

Don’t make promises you can’t keep, you wanted to say. You’re the same age as he was and I can’t stop thinking about it.

But instead, you just nodded. “Stay alive.”

There was a glimmer of sadness in his smile. “I couldn’t do anything less with you around.”

You managed a watery laugh, and you bit down hard on your lip. You couldn’t cry anymore.

“I’ll see you soon,” Anthony said, stopping in the doorway after he opened it. A promise to himself more than you.

“I hope so,” was all you could say.

Anthony bowed his head to you, closed the door behind him, and then he was gone.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co #x reader #reader insert #sadie writes

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mellkellyismyhero · 1 year

Text

Jonathan Stroud and Kipps

You know, as a kid reading Lockwood and Co., I LOVED Lucy, George, Lockwood, and Holly. They were all my age! Every time a new book came out I’d imagine Lucy was growing up with me.

But that meant that I didn’t have much of a connection with Kipps, who was kind of L&Co.’s punching bag (affectionate). I liked him, but I never loved him the way I loved everyone else.

Now, I’m older than L&Co. Reading the books and watching the show feels like revisiting my younger self. I was expecting to love the L&Co. trio dynamic- and I did! But one thing I really wasn’t expecting was my newfound appreciation for Kipps.

Jonathan Stroud’s decision to focus on Kipps’ transition from brilliant teen agent to terrified, washed-up adult... It didn’t speak to me as a kid because I was too busy identifying with how cool Lucy’s Talent was. But now that I’m in Kipps’ age range, I identify with Kipps a lot more over Lucy. I can’t really put it in words- this is probably going to be the first of many posts of me spewing emotions and love for Jonathan Stroud’s writing skill- but I’m going to try.

Minor Kipps-related spoilers for L&Co. books under the cut.

Kipps, in the show and books, is 20-22 years old. He’s college-aged. And he cannot do the one thing that he has trained his entire life for, and needs to adjust to that. As a kid, I just kind of saw that as the same kind of “kids rule, adults drool” thing that happens in all kids adventure stories. Can’t have the responsible adults ruining the kids’ fun!

But Kipps was unusual in that you get to SEE him go from ‘competent rival agent’ to ‘technically a useless adult’. He’s straddling the line in the way that other series, where kids get to have magic because they’re good and pure or whatever don’t.

The thing is, it would’ve been easy for Kipps to be forgotten. Just let him fade into the background and never be mentioned again after book 2. But he’s there in book 3, and 4, and 5, still doing his best to fight ghosts even if he can’t see them. As a kid, I was just like ‘huh, okay, that’s a choice’ and kind of ignored him. Who cares what Kipps is doing when Lucy and Holly are having an epic argument that’s going to bring a million ghosts down on their heads?

As an adult, I LOVE that Stroud chose to keep Kipps around. I love that Kipps found a new way to keep fighting (the goggles). I love that Kipps kind of became a member of Lockwood and Co. I love that Stroud made the readers and the characters confront the reality that one day our beloved main characters would lose their Talents too, that even Lucy would go deaf one day, instead of just ignoring the generous but very real time limit the characters had hanging over their heads.

(Side note: part of my love for this series might be stemming from my complicated feelings about the Seven Wonders book series, where a kid is told he has less than a year to live and will likely spend months in debilitating pain and then... spends that year fucking around looking for magical artifacts and not actually having any kind of physical consequences for LITERALLY HAVING A DEADLY ILLNESS-)

Anyway.

Kipps is fantastic. The way he represents the inevitable future of Lockwood and Co... the way he represents the thousands of other agents who grew too old to sense ghosts and couldn’t keep fighting even if they wanted to... the way that he tries so hard to keep the kids he’s in charge of alive but can’t because he’s only one person and he’s losing his Talent...

He’s going through such a major transition and doesn’t know what his place in the world is anymore, and honestly, what early-twenties person does? There’s something there about Talents and childhood trauma and taking your first few steps into adulthood without the tools that saved your life as a child because they don’t work anymore...

In conclusion: Kipps was an amazing character, and I’m sorry I didn’t appreciate him sooner.

#quill kipps #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #l&co. netflix #l&co #l&co netflix #l&co.#mine #quill kipps appreciation

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gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

if you’re taking lockwood and co requests can i ask for “you can hold my hand if you want” with george karim?? maybe reader and george like each other but are both super nervous

“Oh for crying out loud.” You groaned into your pillow as you came to realise that you’ve -once again- found yourself awake at 3 in the morning. This very same scenario has happened so frequently, that it was beginning to get increasingly difficult for you to track when the last time you had decent amount of sleep was.

Instead of trying to get back to sleep, knowing firsthand how fruitless that endeavour was, you stumbled half asleep down the stairs towards the kitchen, where you’d make yourself some tea that you’ve read somewhere that helps with sleepless nights. Only to then afterwards head off towards the library to read a random book of your choosing in hopes of it boring you so badly you fall asleep in the armchair within the first five minutes of reading.

However as you entered the kitchen to make your tea, you took immediate note of the additional company of George, who looked just as exhausted as you probably looked if you had even bothered to look into a mirror, nursing his own drink between his hands as he stared off into the distance. “George?” At your voice, George’s brown eyes glanced towards it’s source almost immediately and just as fast as he looked over at you, his eyes found solace in a area of the thinking cloth pinned beneath his ceramic mug.

“Couldn’t sleep?” You spoke again when he didn’t as to avoid awkward silence only to find that insufficient and began to move yourself deeper into the kitchen to grasp your mug, plop a teabag inside along with your preferred amount of sugar to then flipping on the kettle, waiting with your back pressed against the counter as the water boiled. “I guess we’re in the same boat then.” You chuckled awkwardly, growing a little more uncomfortable with standing in utter silence across from your crush as time passed both you by unbearably slow.

So when the kettle finished boiling, you, feeling as though your company wasn’t warranted, were just about to leave the kitchen and head back upstairs but just as you passed him by; George was quick to grab ahold of your sleep shirt-albeit gently- preventing you making it any further out of the kitchen then had you intended. “Wait.” He said, letting go of your sleep shirt here he noticed that he had your attention, “keep me company?” He asked and a small smile drew itself onto your face as you agreed to his request by drawing out a chair a little way aways from his, only to be stoped when George patted the chair next to him.

“Why sit so far from me. I’m not cursed am I?” George joked as he pushed his falling glasses back up onto the brim of his nose, smiling almost playfully which made the corner of his eyes crinkle into crows feet. He always looked his most beautiful smiling, talking passionately about his most recent findings, or when he- well you thought he was beautiful all of the time. Yet seeing him doing small actions only added to his beauty and god was he beautiful in your eyes.

So beautiful that he made you nervous within his presence.

“Not to my knowledge you aren’t, unless your withholding something from us?” You responded playfully as you sat yourself on the chair next to him, tensing up whenever you felt his shoulder brush against your own periodically. “Even if I was you’d be the first to know.” George said almost as though he were on autopilot from the lack of sleep fogging up the more coherent parts of his mind. His words sounded genuine enough for you to believe in but what caught you off guard was the pressure you felt ontop of your hand.

Which frightened you to almost literal death as you instinctively drew your hand from George’s with a sharp gasp that had worry flashing across the speckled males face as he quickly drew his hand from yours as though touching your skin burnt him. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable I’m-“ “you can hold my hand if you want.” You found yourself saying without much filter, cutting him off abruptly as you laid your hand palm up as an invitation for George to gingerly place his hand on top of your own.

They fit together perfectly like puzzle pieces, that you both released a breath neither of you knew you were withholding until you both looked up from your clasped hands to stare into each other’s eyes instead. The breath left your lungs as you allowed yourself to get lost in his features as he got lost in yours; so much so that neither of you were aware of the fact that your drinks had gotten cold and there were a matching set of dopey smiles mirroring one another.

#lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co imagines #lockwood imagines #lockwood imagine #lockwood x you #lockwood and co imagine #lockwood and co x you #george karim x reader #George karim imagine #George karim imagines #George karim x you

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givemea-dam-break · 1 year

Note

hi!! i absolutely adore your writing, and i have a request for reader x lockwood :) what if reader is smart and likes to read and stuff but is super oblivious and can’t make a first move for the life of her? and maybe it’s her first kiss or something idk :D

a/n: ooooh yes this is a cute idea!!! i hope you enjoy <3 this is in spite of netflix cancelling the show. fuck netflix.

warnings: none female reader

Correct Me If I'm Wrong - Anthony Lockwood

You're not sure when the last time you felt truly pretty was.

Most days are spent either in tatty pyjamas that are due a wash, or clothes with a myriad of ectoplasm burns and a permanent smell of lavender that clogs up your nose and makes you need to sneeze, no matter what kind of fabric conditioner you shove into the washing machine. Your hair? Well, it's certainly seen better days.

But today. Today.

Lucy stands behind you, zipping up the back of your dress as you smooth the front of it until some of the wrinkles have flattened out a little. The satin gleams in the hazy light of your shared attic bedroom, and you find yourself smiling at your reflection in the mirror. When was the last time you dolled yourself up for something?

That's not to say you're overly concerned with how you look on a day-to-day basis, it's just that the ghost-fighting business doesn't really allow for nice outfits. Except for tonight, you suppose.

The Fittes at Fifty Ball is tonight, and you've been dreading it. In all honesty, you would much rather stay at home and get as much research done about the Bone Glass before the members of Lockwood and Co take on a heist to retrieve it, but you've not got much of a choice. You all need to look as inconspicuous as possible seeing as the very thing you need, a book by Mary Dulac, is stored in the Black Library at the Fittes headquarters.

"All done," Lucy says. "Ready to steal from the biggest, most well-protected agency in the UK?"

No, not really, but still you say, "Always."

"I'm going to get our stuff ready." She fiddles with the billowing sleeves of her blue dress. "Want me to pack those biscuits you like?"

"Absolutely, Luce," you say. "Thank you."

