#lockwood and company x reader

[fleetingvow]

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD X FEMALE READER

SYNOPSIS. you and anthony have settled it before. you couldn’t allow whatever it was that had been going on between the two of you to continue. so, that resulted to consistent longing looks and stolen glances, until you met someone new. lockwood didn’t like that, especially with the way this bloke flirted using the very language he used to communicate with you from far away. ( 4.5k words )

CATEGORY. angsty fluff. jealousy plot. will-they-won’t-they trope. written in second person’s point of view.

WARNINGS. unproofread. i don’t have beta readers, sadly. english is not the author’s first language. usual usage of profanities. tried my best to characterise anthony as he is, but he’s a little much of a challenge. — hopefully i did him justice. aged up to eighteen but without nsfw theme.

NAVIGATION. you can find more of my works about anthony lockwood and wednesday addams by clicking the link here! a fair warning, they’re all angsty!

DEDICATED TO. @obsessed-female @courtneyraeblogs1221 @philliam-writes ( apologies for the repeated tags - there was a malfunction with the previous one and i had to replace it with this one )

REMINDER. this fic is written by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission. inspiration is lovely, but plagiarism by paraphrasing is not, as well as stealing someone’s idea and claiming it as your own which is exactly what plagiarism is.

𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗚𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗚 to be like this forever, isn’t it? Endless rounds of stolen glances and yearning looks from across the table, learning the art of composure and restraint to keep both your desires to be close to one another just solely in the back of your mind. Anthony always was a complex character, and there were times you couldn’t read his thoughts behind his eyes, but when you started to study him carefully, you started to understand that those looks he gave you were quite more interesting.

Not interesting per say, perhaps — perhaps interested.

You couldn’t deny Lockwood the fact that you weren’t immune to his charms. He was gentle and caring yet careless with other things that involved the agency’s line of work. Which was the irony of it all, really, because once you both have opened yourself to each other and came transparently clear of your feelings, he insisted that you both set it aside for the sake of the team.

And now here you are, months later, just glancing at each other briefly, smiling at nothing like idiots when no one’s looking, and pondering over the small moments when your hands would brush slightly. Your heart would constantly ache for him. This barricade he built between the two of you made it difficult for you to see him, but your feelings kept growing.

He was so close yet so far.

All you could get ahold of him was a view. That’s all you could do after all, look at him, admire him from afar, picture how he smiles proudly and smirk so smugly in your head.

Lockwood is an entire art, you thought.

And then, there were two lovesick arts looking at each other, which are, for clarification, are the arts they were looking at.

How could both be so active with their eyes yet be so blind from the fact that they wanted each other at the same level of intensity?

Sight was Anthony’s talent, and he was damn grateful it was that it was his pair of eyes that did all the work for him. He couldn’t communicate by words to you or else someone else would hear. He couldn’t touch you because someone else might see. It might be better that he’d learn the language of looks for you, and maybe then you’d know. You’d know how his tired eyes wouldn’t let him sleep as it worked with his mind, screaming for him to wake up and convince him to be selfish for once. Selfish enough just to get you all to himself.

But he couldn’t do anything about it, he just couldn’t. He didn’t want you suffering because of him. He knew you loved the idea of romance, and he knew how avid you were to find someone who would shout his undying ardour to the ends of the Earth. He couldn’t let you suffer, only holding hands with him behind closed curtains.

Lockwood wanted you, but you were someone he couldn’t have.

“Your tea’s getting cold, Y/N.” George commented as he noticed the untouched teacup set before you. You quickly snapped out of your trance when suddenly, there was a knock on the door. In an attempt to shake off the embarrassment you just caused, you stood up from your chair and mumbled, “I’ll get it.”

Anthony let out a chuckle under his breath as he flipped the page of the newspaper, casually appearing to read when his mind had entirely lost track of the article he was supposed to be absorbed in two minutes ago when you started zoning out while looking at him.

“What are you laughing at?” George questioned. My, he seemed to be in a bad mood today. Anthony lifted his head to meet his eyes with a shrug.

“The paper’s just a little ridiculous today,” he reasoned. It was truly because he found you amusing for a little while. The boy closed the paper and set it on the table. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Upstairs. Said she needs another hour to sleep in,” Karim replied, unbothered by the previous encounter. He took a bite of the cookie and passed the platter onto Lockwood who returned it, seeing as there was only one left, and George needed it to maybe lighten up his mood.

You laughed slightly, “You really shouldn’t have. Is this your mum’s recipe? It is, isn’t it?” You frowned in confusion as you examined the pastries inside the basket. It smelled so good. Cinnamon, just like —

“Hey, L/N. Who is it?”

— Lockwood.

You quickly turned to look at him with the basket clutched in your hands, “Oh, it’s Theo. He gave us his mum’s specials. Here, have a look at it. They look delicious.”

You noticed how his eyebrows furrowed as he caught sight of the boy in the doorframe. That wasn’t a good sign. “Theo?”

“Yeah, he’s the one stuffing us up with bread and pastries for the past few weeks.”

‘So this was Theo,’ Anthony thought to himself, scanning the guy from head to toe. He frowned even more. “Theo, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m — ”

“Anthony Lockwood. It’s nice to meet you, too.” Theo shook his hand. There wasn’t an expression on Anthony’s face for a while before he caught himself and tugged a slight smile.

“Do you want a cuppa? It’s the least we can do in return,” you suddenly interjected, diminishing the tension that had been threatening to build up between the two. Oh, why did you have to be so nice all the damn time? Lockwood swore he could lose two of his toes right there and then.

You realised Anthony didn’t much meddle with the idea of Theo entering the house as he only stood there, waiting for an answer from your neighbour. Theo let out a breathy laugh constructed of fear, “Er, as much as I’d love to, I don’t think I have the time today — must go help my mum arrange the er, bakery.”

“Perfect! We’ll just deliver you a George special. Truly grateful for the gift.” Lockwood replied immediately after the end of Theo’s sentence. You didn’t even get to talk as Theo awkwardly stood.

“George special?” He asked, bewildered.

“Made by George — er, our researcher,” you answered. Lockwood flashed him a smile and held back a sigh.

“Any more questions? I think our agency’s quite busy. I can already hear the phone inside, it must be our third commission for today.”

“Okay, yes, I mean no. I — hey, I’ll just drop by tomorrow, yeah?” You could have sworn Theo gave you that look, his eyes gentle as they were fixed on you without a care for the fuming facade in Anthony’s face.

Lockwood slightly pulled you away from the doorframe.

“Thanks, mate.” Anthony found his grip on the door as he quickly shut it on the boy’s face, his hand lingering a little more while on the wood as he stared at you. You returned the gaze, arching your eyebrow. You almost said something, like why he was in a rush when she could literally hear no ringing from the phone, why he was examining Theo from head to toe, and why he shut that door on his face. But his eyes, they were staring right at your soul as if he was trying to figure out some kind of puzzle in the back of your head.

“Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to talk about what just hap—” You finally spoke up only to get cut off.

He quickly took a sharp inhale with a question that made his eyebrows furrow again, “Do you like him?”

“ — What?” You asked in response, your mouth ajar.

“Lockwood, Y/N! Your tea! It’s a waste of teabags, seriously!” George’s voice quickly cut the tension with his yelling, turning the atmosphere even more awkward to bear. You both turned your head to the kitchen’s direction with you recovering first when you cleared your throat. You then left without a word.

Throughout the next week, things have been like that. Theo comes knocking on the door, and you would be welcoming him, accepting his gifts . . . with Anthony closely standing a foot behind you. If it isn’t you that would answer the door, it was him, and you could ask Theo about how that went later on.

The visits have become regular and the gifts have become more in quantity and taste. There was a point that Theo got inside the flat and visited the library, much to Anthony’s dismay. He had to watch him closely tailing you in every corner of the chamber of books, his hands clasped behind his back. Anthony was reading the latest scoop, but then he had no choice but to pretend that he was occupied by it while he watched closely. Theo was making jokes, funny enough to you that it would earn a hearty laugh.

Lockwood almost rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“That’s hilarious!” You exclaimed.

‘Oh, you little liar,’ Anthony thought with a smirk. If you really found that hilarious, you would slap Theo lightly, but you weren’t. If there was something he was confident at, it was that he knew you better than anyone else.

You lightly tapped Theo’s hand as you let out yet another laugh. Anthony groaned mentally, resisting the urge to stand up and leave the room. His eyes peeked through the newspaper while listening intently.

“You mentioned before that you liked reading, so I thought maybe showing you the great Lockwood library would be enough to return the favour.”

“What favour?” Theo questioned.

Yeah. What favour? Anthony leaned in slightly.

“Delivering your gifts to the agency. The bread, pastries, and the er, . . . ”

The what?

“The flowers.”

The flowers?

He heard Theo laugh under his breath as he watched him bob his head with a gentle ‘you’re welcome.’

‘Are they quite done yet?’ Anthony thought. Theo’s eyes watched you, his eyes travelling from your eyes to your lips.

Lockwood didn’t like that. So, with much grace, he cleared his throat and closed the newspaper, finally getting the attention of the two of you from where you stood. Your breath almost hitched as you watched Lockwood walk out of the library with much haste.

You didn’t know what you did to him. You didn’t know exactly how that conversation affected him, and he wished you did. He wished you had a clue. Of course, you have. Could you? He was stupid to leave that library — what if whatever that conversation was leading to, happened? What if . . .

What if you walked out of that room completely and utterly unreachable? Your devotion truly untouchable and bound to that Theo?

No matter what had transpired, or what Lockwood thought, that seemed to be the inclusion after Theo left the house, wasn’t it? Because when the door closed and you turned back facing your team, Lucy and George looked at you quite expectantly.

Yet Anthony couldn’t meet your eyes.

No matter how much you searched for them.

You gave them a slight smile before walking past them without a word, rushing to your given room with a heavy heart weighing inside your chest.

You thought it was only you? Lockwood felt his heart shatter when he walked in that kitchen with Lucy and George indulging into the fresh biscuits Theo gave earlier that morning. They were chatting and betting away whether Theo would have probably made his move or chickened out. When they finally noticed his presence, they quickly stopped and looked at him.

“What?” Lockwood asked.

George cut off the awkward silence when he offered the boy the biscuits he shared with Lucy. When he left that library, he thought he already got away with the sight of that man who was persistent on having you, but guess he thought too early.

“Do you think Theo’s made his move yet?” Lucy questioned. It was odd, for sure. She was never the one to be so invested in something like this. That made his stomach churn. Could it be that you and Theo were both too compelling to have her trapped in this sort of spell?

“He’s a wuss. He’d probably walk out of that door with an awkward trip. I can already see it.” George, not you too.

“Do you think they’ll be together in any minute now, Lockwood?” Lucy, could you stop with these questions? It was making his tie almost choke him and take away his breathing.

“It’s obvious. Their awkwardness is not hard to miss.”

Oh, so you and Theo were obvious to Lucy and George, but when it was you and Anthony, it wasn’t? He didn’t know if he should be happy or not that no one knew. Because as much as he’d love to shout it, could he?

The sight of the goods was sickening, but he had to cover his traces desperately or things would only go downhill from here. He couldn’t have you, and that’s final. That was the very reason he lost his sense of planning, and all he had to resort to was just — be the Lockwood that’s always Lockwood.

The team before you. The agency above all else. The greater good before his feelings. The well-being of everyone in that house before him.

What’s the point? Theo had proven himself consistent — with gift-giving, he supposed. He just looks at you so perfectly, like he was taken with you. Lockwood used to look at you like that, and he still does, no matter how useless it has become. Theo’s body language didn’t display threat to you or anyone. He was just unapologetically himself, gentle and soft. You would probably want to live with someone like that.

He was your friend.

Lockwood? He was your boss.

He convinced himself that that was the only role he could play in your life as you grew further and further apart from that table. Who knew, right? That someone could be this close yet so so far.

Anthony began to take his morning tea rather faster than before and proceeded to keep himself locked in the library for the times that the team wasn’t out for ghost-hunting. He was still himself, still the same boy with witty remarks and had a subtle smugness about him. Still the same friend and boss who praised his team constantly and asked for George to make his specials just because.

Still the same old Lockwood with so many things different about him. Oh, please, spare us the irony, but goodness how much you sought for answers from his eyes that just wouldn’t stare at you for more than three seconds.

You couldn’t see him. Truly see him.

And you were sick of it. He acted so normal, like nothing happened. That he didn’t just watch everything that happened in that library, left without a word but with a sense of anger lingering, and stood with the two to ask for what happened.

There was something different about you. Your eyes stayed focused on your tea for an hour every morning, you went outside off-duty a lot, and you only spoke when you were spoken to. You smiled. Just occasionally. You opened the door to the agency’s home for Theo, but it never felt thrilling anymore ever since you found that Lockwood’s presence won’t be a foot behind you. Theo only brought bread now. No more flowers, no other gifts of romantic causes. He always put on a friendly smile like it was his favourite shoes.

And you wished you’d see that same smile but on a different face.

So, you did what you did best. Avoided Lockwood. You couldn’t afford to fall for this challenge. Every single day proved to be difficult as you saw his face. That was the reason you were out the door often. You also met up with Theo quite frequently.

There was this one time Anthony wished he never stared out the window. Just so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your figure, your hair, your eyes that looked up at Theo as you listened to what he had to say as you slowly walked side by side.

He looked away, shutting the accounting book in his hand. He’d suddenly lost interest in sorting out the bills when he knew he couldn’t even afford something intangible. He scoffed. ‘This was different.’

Anthony stayed in the library again tonight, watching the striking dance of the flame in the hearth, nursing a book in his arms. He sighed, looking away and turning his attention to the paperback he now settled on his lap. What was wrong with him?

He already had you, and he just had to ruin it, didn’t he? He couldn’t be with you because what? Because of Lucy and George’s predictable taunting?

He was sure he had a good reason, but now? Now that he’s successfully pushed you away into the arms of another guy, he couldn’t see it as a reason.

Only as an excuse.

Just so he wouldn’t hurt you, but being involved with him already did half of that. It was just when he lost you that it must have damaged you both.

Or maybe it was just him.

“Lockwood?” He heard his name spoken by a voice ever so gentle yet thought-provoking that one would doubt it came from a human but a siren. The boy looked up from the book and turned his head to you, catching sight of you again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He looked at you for more than three seconds. You took note of that as it made you smile, yet that smile faltered when you felt your heart dropping to your stomach upon realising the reason why you knocked on the library door and faced him in your sleepwear.

“Yes, Y/N?” Your name always did sound like a melody in his voice. You almost got distracted, but took a step forward and closed the door behind you.

“I was wondering if we could speak.” That statement was firm.

It took him a while, but then, “Sure.”

“It’s about Theo.”

“And what about Theo?” He was quick to reply. You didn’t know if he wanted to talk about him or not, but you were slowly believing it was the latter when he looked away from you and stood up from his chair, putting the book aside on the table.

“I don’t think you like him very much,” you confessed. Your chest heaved up slowly as you sighed in relief of finally telling him the truth, but it wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even just the beginning.

He paused for a while before resuming to ask gently, “Is that him saying that or is it you that wants to know?”

“Him.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t not like him.” You knew that. No, not the like part although that, you didn’t know whether to trust. You meant him not being gullible enough to believe that it wasn’t him that was asking him that question and you were only there to deliver the missive.

“Look, I only want the truth.”

Ah, so it is you asking that question.

“Why do you need this specific truth?”

