#lockwood gifs

[thisgameissonintendo]

lucy’s the definition of heart eyes

[lockwoodandcosource]

Lockwood & Co "Sweet Dreams"

[hanxiaofeifei]

Lockwood every episode:

Me side eyeing Lockwood since episode 2:

[bumblebugwrites]

Borrowed and Blue

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: In another brilliant plot to keep the agency afloat, Lockwood decides to marry you for tax benefits. Only he seemed to have forgotten to let you know. With an inspector from DEPRAC coming to ensure the legitimacy of your marriage, what’s left but to tell you the truth? Only you don’t take it too well. And you happen to be the world’s worst liar.

Warnings: Cursing, Minor angst, Unedited writing.

A/N: So “Lover” coded that I had to indulge myself with the title.

Word Count: 3.1k 

“Luce, I’ll need you to go to Satchell’s and pick some salt-bombs; we’ve been running pretty low lately. And George, once you’ve hit the Archive for the day, if you could–”

As Lockwood’s incessant directions continued, you allowed your head to slump forward so as to obscure his looming figure with the shape of the quickly cooling mug in your hands.

“Oh, and that reminds me (Y/N), the inspector’s coming round this afternoon to ensure the validity of our marriage, so I’ll need you to be prepared for that.” That sentence alone was enough to pull you away from your own thoughts.

“Excuse me?” The question was followed by a soft chuckle, the kind you only managed when you’d been caught off guard.

“Did I forget to tell you about the visit?” 

“You’re joking, right?”

Across the small table, George cleared his throat awkwardly, moving to make his escape before Lucy’s sweater-clad arm shot out, pulling him back into his seat, fully enthralled with the happenings before her.

“Lockwood?” From his place at the counter, he hummed back in response. Still, the brunet had busied himself at an unprecedented pace with making a piece of toast and refused to turn his head in acknowledgment.

“This is a joke, right? Because I would know if we were actually married, right?” He made no answer, but his avoidance of your gaze had already been enough to send you over the edge, and you nearly reeled as a physical spike of panic shot through your core.

“Anthony Lockwood, you answer me right now.” You were standing now and teetering on the edge of making your way out into the entry and returning with some choice words and your rapier.

“Well, it’s not like you missed the marriage. I did bring you along.”

“What?”

“You remember that day I brought you with me to the Register Office?”

“You said you needed someone to co-sign the water bill.”

“I gave you a ring–”

“You said you got that out of one of those coin machines full of toys! I thought it was just a silly gift!”

“Right, well, I’m not buying you another wedding ring, so you had better still have it.”

“Lockwood! You can’t just marry someone without asking!” By now, you had left your seat to jab angrily at his chest as you marked each new point. From her place beside George, Lucy slurped at her tea.

“Look, I had already mortgaged the house to hell and back, and we needed the money desperately, so I figured an extra tax write-off couldn’t hurt.” And though it shouldn’t have, the rage quelled itself a little.

“Why didn’t you just ask me?” But your voice lacked the anger from before, hitting sharper as each word was tinged with hurt.

“You would have said no. And besides, you’re a terrible liar.” Lockwood flashed you with his signature smile at that last bit, and you couldn’t help the warmth that began to bloom deep within you. You had to admit, being married to Lockwood wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world. Especially with the insufferable feelings you’d been housing for the boy for the last year and a half. Still, this was not how you wanted things to go. 

“But wait, that trip to the Register’s Office was at least a year ago. Why are they coming for a visit now?” One of Lockwood’s hands which had planted itself on your shoulder in a soothing gesture, leapt up to scratch at the back of his neck.

“Well, the thing is, because we aren’t legally adults and neither of us have any parents to sign off on a marriage, I had to pull some strings with DEPRAC to get the license to even go through. So now, every year, to make sure everything is all legal, or whatever–” Lockwood raised his hands to form air quotes around the word legal but quickly retracted them as you swatted at the gesture.

“--they’ve insisted on sending an agent to perform a kind of check-in. To make sure we’re still in love and all that.”

“Still?” George questioned, only to be met with a prompt smack to the head from Lucy.

“So are you saying we could lose our jobs over this?”

“Let’s not forget the house,” supplied Lucy from behind her mug.

“And the house?” Lockwood didn’t answer immediately, instead selecting to fix his eyes on the floor.

“Presumably, yes, that could be one outcome–”

“Oh my god,” George groaned, moving his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose.

“But not if all goes well,” Lockwood reassured the group.

“Right, so let me get this straight, the fate of our careers–”

“And our home,” Lucy interjected once more.

“And our home, is all in the hands of (Y/N), a notoriously bad liar, lying to a Fittes agent about a marriage she was unaware of until this morning?” George questioned.