When she leaves, you find yourself staring at your reflection for a moment longer and liking the person you see. With a satiny green dress and hair that looks like more than a few minutes of effort have been put in, you look starkly different from usual. It makes you almost yearn for more party heists.

As you're tugging on your boots, there's a knock on the door. The pattern rapped out on the wood is familiar and it makes you smile, and you say, "Come in."

Lockwood steps through the open door and makes his way up the steps into the bedroom. His dark suit makes him look even more professional than usual, and his hair has been combed back neatly, showcasing those mischief-filled dark eyes you love so much. He's carrying something behind his back, making sure to keep it hidden. But the thing you take the most notice of is his tie. It's green.

It likely means nothing. Lockwood wears whatever he wants whenever he wants with little regard for colour - come on, he wears salmon pink socks! - but something about it feels purposeful. You've never seen him wear a green tie. Hell, you didn't even know he owned one. And this is the exact same shade as your dress.

He stops a few feet short of your bed, watching with glittering eyes as you stand and smooth out your dress once more. There's a smile playing on his lips, softer than his usual grin, and it sends a shiver down your spine.

"How do I look?" you ask, trying to sound more confident than you feel.

Having him see you in a dress, with your hair styled and your makeup done, feels like standing on a stage in front of thousands of people. You're way more nervous than you should be.

For a moment, he says nothing, and you worry that he thinks it looks terrible. Maybe you should've picked the chiffon dress rather than satin, or maybe the red instead of green. You thought you had made your hair look quite nice, but maybe it looks quite stupid...

And then he says, "You look - you look beautiful, (name)."

There's a fluttery feeling in your chest, but you shove it down. You can't let yourself hope for anything that likely won't happen. Friends tell each other they look beautiful. You and Lucy do it all the time! This is no different just because it's Lockwood. Well, maybe it's a little different.

"You, too," you say. Your cheeks flush. "Well, not beautiful. Actually, I mean, if you want to be then sure. I just meant -"

He laughs, and your voice fades off. It's quite possibly your favourite sound, his laugh, because of how light it sounds. After working with him for a few months now, it's easy enough to tell that Lockwood isn't doing great a lot of the time. With his recklessness, the little jokes he makes that aren't really jokes, it's more than evident. So, now, hearing his laugh sound so genuine makes you smile and you feel a little less embarrassed.

"Thank you," he says, his smile becoming brighter. "I, uh, I have something for you. That is if you want it, of course."

"You know I hate surprises."

"Trust me. You'll like this one."

The hand that was behind his back appears, holding what looks to be an old book. The cover is faded, and the pages have browned, but he holds it delicately on the flat palm of his hand. Curiously, you step closer to him and gingerly take it from his hands.

Upon reading the title and flipping through the first few pages, your heart swells with gratitude. "This is a first edition."

"I'd certainly hope so with the trouble I went to finding it."

Your fingers carefully slip through each page, and you smile so widely you're afraid your cheeks might tear. "Lockwood, this had to have cost a fortune! You didn't have to get me this."

His posture is casual, but there's a glimmer of happiness in his eyes that is unmistakable. "I heard you talking to George about it a few weeks ago. It's your favourite book, and your birthday was recently. In all reality, I'd hoped to give it to you then, but today was the day I managed to get my hands on it."

"You -" The words get stuck in your throat, and you can almost feel yourself tearing up. "I've wanted this since I was a kid. I - Thank you, Lockwood. Seriously. This is..."

"You work so hard here," Lockwood says softly, "and I want you to know it doesn't go unnoticed. Besides, you've always been here for me. I wanted to give you something in return."

"I don't need anything in return for being a decent human being."

"Oh, all right. I'll take it back then."

Clutching the book tightly to your chest, you listen happily as he laughs again, throwing his head back a little. It's a wonderful sight, one that has your heart racing, one that makes you itch to throw your arms around him in the tightest embrace you can muster to simply show how grateful you are for the book, for his laugh and his smile and his presence.

But you refrain. Who's to say he won't just push you away?

"Thank you," you say again. "You're the best."

"I hope you're not just saying that because I pay your wages."

It's almost unnoticeable, but he shuffles forward ever so slightly. Already, you can feel the warmth radiating off of him and smell the faint scent of bitter tea and cheap shampoo underneath whatever aftershave he's put on. Your breath catches in your throat. There's less than a foot between you, but it has you fumbling for something to say or do.

"We should probably head downstairs," he murmurs, gaze fixed on yours. "The taxi will be here soon."

You nod. Neither of you moves.

He looks at you with those coppery eyes of his with a smile that feels distinctly private, and your heart thuds so loudly in your chest that you're convinced he can hear it, too. Words echo in your mind, words you want to say to him more than anything else, but your lips stay firmly shut.

How are you meant to tell him how you feel? That every time he merely looks at you, your heart starts beating as if you've just run a marathon? That you long to be the only person he shares his private smiles with, the only one that ever hears his true, unburdened laughs when you make a joke or make a fool of yourself? How are you supposed to explain that the times you spend with him are your favourites or that you search a dozen different shops simply to find his favourite biscuits to make him smile?

It's easy enough to list it to yourself, to find the words, but to say them to him? It's a different thing entirely, and it makes your mouth feel dry and your hands tremble a little.

"I need to tell you something," Lockwood says, and his voice has become breathier, quieter. "Just in case things go wrong tonight.”

"Nothing's going to go wrong."

He makes to take your book from your hands, and you hesitate. He only laughs, promising that it isn't going far, and slips it onto your crowded bookcase with gentle hands.

Gentle hands that soon reach for yours.

The touch takes you by surprise, but it's welcome. His hands are soft and warm, and they envelop yours. Now he has to be able to feel your racing pulse, surely. There's no way he can't.

"(name)..." He pauses, looking away from you for a moment. When his gaze returns, it's soft, nervous, even, and you find yourself transfixed, unable to look away. "I've been trying to tell you this for a few weeks now, but I couldn't - I couldn't figure out the words, so I resorted to other things. Making your tea in the mornings, asking you to come along with me on errands."

Bright, beautiful hope flickers in your chest, and this time you don't push it down. This time, you nurture it, letting it bring a small smile to your lips. Lockwood sees it, and he straightens a little with confidence. Not much, nowhere near as confident as he usually seems, but it keeps him speaking.

"Ever since you walked through the front door for your interview, I've never stopped thinking of you. Day and night, you're on my mind. The way you scrunch your nose when you're listening for Visitors, or how you become entirely unreachable when you read. How I can ask you anything, and you know the answer to it almost immediately."

His hands are shaking a little bit. You squeeze them softly.

"I like the way you smile, and how happy you are when I remember your order for Arif's. Most of all, I like -"

He's struggling with the words.

"Are you trying to say you like me?"

Part of you doesn't believe it. How could he? He's Anthony Lockwood, a boy from the city who owns his own company that breaks how the system of ghost-hunting works by simply having him be in charge. And you? You're a girl from some tiny town, a nobody whose only virtues are being relatively smart and being able to hear ghosts, though not on a grand scale. In reality, your paths would never have crossed if not for you finding a little clipping in the newspaper advertising for an agent.

So how could he like you? With his admirable Sight, the confidence that you always lack, the charm that could be used to entrance any girl he could ever so wish?

But here he stands, so close to you with shaky hands and faltering words, looking at you as if you've been placed here by some otherworldly forces solely for the purpose of enchanting him. He looks at you as if you're more than you really are, like someone a person could love and cherish.

"No," he says.

And your heart sinks all the way down to the floor, followed by your eyes. Your hands slacken in his, and your skin feels hot with embarrassment. You dread to think of how red you've become, and you turn your face away from him, instead looking at the book he gifted you. Were you stupid for hoping it meant more? Probably.

"I love you."

Three words. Three simple words that have your gaze snapping back to his, your heart rushing to your throat, and your hands tensing all at the same time. Three simple words that spark a blazing fire inside your chest. But, still, there's an ache in your throat.

"Don't kid with me, Lockwood."

His eyes are completely sincere, crinkled slightly with humour. "I'm not."

"You're about to laugh."

"Only because you're funny."

"I -" Your hands slip from his, and you brush your hair out of your face, faltering back a step. "You're being serious?"

With slightly pink cheeks and an almost shy smile, he says, "I am. I wouldn't joke about this, (name)."

"You - You love me? Why?"

"Didn't you listen to that long spiel I just had?" Once more, he takes a step closer. Then another until he's standing even closer than before, close enough that you can feel his breaths ruffling your hair slightly. "Because you're you. Because I admire and adore every single part of and about you."

You have to tilt your head to look at him with him being so close. "Have you hit your head recently?"

"If I have, and this is a dream, then I'm glad you're the girl of my dreams."

"Girl in your dreams," you correct quietly, halfheartedly.

Lockwood smiles. "I love that about you, too. That incessant need to correct me on anything I say."

"Someone's got to."

"Okay, well, correct me if I'm wrong, but would I be right in assuming that you feel the same?"

The words catch in your throat, but you nod regardless, smiling when his smile melts into his wide grin. This grin, it isn't the newspaper one. The infamous Lockwood Grin. This is only for you, something for you both to share solely between yourselves, and it's something you feel eternally grateful for being able to see, never mind be the cause of.

"Fantastic," he says, "because there's something I've been wanting to do for what feels like a lifetime now."

Your voice comes out shaky. "Would it perhaps involve kissing me?"

It does, apparently, because he leans closer until your faces are almost touching. His hands cup your face so gently it's as if they've been created from the air itself, but he waits, searching your eyes for any hesitation or rejection.

He never finds it. When your face tilts in accordance with his, he takes his cue and presses his lips onto yours.

You've never kissed anyone before, so the feeling is surreal. It's as if the very world around you melts away into nothingness until all you're aware of is him and his hands on your face, yours on his chest, his lips on yours. By no means is the kiss long, but it feels like eternity in a single second. Everything feels right and perfect.

When he pulls away, you're a little lost for breath, but you smile at him nonetheless, egged on by his dazzling grin. His hands still cup your face, and you're still clutching the blazer at his chest, but neither of you makes to move. Not when this feels so right.