Why is he asking you back? That wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t expect him to start turning the tables of who asks who. “I was just thinking, that’s all,” you replied in almost a whisper.

That’s when he crossed his arms and nodded his head, jaw clenching slightly. “We’re both not being truthful at all, are we?”

You lifted your eyebrows in return. “What?”

“It’s half the truth; What I said.” What was that supposed to mean? Your inhalation this time around was shaky. You tried not to crumble and appear as sturdy as possible, but you were close to knowing about the truth and Anthony who had been amiss for the past few weeks.

“Do you want to know the full truth, Y/N?” Lockwood questioned. His voice seemed to be coaxing you out of your trance, like he was taunting you, luring you in with that tone in his voice, but there was a different flavour to it.

Like it was soft, gentle, almost as if he was making it sound childishly alluring enough to show you innocence in which it is bliss in all its glory of the truth. Lockwood here before your presence was willing to be completely honest, and he was making your heart flutter with hope.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he mumbled quietly, eyes glued to yours as you scanned his face for a sign whether he was cracking a joke. There wasn’t any readable hint at all, and you knew just how to handle a situation like that.

Play dumb. You painted a face of confusion, slowly settling your hands to your side after they went numb from clutching your hips. You replied, dragging the emphasis of the question along, “Looks at me like what?”

He took a deep breath and averted his gaze, buying his merry time as he appeared to be lost in thought, mesmerised by how utterly stupid he was starting to feel. This time, it was him that placed his hand on his hip, his other firmly placed on the table next to the chair he warmed with his presence earlier but completely ghosted as he stood. He lifted that hand and rubbed the nape of his neck. He shouldn’t be saying it. He shouldn’t even think it!

But by God, you were driving him mad!

“Like how I’m supposed to look at you.” He could have sworn his hand twitched in response to the urge to slap himself, but he had to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He had to appear better than the guy who had been the object of your attention this past week. Anthony mentally cringed — Why did he say that? He messed up, didn’t he? Ridiculously so!

“Lockwood,” you whispered.

His eyes furrowed, watchful gaze softening at you as if he was going to lose you forever and he was a dead man destined to just watch and watch until his time runs out.

“Anthony,” you corrected yourself. That gave him hope, but he wasn’t just about to rejoice either. You were, after all, Theo’s. Not his.

“But he’s doing it wrong.” Anthony continued without a care in the world. He just wanted this, if it’s the only thing he gets.

He was exhausted from just staring at you from afar, and what’s worse, having another guy in the picture doing all that wondrous romantic work for him.

He’s selfish, fine, but he once had everything when he communicated with your soul and now he had nothing.

Just fleeting hope.

“He’s supposed to see your soul in your eyes, not just his reflection in them. He’s supposed to notice every detail, the colour, the shape — and he’s supposed to remember it for when he thinks of it in sleepless nights.” He took short strides forward to meet you this close as he lifted his hand and brushed the loose strands off your face and tucked them behind your ears. “He’s supposed to tuck your hair like this when it gets in the way or else the message he’s trying to tell you won’t end up being clear.”

“But maybe he should have messages to give you before he looks at you like this at all,” he mumbled. “He should have learned the language of looks. You don’t just deserve words, you deserve the truth, the full picture, every inch of a canvas painted. The Devil knows just how much you like to watch yourself in someone’s eyes, how they perceive you, and you in mine, you’re perfect in every way. Does Theo know that? Is he aware? Do you like how he looks at you?”

You couldn’t talk. You were malfunctioning upon hearing his words. They were all being processed in your head but your understanding also kept shattering.

You felt like a girl again. Not like Theo never treated you like one, it’s just that only Anthony managed to make you feel this way.

“You said it before, Anthony; We can’t happen. We could never, because — ”

“Because I was a coward.”

“Because you had a duty to this agency, and you were thinking of everyone. I agreed on the matter with you.”

“And I had a duty to you.” Your world stopped. Is this the same Anthony? What was he doing being this close to you? Why did you like it?  Was he taking his words back from before? Could you possibly happen now? You didn’t know the answer to your own questions. You were in a haze and flurry of questions, but when you searched his eyes now, they were true, deep, lovesick and drunk at the sight of you.

“Theo and I aren’t together, Anthony.” You mumbled without blinking.

You just wanted his breath on your skin, his touch on your cheeks, his eyes all over you and his lips meeting yours. “So what’s holding you back now?” you whispered again, your hand leisurely finding its way on his chest.

His skin was hot underneath his shirt, but you could also feel the fast thumping in his chest. His smile before that didn’t quite reach his eyes now reached the sky and his eyes became starry with the news. For weeks, he thought he’d lost you, and what a fool he was to only know it now that you were there just waiting for him. How could he think that?

“Kiss me.”

You closed your eyes as you closed the vexing gap. Your hand roamed from his chest to his shoulders, looping your arms to hold him close. His hands made their way down to your waist, the other trailing your back and settling on the nape of your neck. His fingers were feather-light on your skin, making the hairs on your neck shiver to the touch.

You never thought you’d feel something like this. You thought it was just the books you read and the films you watched. Now, the boy you thought was a tense duty-first guarded eighteen-year-old was kissing you until the oxygen his body possessed gave out.

How relieved he felt, how soft you were under his touch. He thought of this a million times over when he couldn’t even look at you before, holding you close like this, having your lips on his like this.

He had to firmly shut his already closed eyes again just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, but no, he wasn’t in the midnight voyage of slumber. He was there in his library filled with books and the scent of you that lingered. Sweet and you. You always loved that room and so you’d linger every single day.

He thought it was the books you liked so much. It was, but the best part of it was Anthony Lockwood himself, and he can’t quite complain now, can he?

Meanwhile, Lucy was getting rich with George’s money, but who cares, right? Who knew you and Anthony thrived on angst and it took Theo the bread guy to bring you two together?

Oh, you thought no one knew? Even a kindergartner would know in five minutes.

END NOTE. This is a repost because the original one was butchered by Tumblr's read more link bug that made the paragraphs of the fic disappear and get jumbled.

This paragraph is a test whether the read more link bug will destroy the fic again and make it disappear. Hopefully not, because I can't keep rewriting the last paragraph repeatedly.

[quackmyback]

the lack of george karim fanfics is ATROCIOUS.

[kestisvrse]

bad for business

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

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

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

♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter

1. a walk home

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

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

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

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

“hold my hand.”

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

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

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

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

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

2. too close for comfort

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that damn grin.

3. distraction

you had warned him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. overdue confession

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh thank god.” he laughed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you were not.” you laughed at him

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

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

[g1rld1ary]

bloody genius ; anthony lockwood x fem!reader

➻ rushed to get this out before I go out tonight (wish me luck lols) but am pretty fond of it !!

➻ word count: 1686

➻ synopsis: after a long night of sifting through research for an impossible case with lockwood, you do something you didn't quite mean to

➻ warnings: light mentions of series typical murder/violence, kissing, idiots in love

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You groaned, tipping back in your chair and rubbing your eyes, trying to make them see straight. You and Lockwood had been pouring over photocopied newspaper articles, floor plans and assorted research for hours and you weren’t getting any closer to stringing any of it together. With Lockwood & Co steadily improving their reputation, the company was getting more and more cases with shorter and shorter timeframes. To combat this influx of cases and the consequent research that needed completing, you’d all decided to split the load where possible. This meant that currently George and Lucy were in the library researching one case whilst you and Lockwood had shut yourselves in the kitchen to struggle through another.

You supposed you had the better deal, though, supplied with easy access to tea, the thinking cloth, and, of course, Lockwood. He was your secret favourite out of your coworkers-turned-family, though if you asked Lucy she’d say it was no secret at all. Regardless, that brought you to the current moment where the thinking cloth was filled with nonsensical lines following trains of thought, all edges punctuated with a frankly ridiculous number of question marks.

Lockwood himself looked almost as frustrated as you felt, but you could tell he was trying to hide it and save face. He caught you staring and flashed a smile, but it lacked its usual charm when his eye bags were more pronounced than usual.

“Hey,” He said softly, putting his hand over yours to stop you drawing stress doodles — the latest one a crudely drawn murder scene, “We’ll get it soon, just gotta find the connection between it all.”

“Sure, Lockwood.” You tried for a smile but it came out as more of a grimace and Lockwood could see the exhaustion etched into your features. He frowned, more concerned for your wellbeing than the case at the moment.

“Maybe you’ve done enough for tonight? Go get some sleep and we can pick back up in the morning?”

“Are you going to go to bed?” You asked, already sure of the answer, “I’m not leaving you to do this on your own, not this time.” He opened his mouth to argue but you shut him up with a glare. He held up his hands in light-hearted surrender. As an alternative Lockwood suggested a break; only a few minutes, but enough for you to make two new mugs of steaming tea and him to crack open a new packet of biscuits. “I’ll even let you break the biscuit rule,” He stage whispered, ducking out of the kitchen to check on Lucy and George and refill their own stash of snacks.

You watched him go, smiling softly. You loved evenings like this — well not like this where trains of thought didn’t quite make it to the station and you had the infuriating feeling of knowledge being held just out of reach, but nights where you were all home and together. You liked them even more when it meant you got to spend time with Lockwood and he got like this; treating you just a little bit differently to George or Lucy, offering you extra biscuits and giving you that soft smile, the one that made your heart flutter in a way it probably shouldn’t when looking at your boss. It fed your delusions of one day telling him how you feel, sure, but the lightness of his attention overpowered the inevitable heartbreak you’d face when he got a date that wasn’t you.

He returned with a confident grin, snapping you out of your stupor. You buried yourself in a new file, scanning for anything that could make sense of the mess of a case you were given. Maybe a Type Two, could be a poltergeist or not, who knows who the ghost was — the whole thing was ridiculous and you had no idea why Lockwood would even take it, but he said he felt sorry for the poor old man who came to the doorstep of 35 Portland Row. The both of you sat in comfortable silence for what felt like hours, knee-deep in paper.

Your eyes were glazing in and out of focus until you caught a snippet of something that had you gasping and tumbling out of your chair, standing frenetically in front of Lockwood looking ready to perform.

“What if I told you,” You said grinning, “That your dear old man had a sealed criminal record until a few years ago? For being a suspect in a murder case no less!” Lockwood was solely focused on you now, dark eyes searching your face for more information. You were no less enthusiastic, eyes scanning the police report quickly for the relevant information. “He was a suspect in the murder of a Charlotte Black back in the 50s. Her sister alleged that the two were involved but the police found no evidence of his involvement, nor of their relationship at all, with the exception of two letters the sister sent during the time of the investigation. Officers on the case said his apartment was ‘severely lacking a female touch’ — ouch — and said to them he was definitely not in a relationship. The record was sealed because the allegations had a dire impact on his accounting firm!” You were buzzing despite the grim subject matter, as you’d finally found the link that could tie the case together.

Lockwood was similarly ecstatic. “Obviously the relationship had to be a secret for whatever reason which was why there’s no marriage certificate or record of letters between them. The letter I was looking at before must’ve been from this sister, it detailed her desire for independence and her interest in his business. She found out about his shady numbers—” He jumped up to grab a letter of complaint over botched figures from a client, “He got mad and killed her! Y/n you’re a bloody genius!” You flushed at the compliment.

“And she’s here now because he’s coming out of retirement, he bragged about it when you were hearing his case! God, it would just be great if we had, like, one more piece of evidence, just to confirm they knew each other,” You sighed, clenching your fingers at the single hole in the puzzle.

The door opened suddenly and George appeared, holding a small folded piece of paper.

“I think this might be from your case, not ours — odd looking couple,” George said, popping the photo on the edge of the dining table, giving a quizzical look at the two of you standing in the middle of the kitchen before heading back to the library. You and Lockwood exchanged a look, almost too scared to take a peek, it was too perfect. You grabbed the photo of Charlotte Black her sister had attached to the letter, plus the one of the man that you’d found in a local newspaper in the archives and laid them both out on the table for comparison.

Lockwood sucked in a nervous breath before slowly peeling open the photo. You couldn’t contain your joy, it was them! The whole night was suddenly worth it, the two of you jumping around the kitchen like little kids on Christmas. One second you were doing a stupid victory dance and the next your lips had pressed themselves to Lockwood’s. The moment you’d become cognisant of what had happened you stepped back, feeling your heart plummet to your toes. This was not how you’d imagined that would happen. Plus, Lockwood’s unusually stoic face was igniting your anxiety, cold spreading through every branch of your veins.

“Oh my God,” You breathed, willing your legs to work, “I am so sorry, Anthony.” Your body caught up to your brain and you headed to the door until you were pulled back, a hand on your waist twisting you to face him again. And then his lips were on yours with purpose this time, the hand not on your waist finding its way to cup your jaw. When your brain was done short circuiting you matched his fervour tenfold, bringing your hands up to rest on his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt to bring him impossibly closer.

You only pulled away when you were at genuine risk of passing out, unable to conjure a single word. Lockwood gazed at you with glossy, blown out pupils. That, mixed with the pink blush on his cheeks and swollen lips created your favourite ever version of Anthony Lockwood — an image you hoped would be privately yours from now on.

“So, is this where I ask to take you on a proper date, love?” He asked, his smile melting your heart into a puddle in his hand. You couldn’t let him have all the fun, though, and willed yourself to produce a teasing grin.

“Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” Your eyes strayed to the clock on the wall that showed an inappropriately early hour of the morning, “I think we both ought to get some sleep, tomorrow’ll be a big job. Goodnight, Anthony.” You punctuated it with a soft kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room to silently scream as you bound up the stairs, victory dance making a reappearance behind your safely closed door.

Anthony was left standing in the kitchen like a fool, hand sitting softly where you’d kissed him. A lovesick smile passed his face, thoughts of the impending case long gone from his brain, and in their place sat pictures of you and a looping memory of you slotting your lips between his. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there basking in your light, but Lucy walked past to drop her mug in the sink, shooting Lockwood a knowing look before heading up to the attic. Lockwood found himself giggling uncharacteristically, giddy with the glee of finally telling you how he’d felt since you first walked through the door of 35 Portland Row.

[wordsarelife]

like lockwood, best friends to lovers

—you belong with me

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: reader has to flirt to finish a mission. much to the dismay of Lockwood she is far too good at it

warnings: flirting with sexual themes??

shortages: f/n — fake name

note: okay sorry this got a bit out of hand and it didn't really end where or how I intended it to. let me know if y'all would be interested in a part two!!!

part two: that's the way I loved you

you walked down the steps. the red dress you were wearing fluttering around the middle of your thighs. your hair was styled, Lucy had curled it after she had done your make—up

“test, test” you whispered into the little microphone you were wearing in your hair, so it would stay hidden

“we can hear you, y/n” George answered and you could swear he was rolling his eyes “we tested it a minute ago”

“sorry” you muttered

“leave her be” Lockwood said to George. he would always come to your rescue, even if you didn’t ask him to. that’s why he was your best—friend after all.

you breathed in deeply and snatched a glass of champagne from one of the waiters trays, gulping it down in one shot. you checked your lipstick in the little mirror Lucy had packed into the small bag you were wearing, before your hands found your waist and pulled down the dress, so your cleavage was showing

you stepped forward and sat down at the bar, right next to the guy you were targeting

his hair was black and he was actually attractive if it weren’t for the people he had killed to create sources. it was just your task to find one of them though, or better put: to occupy the man until Lucy had found the source.

“hi” you smiled, turning your head and also your chest, so the man could get a good look at it

“hello” he grinned and you swore you could’ve thrown up then and there. “would you like a drink?”