“That would be correct.”

“We are so fucked.”

It had taken Lucy an hour to calm you down, let alone lure you out from under the covers of your shared bed. 

“I’ll kill him if you’d like me to.”

“Urgh, it’s not that, Luce, it’s just–” 

“It’s just that you wanted things to go differently?” Lucy raised a suggestive eyebrow as a slow smirk spread across her face, but there was no malice in her look. Embarrassed, you turned to hide your face in the pillow beside you.

“Look, Lockwood’s a twat, but he cares about you, and I’m sure if you asked, he would end the whole thing in a second. He was just, well, I hate to say it, but he was just trying to look out for us. In his own, extremely fucked up Lockwood way.” Lucy added the last sentence in a quick attempt to amend the ever-souring scowl on your face.

“And hey, who knows, maybe something will finally come out of this. I mean, you have to admit, being married is pretty romantic.” She smiled at you, and it was soft, encouraging almost.

“Besides, it’s not like the two of you weren’t going to end up together anyways. If anything, he’s just streamlined the process.” With that, you tightened your grasp on the pillow, swinging it in a deadly arc aimed at her head. Just then, a third voice interrupted your siege.

“Oh, hi Luce, mind if I have a quick word with my wife?” 

Your eyes grew wide as they took in Lockwood’s lanky figure, leaning with ease against the railing at the head of the stairs.

“Too soon, Lockwood,” you grumbled, and for a moment, the suave smirk didn’t reach his eyes. Still, he moved slowly into the room as Lucy made her exit, throwing you a thumbs up as she descended from out of the attic.

Taking a seat on the edge of the bed, careful not to crush your legs beneath the covers, he appeared almost nervous before his hand disappeared into his pocket and rematerialized, holding a small velvet box.

“This is for you.” He smiled to himself, sweet and boyish, as he was in moments like these. Moments with just you two. As you moved to take the box from his grasp, his fingers touched yours, lingering against them for just a second before pulling away.

The box was old. That much was immediately obvious. And the hinges keeping it together were rusty enough to make opening it a bit of an effort, but when the lid lifted, your breath caught in your throat.

“Oh, Lockwood, it’s beautiful.” You sat in awe of the small ring nestled within the box’s velvet folds. It was simple but elegant, with a single gem at its center, and you couldn’t help but reach out to trace the smooth metal of its shank.

“Where did you–”

“It was my mothers.” His voice was vulnerable, barely above a whisper.

“Lockwood, I can’t–”

“It’s fine, really. Besides, it's just for today.” But you could see the stress the simple action caused him from the way he toyed with the wedding band now looped around his own finger.

 “Anyways, I really just came up here to go over the plan.” 

“The plan?” You balked, eyes snapping away from the heirloom in your hands.

“Yes, we need a story, of course. How we fell in love, how we came to be married. You should know our wedding anniversary as well. April 14th, remember that.”

“April 14th? But that’s today.”

“And?”

“I– I haven’t gotten you anything.”

“Well, it's not like this is a real marriage.”

“Oh. Right.”

“I’m thinking we say I fell in love first, then you. Women love that sort of thing–”

“No, no, we should say we’ve been in love since the moment we met,” you argued, thinking of your own feelings.

“Well, that’s not very realistic.”

“Doesn’t mean it isn– can’t be true.”

“I suppose so.”

“Maybe we should both just think of our own moment. When we fell in love with the other.” Lockwood seemed suddenly to choke on air but quickly coughed his way past it.

“Great idea.”

“We can say you proposed on a bridge overlooking the Thames,” you suggested, but Lockwood only scoffed at the idea.

“Actually, I was thinking we could say it happened on a mission. Maybe you were hurt, and I was afraid I might lose you forever. That when I realized you were alright, I asked you to marry me on the spot. That I didn’t see the point in wasting any more time on anyone else.”

Your mouth grew dry at his suggestion, and the best you could attempt was a meek nod in response.

“Perfect,” he stood quickly, as though brushing off the intimacy of the moment, and began to head for the stairs, “I’ll leave you to finish getting ready then.” By the time you’d managed to grasp your words, he had disappeared from your line of sight, leaving you alone with your thoughts and his mother’s ring. 

You were descending the stairs when the knock came, and you felt your hand move to twist anxiously at the ring newly decorating your finger. At the bottom of the stairs, Lockwood turned his head just in time to meet your gaze, the nervous look plastered across his face softening into one of ease. Probably just for show. You reassured yourself, straightening your shoulders as you reached the final step. Just before opening the door, the boy beside you cast some final words in your direction.

“Remember, I’ll do most of the talking.”