"I'd do that again," he says softly, "but we have a taxi to get in."

"Who cares? One more?"

And he obliges before taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. All the while, you yourself grin. Maybe you should be hopeful more often.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #x reader #fanfiction #givemea-dam-break

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

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Hey I would love to have some more george x reader fanfictions, I totally agree that there are not enough around her👀 can you do the sparring prompt 1 and 8 (but instead of hair maybe some clothing that's more revealing than usual?) And friends to lovers and mutual pining and awkwardness and all that🥺 thank you in advance 🩷

How To Stand

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Summary: After losing another fight, George offers to give you some training with your rapier. When things get more intimate than expected, he has to keep you on your feet in a different way.

Content: injury mention, friends to lovers, mutual pining, kissing, fluff

A/N: thank you again for the request and all the love on my other fics!! Sorry it's taken so long to get this one done, work has been super busy 😣 Also this fic has taken me past the 12,500 word mark since I started writing last weekend so thank you to everyone who has requested or read for inspiring me to be creative again, I'm blown away by all the support!

Word count: 2.8k (exactly, which is very satisfying)

You winced at the bite of the antiseptic.

"Sorry," George mumbled, dabbing lightly at the cut on your arm.

Last night's case had led to a nasty run-in with a relic man who turned out to be more proficient with a knife than you were with a rapier. You'd only recently begun your training, to be fair - after running away from home, you'd reunited with your childhood best friend, George Karim. Both of you were talented, and you had nowhere else to go, so despite your lack of experience George had managed to blag you a place in Lockwood & Co. In the weeks since you had joined your skills with Touch and Sight had proved invaluable, but as your injuries continually demonstrated your skills with the blade left much to be desired.

"We really should think about getting you some more training," George half-joked as he carefully applied a dressing to the wound.

"Only if it's from you," you replied.

"Really? Wouldn't you be better off with Lockwood? He's a pro, or even Lucy is better than me."

"Hey," you interrupted, sharper than you meant, "don't sell yourself short! I've seen you in a fight, you're amazing! Besides, you really think I'm not going to be super intimidated trying to learn from Mr 'I beat Quill Kipps in a tournament and framed the article on the staircase'?" You both laughed.

"Fair point. Okay, rest up, it's been a Iong night. We'll start tomorrow afternoon, wear something comfortable."

—

The two of you spent an easy morning together in the library, George with research for the next case and you with your favourite book. Almost in time with the clock in the hallway chiming one, a low rumbling came from the chair opposite you. George had forgotten breakfast again. Quietly, trying not to distract him (though it would take more than a little movement at this point), you snuck out to prepare lunch.

Five minutes later, the familiar scent of tomato soup and cheese toasties had George out of his seat and loitering in the kitchen doorway.

"You're the best," he sighed. Much as he loved his Iranian dishes and the personal time he got preparing them, he secretly loved when you cooked for him. You'd been doing it ever since you two were children - simple things like pizza or your signature toasties to begin with, warming stews or toad in the hole now you were older. Whatever it was, it was always homey and comforting. Kind of like your presence, if he was being honest with himself. Even the most stressful situations were easier to deal with when you were around; he knew you trusted him with your innermost secrets and in turn he could talk to you about anything. Well, almost anything. He wasn't sure he would ever work up the courage to tell you about the way he got butterflies every time you smiled, the way his knees went weak whenever your hand brushed his, the way he almost lost his resolve last week when you wiped a stray crumb off his cheek. If only you'd…

"Hey," you prompted lightly at a very zoned-out George. No use tapping his shoulder or raising your voice when he got like this, it would only startle him, you just had to wait for him to ride it out. After a moment, his eyes slowly refocused.

"Sorry, I was miles away."

"Ah," you smiled, not knowing the effect it had. "Go anywhere nice?"

Incredibly, he thought. "I'll bring you a postcard next time."

Your giggle brightened up the whole room as you set two bowls and a plate down on the table. You weren't sure when you'd started the tradition of your toasties being on a shared plate, but down the line the two of you had realised you ate slightly less and George took the leftovers, so it was easier to put them together in the first place. Somehow he always managed to leave you just the right amount.

—

After lunch, George began the washing up (another tradition, whoever didn't cook would clean) while you went to get ready for your first training session. You weren't particularly sporty, but you did have a gym wear set that you thought would be okay to practise in. Besides, you'd never actually worn it since joining the agency and that was simply not acceptable, you felt far too cute in it to let it sit there gathering dust. Hopefully George would think you looked cute in it too.

No, no, no. You couldn't go down that road. You'd always loved George as a friend, but it wasn't until you reunited and started living together in 35 Portland Row that you really fell for him. All the little quirks that had drawn you to him as a child, that felt like you were looking in a mirror, now made your heart flutter. Even little things like the way he pushed his glasses up was cute and made you fixate on his hands a little too much. One time, you'd tried to be more flirty with him, and the poor boy had seemed so perturbed that you hadn't tried again. Message received.

Heaving a sigh, you redressed the wound on your arm, which was healing nicely, and made your way down to the basement.

—

Your eternally bouncy footsteps echoing down the steps drew George's attention from polishing his rapier. A rapier which he almost dropped straight into his foot, jaw closely following its descent.

The first thing he saw was a pair of brightly coloured trainers. Next came toned calves, on show beneath cropped, tightly-fitting leggings. Above those leggings, which had sculpted themselves round your hips, was the cause of George's lapse in dexterousness: a glimpse of previously unseen bare skin, your stomach, exposed by a loose crop top. Having temporarily forgotten how to breathe, George used the last of his oxygen-fuelled sanity to force his gaze up to meet yours, and you shifted nervously under his scrutiny.

"Will this be okay?" you asked, thinking he was concerned about your ability to fight in it.

"Ye- uh, yes. You look…" Amazing. Radiant. Divine. Unbelievable. Incredible. Hot. "Comfy." What the hell, George, get it together. He frankly wondered how he ever expected you to like him the way he liked you if that was the best he could do.

Nonetheless, you relaxed back into yourself as you beamed at him. "Good, you did say to wear something comfortable."

George smiled back, pleased to know you paid so much attention to his words, before finally taking notice of the fresh dressing peeking out from beneath your short sleeve. As if guided by an invisible force, he moved closer to you, raised fingers ghosting over the bandage.

"Will you be okay working out with this? I don't want to risk reopening the cut." His voice wavered, barely noticeable had he been talking to anyone but you. You responded with a simple nod, trying to disguise the way your voice had caught in your throat and hoping the movement would dislodge it. A flash of realisation crossed his face as your eyes met and he hastily stepped away, the mask of Researcher George descending once more.

"Okay, let's get started. The first thing we need to work on is your stance and grip - although they seem trivial, they are in fact vitally important to your success rate."

—

You spent the next half an hour drilling stances, mimicking the way George held himself and him in turn glancing back to give pointers on how far apart you'd placed your feet or whether you were leaning too far in any direction. Sometimes the pose would call for raised arms and his directions would come out a little fumbled as your top rode further up your stomach. He tried not to let his gaze linger too long. It was more difficult than he expected.

When he was satisfied you’d got the hang of the stances, he announced it was time to fix your grip. You weren't entirely sure what he meant - your grip was firm, knuckles clenched around the hilt.

"Grip isn't about how tightly you hold your rapier, but how effectively," he explained, tone the same as if he were explaining the history of an artefact. "If anything, it should be a little loose to enable you to pivot to meet an unexpected blow. Make it an extension of your arm." He demonstrated, and you watched in mild confusion as he swung it further than the natural movement of his wrist would seem to allow. Then, he turned to try and advise you on how to improve. His head tilted left, then right. He moved round to your left, then right. Your position wasn't bad, per se, but as he compared your hand to his he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to explain what needed adjusting. Perhaps partly due to the lingering thought in the back of his mind about how much he wished it was his hand you were holding instead of the rapier. Willing his brain to cooperate, he flexed his hand to figure out what exactly it was he did to get it how it needed to be. Got it. Sort of.

You watched the gears spinning behind George's eyes as he moved around you, hand shifting occasionally. Eventually he settled almost over your shoulder.

"Do you mind if I…?" He trailed off, miming putting his arms around you.

"Sure." Your response was far quicker than you expected. You prayed he didn't notice. What you noticed was the shaky breath he drew in as he repeated the action around your waist, hands coming to rest over yours. The cold metal of his belt buckle against the exposed skin of your back made you gasp, both from shock and from how close it meant he was.

"Sorry," he murmured.

"It's okay," you returned, beginning to turn but stopping yourself when out of the corner of your eye you were confronted with his face just inches from yours. You'd been in each other's personal space before, hugging when one of you was upset or falling asleep slumped together after particularly gruelling cases. It would be so easy to turn just a little further, to where your noses and lips were level, to… You snapped your focus back to the rapier you were both holding, giving George a clear view of the rosy flush spreading across your cheek. Those fingers that you had fixated on so many times, as they flicked through pages upon pages of research or skimmed over the spines of books in the Archives, now folded over your own and gently nudged them into the correct position. It astounded you, the care he once again took to not cause you any discomfort with his actions. First when he’d dressed your wound, and now this. His thumb had come to rest on the inside of your wrist, and it was only your own knowledge of first aid telling you he would feel his own pulse that kept you from panicking about the way yours was racing beneath it. Subconsciously, you leant into him a little, marvelling at the pressure on your back from the rise and fall of his chest. Your hold on the rapier felt better now, more flexible and somehow stronger for being loosened up. George gave your hands a small squeeze as if to set them in place.

“How does that feel?” His voice ghosted over the shell of your ear, huskier than you’d expected and so, so close. You knew he was talking about the grip, but between his hands still over yours and his body pressed so close, your thoughts got away from you.

You couldn’t help it.

Your knees buckled.

George reacted immediately. His hands never left your body for a second, trying to support you through whatever had just happened, but they slid from your hands up to your elbows and then jumped to a firmer grasp at your waist, twitching involuntarily against the tingle of warm skin.