“sure” you outstretched your hand “i’m f/n”

he took your hand and shook it “Sebastian, and i’m glad to share a drink with a beautiful woman” he slid the drink the bartender had just supplied, towards you

“thank you” you smiled, raising the glass and taking a sip from the alcohol

“so, what brings you here?” Sebastian asked, while his hand found its way to rest on your knee

you could hear Lockwood and George drag in the air through the mouths loudly, like Sebastian had just touched their knee

you tried not to react to their sudden sounds, but Sebastian was good at picking up your emotions it seemed.

"everything alright?" he asked, leaning even closer

"yeah" you smiled, trying to fight the uneasiness you felt because of his proximity "I'm not used to the company of handsome looking men" you tried to save the conversation and Sebastian seemed to like your compliment

you ignored Lockwood's scoff while you watched Sebastian lean back in comfort "well" he smiled smugly "I'm all yours, beautiful"

you could hear Lockwood and George gag at the same time, you would have liked to do the same, but Sebastian was still looking at you. "what a lucky girl I am" you laughed instead and patted the shoulder of the male, who, again, smiled smugly at the gesture

his hand wandered a bit higher on your leg and you could feel it close to the hem of your dress. you threw a panicked gaze in Lockwood's direction. discreet enough that Sebastian wouldn't notice. it seemed like he was occupied anyway, with watching his own hand make its way up your leg. with every inch it felt like you couldn't breathe

you just hoped that Lucy would be quick.

"what brings you here, pretty lady?" Sebastian repeated his question from earlier, to which he had never received an answer

"work" you smiled nonchalantly, trying to keep your composure. his hand was resting for now, that was good.

"what do you do?" he smiled

"I've worked for a few agency's for a while (truth) but after I lost my talents I settled down and changed to the office area of fittes (lie)"

you pretty much still had your talents, you were only seventeen, but now you where trying to look much older. this was achieved by the make up and the obnoxious and uncomfortable push-up bra you were wearing. it felt like they would fall out of your dress any moment. Sebastian seemed to like the sight of your décolleté a bit too much, you noticed, while his eyes wandered down to your breasts while you were talking. you would have liked to slap his head and tell him how impolite it was to directly look there, not only under normal circumstances but while you were talking as well.

you weren't used to that kind of disgusting men behaviour, even if you had lived with two of them for the most of your life.

you could stand in front of George and Lockwood just wearing a bra and they wouldn't dare and look. Maybe because George was like a brother to you and Lockwood- Lockwood was a gentleman

your thoughts wandered away from the conversation at hand and back to the brunette agency head, who alway managed to make you feel at ease. even on mission like this one, he was looking at you across the room and anytime you would catch his eyes, your breath would calm and you would feel safe.

also, he had promised you to come and save you if things went too far. he was your best-friend after all.

your eyes wandered back to meet Sebastians and you remembered what Lucy had told you. if you feel uncomfortable just put yourself back in control. so you leaned forward, so he could get an even better look at your cleavage. he stammered while talking but quickly continued normally. you took his hand from off your leg and interlaced your fingers. he wouldn't notice that you were actually trying to keep him away, he would see that gesture as you falling into his trap. that was what men always thought.

now that you were back in control, your mind felt at ease and you felt less like a little girl that needed to be saved. now you were a woman. and he, he was still a man, luckily.

"I travel a lot" you answered the question he had just asked you about your work "I check out different agencies all around the world. make sure that they are working right. we wouldn't want any rules broken, would we?" you fluttered your eyelids and watched in satisfaction what effect that last purposely chosen sentence had on him

"n-no" he stammered

"are you alright?" you asked pitiful

"yes" Sebastian tried to gain back his composure and actually succeeded "but I must say, you're the most breath taking woman I've ever seen. everything is where it should be"

"oh my god" George muttered loudly, disgusted by the objectifying words the older man had just said about his friend

"I'm stopping this" you watched as Lockwood stood up from his place and George tried to hold him back. you knew that it was on you to prevent him from cancelling the mission. you send him a look that told him to sit down again and he eventually listened and scoffed

"thank you, Sebastian" you leaned closer, now speaking into his ear "you look more than daring yourself, if i'm allowed to say so"

"you are" he nodded leaning forward

now the moment had come. he would kiss you. you weren't sure if it would come to that point, but you had sworn to do it if it needed to be done to keep the mission from failing. a second before your lips connected, Sebastian was drown back

drawn back by no other than Lockwood. you were a second away from screaming at the boy, when you noticed Lucy across the hall. she had done it. the mission was completed. you no longer had to flirt with that scumbag.

"oh, Tony" you muttered in surprise, still playing a role

that was what you guys had agreed on. the moment Lucy would come back, Lockwood or George would interrupt the conversation and act like they were an old friend of yours who was in town coincidentally and had seen you sitting at the bar.

"f/n" Lockwood muttered angrily and you raised your brows, watching his expression "I'm sorry" he said turning towards Sebastian and outstretching his hand "Anthony Lockwood"

Sebastian took the hand he was being offered and shook it "Sebastian Keen" he said, still confused to what was happening

"nice to meet you. can I ask what you were doing with my girlfriend?"

"your what?" Sebastian asked loudly and you had almost joined in. his eyes wandered to you and you tried to stay in role, even if Lockwood had just completely changed your script

"my girlfriend" Lockwood repeated unnecessarily "were you bothering her? because it looked like that"

"no, she wanted-"

"yes, Tony" you interrupted, opening your eyes wider and letting them fill with tears "it's alright, dear" Lockwood outstretched his hand and helped you to stand up "stay away from her, you hear me?" he said threateningly

"I didn't harass her or anything. she's lying" Sebastian said angrily

Lockwood shook his head "doesn't matter, just don't ever talk to her again, alright?"

"sure" Sebastian shrugged his shoulders "she isn't that pretty anyways"

Lockwood interlaced your hands and walked you away from the man "she obviously is" he muttered to himself, but you heard him and had to smile at his words "you're pretty too" Lockwood turned his head to you while walking and smiled at your relieved expression

"I'm glad you didn't have to kiss him"

"I'm glad too"

"well, luckily your boyfriend was just around the corner" he smiled but you could see the sincerity in his eyes

you nodded, eyes glistening happily "yes, luckily he was"

[bella-rose29]

Happy New Year - Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

Word count: 1.7k

Warnings: barely proof read (I vaguely looked over it once) and mentions of alcohol consumption

felt like writing this (it's totally not to sweeten you all up for when I post deck the halls part 5 tomorrow whaaat that would be ridiculous I would never do that... 👀)

Tag list (i think this is everyone but idk anything anymore): @anathemaloren, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @light-23, @locknco, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife

"Right, we've got just over an hour before midnight and George has got the telly all set up for the fireworks display. Holly said she'd be here in about ten minutes and Kipps is coming with her, I'm not entirely sure where Lucy and Norrie are which I should probably be more concerned about, and I think that's everything. Is Flo coming do you know? Because I know George said she hadn't decided yet but-"

"Lockwood?"

"Yeah?"

"Why don't you sit down? You seem very stressed," Y/n said, smiling at him from behind her mug of tea while she sat in the kitchen, watching Lockwood pace around the table. It was definitely way past her normal bedtime, but Lockwood had seemed so excited about seeing the New Year in with them all that she couldn't exactly say no to him, especially not when he'd given her a small smile filled with hope that she would say yes to spending the evening with him.

That and they'd tested out the speakers earlier, and she would never have been able to sleep with the music as loud as it currently was.

"I am hosting, Y/n/n. I'm meant to be stressed; it's part of the job."

"Well," she started, getting out of her chair and wincing when her bones clicked. She picked up the mug that Lockwood had abandoned on the table and moved over to where he had stopped his pacing. "I think you're meant to drink your tea and have a biscuit. Then everything will be better, yeah?"

"Alright, if that's what the doctor orders," he smiled as he took the mug out of her hand, and she felt her heart stutter in her chest at the sight. She'd had a crush on Anthony Lockwood since she first met him a few years ago in a café, both him and his company and her Fittes team winding down after their jobs and grabbing a cup of tea before heading out into the cold again. Then she'd quit her job at Fittes because they stopped giving her work and she couldn't afford the rent, and she'd noticed an ad in the paper for agents to join the psychical agency Lockwood and Co, and she'd been met with the pretty boy from the café again. He'd welcomed her instantly, made her feel at home and gave her a place to live, and over the next couple of years her feelings only grew.

Now they were 18 years old, soon to be celebrating the New Year in 35 Portland Row together, and he was smiling at her like she was the sun.

"Don't tell George about the biscuits though, yeah?" he whispered, leaning in as though it were the sort of secret that could never be told. She nodded, snorting at his mock seriousness.

"Wouldn't dream of it."

"Good. Can't have you on your own, can we?"

"I wouldn't be alone, Lockwood. I'd have Lucy, and Holly, and George." She frowned a little, considering something. "Although maybe not George if he's killed you. I don't really want to be friends with murderers to be honest." Lockwood let out a laugh, and Y/n couldn't help but grin back at him when his joy was so infectious.

"No, I don't suppose that would be very good, would it?" He chuckled to himself for a moment or so, sipping his tea and munching on a biscuit. "I'm not much looking forward to being the only one not getting a kiss at midnight though."

It surprised her that he'd brought up the topic, since Lockwood had never really shown much interest in that sort of thing before. "Kipps'll probably be on his own too, although I'm not sure you'll be able to convince him to give you a smooch. I'm not kissing anyone either, if that helps."

"I think I'd rather kiss George's underwear than Kipps. You're not even going to kiss Lucy? I thought you two said you would," he asked, attempting to sound disinterested in the whole subject.

"Yeah, well now that she's got Norrie here they're gonna kiss instead, so I'm on my own. And I would also rather kiss George's pants than Kipps."

"Ah."

"Hmm." They drank the remainder of their tea in silence, the music from the speakers that George had set up streaming in despite being muffled through the closed kitchen door. "You know, I haven't even had my first kiss yet."

Lockwood looked at her, surprise all over his face. "What about that guy you went on a date with?"

"What? When did I go on a date?" And why did Lockwood sound... jealous?

"A few weeks ago. Oh, what was his name? Dave? Derek?"

"Daniel?"

"Yes! Daniel, that's the one. I knew it started with a 'd'."

"Dan's not... we're not dating, Lockwood. That wasn't a date," she said, feeling increasingly flustered.

"So he just bought you flowers and took you to dinner... as a friend?" Lockwood was definitely jealous, and Y/n had to bite back a laugh at the idea. Something was nagging at her in the back of her mind, telling her that it was strange for him to be jealous and wouldn't that mean something? but she wasn't paying much attention to it.

"Well I told him it wasn't a date. And we didn't kiss so I don't see how it's relevant."

"Right." A momentary pause. "But still, how come you haven't kissed anyone before?"

"It's not by choice. I've just never... had the opportunity I guess. You've probably kissed loads of people, what with how many of them you charm every day." Lockwood shrugged.

"Not really. There was one girl a few months ago, but she kissed me after pinning me against a taxi so that I physically couldn't get away from her, so I'm not entirely sure that counts."

"... What?"

"Yeah. After that job for Mrs. Hastings, her daughter followed us out and shoved me against the taxi. I have no idea how she was that strong but I feared for my life."

"You're ridiculous," she muttered as she looked at his face, no hint of anything other than utter seriousness displayed on his features.

"Ah, there you two are!" George said, pushing open the door and talking slightly louder than normal due to the blaring music. "I was wondering where you'd got to! Come on, the others are all here now, and they managed to convince Flo to come along somehow."