“Are you okay?” he asked worriedly, moving with one hand gliding over your stomach and the other following across your back until you were facing him. He wanted so badly to be respectful of your boundaries, conscious of how this would look if anyone were to walk in at that moment, but he was far more concerned about keeping you steady with the way you’d almost collapsed against him. Was it exhaustion from the endless string of cases? Blood loss from your injury? Something more major?

“I’m fine, it’s nothi-” The words died in your throat. George was staring at you, his cheeks burning. You were used to him looking at you differently to the rest of the agency, throwing longsuffering glances when Lockwood and Lucy were up to their usual antics or a nostalgic smile when you talked about your childhood together, but this was something altogether different. His lips were slightly parted like he couldn’t quite believe what was happening (neither could you), eyes warm and sparkling with surprise, tenderness, and something else… Hope?

“Please tell me it’s not nothing.” The words fell from his lips quietly and freely as his gaze flickered down for barely a second. His eyes widened a little. “I mean, don’t say you’re fine if you’re not. I want to be sure you’re alright.”

That sparkle in his eyes had dimmed, replaced by a backpedalling into dullness that always came with feared rejection. You’d seen it many times over the years - in his eyes the first time he spoke about being the weirdo of his family, in your own in the hallway mirror when you registered Lockwood’s hesitation about hiring you. But it hadn’t entirely taken him over yet, and you’d be damned if you were going to be the reason it did.

“Is that really what you mean?” you asked softly.

“Yes. No!” His blush darkened and his eyes closed for a beat as he took a deep breath. “What I’m trying to say, I guess, is yes, I mean I want to make sure you’re alright, but no, that’s not what I didn’t want to be nothing. I, um…” He searched your eyes again for any indication that you knew what was coming and didn’t want to hear it, but when all he was met with was genuine expectation and a slight nod of encouragement, he continued. “I like you, you know I do, or we wouldn’t be friends. But I like you, and we’ve never been as close as we were just then, so with all the little things that happened I was trying to figure out if I was reading too much into it or if… if you feel the same.”

An astonished smile tugged at the corners of your mouth as you processed this revelation. The boy you’d been silently pining for all this time, the boy you knew had trouble articulating his feelings when they were too close to his heart, had just told you in no uncertain terms that he reciprocated the feelings he didn’t even know you had. It was too good to be true.

You lifted your hand from his arm and pinched yourself. Ow.

George let out a baffled chuckle. “Okay, what was that all about?”

Your hand didn’t return to his arm; instead it cupped his cheek, thumb grazing his lower lip and pinky curling under his chin. This time he didn’t try to disguise the way his eyes were drawn to your lips as your smile grew.

“Just making sure.”

You rose onto your tiptoes, closing the gap between you. George’s steadying hands continued to do their job, moving to wrap around you and tug you closer to him. Your rapier clattered to the floor, forgotten, as you brought your other hand up to his arm, thumb rubbing across his bicep and ruffling the sleeve of his oversized T-shirt. The kiss was sweet and gentle, a little clumsy, but tinged with the fervor of finally being able to act on the desires you’d been holding back for so long. Everything you’d hoped it would be. Through the haze of euphoria, your brain urged you to concentrate, to remember every little detail, every emotion and impression: the taste of his lips, the warmth of his hands on your bare back, the tickle of his curls as they brushed your forehead, the rush of air as you pulled apart just enough to catch your breath and he grinned against your mouth. But it was okay, you reminded yourself. You doubted you’d ever forget, but even if you did all it would take is for you to kiss him again. So, just in case, you did.

#lockwood & co #george karim x reader #gn!reader #lockwood & co fanfic #george karim #lockwood and co

198 notes · View notes

ukulelevillainwrites · 7 months

Text

who follows the rules anyway?

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5 / Part 6 / Part 7 / Part 8

pairing : anthony lockwood x reader

word count : 6.5k

warnings : panic attack, anxiety, spoilers for lockwood's backstory

content : enjoy this part that has more plot, there's also angst but reconciliation too

taglist : @cassiopeiia24 @archiveoftara

note : time keeps passing faster it's getting out of hand, anyway i hope you like it !! and thank you everyone for reading and still being there as this fic keeps getting longer and longer

[from Lockwood’s POV]

He slammed the front door on his way out. It was probably loud enough to wake up the entire neighborhood. She had crossed a line and it was enough to make the anger he had felt the night before resurface. It wasn’t the fact that she had made everything to annoy him so early in the day, though it had played a part in it. What had set him off was her devising a plan right in front of him as if he was too stupid to notice. She hadn’t been explicit in what she wrote on the Thinking Cloth, but it was obvious that she intended to act on her theories today. And she was going behind his back. She was putting his company at risk and she didn’t even have the decency to be upfront. He thought he had earned her respect. Her disregard for his authority was a slap in the face.

He had gotten used to their fights by now. Even though they had gotten along pretty well for the past few weeks, their relationship had gotten off to a rocky start. But this was different. They had had disagreements in the past where he had been frustrated with her. She was always the one who got truly angry. It had made him laugh on occasions, like the night they met. She had the habit of taking things to heart. But she was passionate, a quality the three of them shared and it was probably what brought them closer. However last night the tension hadn’t been one-sided.

No matter how much he believed he was right, how he didn’t want her nor George to get into any more trouble, he kept wondering if maybe he’d been wrong. What if because of this he had ruined the relationship they had? Maybe he was being selfish indeed. Maybe he should consider their point of view more closely. George had never been the type to hold a grudge. He’d bring some doughnuts on the way home and they’d go back to normal. But y/n… it was complicated. It had taken them much effort to get along, and maybe now all that was gone. He’d need to do more. Get involved. Help her in her plan to stop this Dufour woman.

He stopped walking as the idea crossed his mind. What was he thinking? That was the whole point. It would put a target on their back. They would get noticed by every relic-man related to this case. It would alert the authorities, maybe DEPRAC would get involved. It was the last thing they needed. The publicity he was hoping for would shed light on the great work they did, not getting involved with a less than desirable crowd. And it applied for y/n and George too. Since Fittes didn’t work out for them, they should be doing their best to make Lockwood and Co noteworthy. To put the company on the map and guarantee them the future they were supposed to have. Why was he the only one to see that? It seemed obvious enough.

He went back and forth in his head as he followed the Thames for the next half hour. His thoughts were cut short when he noticed a familiar boat secured near a spot where the river was shallower. Instead of following the sidewalk, he jumped over a fence guarding a flight of stairs and climbed down to the banks. He had to walk a few minutes longer to finally spot a familiar figure. She was crouched down, digging into the mud, like he was used to finding her. He barely had time to walk closer to her that she was already greeting him, like she had sensed him coming from a mile away.

“Morning, Locky. Been a while.”

“It’s been far too long, Flo. I brought you some licorice to apologize.”

It was only when he mentioned the treat that she stood up and faced him. She took them nonchalantly. A wide bright smile lightened up her face after she took a bite.

“So, what brings you here?” She asked, chewing loudly.

“I just wanted to check up on you, see how you were doing.”

“There’s not much to tell. Business as usual. Except maybe for this new rich old man all relic-men wanna work for.”

“What’s that about?” Lockwood asked, frowning.

“You haven’t heard of the new traffic taking over the city? That’s surprising of you.”

“Oh please, not you too!” He was exasperated.

“What’s with you?” Flo teased him.

“Nothing.”

“I really thought you’d be more invested in all this.”

“A lot of people seem to assume that… What does this particular traffic have that’s so special?” His irritation was starting to show.

“It’s just such a mess that it’s killing people left and right. Relic-men who aren’t cautious…”

“They sort of had it coming.” He cut in.

“…innocent bystanders too. Some people get ghost-touched just by living nearby.” She had gone back to work, digging near the water as she explained the situation in a neutral voice. She didn’t seem particularly affected.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that they start moving dozens of sources at a time! They break into homes, antique shops, cemeteries or whatever potential place with relics they can find and just… don’t secure them at all. They’re being really dumb about it. A bunch of them just broke stuff and ended up with a new visitor.” Her tone had changed when she mumbled those last words. She tried being cautious when she explained further. But Lockwood wasn’t really focused anymore. The world stood still for a moment.

“Just because the guy who’s buying is paying more than the usual market price.” Flo concluded.

He had gone silent. It’s like he was reliving the scene all over again. This couldn’t be happening. Not again.

“That guy. Who is it?” he suddenly asked with a new determination.

“I don’t know… some posh old man looking to impress his friends I guess.”

“Tell me if you have any more information. Stop by whenever you hear more, alright?”

“Locky, don’t do anything stupid. You don’t have anything to do with this. It wasn’t your fault-”

“Keep me posted, will you?”

With that he started to walk back, more briskly than he had come. This wouldn’t happen in other homes. Not if he could help it.

He tried to ignore the sorry tone he had heard in her voice as he reached the steps that led back to the street. The news hadn’t been what he expected at all. He thought he was simply going to have a chat with an old friend. Instead, the past he had tried so hard to bury was back to haunt him. It had taken him by surprise, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. He had much to do, he didn’t have time to be distracted. He ignored the twist in his stomach as the sound of the source breaking followed by a scream echoed through his mind. He directed his attention to the next step of the plan they would have to follow. George would have to explain everything all over again, but he was sure he wouldn’t mind. And now that he was on her side, y/n would no longer be mad. Everything would be fine. He had everything under control. He mumbled to himself on the street as he thought about what they needed to do next. Obviously Flo was essential to the operation. Without her intel there was no way they could stop the dealings. Especially if every relic-man in the city wanted a piece of the business. They couldn’t target relic-men specifically. They needed to aim higher. George had already offered to follow her. He was probably right. But most importantly they needed to uncover who was this mystery man buying all those sources. They also had to find out why anyone would want to buy so many sources that they singlehandedly affected the entire relic market.

As he neared Portland Row he wondered how he could phrase his apology. He stopped at Arif’s before climbing the few steps leading to the front door. The house was silent. At first he thought he would find them in the kitchen, still thinking of potential links between the information they had like George was used to doing. But when he got down there the room was empty. He looked through the library, their bedrooms, down the basement. No one. He went back in the kitchen, put the box of doughnuts on the table and started reading the plan they had started to write on the Thinking Cloth. He smiled at the poorly disguised acronyms and anagrams y/n had used to hide what she was planning on doing. Though it faded quickly when he read the next line, something about going back to the south of London out of town. He assumed it was where her family lived. She wasn’t just planning on investigating Dufour behind his back then. She was leaving town. She was leaving him.

It was only a matter of time anyway. He should have known it was a mistake when he offered to hire her. It was always destined to end this way or another. Letting her in seemed like a good idea at the time. She needed a job and a place to stay, he needed another member in his team. That’s what he’d told himself. But he might as well have lied to himself all along. He’d been manipulative from the start. He always was, he did everything he could to get his way. And now it was time to pay for it. It wouldn’t surprise him if George went with her. After all, he had been selfish with him too. George had helped him set up his company and supported him when he didn’t have anyone else. And when he asked him for help he turned his back on him. Being left alone was all that he deserved.

He loosened his tie. It was getting hard to breathe. Guilt strengthened its grip on his lungs, contracted them until he choked. No matter how deep he inhaled, he was running out of air. He was falling deeper down a spiral. Memories he thought buried resurfaced, their long thin fingers clinging to him, pulling him deeper. They sunk their claws into his skin, he felt like he was being torn apart. Blurry faces floated in front of his eyes and remained when he closed them. He wanted them to go away, but the thought of never seeing them again broke his heart all the same.

He held on to the nearest chair, trying to steady himself, but failed. Everything was painful. Sitting down, breathing, thinking, just existing was too much to bear. He felt like his body was shutting down, giving up on him too. He knew it had to end eventually. He didn’t think it would end like this, but it was better that way. To leave this world behind.

He sat down on the kitchen floor, his vision blurry. He was staring off into space, his lungs hurting, his breathing hoarse and shallow. All he could see was the ectoplasm burn from the room upstairs. Jessica was glowing in the middle of it, her arms open, welcoming him into the darkness. The ache spread from his lungs to his heart but he also felt relieved. He would join them and everything would be better. She had a warm smile on her face, the one she always wore when she tucked him into bed every night. But she wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were focused on something right next to him. He turned to look. y/n’s bag was settled against the next chair, packed with what could be qualified as an amateur surveillance kit at best. He frowned. Why would she leave her stuff here if she had planned on leaving? She wasn’t the kind to travel lightly. She always had a bag full of useless stuff “just in case”. He never understood her logic but he had always seen her with a heavy bag. Maybe she wasn’t gone after all. A glimmer of hope sparked. But then where were they? The ache clenching his heart turned to anxiety. What if something bad had happened to them? The whole Dufour case could have taken a dark turn. Relic-men could have gotten to them. He needed to find them. He wouldn’t leave this world without knowing they were safe.

His thoughts were racing. Adrenaline had replaced apathy. He didn’t know where to start to look for them and with every passing second they could be further into trouble. He frantically read the notes on the Thinking Cloth, searching for any indication of where they might be. His eyes couldn’t focus. He wouldn’t be of any help if he felt this way. He tried to remember the exercise George had made him do that one time he found him in the same state. He closed his eyes and focused on the air coming out of his nose. He breathed in deep, keeping his attention on his stomach rising. Breathe in. Breathe out. He looked down at the table. There was a map with different places circled. He wrote them down and walked out of the kitchen. He intended to check them all, even if it meant walking through every single street of London.

He headed for the door with a new determination. He put one foot outside and was immediately stopped in his tracks. He stood in the doorframe and watched as a car parked in front of the house. A tall gentleman got out and went to open the first backdoor. George got out the best he could with his hands in handcuffs. Lockwood felt instantly relieved. Though it was bittersweet. Seeing his best friend arrested wasn’t what he enjoyed the most. That was until he heard him give the man a piece of his mind before comparing him to an elderly turtle with all the grace George was known to be capable of. Lockwood couldn’t help but smile. They were alright. They were safe. y/n got out of the car shortly after. Though her handcuffs were already off. She slammed them against the man’s chest before heading towards the house. Lockwood realized he should have known better than to worry himself sick over her safety. She was perfectly capable of taking care of herself and she had already proven that a thousand times. Before George or y/n could cross the iron gate, the man called them back in a voice that seemed unnecessarily loud.

“This isn’t over. Consider yourself under constant surveillance. If I catch any of you out of line I’ll have you thrown in jail. Am I understood?”

Neither of them reacted. y/n climbed the few steps, glaring at Lockwood. If looks could kill, he would have been dead in an instant. She bumped hard into his shoulder as she entered the house and headed immediately for her room. George reached the door. He didn’t look bothered at all. He frowned at him, indirectly asking what was going on.

“We have a lot to tell you.”

---

[back to reader’s pov]

It had been an hour since Barnes had dropped them off. She hadn’t moved from the foot of her bed where she was sitting still. She kept replaying the day in her head, trying to make sense of what they had been told.

The ride to DEPRAC had been a silent one. George didn’t look particularly worried, but y/n had a hard time keeping it together. She bounced her leg fast the whole way there. She was worried they took the accusation from the papers literally. Or maybe they were in trouble because they both tried to break into a supervisor’s office. George would be fine since he didn’t succeed. But she was a criminal. What if she was arrested for good? Was this really how it was going to end?

As soon as they arrived, they were separated. Inspector Wade led George in a different room than her and she was left alone with Inspector Barnes. He sat across from her while putting down a manila folder in front of him. He didn’t open it right away.

“Why were you fired from Fittes, miss y/n?” he asked her instead.

She didn’t know how much he knew about her already. She wasn't sure if the real reason had been written down in her personnel file.

“I broke into a supervisor’s office.” She reluctantly admitted after a few minutes.

“Why?”

“I thought she had something to hide.”

“And what would that be?”

She had the feeling he already knew what she was going to say. He wanted to see if she would say the thing he expected. But she couldn’t tell if he believed her.

“I thought she might be stealing sources.”

“You got that theory from your good friend Karim, didn’t you?”

She nodded, but he hadn’t waited for her answer to continue.

“You see, when I read the paper yesterday I thought that giving the front page to an article that seemed mainly exaggeration was a little excessive. But then later in the day a woman working at Fittes came by to report two ex-agents.”

She actually did it she thought. She couldn’t think of a word rude enough to describe her. She was already picturing herself back in that same interrogation room in a couple of days with a murder charge. Barnes must have seen right through her.

“I need you to remain calm for the moment, miss y/n. I had no choice but to bring you here to interrogate the both of you separately. Though I’ve been through your record and I found it very surprising that someone like you could be accused of such things. You rose through the ranks quickly, got to be part of several leading teams, including Mr. Kipps’, and even won several distinctions. Not one step out of line in your whole career.”

She remained silent. It didn’t mean much that she had been exemplary now, she ended up in handcuffs anyway.

“Something didn’t sit right with me. I could be wrong though. Maybe you’re just talented in more than one way.” She shot him another angry stare. He looked unaffected. “I need to hear your version of what’s going on. So I’m asking you to tell me everything you know.”

“How can I be sure you’ll believe me?”

“You won't know until you try.”

She hesitated. A part of her thought that it might not even be worth it. But on the other hand, she didn’t have much to lose.

She told him everything starting with her growing suspicions. The insistent tone Dufour had when she offered to bring back the source. The meet-up she had witnessed. The chase. The rumors Kipps had told her about. She tried to go into great detail. A voice in her head kept whispering that no one would believe her. But the whisper quieted down when she noticed Barnes listening intently, taking notes and rummaging through the folder he had brought. He took out three pictures.

“Do you recognize any of these men?”

“No… I’m sorry I was far away and I was hiding. I didn't get a good look at them.”

“And where did you say the meet-up took place?”

She took a second to answer. She had a hard time acknowledging he actually believed her.

“Um… It was near the Thames, around Scotland Yard I think.”

“Did you hear anything worth mentioning?”

“Well I did see Mrs. Dufour selling the clock we had taken from Mrs. Overton’s house. I heard her negotiate the share she would take on its price but-”

The other inspector entered the room before she could finish her sentence.

“Sir, I think you should hear this.”

“Excuse me.”

Barnes left the room with Wade, leaving her alone with her thoughts. She was deeply confused and didn’t know how to feel about her situation. There was an official report against her, that part was not good. But the inspector in charge didn’t seem to believe she had anything to do with it. She wanted to think there were some positive aspects, but she doubted she could actually trust the man who had arrested her. She remained alone for quite some time, impatiently waiting. She felt like she had been there for several hours already. Though without a clock or natural light it was hard to tell. Eventually, the inspector came back. He didn’t ask her to finish what she had started to say before getting interrupted.

“Do you have any contact with relic-men on a regular basis?”

“Aside from the time one of them chased me down to slit my throat, I prefer to keep a safe distance.”

He got up.

“Are we done?”

“Not quite.” He didn’t explain further and simply asked her to come with him.

She followed him down a corridor lined with a dozen doors. None of them were numbered. It must not be easy to locate anything in this gigantic building if rooms didn’t even have numbers on them. Barnes selected one of them seemingly at random and opened it. It looked like the same dark interrogation room she was just in. Sitting at the table was George, who didn’t seem to notice them coming in, too busy telling inspector Wade about something that required a lot of gesturing, probably one of the many theories they had been working on since their research. There was an extra chair next to him. Barnes told her to sit down. Only then did George look up and smiled at her.

“y/n! We were just talking about what we learned at the furnaces.” He exclaimed before going back to what he was saying.

The inspectors shared an exasperated look before interrupting.

“Mr. Karim, we appreciate your input but we have more pressing matters to discuss.” Barnes said in a serious tone. “There are strong accusations against you and they are not to be taken lightly.”

“But you believe us?” y/n asked tentatively.

“I believe that you make the perfect suspects.”