Y/n put down her empty tea mug and picked up her plastic cup that had had Lucy's punch in it (although what was in the punch itself she had no idea), and headed into the living room with Lockwood close behind to get comfy for the celebrations.

~~~

"Five minutes everyone!" Lucy shouted. She had since emerged from wherever it was that she'd been hiding (she and Norrie had appeared in giggles and with blushes on their faces, so Y/n felt sure in her assumption of what they'd been up to) and was now handing around a large bottle of some sort of cocktail that she'd mixed earlier.

Y/n and Lockwood were curled up next to each other on the sofa, somehow fitting the both of them on there without falling off. Lockwood was partially sat up, leaning his back against the armrest and holding Y/n close to him by wrapping an arm around her waist.

"You alright, love?" Lockwood murmured into her ear, and she nodded sleepily. Despite the loud music and alcohol Y/n was feeling worn out from the late hour, and Lockwood's hand stroking through her hair wasn't helping to keep her awake.

"I'm alright. Jus' tired."

"Not long now. Four minutes I think."

"I still don't have anyone to kiss," she said, a frown appearing on her face. The alcohol had made her tipsy, and she pushed herself up to look at Lockwood. "Neither do you. Oh!" she exclaimed, thinking up a brilliant idea that was helped by the drinks in her system. "We should jus' kiss each other, then all of our problems will be solved!"

"I'm not sure about all, love," Lockwood chuckled, and Y/n's frown reappeared.

"So you don't want to kiss me?"

"I didn't say that," he replied, voice growing quiet. "I mean, if you're happy to then... you know. If you don't mind then I don't... we can kiss. If you want."

"I want. I'm not going to lie I've wanted to kiss you for years now. You're so prettyyyy and kind and funny and lovely." She had no control over her words, all of them flying out before she could properly stop and think, and then she was registering them and slapping her hand over her mouth while her face turned red. Lockwood was just staring at her, his mouth slightly open and his face flushed from the alcohol he had drunk, and she buried her head in his chest.

"Why are you hiding, love? You're pretty too, so I don't know why you're not letting me look at you." He was still stroking his fingers through her hair, and when she brought her head back up to smile softly at him he pulled her closer (although she hadn't thought that was possible).

"You're drunk, Lockwood."

"I'm not-sober. There's a difference. Besides, you're not-sober too," he wagged a finger at her with a smile. "Wait, what does me being not-sober have to do with you being pretty?"

"'Cause you don't know what you're saying."

"I know exactly what I'm saying, love." It was almost too much, the fondness in his eyes, and if she wasn't so captivated she would have looked away. "I've wanted to kiss you for years too, I was just never brave enough."

"Ten seconds!" Lucy yelled, and Y/n wondered just how long she'd been staring into Lockwood's eyes for time to pass so quickly.

"Nine!" the others gathered in the room started chanting, not noticing Lockwood and Y/n cuddled up on the sofa. "Eight! Seven! Six!" Lockwood pushed a strand of hair back behind Y/n's ear, his hand lingering at the side of her face and cupping her cheek. "Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy New Year!"

"Happy New Year, Lockwood," she whispered, brushing her nose against his.

"Happy New Year, Y/n/n," he whispered back, pressing his mouth to hers.

[ms-fade]

can you please please do something that has to do with him getting head for the first time and being completely flustered bc the rest of the company is in the next room?

Trying to stay quiet

Anthony lockwood X Reader +18 Drabble

I hope you were taking about Anthony lockwood! So I hope this is what you wanted.

The character is aged up to 18! And this is short because it’s what I do.

The “readmore” thing has been messing with my posts so if there are glitches I’m sorry.

Warnings: Smut, mistakes, male receiving, reader being the one in power. 

The hardwood floor was causing a slight discomfort for your knees, but you didn’t pay attention because of the sight in front of you. Here you are on your knees before the man you had loved forever, giving him his first blow job. Anthony lockwood was a cocky and confident guy, so many would assume he would have done this by know.

But as he cover his face with his hand and wouldn’t dare look down at you, his whole face and ears bright as the top of his cock. You felt your own parts get turned on by the little groans he let out. You knew he was trying to stay quiet but his pleasure couldn’t be stopped, no matter how hard he tried.

Pulling away from his cock and your saliva coating it, you replace your mouth with your hand and stroked it up and down. “Come on, look at me.” Your lips twisted up into a smirk. “I think I deserve a little reward for making you feel good, don’t you think?”

His eyes slowly found yours and you could tell we wanted to look away, it was adorable. “It’s to much- The others could hear me and looking at you wouldn’t make it easier.” The sigh and breaking in his voice just made your body get hotter.

“Tell me to stop and I will, but I think you like it. Me sucking you off, knowing you could be heard and so what? Let them hear, because when I’m done, this cock is going to pleasure me. So, if you don’t wanna be heard I suggest you bite into something.” You take him back into your mouth and bobbled your head faster then you were before, his cock hitting the back of your throat.

“Fuck-” he moaned loudly but stop himself by biting his finger. His breath now getting fast and heavier, his hand reaching down to hold your head. “So good- So fucking good.” He praised you. If you didn’t know any better you’d say he’s loosing up on being heard, and if he’s not…

He will be soon.

Ah

He will be soon.

Ah

Ah

He will be soon, you’ll make sure of it.

Bing

He will do soon.

He will be soon.

[ukulelevillainwrites]

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 fem reader

series content : enemies to friends to lovers, "i didn't know where else to go", angst and fluff, third person pov, she/her reader mc

summary : y/n gets fired from Fittes and seeks refuge with George, only to find out he works with the worst guy she's ever met

word count : 3.5k

notes : this is my first fanfic ever, the set up is a little slow but bear with me, the series will be a compilation of all my favorite tropes and in general everything i love to read in l&c fanfics, it's heavily inspired by everything i've read so far so thanks to all the amazing writers out there <3, a lot more happens in the second part that i will upload right next to this one

---

She wasn’t entirely surprised when she heard that George Karim had gotten fired from Fittes. He did a great job on the few occasions she got to work with him, but he always seemed to take his research too far. She remembered warning him several times.

“Supervisors aren’t as open-minded as I am, you’re gonna get in trouble if you keep bringing up your theories about the Problem to every person you interact with!”

“But don’t you find it weird how research has come so far and yet the Problem keeps growing? The official story tells us that an unidentified event caused it but what if it’s still going on? Wouldn’t you want to know what that was so we could finally put an end to this?”

When he put it that way, y/n couldn’t help but agree with him.

“Sure, I guess but it doesn’t justify going up to the fourth floor when it’s clearly closed to agents still in training!”

“Keep your head in the sand if you want but I’ll get to the bottom of this, I know I’m getting closer already.” George said with a proud smile on his face.

She’d laughed. He was stubborn but she found it endearing.

He had bragged about his latest discoveries after a case the both of them had been working on. It wasn’t the first time. They got along well and took the habit of grabbing an early morning snack on their way back from work. He would mostly tell her about his most recent theory, either about the Problem or his latest obsession, which could take a few hours. But y/n didn’t mind, she thought he was good company and it helped her relax after a case. Though aside from those few moments they didn’t spend that much time together. Especially since y/n became part of Quill Kipps’ crew.

A month ago, she had gotten the good news coming back to work after a weekend visiting her parents in her hometown south of London. She was ecstatic, her roommate El too. Especially El actually. Because they had such a huge crush on him. y/n didn’t quite understand it, but she did admire his career. He had a remarkable reputation among other Fittes agents and being part of his team would certainly boost her career as well. She had her heart set on moving up to management and someday become a prominent figure of the Fittes organization. But to reach this goal she’d need to be as remarkable as Kipps, better even. She wanted him to notice her, to see how great her Touch was but most importantly how organized and responsible she could be under pressure. She needed him to think she could be a great leader and sought his attention on every occasion. Because of that she and George drifted apart, going from work friends to acquaintances that simply exchanged passing hellos at the archives or the Fittes headquarters. Before she even thought of reaching out to him, he was gone.

“Did you hear?” El had asked her as she walked into their shared room.

“Heard what?”

“That annoying guy finally got fired!”

“What George? He wasn’t annoying he was sweet!”

“You have weird tastes in friends.”

“Yes, I do.” She told them with a wink.

“But do you know what happened? Most supervisors were pissed and wanted to involve the cops!”

“What? Why?”

“Because he tried to break into an office! They caught him trying to pick the lock! How crazy is that?” El seemed to relish the drama of the situation as their face lit up with a smile that seemed inappropriate under the circumstances.

“That is crazy but as much as I love to gossip, I really need to get some sleep.”

y/n got ready for bed and set her alarm for the following day. She had to do some research at the archives with her teammate. They would join Kipps later at the client’s house. It shouldn’t be too difficult since it seemed to be a Type One but she really needed to impress him. She had to be the perfect agent: quick, focused and perfectly prepared. Even though she was always very professional she still needed some rest.

y/n was a heavy sleeper and had very vivid dreams. Ever since she was a child, she had some of her nights disturbed by complex dreams that felt so real she would wake up exhausted the next morning as if she hadn’t slept at all. It hadn’t happened in quite some time, but that night y/n wouldn’t get much rest. She found herself in the middle of the woods, barefoot, standing in a clearing. The ground was covered with an emerald green moss that felt soft beneath her feet. She looked around but couldn’t see much beside the shadows of the surrounding trees. A thick fog made it hard to see where she was. Disoriented and lost, she started walking towards the nearest tree but, a few steps in, her right foot sank in ice cold water. She realized she was in the middle of a pond, stuck and unable to reach the shore. A frog jumped into the water behind her and made her turn around. A girl was standing in front of her. Her auburn hair was slightly curled, and her bangs delicately framed her brown eyes. She was slightly smaller than she was, about the same age, her face showed no emotion at all.

“Find me.” She said in a neutral tone.

y/n furrowed her brow, not understanding what she meant. As she opened her mouth to ask her to explain the girl repeated

“Find me.”

Without moving she somehow floated above the pond and retreated into the woods. She mouthed the same words one last time before the fog engulfed her. y/n woke up with a jolt, disoriented and terribly thirsty. What was that about? she thought. She didn’t have time to ponder since she hadn’t heard her alarm and was already late to meet up with her colleague.

“I’m so sorry I’m late Bobby I hope I didn’t make you wait for too long…”

“It’s fine but hurry up. Kipps insisted on gathering as much information as possible.”

“Really? But everything indicates a Type One right?”

“The problem isn’t with the dead but with the living. Didn’t you pay attention to who our client is?”

“Mrs Overton? What about her?” Bobby had an exasperated look on his face and sighed heavily. So much for being the perfect agent today.

“Her husband owns Overton Watches and basically runs a luxury empire and she is on the board of the Sunrise Corporation. She and her husband are close friends with Penelope Fittes and we cannot screw up this case otherwise our team will probably end up at the bottom of her list next time she needs trustworthy agents.”

Oh, I’m not rested enough to deal with that.

“Okay then, let’s get to work.”

They spent the whole day at the agency’s archives. The Fittes database did help a lot to find more information about the Overtons’ house but overall, it was a pretty boring case. The house was old, dated back the 1800s, it belonged to Mrs Overton’s ancestors, one of them died because, well, they had to at some point, and felt like coming back. This great grandmother didn’t live any kind of extraordinary life and decided to haunt the place in the same unremarkable way. Y/n had trouble staying focused. The case was not fascinating, far from it. Her mind drifted and came back to her dream. In hindsight it wasn’t that disturbing. It was just her brain making stuff up. But she couldn’t shake the feeling she had felt when the girl had spoken to her. There was something magnetic about her voice and it had an intensity that didn’t match the lack of expression on her face. It bothered her. Why couldn’t she stop seeing her face?

Bobby got up to put back some newspapers and the sudden movement next to her brought her back to reality. Right, the Overton case. Everything indicated a Lurker, so y/n wasn’t too worried about tonight. She could still make up for today’s start. Plus, her talent would probably be the most useful. This unseemly case might serve her after all.

As she walked back to their table after putting a book back on its shelf, she accidently bumped into someone.

“Oh I’m so sorry!”

“It’s okay don’t worry.”

“George? Hi! What are you doing here?”

“I came by to pick up the rest of my stuff…”

“Oh right… I’m so sorry about all this.”

“Don’t be I kinda deserved it anyway. Though I still think I was right.”

“About what?”

“Mrs. Dufour stealing sources. It’s pretty obvious she can’t afford to live the way she does on a supervisor’s salary, and she always looks like she’s plotting something. She reminds me of relic men. I never liked her.”

“Well to be fair you don’t like a lot of people… it looks like I missed your last hyperfixation… but it seems like a stretch and accusing her of something like that… Was it really worth getting into that much trouble?”

“I’m not chipper about it, but I’ll be fine. I already found something else, a friend I can still work with, maybe you know him. We live in-”

But y/n wasn’t listening. Bobby was calling her, telling her that they had to get moving to get to their client’s house before sundown.

“I really have to go George I’m sorry. But I’ll miss our walks filled with your crazy theories.” She said with a smile.

“If you want to come by for tea, we’d be happy to have you. 35 Portland Row, don’t forget!”

“Sure, I won’t! Good luck!”

“Thanks, you too.”

She hurried to catch up with her colleague. She really was going to miss him even though they weren’t that close she had grown used to seeing him around. But she couldn’t believe his theory about Mrs. Dufour. It sounded like he wanted to see evil everywhere and was looking for something to distract himself with. A made-up scenario that justified why he disliked her at the same time. Nothing more.

----

“Good evening, Madam, we are a leading team from Fittes. We were assigned to make your house safe again by Miss Fittes herself.”

Kipps always had a very humble way of introducing them to their clients. As proud as y/n was of being on his team, she didn’t feel entirely at ease with his elevated figures of speech.

“Yes, I was expecting you. Penelope told me she put one of her best teams on my case. I was very flattered.”

“Well, we do not want to appear overly confident, but we will be most efficient to take care of your problem. May we come in?” she asked.

“Of course, please. I suppose your supervisor will be here too?”

“Yes, Mrs. Dufour will be here shortly.” Kipps answered.

y/n abruptly turned around to look at him.

“Mrs. Dufour? What happened to Mr. Fowler?”

“He got called by DEPRAC to deal with some details on the last case we did. You know, the one where it only took you two minutes to find the source after Bobby and I spent a half hour looking for it. It was really impressive I was glad you were here.” He told her with a wink.

She felt herself blush. She wasn’t used to being praised and certainly not by a prominent agent like Quill Kipps, even after a month of working together she still felt flustered. Maybe that last case made up for the horrible impression she gave him on her first week. And she was going to keep proving him how great she was.

The praise was so unexpected it made her forget who their supervisor was for a moment. What were the odds that on the same day George told her about his suspicions she had to work with this potential traitor? She could not let George’s wild theories cloud her judgement. She was here to do a job, a relatively easy one given their research, and she was going to make a wonderful impression on both Kipps and this high-profile client. She took the lead and went inside.

As they stepped into the house, they were greeted by a white marble entrance furnished with glass cases displaying various clocks and watches, certainly a history of the famous Overton watches and mechanisms. The sun was already setting, it hit a crystal chandelier which reflected golden light over the walls. The pieces shone behind their glass. Their client guided them through the hall into the kitchen were teacups and biscuits had been served. Mrs. Overton took a seat and the three agents followed. She seemed at ease with the situation even though the young adults she had in front of her were here to rid her of a ghost. She sat at the head of the table, perfectly in control as if this meeting was a business reunion like any other. She was in her late fifties; her hair was silver and styled in an elaborate hairstyle. She looked both serious and relaxed at the same time. She was aware of the risks but wasn’t worried about the situation, like she had total faith in the team in front of her.

“While we wait for Mrs. Dufour maybe you could tell us more about what has been troubling you?” asked Kipps.

“I believe the haunting began about three weeks ago. My husband started feeling uneasy when he got home, and I felt the same fear shortly after. We never saw or heard anything we just feel watched.”

“I’m sorry to hear that Madam.” y/n tried to comfort her.

“The research we did on your house indicates that it’s been built in the 1800’s and never left your family is that correct?” Bobby interrupted.

“Yes, I inherited it about 2 years ago, but we only moved in this year.”

“We believe the haunting might be caused by one of your ancestors, a certain Emily Abbott, could you tell us anything about her?”

“I’m afraid I’ve never heard of her before…”

“So, you wouldn’t have any idea what her source might be?”

“You might have a late night ahead of you. When we moved in, we kept most of the furniture that were already in the house. For all I know any of these pieces could be the source.”

That wasn’t good news. Hopefully with her Touch y/n could save them some time. They could start at the bottom of the house and work their way up, going from room to room as she touches different objects hoping for some result. As she organized the night in her head the front door opened.

Mrs. Dufour immediately filled the room with her presence. Mostly because she spoke at length and didn’t let the team finish asking their questions. She thanked Mrs. Overton for waiting for her, ushered her out of the house and gave them her directions for the night. Not even Kipps could object. She wanted him to stay nearby while Bobby and y/n were to explore the house to see if they could pick up anything. She felt for Kipps, this seemed like a monumental waste of time for him. But they couldn’t do much about it, agents were supposed to follow their supervisor’s instructions, they were in charge after all.

They searched the house until midnight, making rounds, going up and down the floors, looking for potential sources or trying to pick up any kind of psychical activity but came back downstairs empty handed. How was she supposed to impress anyone with a case like this? y/n and Bobby went back to the kitchen to report the lack of activity to Mrs. Dufour. 

“We’ve searched the entire house three times but unfortunately none of the objects we picked up gave any sign of psychical activity, the visitor hasn’t shown up yet and Mrs. Overton couldn’t give us more information. I’m not really sure what more we could do for now.” Bobby looked defeated. Or bored. Probably the latter, it was an exceptionally boring case. y/n was growing tired at the lack of action. It made her mad that someone could hire one of the best teams in London to take care of such a benign problem just because they had money and connections while hundreds of homes were threatened by harmful Type Twos and couldn’t do anything about it.

“Do I really have to tell you two how to do your jobs? Keep looking and take this seriously. I hope you realize who our client is, I can’t allow any mistake tonight.” Her authoritarian tone made y/n see why George disliked her. Clearly, they must have gotten into a few arguments on several occasions. But she couldn’t understand what would make him think that she could steal sources. She seemed to take her job very seriously. Sure, she was a pain but that didn’t mean she was a criminal.

“I’ve got something here! Bobby, y/n join me in the hall.” Kipps called.

They drew their rapiers and walked slowly into the hall. Kipps was looking at a corner where shadow had gathered. There was a faint, almost indistinguishable human shape lurking there. But it didn’t move, and it didn’t seem to want anything more than just stand there.

“I’m going to keep an eye on it while you two look for the source.” Kipps told them without averting his eyes from the dark figure.

“But what more can we do we looked everywhere already.” Bobby said with a sigh.

“Well,” Kipps turned to her. “y/n, got any ideas?”

She didn’t answer. She hadn’t heard them as she was lost in thought. Mrs. Overton hadn’t mentioned anything about the display cases here. But she should have. There were marks on the walls behind them, and again on the marble floor. It was a clear sign that bigger and heavier furniture had been removed to make room for new ones. That change alone could have triggered the ghost. And since they were behind glass, they hadn’t tested any of the objects on display. Though they were all Overton Watches so, clearly, they didn’t have anything to do with Mrs. Overton’s ancestors. Another dead end. She lingered in front of the central display, slowly losing hope. If such a ridiculously small case was too much for her, what was she even doing here? Sure, the two guys accompanying her weren’t inspired either, but she was disappointed in herself. She had dealt with dangerous situations without flinching, but a Lurker case was getting the best of her. That was embarrassing. She rested her hands on the case and looked down at the watches. There were four watches spread across a silk white sheet surrounding a bigger, more ancient clock. They didn’t seem that impressive. Why were people making such a big deal out of them? The clock on the other hand was more ornate and had required skilled craftmanship. The mechanism was apparent and intricate. It was still working which was most impressive. A golden crown rested delicately upon a mother-of-pearl dial, the needles moving steadily around. Right beneath the number 6 was engraved something almost unreadable. She squinted to see better. The initials EA were written in golden letters.

“I’ve found it! The source! It’s this clock right here!”

“Nice work y/n. Keep an eye on the ghost I’ll take care of the source.”

They switched position and she kept her eyes on the shadow as Kipps tried to get the clock out of the display.

“I can’t get to it, it’s locked. I’m gonna have to break the glass.”

“No! Don’t do that Mrs. Overton would be livid. Bobby go get Mrs. Dufour and Kipps don’t touch anything please.” She said with her back to them, her eyes still staring at the corner.

“Did you find the source? What is it?” Mrs. Dufour asked, suddenly in a hurry.

“We have reasons to believe this clock is the object causing Mrs. Overton trouble.”

“That’s really nice work Mr. Kipps congratulations.”

“I much appreciate your praise, but it has to go to y/n. She found the source. As we don’t have a key, I offered to break the glass, but y/n thinks it would upset our client.”

“Well thank you Miss y/n for using some common sense. We cannot break anything in this house.”

“We could drape a silver net over the case and come back in the morning to pick up the source.” She offered.

“I think it would be best. Thank you again for your prompt judgement here.”

“It was my pleasure.” She blushed. It was nice to have her efforts acknowledged, no matter how small. This supervisor might have been a stickler, but she recognized good work, it was enough to satisfy her. This case turned out pretty well after all.

[thegreathuxton]

Came and Never Left

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem! Reader (No use of Y/N)

Inspired by "The Day That I Met You" by Matilda Mann.

Summary: "You're wasting your potential at Bunchurch, you know... Call me, and I will take care of you. I promise."

Warnings: I'VE READ THE BOOKS SO THERE MIGHT BE SPOILERS. Cannon-typical violence. Reader has parent issues (Father isn't in the picture, and mother just passed). Depictions of death/homicide. Slight mentions of the reader being bullied/put down by coworkers.

A/N: Maybe series incoming? Idk, we'll wait and see. BTW, don't worry about the little numbers. I like separating my work into sections, just in case you accidentally close out and lose your place. Just remember Chapter/Part Whatever, Section 69, or something like that.

(PART 2)

1.

It was pouring outside and just minutes before curfew. You cast a nervous glance at the phone book, sitting on a table by the door. The yellow pages glared with agency ads, especially from Rotwell's and all of their new technology developments, such as iron tape and ghost alarms. The ghost alarm was bogus, you found. It was nothing but a rod, some spiderweb, and a bell attached to the end. It did ring, sure, but incredibly late. Your mother had bought it before she died. It rang an hour after her apparition attacked you in your living room, late one evening. And the iron tape was something you had bought on your own time. It now lined your bedroom walls.

The page the phone book was open to had another agency ad in particular that made you antsy. The silver and black stood out against the vomit-yellow color.

A. J. LOCKWOOD & COMPANY.

Beneath was a phone number, provided for leisure. They were small and they were cheap. And you knew no one from that company, which made you feel better.

There was a sudden knock on the door that broke your attention away from the book. You took a deep breath, fixed your wool cardigan so it covered you (you didn't think about the way this was a very grade-school English teacher moment), and unlocked the door. You expected a team to be at your front door, but no. Just one boy, about your age. Tall, strikingly handsome, and charming without having said a word. He was dressed in a fine-pressed suit, which was only kept dry by the stark black umbrella looming above his head.

"Good evening," he said. His voice emulated milk and honey. "My name is Anthony Lockwood, head of Lockwood & Co. I've been informed of your situation, and I'm here to help. May I come in?"

2.

You brought him to the kitchen and put on the kettle. He sat down at the table and had a few biscuits that you politely offered to him before sitting down across from him, nervously twiddling your thumbs and trying to act natural. You didn't want to make yet another enemy from an agency other than the one you were currently employed at.

He ate while flipping through the week-old newspaper. Once he was done, he sat back and smiled at you. It was like the sun had just come blasting right through your window. You sat up straight, and he fixed his tie.

"So, you're an agent as well?" He asked you so bluntly, but his smile never faded.

"I am..." You murmured back, unable to meet his gaze now.

"I'm sorry to sound so rude. I just noticed the rapier and work belt hanging by the door when I first stepped inside. Which agency are you from? Rotwell? Fittes?"

"Bunchurch," you said. "My mother worked there when she was a kid, as a researcher, and she was one of their biggest donors and contributors into their own research of The Problem before she passed."

"Ah, I'm sorry to hear that. What talent do you possess?" He showed a brief amount of sympathy before moving on.

"I'm an all-rounder, as my supervisor likes to put it. I'm pretty mediocre at everything there is. I do some field work, but..." You trailed off. "They usually stick me on the research end of things."

Lockwood nodded, once again, sympathetic.

"Again, I'm sorry to hear that, but I must ask you something." He then leans forward. His hands come together, and he rests his forearms on the table. "Why did you call on us rather than Bunchurch?"

You stiffened at the question. He was forward and all business. You obliged him, not wanting to be a burden.

"They don't exactly treat me as well as some would want to think," you began, fingers now mindlessly picking at your mother's choice of tablecloth. You stuck your pinky finger through a small burn hole, left by one of her cigarettes. "And if I told them I couldn't deal with one measly ghost on my own, they'd probably laugh and put me out on the street..."

You look back up again, and Lockwood's eyes are glued to you. His eyes are such a pretty brown color. You look away again.

"What makes you say you can't deal with the ghost on your own?" Lockwood was very quiet when asking this.

"It's my mother," you said back, equally as quiet. You both sat in silence for quite some time. He took a patient breath.

"How did it happen?"

"Burgurlary gone wrong," you whispered, still picking at the cigarette burn. "I was out on a job. Mom had horrible hearing. She lost the ability to hear out of her right ear when she was fifteen. Some idiot on her team had horrible aim and hit her with a salt bomb. It went off when it hit her face. Robber came right in the dead of night, and she didn't hear him. She woke up and went downstairs just to get some water. Guy thought she had seen him, and just..." You made a gun with your hand and put it to your forehead. You slowly lowered your hand. "Neighbors called the cops. Cops called DEPRAC, and DEPRAC called me while I was on the job."

"And she attacked you?" He asked. You nodded.

"Three AM, just a few nights ago. I went downstairs to get a glass of water, just like she had, and there she was..." You sighed. "She could be rather cold, personality wise, but I never imagined her coming back as a cold maiden."

"Type two?"

You nodded once more, and Lockwood does as well. The kettle started to scream from the stove. You quickly stood up and tended to it.

"English breakfast or Earl Grey?" You asked.

"Earl Grey, please, with a dollop of honey, if you have it."

3.

You helped him set up in the living room. It was the least you could do in exchange for his kindness and patience.

As you laid out a circle using the iron chains he had packed in his dufflebag, he examined the room, all the pictures that hung on the wall, and the traces death-glow left on the wooden floors. Your mother, unfortunately, had been shot on her favorite white carpet. DEPRAC had rolled it up and took it to the furnaces to be incinerated, along with a few other items that had been spattered with blood. Many other items were packed in cardboard boxes.

"Planning on moving, I assume?" He hummed.

"Just to the quarters within Bunchurch for the time being. I can't afford to keep up with rent on the house on my own," you explained and linked the chains perfectly together, just as you were trained to do. You then went to stand beside him as he admired a piece of artwork, just above the fireplace and resting on the mantle. Your mother would always stare at it when she was home. It was like a piece of resistance in her eyes.

When Lockwood tuned to face you, his scent, unburdened by the rain, washed over you. He smelled strongly of freshly clipped lavender and clean laundry. There was also a faint trace of burnt toast and magnesium. He smiled down at you.

"Do you have a safe place to go while I do my business here? Or would you feel better if you supervised?" He said, still smiling and making your heart beat a little faster.

"My room should be safe," you said to him. "As long as that iron tape from Rotwell's holds up."

He laughed at your answer. "One of my associates has a habit of buying that junk too. He rambles all the time about all of that Rotwell nonsense. Can you believe it?"

You smiled back up at him and blushed.

"You have to give them credit. A lot of the stuff they sell is junk, but it can be useful some of the time."

"Oh, spare me," he openly joked with you. "George will definitely get a laugh at that. He went on this huge rant just the other night about the stupid ghost detector stick he bought with his entire paycheck."

You continued with the small banter and kept him company until the old grandfather clock that sat in the corner struck twelve. Lockwood had been sharing jammy dodgers with you that he had tucked in his coat pocket, when the metallic twang rung and had the two of you in a spellbound trance.

Lockwood looked at the clock, checked his watch for the accuracy, and then unclipped the thermometer from his belt. The black box read 17.2 degrees Celsius. He let out a small laugh, chuffed with himself.

"I suppose you best be heading to your iron tape fortress rather quickly," he said while showing you the reading. "It was twenty-four degrees in here about 10 minutes ago."

With that, you both stood. He went to his iron circle and dug in his bag for a moment. When he stood back up, he turned to you.

"I'm sure you have a million and one of these stashed somewhere, but just in case you can't reach one of yours, take one of mine," he grinned and placed a salt bomb in your hands. "It'll give me some peace of mind when you go upstairs."

You smiled down at the thing in your clutches, then nodded, grinning just as big as he was.

"Don't let her bully you," you teased him, tucking the salt bomb in your pants pocket. "She was always kind of mean to strangers."

Lockwood shrugged and kept smiling. He waved you off and watched you disappear upstairs.

4.

You couldn't sleep. You kept thinking about the boy downstairs, doing God knows what in your living room. He was probably sitting in his little protected circle and eating another biscuit. You smiled at the very prospect.

You sat in bed, one hand resting over the salt bomb still sitting snuggly in your pocket, while the other held open a book, but your eyes didn't bother reading anything. Your ears were too busy listening, which took up most of your brain power.

The grandfather clock would echo up the stairs and to your bedroom. One passed, then two, and before you knew it, it was two forty-five. Fifteen minutes before things began to happen.

Each night, at precisely three in the morning, a horrible scream would rock the house. You gave these details to the company working downstairs over the phone. You never dared to explore more, always too terrified of dying at the hands of your mother's spirit to try. Your thumb twitched over the salt bomb again.

You stared at the pages of your book until the clock struck three, and the seconds seemed to slow. Like clockwork, the scream came rippling through the house. It was louder this time. Loud enough, it made you cover your ears.

Five seconds after came the loud BOOM of a magnesium flare and then the CRACK of a salt bomb. Another terrible shriek tore the house asunder and had you putting your house shoes on. You glanced at the clock.

It read 3:06. Another bomb went off, and you heard furniture start to crash and rumble. You gripped the salt bomb in your pocket and then rushed to your closet. The thought that scared you more than facing your undead mother was the thought of another agent, dealing with a dangerous type two ghost and thinking they could do it alone.

You found your grade three rapier. It was shorter than the one you used now, but that one was downstairs by the door, and you couldn't possibly go for it now.

You threw a robe over yourself and threw open your door. The temperature change was horrendous. Your room was a comfortable and warm temperature, but as soon as you stepped beyond the door, you could see your breath perpetrating in the air. Thin layers of ice grew on the walls and cracked at the crumbling wallpaper. Another terrible shriek pierced the air, but it wasn't feminine. It was Lockwood.

You rushed down the stairs and turned to see the scene before you. The walls were burned from salt, magnesium, and ectoplasm. Lockwood had been knocked on his back, and his coat was steaming from the ectoplasm burns. The iron chain had been snapped in two. His rapier was far across the room, stuck in the wall like a decorative art piece. Above him was your mother. Her apparition was blue and terrifying. You could hardly look at her without wanting to turn away and sob. There was still a bullet hole in the center of her apparition's forehead. Tentacles of ectoplasm lashed out at Lockwood as he laid on the floor, and he was trying his best to dodge each one. He was out of flares and out of time.

That was, until you rushed to his aid.

You unclipped the salt bomb and threw it. It exploded and blinded both you and Lockwood. Your mother screeched and disappeared briefly, but she was quick to start reforming. You ran to Lockwood and helped him stand up by his shoulders. His eyes were wide and wild and he loomed at you with his mouth agape. You stared back, just breathing hard and speechless. Your heart was going a mile a minute. His eyes suddenly flicked away from you. He grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to the side quickly. He slammed his back against the wall and kept you tight to his chest. You realized he had just pulled you out of the way from another lash from an ectoplasm tentacle.