She gaped at him while George was outraged, telling them to learn how to do their job. Barnes raised one hand to silence them.

“However… I think there’s more to this case than meets the eye.”

“I’m glad to finally hear you admit it!” George said, leaning back into his chair.

“Thanks to your testimonies we can safely assume that your case is linked directly to the recent surge in relic dealings. Whether you have anything to do with it or not remains to be proven, but so is your innocence. For now I want you to lay low and not do anything stupid.” He turned to George, then to her. “Am I understood?”

Her frustration came rushing back. Yet another person telling her she shouldn’t do anything.

“So someone I saw commit a felony with my own eyes is putting the blame on us and you expect me to let it slide?”

“I trust that you’re smart enough to realize that the stakes are higher than you think. There are powerful people ready to sink you to protect themselves. It isn’t to be taken lightly. One more mistake would only make their case against you stronger. Believe me if you want to get out of this unharmed you’d better take my advice.”

She looked over at George. His expression was inscrutable.

“I also need to drive you home in handcuffs to keep up appearances.”

At first, she thought it was the inspector’s poor attempt at a joke. Her smile faded when he actually handcuffed them.

“Why would you need to do this? We’re not under arrest.”

“I need certain people to think you’re in more trouble than you really are.”

“Does that have to do with my Scotland Yard theory?” George asked.

“Maybe.” Barnes admitted at a volume barely above a whisper.

This morning, George had suggested the idea that the meeting y/n had witnessed happened so close to Scotland Yard, a risky and quite frankly stupid place for dealing stolen relics, because an officer working there was part of the deal. That would explain how Dufour could have filed an official complaint against them without any tangible proof of their link to relic-men. He had a satisfied look on his face and put out his hands graciously to be handcuffed. He undeniably loved to be right. She wasn’t as forthcoming. The idea of being paraded through the building as someone officially under arrest didn’t sit right with her.

The walk back to the inspector’s car had been humiliating. A few people stared at them as they walked by like they were putting on a show for their entertainment. Not only was she asked to lay low, she also had to pretend like she was guilty. It was infuriating. On the way back to Portland Row, Barnes felt the need to remind them yet again to keep a low profile.

“I’ll keep you updated if anything new comes up, but in the meantime-”

“Yeah yeah ‘don’t be stupid’, you’ve gone over that part already.” George interrupted.

y/n remained silent, picking at her handcuffs to distract herself.

Once they reached their destination, Barnes yelled something to maintain the illusion. His acting skills were terrible. Lockwood was standing in the doorframe, smiling. She couldn’t believe him. He was the one to tell her that this whole thing would blow over and that it wasn’t a big deal. Now he saw them getting out of a police car in handcuffs and he was smiling? She bumped hard into his shoulder as she entered and went straight to her room.

The sun was starting to set. She felt numb. This whole situation was getting too much to bear. Maybe she should just go back to her parents’. The thought had briefly crossed her mind this morning. It had been quickly chased by George’s enthusiasm but now that she was alone she considered it more seriously. She’d be away from trouble and rumors there. She would do what she was asked, laying low and fleeing, leaving DEPRAC to handle Dufour. Lockwood would keep his precious reputation intact. He’d have one less thing to worry about. She wouldn’t drag George into her mess. Everyone would be better off with her gone.

She jumped at the rapid knocks on the door to the attic. After a few seconds, the door opened and hesitant footsteps started to climb the stairs. Lockwood appeared. He tried to smile at her. She didn’t smile back. They remained in an uncomfortable silence for a few minutes. She hadn’t moved from her bed. He was standing awkwardly near the stairs.

“I wanted to see if you were okay…”

“You said to do nothing because it would blow over and the next day I got dragged in handcuffs for an interrogation. How do you think I’m doing?”

“You got out of those pretty quickly…” He joked quietly. “You’ll have to teach me that, it’d be useful.”

She simply stared back.

“I’m sorry. For unsuccessfully lightening the mood and for the way I acted.”

She didn’t say anything. He would have to do a lot more than that to earn her forgiveness.

“George told me everything that went down at the station. I want to say that the positive thing is that this Barnes inspector seems to be on your side. But it might be early to talk about silver linings.”

She raised her eyebrows. No kidding. He shifted slightly closer to her.

“I was wrong. I should have been on your side from the start. I don’t think you should listen to Barnes. Or leave town…”

She hated how he apparently had the ability to read her mind. He took one more step closer.

“George and I need you if we want to stop this. Please help us.”

She remained silent. She didn’t know what to think anymore.

“Or rather… please forgive me.” He concluded with a thin smile.

She looked up at him and was surprised to see him look so honest. His eyes were softer than they had been the night before. His smile was almost shy. It wasn’t far from his usual grin and yet it felt like it was a world away from what she was used to. She wanted to believe him. She nodded slightly. He relaxed instantly, letting out a long sigh. A satisfied look took place once more upon his face.

“Wait, no.” y/n said, renewing the tension that had left the room for a second.

“No?”

“You can’t just walk in here and perform your usual charming act hoping it’ll work again.”

“What do you mean?” Lockwood asked, confused.

“You know exactly what I mean. You act all sweet and flash your signature smile to get everyone to agree with you. You do this with every client we have. Hell, you even did it to me to get me to work here!”

“What? That’s not true!”

“Yes, it is. You acted all nice and sweet-”

“I was comforting you! I was offering my help. I didn’t lie to you or trick you to get you to work here!”

“In hindsight it’s what it feels like.” She finally admitted, dropping what had been on her mind for the past few weeks. There was a long pause. He stared at her in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry you think I’m capable of such a thing.”

He went back downstairs and didn’t bother to close the door.

The relief she felt was bittersweet. The truth was out, and she hoped it would help clear things up between them. Once the tension eased, she would maybe understand Lockwood’s intentions. Though that was a stretch, and she felt terrible, like she had crossed a line.

It was only because she was starving that she eventually came downstairs to help with dinner. George had her chopping onions, Lockwood was nowhere to be seen.

When he eventually made an appearance, they ate in silence. The few times they spoke, they barely said three words or they gestured vaguely. George poured himself a glass of water and Lockwood held out his hand to grab the bottle. She put out her glass but he deliberately put down the water away from her without serving her. She glared at him.

“I wouldn’t want you to think I have ulterior motives.” He shrugged.

He could be so infuriating.

“I learned a little bit more about this whole relic-dealing.” He said to change the subject. “Apparently this whole thing is happening because of one man who is singlehandedly raising the demand for haunted objects. He’s paying handsomely and it’s enough to make everyone go crazy.”

“Then following Dufour would definitely help us learn more about this man.” George answered.

“Maybe… I think we might have to think bigger. To aim for the leaders directly and not just for the leg men. We should probably start by collecting more information about what’s going on in town, in higher society, maybe some events or gatherings that could help us identify this man.”

“Sure I could go back to the Archives tomorrow.” George agreed.

“Yesterday you didn’t even want to hear about this and now we should just follow your every order?” y/n interrupted.

“What do you want from me? I tell you to let it go, you yell at me. I tell you we should get involved and you yell at me again.”

“Because we should always do what you decide!”

“Fine, what do you suggest we do then?”

“I have to think about it…”

“How surprising!”

“Oh shut-”

“Enough!” George slammed his fist on the table. “I’m sick of having to listen to you fight. Apologize to each other and let’s get this over with.”

y/n and Lockwood stared at each other in silence. Neither of them went first.

“Fine.” George said, standing up. “I won’t do any more research then. Until you both apologize, I’m on strike.”

He ignored their protests and went up to his room.

“See what you did?” Lockwood blamed her. “I don’t understand you y/n. I thought you’d be glad I joined you on your revenge mission.”

“You’re so used to getting your way that you can’t imagine things might be more complicated than that.”

“Then tell me what I’m doing wrong! You didn’t accept my apology… I mean, what more do you want?”

“I want you to realize that my career was my life and it was taken away from me. I’ve never felt more powerless than when I got fired and now I can’t even make my own decisions because you decided that you know better than everyone else. And the fact that you don’t even let me decide what to do about something that only concerns me and George…”

She broke off, not sure how to finish her sentence. He didn’t seem sure of what to say either.

“I’m sorry I wasn’t more attentive to this.” He sat in the chair next to her. “I guess I always saw Fittes like a prison and couldn’t see how getting fired from there was a bad thing. I’ll make sure to listen to your opinion… if it’s worth listening to.” He winked at her. She felt acknowledged for the first time since her troubles had begun. It wasn’t perfect, but it was an improvement. She smiled back at him. Though, she felt like there was more that he wanted to say. He hesitated, not sure how to phrase what he had in mind.

“Don’t take this the wrong way but the relic-dealing case isn’t just about you and George anymore.” He said cautiously. She frowned.

“People are dying over it.” He continued. “Dozens of sources are being stolen from any place that might have something of value and aren’t secured properly. Because of that some of them broke and let out a visitor that killed people nearby.” He looked into her eyes. “We need to stop this, y/n. Some relic-men managed to get their hands on relics that contained spirits that broke free when they mishandled the sources. This type of ghost will kill the first thing it sees as soon as it breaks free.” He grew more passionate as he explained what he knew. He was staring at something in the distance, his gaze focused, like he was looking through a window to the past. There was turmoil in his voice. It was unsettling, he was usually either indifferent or very professional when talking about visitors.

She listened intently, hanging on to every word. She realized she was staring at him when he suddenly stopped talking and looked down at the table. He looked haunted. She had never seen him so vulnerable before.

“How do you want to proceed?” She asked, trying to make him think of something else.

He looked back at her and blinked in surprise.

“I thought you didn’t want to take orders from me anymore?”

“Vulnerability’s a good look on you.”

The faintest blush appeared on his cheeks. He almost looked shy. She didn’t think it was possible for Lockwood to look anything other than proud and annoyingly attractive.

“I hope this isn’t another one of your acts to get me to forgive you.” She teased him. Though a part of it was true. She still didn’t know if she could trust his puppy eyes. She was about to get up when he took both of her hands in his to make her look at him.