"I thought you wanted to stay with your iron tape fortress!" He panted, smiling at you as he let you go.

"I couldn't let you deal with her alone," you said back, then turned to face the bigger problem in the room. Your mother had reformed herself, right in front of the chimney. She screamed again, and it rattled your brain inside your head. You screamed back and threw your rapier.

The point of the blade struck her blue chest. Her apparition disappeared as the blade went entirely through her and landed in her favorite painting on the mantle, like a dart in a board. You watched the blade shake and then still. Steam bellowed from it.

"The fireplace," Lockwood muttered and he came to stand beside you. "The source has got to be in the fireplace."

You nodded in agreement.

Lockwood approached his dufflebag quickly and retrieved a silver net. He pulled his rapier from the wall and looked to you.

"You go up there, and I'll watch for her. Okay?"

He gave the silver net to you. It wasn't an option anymore. You both cautiously approached the fireplace, and another screech rang from the house and shook the ice-chipped, ectoplasm stained walls.

"Not getting any younger here, Bunchurch," he said cooly, keeping his rapier steadily pointed while his eyes flickered all over the room, carefully watching.

You wasted no more time, climbing into the fireplace with no light. You relied on your hands, feeling the bricks and only finding thick grime and soot.

"Lockwood!" You called. "I'm not getting anything! I don't think it's here!"

"I think it is," Lockwood said, now sounding tense. "Because your mom's back, and if you thought getting a spanking with a wooden spoon was bad, you're definitely going to hate what she's about to do here in about ten seconds or so."

You searched all the more frantically, and you stretched up on your tippy-toes. Your fingers dived into a mesh of spiderwebs suddenly, and it took all of your willpower not to pull your hands away and wretch with disgust. You dug deeper, wincing as you heard the visitor scream again. Your hands then felt something wooden lodged between a couple of bricks. With no hesitation left, you grabbed it and yanked it down. You wrapped it in the silver net, and as soon as you did, all was silent. You could hear the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner and Lockwood's loud panting.

5.

You crawled out of the fireplace, and the first thing you saw was Lockwood's smiling face. He put both of his hands on your shoulders and beamed so brightly at you.

"Well done, Bunchurch!"

You began to beam, too.

He took the silver net from you and set it somewhere safe, where it wouldn't be disturbed.

"Did you see what it was?" He asked you and took a seat on the floor. The couches were still thawing from the bitter cold and the walls now dripped from melting ice.

"No," you sighed. "A box, I think."

He hummed. You sat on the floor with him, next to him. He produced a bar of chocolate from his now near-empty duffle bag. He split it with you, and you made a new kettle of tea in the kitchen, where you both soon moved to sit more comfortably.

"Hang on a second," he suddenly mumbled to you. "You've got soot all over your face. Let me get it for you."

He wet a napkin and then approached you. The smell of lavender was overwhelmed by the magnesium, but still there all the same. He wiped at your cheeks and forehead with the wet napkin and got as much grime as he could while the water in the kettle started to boil. He was so gentle with you, it made you blush profusely, and his eyes had a new gleam to them that you hadn't seen when he first stepped foot into your house.

"If you want," he spoke softly while using his other hand to tilt your chin up more, "I could stay with you until dawn and we can see what the source was in the morning, when it's safe."

You thought about it for quite some time, then shook your head.

"No... I don't think I really want to know what it is," you sighed and looked up at him. He had paused with dabbing the napkin and now just mindlessly rubbed your chin with his gentle thumb. "I've spent the past two weeks trying to heal after her death. I think seeing what it is will put me back quite a bit."

Lockwood stood there for some time, just gazing at you while you spoke. He dropped his hands and nodded, finally, after some time of thought.

"As you wish, Bunchurch. I'll take it to the furnaces first thing," he smiled at you, and you smiled back. He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you placed your hand on top of his, in return. You saw the pink rise to his pale cheeks, and he gave you the faintest hint of a laugh. He stayed with you for some tea and a light, congratulatory breakfast. Not long after that, he was packing his things and getting ready to leave.

6.

"You know," he spoke softly as you walked him to the door. "You saved my life tonight. You'd be surprised at how many people there are in this world who wouldn't do the same."

You smiled at him.

"From one agent to another," you said with sincere warmth in your tone. He smiled back at you.

Dawn was just beginning to peak in through the window above your front door. He turned to face you just as you reached for the handle.

He stuck his hand in his coat pocket and brought out a small business card. Scrawled on it was the same name and number you had gotten from the yellow pages.

"What is this?" You murmured, confused. It took you a moment to realize that the number on the card was different in the slightest of ways.

"It's my personal phone number. We have two phones. One for business and one for other things. Give us a ring sometime, using that number," he spoke and pointed to the card. "You're wasting your potential at Bunchurch, you know. The way you acted tonight more than proved you deserve to work on the field rather than some dusty library. Lockwood & Company will always have room for more people like you." He cupped your hand, the one holding the business card, and curled your fingers around it for you so you could hold on tight to it. His hands were warm and comforting around yours. His warm, brown eyes never left you. "Call me, and I will take care of you. I promise."

It seemed like only a few heartbeats before he was gone. You watched from one of your living room windows as he went to the corner of your road and hailed a cab. You sat and watched his cab drive away, still clutching the card, just knowing from the feeling you got, you'd be leaving your job at Bunchurch very soon.

[maraschinomerry]

Hi! Ive really enjoyed your Lockwood and Co fic’s so far, especially how you incorporate gn-readers! As for a prompt to give: A George Karin X GN Reader fic where George works himself sick on researching a case and no one else really notices he’s sick other than Reader, and Reader makes him stop and takes care of him for the night. A quote to go along with this maybe: “No one ever cared about me like you.” There’s really not enough George fics out there, so thank you for rectifying that!

Chicken Soup

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader

Content: literally just 99% fluff, the other 1% is reader misunderstanding when George tries to confess his feelings

A/N: this fic takes me to less than 1000 words off having posted 30,000 words in 4 weeks 🤯 will have to see if I can post another later!

Word count: 2.1k

Taglist: @neewtmas @marinalor @ettadear

George looked tired.

He usually looked at least a little worn out, so you weren't overly surprised, but this time it was more distinctive. Plus, his exhaustion was always paradoxically frantic, brought about by rushing to prepare for a case that needed solving yesterday, but this time Lockwood had specifically said nobody was going anywhere near the site until you and George were confident there was no more research to be done. You'd hoped that would mean George would take his time, but it seemed his brain had forgotten how to function in any way that wasn't cramming 3 days' worth of research into 3 hours.

"Let's call it a day," you prompted. The two of you had been glued to your seats around a stack of papers in the Archives all day and your back was getting horrendously stiff. George couldn't be faring much better, hunched so far over his book he practically disappeared into his orange plaid shirt.

"You head back, I just need a bit longer to finish off," he replied, not even glancing up. Under normal circumstances, you'd be able to use his frustration at the impossible deadline to lure him away, but what on earth were you supposed to say when it was self-inflicted?

"Are you sure? Lockwood did say to take as long as we need, so it can wait until morning."

George looked up then, only to shake his head. You knew what he was thinking: by tomorrow, the book he needed could have been borrowed by someone else; by tomorrow, Kipps' crew could have swanned in and solved the whole case; by tomorrow, there may not be anyone at the site left to employ them. You sighed.

"Sorry, I know it's a pain. Will you be okay getting home alone?" Trust him to be worrying about you when you were worrying about him. You assured him you'd be fine, and promised to have a cup of tea ready when he got home.

"You're the best," he said with a weary smile. Secretly he didn't want you to leave, he enjoyed your company, but it was unfair to make you stay just because he wanted to. As you walked away, you heard him sniff, which built into a sneeze. Hmm.

—

Less than ten minutes after you returned to Portland Row, the heavens opened. Rain hammered against the front door like it was begging to be let in, and wind whistled through every corner it could find from the attic downwards. 

You, Lucy and Lockwood sat around the dining table, soaking in every ounce of the warmth that seeped from the oven while dinner cooked (a steak pie you'd made when you got back, to distract yourself from the anxious knot in your stomach).

"How did it go at the Archives?" Lucy asked over a steaming cup of coffee.

"We're making progress, but I'm worried George is overworking himself."

Lockwood gave a wry chuckle. "Trust me, if George has a limit, I haven't seen him hit it in all the time I've known him."

That wasn't overly convincing - having bursts of intense hard work followed by a couple of days to recover was one thing, but working flat out for this long was another, especially when you knew from hearing the way the house shifted that he hadn't been sleeping.

"He was sneezing when I left," you pointed out. If Lockwood knew him so well, he'd know he wasn't much of a sneezer, even in the height of pollen season.

"This case dates back decades," Lucy countered. "Imagine how much dust is on some of those files." Just thinking about it made her nose crinkle. You could only hope they were both right.

—

A long-cold cup of tea and the remaining quarter of the pie awaited George when he returned, the last embers of daylight being snuffed out by the heavy rainclouds above. The second the key rattled in the front door, you sprang from where you'd been falling asleep on the Thinking Cloth and clicked the kettle on.

"You didn't wait up for me, did you?" George croaked from the kitchen doorway. Something had happened to his voice in the hours since you'd left him.

"I promised you tea!" As you turned in mock outrage you noticed something else wrong. He was shivering and pale. Instinctively, you stepped closer, brushing a hand across the droplets on his shoulders and spotting more in his hair. Had he walked home in this weather? No. There wasn't enough water for that. This was just from the cab to the door. He wasn't shivering from the cold. You suddenly remembered the sneeze earlier.

George was ill.

This was a disaster, and it was all your fault. You should have forced him to come home with you. Should have noticed sooner and never let him out today in the first place.

"Oh Georgie," you murmured, almost as much to yourself as him. "Give me one minute with that tea and then you need to get to bed."

"I'm f-fine," he stammered around chattering teeth. "It's nothing."

As if he'd been summoned as backup, Lockwood sauntered in on his way to the basement. "Glad to see you missed the rain," he joked. George gave another sneeze, a spray of said rain flying from his curls with the force of it. "Bathroom's free if you want a bath to warm up." Misguided as Lockwood was in his reason for the advice, it wasn't a bad idea actually.

"I'm just heading up," you shot him a grateful look before George could object, "I can set it running." Lockwood grinned and disappeared. Today was not one of his observant days, it seemed.

"I can run my own bath," George grumbled, still in the doorway, but his cheeks flushed a little and he made no move to stop you. Probably because his hands were shaking so much he would have struggled to even turn the taps. You took his freshly brewed tea in one hand and his arm in the other and guided him to the library to cosy up until the bath was ready.

—

Half an hour later, you were debating whether to go and make sure George hadn't fallen asleep in the tub when he emerged. His dark curls were damp yet fluffy from the towel, a slight glow had returned to his skin and he was dressed in the clean pyjamas you'd looked out for him. He frowned at you as best his tired muscles would allow, pondering the fact you'd clearly spent the entire time sitting on the bottom step outside the bathroom. Before he could comment, however, the warmth of the bath began to wear off and the tremble returned to his bones. You reached behind you and sheepishly held out a fuzzy forest green bundle.

"I, um… I couldn't find any of your jumpers, I think they're all in the wash, so you can borrow this one. It should fit."

George took hold of it and unfolded what turned out to be the softest hoodie he'd ever felt in his life. He wriggled into it, his one working nostril breathing in the way the smell of you lingered in the fabric. It was so comfy that he found himself burrowing into it, bringing it up under his chin and tucking his hands into the sleeves.

You caught yourself staring at him, marvelling over how he could look so adorable in such an unfortunate situation, and gave him a soft smile. "Better?"

He nodded and mumbled out a "thanks" which ended up somewhat drowned in the hoodie as he shuffled away. Halfway through his bedroom door, he stopped and turned back to you. "What's that?"

You went to see what he was referring to, hands on his shoulders to support yourself as you pressed close on tiptoes to peer past him. Suddenly very aware of how close you were, you focused your attention on the flask on his bedside table.

"Oh. It's chicken soup. I wasn't sure if you'd want it just yet, so I used a flask which should keep it warm for the next few hours."

If you hadn't been aware of how much you were in George's personal space before, you certainly were now as he practically melted against you.

"That's so thoughtful." He sounded shocked. Not at you being thoughtful towards him, at anyone being so. Unsure of what to say, you gave his shoulders a supportive squeeze and then used them to steer him towards his bed.

His room was a little chilly, so you checked that his window was properly closed before drawing the curtains. George, energy almost completely drained, flopped onto the bed. You helped him tuck his legs under the duvet,  bringing it up around his chest. He sniffled again, and without a word you nudged the box of tissues you'd found and set out for him. His eyes grew wide and incredulous, suddenly scrunching shut with another bout of sneezing.

"Do you need anything else?"

The sneezing paused. "I think I left my book in the library…"

"Georgie, no." Your voice became stern even as you used his nickname affectionately. "No more research until you're feeling better." He began to protest. "Think about it. The more you rest, the sooner you'll recover and the quicker you can get back to it." He couldn't argue with logic, and you both knew it.

You ended up fetching him a glass of water, some paracetamol and a couple of contraband biscuits. When you returned, you found him sipping the soup, and his face lit up at your last offering.

"You're too nice," he sighed, insisting on splitting the first biscuit with you. "I love you."

You almost choked on your half of the biscuit, bursting into a coughing fit you'd expect from the actual ill person in the room. George immediately rose from the pillows to pat your back as you tried to remember how to breathe. "Are you okay?" His hand stopped patting as your coughing subsided but it didn't leave your back, instead rubbing gentle circles.

"I…" you spluttered, finally dislodging the rogue crumb. "Do you really mean that?"

"Of course I do! No one ever cared about me like you."

His words were kind, tender, yet your heart still sank. He'd just said it because you were looking after him. You couldn't believe you'd actually thought for a moment that he loved you. There was nothing more you wanted than for the ground to swallow you up, but when George kept talking you stayed and listened. "Lockwood and Lucy do so much for me, don't get me wrong, and my parents did their best, but I'd be lost without you. I mean, all this…" he gestured around at the flask, the hoodie, you still sitting on his bed,  "nobody else even noticed there was anything wrong. But you did. You see me, and I love you for it."

Tears welled in your eyes. You blinked them away, refusing to obscure your view of the beautiful boy beside you. His hand stilled on your back, twitching away, afraid he'd said the wrong thing. You leaned into his side, strengthening the touch. "I love you too."

His eyelids fluttered, a mixture of exhaustion and adoration. His free hand linked with yours. "Remind me to kiss you once I'm better."

"Why can't you kiss me now?"

"Because I'll make you ill, if I haven't already!"

"I'll take that risk." You leaned in.

"Nooo," he whined, a hand on your chest to keep you at a distance, "I'd feel bad. But lucky for you, I have a fantastic doctor, so I'll be better in no time."

"Oh yes, I hear they're exceptional and very committed. Now lie down."

George did as he was told, gasping at the rush of cold air as the duvet was lifted behind him. You eased yourself into the bed, legs tangling in his and pulling you closer until his back leant against your chest and your face was buried in his hair.

"What did I just say?!"

You shushed him. "It's fine, if I catch it you can look after me." You pressed a kiss to his temple as you reached over to click the lamp off. He groaned in the darkness.

"You're impossible."

"You love me, though."

His hand found yours again, bringing your arm to wrap round his stomach. Your fingers traced the warm, soft skin underneath the hem of your hoodie. He sighed contentedly, the rise and fall of your chest behind him lulling him closer to sleep. "I do."

You sneezed.

Damn it.

[fleetingvow]

‘ GHOST OF THE PAST .

Anthony Lockwood x Female Reader

SYNOPSIS. in which anthony recalls the tragedy of the only person who stirred his blood and thoughts. the girl who stayed young forever.

WARNINGS. heavy angst with a character’s death, specifically the reader’s. unproofread.

NOTE. anthony and the others are aged up by five years. lucy and george are vaguely mentioned in the story. this fic focuses more on anthony’s thoughts of how his romance started with the reader and his thoughts of when he lost her.

NAVIGATION. you can find more of my works about anthony lockwood and wednesday addams by clicking the link here! a fair warning, they’re all angsty!

NOTE. written in third person’s point of view. this fic is written by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission. inspiration is lovely, but plagiarism by paraphrasing is not, as well as stealing someone’s idea and claiming it as your own which is exactly what plagiarism is.

𝗔𝗡𝗧𝗛𝗢𝗡𝗬 𝗦𝗛𝗜𝗙𝗧𝗘𝗗 uncomfortably in his seat. It was the very dreaded day for the celebration of love once again. He had avoided it for years that the only things he felt were either hollow screams of desire to turn back time or incessant pain of memories of who he lost.

“Anthony, it’s a gift specifically intended for you.” Lucy stood in front of his desk. The library was still quite the same as it was over the years, only the books in the shelf kept multiplying, and the papers continued to stack on the wooden material. She let out a sigh before resuming with a gulp, “We can’t turn it away. It was from your . . . old friend.”

It hurt so much, hearing the words used to address to the person who was once his very soul. The one who painted the universe for him to feast his eyes. How did Lucy even get ahold of these?

“Thank you, Luce.” His voice was strained, as if he was fighting back tears that were making his tie tighter and tighter as the room almost spun around with the stress he was obtaining just by looking at the objects set before his eyes. “But I think I might need a little solitude if I were to take a look at these.”

Knowing the vulnerability of the situation, Lucy decided to leave the library without a word, just a lump on her throat as she composed herself, trying to recover from the atmosphere in the room. The giver of those gifts was once her companion, and it pained her that it was only years later that they were able to look at her belongings without feeling the need to cry instantly.

Lockwood unwrapped the presents slowly and carefully, not wanting to be careless with the items that were the only closure he had to her. As the parchment slowly revealed the silver metal underneath, there it was, the letters that made up her name engraved as she was in his mind on the back of the mirror.

“Y/N.”

He couldn’t touch it. God, how could he? Anthony looked away, his breath shaky as he looked up at the ceiling, gathering all the composure he could muster with his eyes closed.

‘Just touch it.’ He thought to himself over and over again. His trembling fingers finally closed the gap between the object and his hand. Anthony opened his eyes and took the mirror, completely removing it from the parchment wrap. He then, carefully traced the embellisments on the back of the mirror.

Y/N loved the loops and details.

It took his every bit of energy and will to turn the mirror and see himself in it. It looked exactly like her when he would stare. He always saw himself in the reflection in her eyes, and the mirror was the vivid reminder of her.

She loved that mirror. She treasured it more than she treasured her life. It was her very own object. The thing that only she could possess while many people in the world owned the exact same thing for the sight of it will only remind him of her.

Anthony recalled. He laughed humourlessly. Of course, he recalled. It was the moment his life started. The moment where he realised he was an actual living human being. That he was a person with a purpose and freedom to love and admire. To cherish and to hold.

It was the night of the Fittes’ Annual Valentine’s Ball four years ago. The London air was cold even despite his coat already being thicker than it usually was. Lucy and George had gone to the library in search of any clue for the Fittes’ dirt. He was there to appear as smug and confident as he was to be recognised by such an elite agency.

But then,

Oh, but then,

All regrets of attending the party had done nothing but dissipated. Anthony Lockwood, for the first time, felt the core of his palms hurt in an intoxicating manner that sent electric waves through his veins that he himself couldn’t explain the phenomenon when he saw the one and only Y/N L/N amongst the crowd.

He didn’t know how or why, but God, he knew what. He was aware it was her eyes, the way they glinted under the stars when she stepped outside with him in the streets of London. They shone under the silver streaks of the moon. They said someone’s eyes were the windows of their soul, and he didn’t know what they meant.

Not until he got a glimpse and was trapped under some type of spell that when he looked, Lockwood witnessed the universe being painted around him, flushing colours in the void of his existence, and putting stars to keep him away from the dark.

So smitten he was that he forgot to check the placements of the stars. If they were aligned closely . . . or if they were aligned at all.

They weren’t.

Anthony was pulled back from his memories, turning the mirror away from his face as he put it back down to the wrappers. He couldn’t stop recalling now. Her eyes, her hair, her smile, her skin — Just — Just everything about her, he could all remember it so vividly that it was hurting every bone in his body, making every inch of his skin scream for her.

“Why now?” He whispered, putting his hand on his face to cover it frustratedly.

“Why not?” She whispered in his ear. It was the ghost of the past. It was yet another vision of her, a memory that he wished to relive. It was still four years ago, just two months after he met her. Her breath was hot on his skin as she stifled a laugh. “Be a dear, Lockwood, and help me put this on, will you please?” she asked in a mocking tone. How could he say no? It was a silver necklace. One he gifted for her.

“You’re not ashamed?”

“Of a good man?”

“Of me being in an agency below Fittes. It’s your domain, after all.”

“Anthony Lockwood, is this truly you? You’re- insecure? Your agency is the most prestigious agency in all of London, and you’re underestimating yourself? Besides, Fittes is . . . complicated. It’s bad business, and I would much rather trust the world in your hands.”

But the world in his hands were filled with her name. There was no corner that was safe from her essence. Every bits and pieces of the soil in his world contained his concern for her and her well-being.

“It looks lovely,” she mumbled, looking at the gift around her neck through the silver mirror with her name. “Thank you, Anthony.”

And again, he was pulled in another memory.

“I want to travel the world without everything we have now except for each other. We will move somewhere peaceful and quiet, and we’ll be sitting in front of a fire for comfort forever until we get sick of each other’s company. I want to go somewhere with you, anywhere but here.” She wanted him to run with her, but where? Every corner of the world was detectable to such an agency as Fittes’. She was the agency’s prodigy.

“You can’t throw all that away for me, Y/N. How could we live in hiding forever? What about George? Lucy?”

“I can’t accept his proposal. If I stay at Fittes, I’ll be stuck there forever.”

“Y/N,” it was an opportunity of a lifetime, but he couldn’t bear being the reason she’d throw away a life she’d been building since she was a child. Maybe it was wrong that she met him in the first place! Anthony was a mistake, or so he believed he was to her. She can’t just make a decision that will last a lifetime! What if she gets bored? What if she gets tired of him, and then regret it all? What if he couldn’t provide her everything she needed? She was used to a lavish life, and he lived in the same home he’s always lived in. “I can’t.”

Once he was back to reality, snapping out of his trance, Anthony noticed the envelope on the desk. He took it next and exhaled sharply, the butterflies locked in the cage of his chest and the wild heart of his swarmed around the organ as it pounded and raced into a fast rhythm that made the blood in his veins creep up to every parts of his body, making him feel more anxious than he should be.

The envelope opened, his eyes almost failing him before he could even read. But, he remembered his name, yet faltered once again when he caught sight of the handwriting he knew all too well.

“Anthony,

It must have come as a surprise for you that I still managed to pull something like this after years of my own possible demise—” No! He couldn’t read it. Anthony looked away, taking a sharp inhale to restrain the heartache he felt when he finally gathered the fact that Y/N knew about what was coming for her.

‘No, read.’ He had to be strong. It’s been years and there was no time for him to cower like a brutally tormented dog under a table. He shut his eyes, sparing himself a few more seconds before he turned his attention back to the paper.

“You’ve probably even solved the mystery by now. I knew you knew about the secrets of Fittes, and I was supposed to lure you in to keep track of you, but I couldn’t. Especially when I finally met you. You were nothing like they said. You weren’t arrogant or condescending. You were lovely, gentle, considerate, and smart. It was difficult to be anything but kind to you, Lockwood. The greatest mystery of my case is how I met someone like you.”

Lockwod shook his head. He is arrogant and condescending, but all of those traits of his would fade whenever he was around her. She calmed every nerve jilting him awake every single day. She’d always been the genius cure to the adrenaline rush that felt roo excessive he swore he could almost see the core of the Earth.

“I will wear your ring on my finger, forever until I rot and I will never take it off even if it’s the source you’ll find of me. I will forever march the world, waiting for you. I will be the fire on your hearth wherever you go, signalling that you’re always home, safe and sound as I defend you from anything who wants to destroy your peace. I will be the cold September air to accompany you during your dark cold days. I will be the sun that will peak through the clouds, watching as you smile and enjoy the warmth on your skin.”

A tear escaped his eye. One after the other, he sniffled and wuickly wiped them away to not leave a trace of his vulnerability to the only person that made him feel strong yet also weak in a way that he’d crumble down for her, and far better, kneel before her.

“As long as you walk the Earth for me, live your life for me, breathe the summer air for me. I will be there in every step of the way when you need me, and this mirror will always be a reminder of how I once saw you the night we met, how I’ll always see you — forever charming and gentle as you are, my intellectual bloody pain in the arse. Witness the moon in all its phases, feel the sun on your face, and touch the breeze that will creep up your bones. I will see to it that you will grow old with memories and the life you’re supposed to live.”

He took a shaky inhale and quickly covered his nose, resting the elbow of his hand that held the missive up for himself to read, on the desk.

“Find someone, Lockwood. Find someone who will make you happy, someone willing to spend their entire life with you with regards to your well-being, dreams, and feelings. You deserve someone who cares for you deeply. Put your arms around her waist delicately like you did mine, spin her around ever so gracefully like we once both have done. Dance in front of the hearth to your hearts’ desire. I will watch, and watch, and watch as I’ll sit and wait for you to come back to me when the time comes.

You, Anthony Lockwood, have become my reason to live, but now I must say goodbye. My farewell is dedicated to you and both Lucy and George. You have been a great family. My only treasure that I’m willing to die for.

It is not your fault though. It never was.

You have my ceaseless affections, Anthony. Always.

Yours,

Y/N L/N.”

A sound emitted from his lips as the letter ended that he felt like he needed to read more. Come on, there has to be more! This couldn’t be it! This couldn’t be the end of her moment where he felt like she was alive again! Just as she was starting to feel more real and closer, that’s when the letters had to end!

He put the letter down and ran his fingers through his hair, letting them settle on his dark locks and pulling them to create a pressure that will ease the starting headache. Lockwood couldn’t keep himself together anymore.

No matter how hard he tried.

The thoughts of her gone have always created such a tarnish on the crimsons of his heart. How could she just leave like that and never return? How could she leave him to his feelings? How could she claim he had her ceaseless affections if she left to too early?

Anthony Lockwood cried.

And cried.

And cried.

And cried once more.

She was gone forever, and the letters in ink on the parchment were the ghosts of the past. He still couldn’t accept it until now. No, Anthony will never find anyone like her. He’d already loved her completely and utterly that his heart has given out all the ardour it had, only for her. The ring she wore six feet under was the solid silver proof of his devotion.

But now, the words he uttered to her the night he held her in his arms could only be heard by the fading wind outside the windows of the library.

Y/N L/N was a bright ember that entered his life and warmed his heart during the cold February air at the Fittes ball. She was fierce and hot, brazen and red.

And oh, how she burned.

She was his dream.

His walking desire.

His waking moment.

His other half.

And what was once such a bright dancing little fiend was now the flame in the library hearth, keeping him steady as he lost himself to the messy art of creating rivers with his tears.

Anthony Lockwood had lost his person.

And he will never be able to bring her back again. The girl who stayed young forever as she wished for him to grow old without her.

[writtenontheport]

Lockwood falling in love with the type three ghost of a girl.

That's it.

That's the ask.

The Haunted Boy and His Ghostly Girlfriend

Prologue

(pt. 1) (pt. 2)

Anthony Lockwood x fem reader

Warnings/Tags: Reader is in this for like 2 paragraphs, Romcom 😭, Ik you gave me angst but everything I touch turns romcom I’m so sorry, George gets mad at Lockwood for a bit, Old people clients, mentions of death, Reader is literally a fucking ghost 😭, please tell me if there’s anything I forgot to tag

Notes: I absolutely adored this request omfg. When I saw it, I just KNEW I had to write it omg. This is— this needs to be multipart I’m so sorry. I can’t get it out of my head that he’ll have a little ghostly girlfriend PLEASE ITS SO CUTE IN MY HEAD. Also; very badly edited!! I was exhausted when I first posted this and am still currently combing through it for errors.

Summary: It starts, as all things do here: with a meetcute, the undead, and maybe a bit of tomfoolery. It goes, as it almost never does, with meeting the undead love of his life. What a big day for Anthony Lockwood.

Word Count: 1.5k+

Lockwood is staring into the eyes of the most breathtaking girl he has ever seen, and she isn’t even alive anymore. The girl looks as she probably did when she was alive; a beautiful face with only the most kissable lips he has ever seen in his life, not that he ever could kiss her. He should be calling for Lucy and George— yelling for them to tell them he’s found their ghost, but instead…

“Hi,” He says, clearing his throat, “I’m Anthony. Anthony Lockwood of Lockwood and co. You’re a ghost.”

He winces when your frown deepens, and feels bad immediately for blurting that out. Before he can apologize, he sees you mouthing something and realizes quite late that he does in fact need Lucy and George here to be able to talk to you.

“I can’t really hear you, sorry. I have… my friend can though. Just a second—“

Before we can go forward, we have to go back a little to just before this began. So let’s start with a fact: even with Skull being able to talk with Lucy, Lockwood still had his reservations on type threes. Type ones and type twos were the predictable result of certain situations— murders, death by illness, accidents, and all the “good” things that made the visitors more likely to visit. Type threes? It took the literal manifestation of the actual thing for him to even accept they existed. Suffice to say, Lockwood didn’t think he could ever fully warm up to the idea of a ghost he couldn’t understand.

Then one day, a case comes to him with a rather peculiar situation. The living don’t often find themselves attached to the undead, especially ones with no relation to them. The Thistlebrows prove to be an exception. The case? Their family ghost is lonely now that their granddaughter’s been sent away.

Lucy and George have stepped out for supplies when the old Thistlebrow couple stops by, so he takes them to the sitting room and prepares them tea. From the first word that comes out of them, Lockwood thinks he’s having some sort of hallucinogenic episode.

That’s more of an exaggeration actually as it seemed reasonably normal at first; strong presence, solid apparition visible enough that even in their old age they could see wisps of it lurking. Nothing more than a stubborn spectre, he was sure. Then—

“It’s an old house,” Mrs. Thistlebrow croons, sipping her cup of tea. “We’ve only lived in it for a few years, and we doubt we’ll be able to keep her company for much longer.”

“I’m sorry?” Lockwood asks, genuinely confused. He was sure he must have misheard them, before Mr. Thistlebrow spoke.

“We don’t know where she is, really, nor have we ever fully seen her… but our granddaughter is taken with her. We thought at first she just had an imaginary friend, but then…” He pulls out a polaroid.

There was nothing in the photo worth noting— a pair of shoes on the windowsill of an open window. The flash of the camera didn’t illuminate past the frame, but that was expected for a photo taken so late. He keeps a patient smile on his face, but he nods slowly with his brow furrowed in worry.

“The window was locked when we left the room. It’s too tall for our granddaughter to reach, and nothing was moved before or after this picture was taken— at least not by the living. Our granddaughter had asked her to open it to prove to us she was real, and the ghost left her shoes on the windowsill to hammer it in.” He leaves the photo in front of Lockwood, pulling back into the seat.

Lockwood’s brow scrunches in confusion as the gears turn in his head. Many type twos form apparitions, but poltergeists do not. Incidentally, only poltergeists can interact with heavy objects and the window certainly wouldn’t have been light. It looked to be a thick pane of glass with a metal on wood frame, pushed open farther than a stray breeze could push it.

“How old is your granddaughter?” He asks, his own voice distant to him. The photo makes something in him itch to solve the case.

“Just turned 7,” Mrs. Thistlebrow says with a click of her tongue, bringing a hand up to her wrinkly cheek. “Her parents sent off abroad when they realised she had Talent; didn’t want her having anything to do with the Problem. Heart broken, she was. The ghost was her first best friend.”

The Thistlebrows look genuinely devastated at that, and Lockwood bites back an incredulous frown. Oh the story he has for Lucy and George when they come back, absolutely mental it all is.

“We know this might be a lot to ask, but we’ll pay you as much as you need to keep the ghost company. Our granddaughter was so devastated knowing the poor girl would be lonely without her, and we certainly couldn’t talk to her no matter how much we tried.” Mr. Thistlebrow picks an envelope from his suit pocket, and slides it across the table to Lockwood. It’s a thick thing with obviously quite a bit of cash, and a cheque is peeking out from where the lip has opened.