“y/n, I need you to know that I never had the intention to trick you or charm or whatever you want to call it. I was always honest and I meant everything I told you.”

She could get used to seeing him like this. She actually felt like she got to see him for who he really was. And she loved this version of him. The real him. She took back her hands at the thought.

“Even when you said I was pretentious and helpless?” She said to ease the tension she was feeling.

“I meant the nice things.” He corrected. He laughed lightly and looked deep into her eyes with the same warmth from a few weeks ago, when he comforted her in the library. She had no idea how he could maintain eye contact with so much intensity in his gaze. She wondered if the oven was still on with how hot the room was getting.

“Though I wasn’t completely wrong when I said you were pretentious.” He winked.

“You’re the worst!” She laughed as she pushed him away and got up to go back to her room.

“I’ll tell George to get back to work on my way up.” She gave him one last smile before opening the door to the kitchen.

“Goodnight, y/n.”

Unfortunately, it wasn’t. Screaming filled her ears and she was paralyzed with fear. It was coming from everywhere, surrounding her and nulling her senses. At first, she couldn’t see anything. The place was pitch black and horribly cold. Her eyes slowly adjusted to the dark. She had no idea where she was. It looked like some sort of warehouse, with industrial equipment resting under a thick layer of dust. Spiderwebs covered every inch of them and climbed up to the ceiling. That wasn’t a good sign. The screaming intensified. It sounded like a group of teenagers. Her psychic senses, usually sharp even under pressure, were blurry and didn’t give her any indication on what was going on. She noticed a door in the corner of her eye and tried to run to it but her legs refused to work. It was like she was fused in place, unable to move. She panicked as the screaming got closer. But the threat passed right through her. She felt a freezing bolt of energy crashing into her before opening two tall doors wide. A group of agents tried to close them back, they were losing control of the situation. y/n was forced to watch the scene, unable to help. One of them, she assumed the leader of the group, shouted orders that were barely audible above the wind that had risen up. The group went back through the doors, struggling to keep them close. At the last minute, two girls appeared right before they shut. One of them was injured, but she was too far for y/n to see her face. The second girl took off her jacket to tend to her wound. She looked like she was screaming at someone outside but y/n couldn’t see anything from where she was. She desperately wanted to help but her feet did not move. Suddenly the girl looked right at her. It was her. The one who had been haunting her dreams for weeks. She had accusing eyes and said something to her that she couldn’t make out. Then she started screaming. Louder than the wind, louder than the screams of her teammates, louder than y/n’s own screaming.

She bolted up in bed, her throat sore and drenched in sweat.

#ukuwrites #who follows the rules anyway #lockwood and co fic #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co imagine #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co

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vi-trying-to-survive · 1 year

Text

My Idiot

Anthony Lockwood x f!Reader

Warnings: This is just fluff and a little angst 💖💖💖 Also small mentions of bleeding and a stab wound 🥹💖

Summary: Y/N, a medical practitioner’s apprentice, meets Lockwood in an unlikely way. The two quickly become close, which isn’t a problem. The problem is the fact that he has no regard for his own safety and always runs to her for help.

A/N: I hope everyone likes this one :) 💖💖💖 I’ve been a little slow with updates recently :’) 💖💖💖 but I’m trying to be better :) 💖💖💖 Also I’m currently reading the Lockwood and Co so I have some new ideas that I’m thinking of :) 💖💖💖 but I am working through the requests too ;) 💖💖💖

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The door unlocked with a click and swung open. She sighed, gathering the black plastic bags in her arms, making her way outside. The street was dimly lit by a flickering lamp, which didn’t do much, considering that she could just barely make out the shapes of bins along the wall. She cursed to herself. This is what she got for taking late shifts. Wondering if she still had enough nerve to walk home, she tossed the bags into the bin. They crashed with a loud clang, startling a figure crouched next to it, hidden in the shadows. Her eyes went wide. This was it, this was how she’d die, ghost-touched at the back of a cheap clinic. It wasn’t as glamorous as she’d hoped for, but what more could be done. The shape rose, growing to be much taller than her. She raised a hand to cover her face, her eyes squeezed shut.

She waited for the immense pain and suffocation that had been described to her by others, but it never came, instead, hands gently pushed away her arms. She was no longer frightened, just confused. When she opened her eyes, they were met with dark ones. They belonged to a boy, who looked about her age. His face was smeared with dirt and covered with scrapes. His hair was ruffled and he looked a mess, but somehow he had an air of confidence about him. Not to mention he was very cute. She found a heat rushing to her face and quickly tore her eyes away.

Voices could be heard echoing through the darkness. They both glanced over and for a second fear flashed through his eyes, before he turned back to her, “Can I-“.

She was not stupid and put the facts together. “Yeah, get in, quick”, she shoved him in and drew the blinds hastily.

Only then was she aware of the situation she had put herself in. She was alone with a stranger, with no where to run.

“Thank you”, he gave her a smile. Her heart pounded harder against her chest, threatening to break out. So maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to be trapped in here with him.

She gave him a wary look, “I hope you’re not a serial killer or something”.

“Quite the opposite, I’m Anthony Lockwood”, he took a step toward her. A gleaming rapier glinted at his side. An agent, she was probably safer than she would be if she was alone.

She crossed her arms, raising a brow, “So tell me, why we’re you being chased?”.

“Would you believe me if I said it was a bad accent?”, he laughed. Wincing a little, he clutched at his stomach.

“Oh you’re hurt, let me take a look”, she pried his arms away.

He shook his head, “No, it’s fine”.

“Come on, this is a clinic”, she grinned, holding her hand out. She hoped he would take it. She hoped he would trust her.

His eyes fell to his feet, just for a moment, before coming back to match her grin. He put his hand in hers, “Alright”.

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She smiled as she thought about him. It had been about a year since they had met, and they had grown quite close. Mostly because he was unable to go one job without getting hurt. She wasn’t sure if it was his rash impulsiveness or that he enjoyed the pain. It’s not that she minded, always glad to see him. He made her laugh as she cleaned and wrapped his wounds, not to mention the coffee he would bring her every now and then from her favourite store. Still, the pang of worry that she got every time she saw him hurt was getting more difficult to ignore. She just hoped that he would learn his limit soon, he had became too vital a part in her life.

There was a raping on the backdoor. She got a fright, a bit of her tea spilling out of her mug. She frowned, making her way to the door, ready to give someone an earful for half scaring people to death. When she opened the door her expression softened, “Lockwood ?”.

He looked battered, sagging to one side, his floppy hair messy and blood stained. A bruise was beginning to bloom on his cheek, turning an angry blue-black. There was a sinking feeling in her stomach, “What’s wrong ? You were only just in three days ago”. She put his arm over her shoulder, helping him hobble into the examination room.

He squinted his eyes, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, “I got into a fight”.

“Quick get on the table”, she hurried gathering equipment onto a tray. They clattered and clanged loudly.

She pulled back his coat, her eyes growing wide, ”Shit, this is a lot of blood”. His crisply pressed shirt was stained a deep crimson, which kept growing larger. Hastily she unbuttoned his shirt, pressing gauze against the opening. It quickly soaked through, giving her gloved hands the same colour. She gasped. This couldn’t be happening.

He coughed, “Yeah”. His voice sounded far-off and weak. This wasn’t the Lockwood she was used to. Even with a broken arm he was always grinning and full of laughter. Yes, there were bad days when it seemed like there was a cloud above his head, but this was different and unfamiliar. At anytime, of any feeling, he was always passionate and alive. Now he was just not present at all, it created a feeling of uncertainty in her.

Her mind raced, thinking of all the textbooks she’d read in her apprenticeship. Although she was still learning, she was an apt practitioner, so much so that her mentor let her run the clinic at night. Still, it was different when it was someone you knew, someone you cared about. It hurt more and the worry clouded her mind. She found doubt in herself, one that she’s never had. She had been nervous, a given with any patient, but this clouded her mind and she wondered if she would be enough for him, if he could be in more skilled hands. Still she shook her head, knowing him well, she was sure that he would be against any proper hospitals. She had never understood it, but if he had that much trust in her, she could have it in herself too. She glanced over at him, “I’ve got to stop the bleeding and-“.

He blinked at her, not really focused. It was like there was a haze between the two of them and she felt a panic overcome her. Still pressing a hand against his gash, she tapped on his face, “Lockwood, come on, stay awake, just a little longer”. She hoped he would jerk back into consciousness, but he remained still and silent.

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The sterile brightness of the lights blinded her as she frowned at his appearance, the only thing keeping her optimistic was the steady sound of his heart beat. A contrast to the stark silence of the room. She had cleaned him up as best as she could, though there were still some traces of matted blood on his scalp and the red lines of cuts along his face and neck. Then there was the angry gash on his stomach. It was neatly stitched and had stopped bleeding a while back, but she still had an inkling of fear. It was irrational, but she couldn’t help it.

His groaning filled the room, “Ow”.

“You’re awake”, she gasped, throwing herself into his arms. He was warm, real and most importantly, he was alive. She knew he would be sore, but even if he was, he said nothing, but enveloped her in his arms.

He pulled away a little, a hand on her cheek, “Hey, are you alright ?”.

She wanted to lean into his touch, but instead she pulled away, “No, of course not, you almost died”. Her brows were furrowed as she glared at him. How could he be fine ? Was the fact that he almost bled out not enough ?

“But you patched me up, like you always do”, he gave her a hesitant smile.

She ran her palms across her face, “It’s not enough, do you even know how risky this was ?”. Her eyes burned with tears threatening to fall, but she refused to let them fall. It wouldn’t help.

“I-“, he was unable to meet her gaze.

“Why do you do this to yourself ? Every week you show up here scrapes and bruises”, her eyes wandered over his skin, littered with scars.

She grimaced, “It- It’s almost like you enjoy being in pain”.

“I- I don’t”, he winced.

She collapsed into the chair, she had dragged up next to the table, “Then why ? I was terrified that you wouldn’t wake up”. She was exhausted, a combination of sleep deprivation and dealing with him.

They were both silent. Again the only sound that filled the room was the heart monitor beeping. “I- I’m sorry”, he reached out to take her hand. Despite her anger, she still intertwined her fingers with his. No matter how much he riled her up with his recklessness, she somehow always wanted to be close to him. It was contradictory to her mental health, but he was good for her in a lot of ways too. A carefree and outgoing to her rule-following introvert. They fit together perfectly and she hoped that he could see that as well.

His eyes were on the ceiling, while his thumb traced patterns on the back of her palm, “It’s just that- I- I needed a reason to come and see you”. What? How could he think that? Was he really that dense? He was quiet again, eyes occasionally flitting to her lips, and she decided she couldn’t take it anymore. She pressed her lips against his. He started slow, surprised, but quickly took the lead, wrapping a hand around her waist. His lips were soft and tasted of honey and bergamot. She could feel the roughness of his palms, as he tugged her closer to him, their chests pressed up against each other. It was full of concern and passion. She ran a hand through his hair, which only spurred him on. This was nothing like what she had expected, it was much better.

They pulled away, breathing heavily. She rolled her eyes, “You’re an idiot”.

“But now I’m you’re idiot”, he laughed, tucking a strand of her hair back.

She shook her head, grinning as she kissed his swollen cheek, “You’ve always been my idiot”.

She tucked her head into the crook of his neck, “Also, next time you come and see me, please let it be without a stab wound”,

“I- Alright”, his face went red.

They just stayed like that for sometime, content in each others company. They were always safe when they were together. It was the way things were.

He shifted about, and she caught him chancing a glimpse of the slash. “Amongst other things, what am I wearing?”, a brow was raised and he seemed perplexed.

“You’re shirt was bloody”, she shrugged her shoulders, trying to keep a nonchalant attitude.

He frowned, “Still did it have to be a unicorn and rainbow hospital shirt ?”. She tried not to laugh, pressing her lips together. Though he looked much more charming in his usual suit, she thought he was still quite cute despite his current ensemble.

“Did you have to go and get stabbed?”, she poked him accusatorially in the chest.

His expression went blank, before pursing his lips, “You win”. She just laughed.

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gaintsnowflake · 9 months

Note

Hi! Can I get a request please. The reader works at Lockwood and Co and Lockwood and her both have feelings for each other but they dance around them because of their job and are afraid of losing each other because of it. And one day, one of them (don’t care which one) snaps and finally told the other how they feel! Thank you!

𝐍𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐘 𝐃𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆

PAIRING : Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

ONESHOT : in which after one two many near death experinces, you admit your feelings

TRIGGERS : nearly dying, cannon typical valiance

A/N : I hope you enjoy this, if this isn't what you were hoping for, please dm me and I will do write it again or if you want an extention. I couldn't figure out how to get the confession perfect so I am sorry if it seems a bit rushed, but it was still fun to write all the same, thank you so much for this request! Please ignore any spelling and grammar errors, this is not proof-read!

WORD COUNT : 1.5k

masterlist

IT'S A NORMAL CASE, just like every other case. Yet here I am, watching his every movement with the rapier.

The ghost was only a few feet from him as he attacks with precision and grace. His every move was elegant as if it was a choreographed dance. The lighting was doing him wonders as I just sat and admired him, ignoring my job of looking for the source, ignoring my name being called by George, probably to scold me for letting Lockwood distract me once again.

"Stop getting distracted," I felt a rushed slap on my arm, knocking me back into reality. The slap I have seen was from George who was now next to me, searching the floorboards in front of us.

"Sorry, I was making sure he didn't get hurt..." I mumbled, going back to the task at hand.

After a few more seconds of searching, I found the source, a small silver ring. Without hesitation, I wrapped it in the silver net. The noises of the ghost disappeared as I a rapier dropped. My eyes flew over to where Lockwood was standing, his hands on his knees, bending over, breathing heavily.

I was instantly bombarded with thoughts of worry, fearing that he was hurt. The thought of him being hurt sent shivers down my spine as I rushed over to him. If he dies now, it will be my fault, I didn't protect him, I couldn't save him.

As soon as I was by my side, he fell and leaned onto me, letting me inspect him, checking for any injuries. Though I didn't see any, I held him in my arm, closer, ignoring the feeling of butterflies in my stomach. Ignoring the fuzzy feeling in my heart as I rocked on my heels.

I will never be able to tell him how I feel, I will never be able to show him all of my love, it's not possible. We face near death almost every night. It's not fair to put him in the position of having to be afraid of losing me, as I am afraid of losing him.

Tonight's case was more difficult than normal, as our plans were flipped. Instead of Lucy and Lockwood fighting the ghost as George and I search for the source, I was trapped with the ghost with George. Lockwood and Lucy are left to find the source.

George and I were nowhere near as good as the other two, but we are surviving for now. Dodging as we can, throwing salt bombs, and George swinging the chain. Our rapiers were long forgotten as George dropped his only minutes ago and mine was left outside the room when I dropped it chasing after George.

I could hear banging on the door, it was definitely Lockwood. It sounded as if he was freaking out, but the sounds were largely muffled. The question of why he would be freaking out, as this was usual for a job, pondered me for a second, but I was quick to be thrown back into action.

The next few moments were brutal, as I was sent flying into a desk. The pain in my side was worse than most injuries I had before. I am sure it is bleeding, as when I pressed my hands to my side, I left a thick liquid, spilling into my shirt.

Before I got the chance to even stand, I am met face to face with the ghost, as it goes to touch me, it fades away. I let out a groan, squeezing my eyes shut, knowing I have a moment.

The bang of the door was loud, causing me to open my eyes, losing my moment of silence. Lockwood came crashing in. His face full of worry and panic as he looked around the room quickly, till his eyes found me. Before I could blink, he was before me, kneeling down on the ground, looking me up and down before meeting my eyes.

He began to take out an emergency kit from his bag that was on the floor next to us. His touch was gentle as if he was trying not to hurt me. Slowly Lockwood pulled away at my jacket and then my shirt, leaving me in just a tanktop underlayer that I pulled up for him to see the open wound.

While he was patching me, I couldn't help but stare at him. Taking in his beauty. Though you could definitely tell he just got done a job.

He was a mess, his hair all out of order, his tie was slightly undone, the collar of his shirt up in some places, and dirt splotches were all over his face. His face, it was full of emotion. Worry, panic, relief, the last something I don't quite recognize. But it seems like a look of love. Love? No, it can't be. He cannot love me as I love him.

Cases always seem to go wrong, so facing a near-death experience has turned into normality in my line of work. Which is exactly why I am laying on the ground with a type two floating above me.

Though I expected at that moment to be killed or at least injured. But I wasn't. Lockwood swung his rapier in between the ghost and me, pulling me up as it disappeared for a few seconds. He held me behind him. Throwing himself in danger.

Usually, he was reckless, always through everyone in danger, but now he is protecting me. I felt guilt run through me as he begins to fight off the now reappeared.

It has been weeks of us dancing around what could be feelings for each other. We are always putting each other first. It was getting to the point that now Lucy and George were teasing us. But we couldn't love each other, we couldn't. Not with what we do for work.

One of us is bound to end up dead, leaving the other heartbroken. We cannot love each other. But here we are, loving each other so much that we would throw ourselves in danger for the other person.

I was quick to push Lockwood out of the way and start fighting it myself. Using my rapier as well as any salt bombs I could quickly grab. The ghost evaporated a few seconds later, leaving me to put back my rapier and look lockwood in the face as we waited for the others.

"What the fuck do you think you are doing?" My voice was loud, our breathing was heavy as were exhausted.

"Saving you," His voice was much calmer than mine as if he didn't see what he did wrong.

I don't think I will ever admit this, but my heart fluttered when he stepped in and saved me. But it was dumb and reckless and he could have gotten hurt. It would have been my fault.

"No, you were throwing yourself in danger," I spat at him. "I would have been fine."

"You call that fine? You were nearly ghost-touched!" His voice was now reaching louder levels as he talked to me. "I couldn't let you get hurt!"

"You could've gotten yourself hurt!"

"I don't care. I couldn't live with myself if you got hurt, I couldn't." The argument was loud now, making tears threaten to leave my eyes, but they haven't yet. But if I wasn't mistaken Lockwood's eyes were watering too.

"I care, Lockwood, I fucking care."

"Why? Why do you care so fucking much about me?"

"God, Lockwood, must you be so dense? I love you. I have always loved you."

We stood for a second, scared to move. Tears had now started spilling down my cheeks as I just stared at him. Not sure what to feel anymore.

"I know, we can't be together. Because one of us is going to end up dead, the other heartbroken. But that doesn't mean I don't love you, Lockwood," My voice cracked, making my words sound less harsh than I intended.

"You would think that would give us more reason to date. Honestly, I am so fucking scared of losing you. The thought of seeing you die before I even get the chance to kiss you doesn't seem right."

"Oh stop with your charm, Lockwood, you know we will both end up hurt," I sounded more unsure than I wanted.

"Please, y/n. I know you are scared, but I think I would be more hurt knowing that you died without me telling you that... I love you," The last words, were more of a whisper as he inched towards me.

Oh, how, I hate the adrenaline rush for making me do what I am about to do next.

I move forward with a harsh step and grab his tie, forcing his lips onto mine. I kissed him. Although I was still angry, this kiss seemed aggressive but passionate. When I pulled away, we both sat there in shock.

To think, we are fighting for our lives, but a simple kiss scares us more.

"So does that mean you'll be my girlfriend?" He asked, his voice was a whisper now.

Before I could answer, I heard the door open, causing me to look over to see George and Lucy analyzing our position, giving us questioning looks. I froze for a second, before letting go of his tie and walking away from him. I turned around slightly, giving him a smile, before walking to go talk to our friends.

It's odd how after so many near-death experiences, it took just one more to make us admit our feelings. Almost as if that was scarier than NEARLY DYING.

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