Now, he could absolutely refuse the case. The agency was stable and the cases they have lined up were far less troublesome than finding and keeping another possible type-three ghost; George would even call him stupid for not refusing it right away, but…

“We’ll do it. You both have nothing to worry about,” He says instead, reassuring as he can be as he pulls on the lapels of his jacket. Mr. and Mrs. Thistlebrow’s faces split into smiles, and Lockwood can’t find it in him to regret his decision.

“—And you took the case?” George says, all but yelling as he leans over the table to stare wide-eyed at Lockwood. Lucy’s frozen in her seat, her pen still on the thinking cloth.

“I authenticated the money, and they offered to meet us at the house as soon as we can if there were any more issues with compensation.” He takes a spoonful of supper, and hums in delight. “You’ve really outdone yourself today, George.”

“That’s not the problem, Lockwood,” George hisses, always so dour. He doesn’t settle down into his seat, even going so far as to cross his arms in disapproval. Still, he mumbles out a quiet ‘thank you’.

“Did they say anything else?” Lucy finally speaks up, her eyes still on the thinking cloth. It’s good she’s at least started doodling again, so Lockwood manages to look back up at both of them (which is very hard when George is glaring at him so severely).

“Their granddaughter’s name is Pepper, thought it might help us if we pretended to be her friends at least. It…” He pauses, tapping his spoon against his supper as he thinks of the right way to say it, “As far as they know, it isn’t aggressive and seems cooperative. They even— actually, wait.”

He pulls out the polaroid from his inner pocket, looking it over (even though he knows nothing would have changed) before sliding it to the center of the table. Lucy and George both lean in to have a look, coming back to stare at him in confusion.

“It was able to unlock and push the window open, then left the girl’s shoes on the windowsill to further prove it existed. Not only that, but both the Thistlebrows have said it is a rather heavy window too high up for their granddaughter to reach.” He takes another bite of his dinner, watching their expressions morph.

“But they said it had an apparition?” George asks first, seeming on the edge of worried and heavily intrigued. “Spectres can’t interact with heavy objects, but poltergeists can’t have apparitions. This ghost can’t exist unless it really was…”

Lucy is deep in deliberation as her eyes flit to somewhere out of the kitchen; the skull, Lockwood realizes quickly. “If this is a type three… and it was cooperative…”

A pregnant pause fills the room, only the ticking of a faraway clock echoing about the walls. George settles into his seat with a sigh, finally picking up his utensils. Lucy, rests her hands in her lap. They all look up and at each other, waiting for a beat, before falling into a quiet supper. They were definitely going to have to see this through now.

So here Lockwood finds himself in front of the house that starts and ends it all; that houses what might just be the strangest thing to happen in his haunted life. He meets you in a flurry of strange things— through a polaroid of an open window, a ghost goose case, and then meeting the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen— before he finds himself asking:

“Would you like to come home with us?”

You nod quickly in surprise, your eyes shining in mirth and other-light. He doesn’t even need Lucy to translate that as anything but a firm ‘yes’.

A/N: Everything I touch… turns to romcoms… I am like King Midas of romcoms PLEASE.

Also! Starting a silly taglist, just somehow reach out if you’d like to be added!!

Taglist 🏷️

@tangledinlove

[kestisvrse]

scars

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. angst.

synopsis ⋆ you find a bruised and bloody lockwood in the kitchen late at night.

warnings ⋆ shitty writing (it was late 😔), mentions of blood, injuries, a panic attack and violence, swearing. | wc: 0.9k

♫ - all things end by hozier

something wasn’t right. you woke up at around four in the morning, which wasn’t unusual for an agent but your gut told you there was a reason.

your throat was uncomfortably dry, you unwillingly crawled out of your warm bed into the chilly air, bare feet landing on the cool floor, you quickly grab some socks to warm yourself.

walking down the creeky staircase, careful to not alert your sleeping roomates, but clearly they weren’t all asleep as the kitchen light was left on and a faint hiss was heard. approaching the door, turning the knob slowly to not alarm whoever was in the kitchen, you saw a bloody and bruised lockwood sitting at the table, head shooting up at the sight of you.

“lockwood?” you gasped at the sight in-front of you. the table was littered with medical supplies and lockwood sat there in his white collared shirt, blood seeping through the left side, small cuts littered his face, “what the fuck happened?”

“i’m sorry, did i wake you? i didn’t mean to, i’m fine.” he rambled excuses as you rushed over to sit next to him, you smacked his hands away as he begged you to go back to bed.

“i am not going back to bed, anthony.” you insisted, he was fighting back tears from the pain of his injury, jaw clenching, “let me help you, while you tell me what the hell you did.”

he observed you as you grabbed the correct ointments and bandages to use for his face, as he gripped onto his side, his eyes didn’t leave your face as you worked away on the cuts on his face, he waited awhile until he started talking again.

“i-i went out, the air in the house was too stuffy i needed a walk.” his voice was cracking as he spoke, sniffling every so often, you glanced down at his eyes to catch a tear slip out, anthony lockwood was crying.

you had never seen him cry, it didn’t matter how often he opened up to you, all you saw was his eyes get glossy and he would run off, but you watched as the tear rolled down his cheek and disappear to his neck.

“take your shirt off.” you broke the silence.

“what?” he sniffled

“lockwood, do you not see the huge blood stain on your shirt? i need to check that.” you said softly

“i’m fin-“ he started

“stop saying that. please stop, let me help you.” you pleaded, your eyes were getting glossy just at the sight of him, his face cleaned up and bandaged but his shirt still covered in blood and dirt, the grip on his side loosened revealing his hand covered in blood. he slowly undid the buttons of his shirt, unveiling a huge gash on his side, you gasped at the sight and he flinched.

you got up to wash your hands, and grab extra bandages out of the cupboard, returning to your spot finding lockwood intensely staring at his bloodied hands, you placed your hand in his.

“look at me, focus on me.” you asked, he listened as his gaze snapped up to you, his brows knitted together, “talk to me.”

“there were so many, so many ghosts down at the park, i almost forgot they even existed because of how…” he cleared his throat due to the stinging from you cleaning his side, “..because of how anxious i was feeling, i forgot about them and got attacked, i-i i don’t know how i survived.” his voice cracked, you had never seen him like this.

“keep talking okay? distract yourself from the pain. i’m right here, i’ve got you.” you whispered softly, comforting him as he controlled his breathing once more.

“i did remember my rapier, thank god. gave me an opening to run. i got thrown back into a tree, that’s where the cuts came from and a loose branch stuck into my side.” he whimpered as you disinfected the wound.

“okay, that’s enough. focus on your breathing you are getting too worked up.” he nodded, mouth twitching into a smile just because of your company, you continued to work on stitching his wound and bandaging it.

“all done.” you sighed, you cleaned the table and washed your hands as he watched your every move. bringing him a glass of water you sat next to him again.

“i’m sorry, if i scared you, or woke you i don’t know-“ he stuttered out, you grabbed his hand and interlocked your fingers.

“of course you scared me. i woke up to find you dying in the kitchen. i wish you had come to get me.” you explained, you brought your hand up to his cheek and he lent into it, “i’m here for you lockwood, always, asleep or awake, i am here.” a minute of comfortable silence passes.

“at least i’ll have a cool scar.” he muttered, you laughed at his joke the tears that were welling in your eyes disappeared down your cheeks and onto the floor, he brought his arm around your waist pulling you and your chair closer.

“let’s get you to bed, you need it.” you said, his eyes were drooping as he sipped his water. you hand’s intertwined together as you led him upstairs into his room.

george barged into the room the next morning as lockwood had overslept, only to find you cuddled together in a mess of blankets, lockwood covered in bandages, both sound asleep.

[g1rld1ary]

just blurry ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you accidentally get lockwood drunk and have to walk him home from the pub where his drunk rambles disguise real feelings

➻ word count: 1264

➻ warnings: getting drunk

➻ had my first uni orientation today!! made a friend :)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Since you and the rest of Lockwood & Co had turned eighteen, you all loved a good drink after a case. It eased all sorts of pain inflicted during your missions — physical and emotional. Whilst you mostly drank together at home because of the bizarre hours you usually worked, when it was appropriate you’d all taken to a quaint little pub named The King’s Court. It was only a few blocks from Portland Row which was ideal for getting home in the middle of the night, and almost always had a table for the four of you. Plus, you were pretty sure George had a crush on one of the bartenders, but you couldn’t be certain.

Tonight was one of the nights you’d wrapped up a case early enough for you to get a seat, but that didn’t mean it was an easy fight. It was a particularly aggressive poltergeist, your personal least favourite ghost to face. Invisible and aggressive, someone almost always ended up getting hurt. Tonight was no exception. Lucy had been gifted a rather long — but thankfully shallow — cut all the way up her arm, and the rest of you were physically exhausted from fighting. Yet when Lockwood cheerfully suggested the pub, no one had the heart to disagree with him.

You’d all had a bit to drink, which made Lockwood giggly, George loud and Lucy tired. You personally felt fine, not having had quite as much as the others. One of you had to be able to get the key into the front door, you figured.

George and Lucy left first, George becoming transfixed on her injury despite her protests, and wouldn’t rest until he was allowed to bandage it up. You’d stayed with Lockwood after he’d whined about wanting to stay out later, in a way not unlike a petulant child. You didn’t mind though, he was always fun to talk to — even more when he was drunk and giggly.

You gossiped for a while, Lockwood telling you stories of adventures the company had been on before meeting you, and in turn you told him about growing up in your own small town and the small group of friends you had out there. Lockwood, on top of his perfect eloquence, was also a great listener. You found yourself spilling secrets without even meaning to, spurred on by his eyes locked on yours, slightly glazed over with admiration as you spoke.

Without realising it the two of you had stayed until closing, and the last bartender working waved you out apologetically, a sympathetic glance to you as you supported Lockwood’s weight. You apologised for the both of you staying so late and tried to coax Lockwood into working with you, dragging his stumbling frame down the street. You really should have cut him off a few drinks ago.

While the rest of his body worked at half speed, Lockwood’s mouth was running at a million miles a minute. He blabbered on about whatever came to mind; the weather, what he might have for breakfast, an argument he was having with George before. You listened dutifully — there wasn’t much else to do while you struggled under his weight.

Taking a break you pushed Lockwood up against a ghost lamp, two hands on his shoulders both to pin him upright and take the pressure off your poor legs. Usually when you were carrying an injured agent you had assistance, and Lockwood was rather tall and gangly, making for a very awkward trip. However comfortable the position was for you, it did put your faces very close together.

You and Lockwood were inadvertently gazing into each other’s eyes as you caught your breath, and he suddenly noticed all the variation of shades in your irises. He looked down at you in utter amazement, all the minuscule details he’d never had the chance to see before coming into focus.

“You’re really pretty,” He breathed, a moment of tense silence hung between you, the only sound the faint buzzing of the lamps. And then Lockwood giggled, light and airy and ridiculous enough to dissolve whatever moment between you had been beginning.

“Alright, it’s time we get home,” You said, disregarding his previous statement, but Lockwood wasn’t having it. As you both stumbled home he couldn’t be silenced.

“No, I really mean it! You’re so pretty. Your eyes and your hair and your face, when you stick your tongue out to concentrate…” You didn’t know anyone noticed that. “Plus, you’re so funny. And nice. And you always put up with my stupidity. You’re so great.” If you didn’t know better you could have sworn you’d seen little hearts floating above his head.

“You’re really drunk right now,” You settled on replying, “I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk at all! You’re just blurry.” Without even looking at Lockwood you knew exactly what expression he had on. Seeing the charming, lopsided grin would only heighten your own feelings further and so you locked your gaze down the street, where Portland Row seemed both so close and yet so far. You entertained his gushing until you made it to the doorstep, where you were grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist him when he was saying such sweet things while pressed up to your side.

You finally sent him up to his bedroom with a promise to go tuck him in in a minute (you weren’t sure if he was joking or just got really honest when drunk), and headed off to the kitchen, fetching him a glass of water and some painkillers.

Knocking lightly on his door you found Lockwood sitting cross legged on his bed, absolutely adorable in his worn out pyjamas. He looked up at you again with those eyes and you imagined that was what a younger, more innocent Lockwood might have looked like all the time. Your heart ached for a moment when you thought about it, a quick yearning for a time when the both of you could have been just kids. You shook the thought off as soon as it came, aware of Lockwood watching and analysing your expressions.

“Well, come on then, get in bed,” You said, and Lockwood clambered under the sheets in a way that made you laugh softly. “If I only knew it would be this easy to get you to go to sleep, I would have gotten you pissed a lot sooner.” Lockwood only smiled, shaking his head.

“If you want me to go to sleep you just have to ask, I’ll do anything for you.” You hesitated for a moment at his confession, but wrote it off as drunk ramblings. You needed it to not mean anything to push back the warmth glowing inside your chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood. Come get me if you need anything.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before you could talk yourself out of it. The second your face retracted from his Lockwood’s hand was touching his cheek, a dumb smile creeping onto his lips.

You were out the door before he could respond, but standing outside to regain your composure, you could definitely hear his inebriated giggle through the door and smiled softly. He might be a drunk idiot, but you guessed he was pretty cute like that.

[wordsarelife]

DAY 2: DRIVING HOME FOR CHRISTMAS

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: in which you come home for christmas surprisingly and lockwood can proof that his girlfriend is real

notes: this came to me suddenly, because i had to switch some things, don't worry: the regulus one will come, but paired with a similiar request, which i had forgot to connect to each other.

second note: i'm sorry this is so short, but i just had to find something to fill day 2, because of the before mentioned mishap, it's not my best work, but i hope it'll do

there had been times where anthony lockwood had wished upon good friends that could tease him and would keep him company. now he almost wished to burn kipps and george alive.

"so you want us to believe that you 'girlfriend'" kipps raised his fingers, drawing quotation marks into the air "couldn't make it home for christmas"

"that's what i said, yeah" lockwood rolled his eyes

"convenient" george whispered between coughs

"i have a girlfriend" lockwood said aggravated

"sure, buddy" kipps patted his shoulder, almost like he had sympathy for the younger boy

"i do" lockwood repeated more urgently "i literally just got off the phone with her, while you were all sitting here"

"why don't you just call her then?" lucy suggested and she seemed to be the one who was mostly believing right now, so lockwood nodded

"great idea, thank you, luce" he grabbed the telephone from the holder, rolling the numbers quickly. the group waited for someone to pick up, but the call didn't even get through. "oh"

"there was a point about five minutes ago, where admitting you had made her up would've been fine. and now" george paused "now it's just embarrassing, mate"

"i didn't make her up" lockwood protested once again, while kipps' giggle flew through the air. even lucy looked uncomfortable now

"ehh" she said "don't you have photos?"

"she has our photos on her camera"

"convenient" george and kipps sung at the same time.

before lockwood could cry out of sheer frustration, he heard a key turn in the door.

"hello?" a voice called into the hallway "anthony?"

lockwood's eyes lit up at the familiar voice. "huh" he said "you don't believe me? come and see this" he instructed his friends to follow him to the door.

and there were you, already waiting

"y/n" lockwood said smiling "i thought you couldn't make it"

"i wanted to surprise you" you smiled proudly, but you happiness quickly turned into confusion at the unfamiliar and watchful faces behind your boyfriend

"i'm so happy you're here, and" lockwood took a quick look at his friends "just ignore them"

you nodded. lockwood smiled even wider, before he planted a short kiss on your mouth.

kipps and george choked on their breath at the exact same second.

"meet my girlfriend, guys" lockwood smiled and pointed at you

"wow" said lucy giggling "she seems to be real. do you need further confirmation or can we eat the cookies now?" she looked at kipps and george, who still stood in place. "okay" lucy muttered. then she grabbed you gently and walked you around the boys while interlacing your arms. "i'm lucy, you must be y/n"

the three boys watched them walk off into the kitchen. lockwood laughed at the dumbfounded expression of his friends, before he followed you.

"what an unexpected turn of events" george mumbled

kipps nodded "quite unexpected indeed"

taglist: @twistedhistory @bakingintheshire @mqstermindswift @novelizt @mitskiswift99@starzortega

[bella-rose29]

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.