You could only nod in response as the door swung open, revealing the DEPRAC agent. She seemed immediately to be a severe woman with a stern look set deep within her face and eyes that scanned each of you suspiciously before entering the home. 

“Is there somewhere you’d prefer for me to conduct my interview.”

“That would be the library,” answered Lockwood, jumping into action, “(Y/N) love, how about you pop the kettle on and maybe grab some biscuits.” 

“Of course.” You smiled, but it was forced, the only mirth in your soul emerging from the sure knowledge that George would have a field day with Lockwood later on for his failure to follow the ‘Biscuit Rule’.

As he departed for the library, guiding the woman along with him, you could already hear the echos of his charming chatter as they bounced off the walls of the home. Everything will be fine, the words looped in a self-soothing mantra, filling every corner of your head as you prayed to any god that would listen to get through this interview in one piece.

“And when would you say you fell in love with Miss. (L/N)?” The woman made no reaction to her question, simply opting to continue scribbling notes on her pad. Thus far, Lockwood had done a successful job of veering most questions away from you, though it would be a miracle if your nerves had gone unnoticed between the incessant bouncing of your leg and your consumption of three separate cups of tea over the span of thirty minutes.

“In love?” Lockwood stuttered beside you, and you and the woman turned simultaneously to inspect him closer, his confident facade nearly shattered at the mention of the word. Still, he recovered rather quickly, retrieving his easy smile only a second later.

“Yes, well, I assume that came before the marriage.”

“Of course. Let’s see, then.” He stopped for a moment as though pondering the question though the movement of his hand as he toyed with his ring confirmed to you he was just nervous. In an action you could only hope appeared natural, you reached over, stilling his fidgeting fingers by lacing them with your own. Lockwood looked suddenly at you, and the quiet crack in his performance showed itself only to your eyes.

“It was six months after we first met. We’d been researching for a big mission all day, and when we finally got home, I passed out. I woke up; it was probably three in the morning by then. Came down to the kitchen for some water and– and there you were, in the library, fast asleep.” Lockwood had long since stopped looking at the inspector. “You were in my armchair. I’d probably seen you in that armchair a thousand times. And you had a case file spread out over your chest. You looked ridiculous. But I knew immediately something had changed. I could feel it as I carried you up to the attic that night and the next morning while I was sat listening to you laugh at George’s stupid jokes. Like those feelings that were just a bit of a bother before were eating me alive. It’s– It’s how I feel every time I look at you: like I’m more afraid than I’ve ever been in my life and yet perfectly at home at the same time.” He was quick to look away when he finished, flashing the DEPRAC agent with a smile and leaving you frozen in the wake of his words, struck by his ability to manipulate the truth.

“Just one more question then. Ms. (L/N), marriage at sixteen that’s not something you see every day. What made you say yes?”

Lockwood’s eyes flashed quickly to your face, but as he opened his mouth, the woman quieted him with a motion of her hand. 

“Not you, Mr. Lockwood. I’d like to hear from Ms. (L/N).”

This had not been within the parameters of your preparation. Lockwood’s favorite color, how he took his tea, the date of your anniversary? Easy breezy. You might have even been able to fumble your way through how you’d fallen in love with the arrogant bastard, given its basis in the truth. But you weren’t really married, and you’d never really said yes, so where did that leave you? And like a saving a grace, a question made itself known in your head. If Lockwood had really asked you, why would you have said yes?

“I suppose I didn’t quite understand the proposal at first either.” That much was true; for fucks sake, you’d missed the thing entirely. “But after a while, it made sense. I mean, not a day goes by we aren’t risking our lives for our work. There’s no guarantee of any future with a job like this, so why not marry young? Otherwise, we might not marry at all.” The second part came out rushed, the lie forcing its way past your lips. It wasn’t in your character to be impulsive, even if time seemed to be your enemy. Still, you forced yourself to delve deeper. To seek a truthful answer to that lingering question. Your breathing slowed.

“And then, one day, I think I realized that for me, it was always going to be Lockwood. That had he asked me five or ten or even twenty years down the line when we were old and boring, I’d of still said yes. Because– Well, because I couldn’t imagine spending my life with anyone else.” 

You turned your head slowly to catch Lockwood’s eyes lingering on your face. His expression was unreadable. Your brow creased in your efforts to learn more from the set of his features, and for a moment, you lost yourself in him. 

The woman’s notebook snapped shut. You felt yourself scramble from the loveseat you’d been sharing with the boy, and he followed close behind.

“That’s all from me. The agency will contact you in a few days to follow up, but as far as I’m concerned, you’ve passed.”

Without giving time for the information to be digested, she stood and left. Turning to face Lockwood, you were quick to pull his mother’s ring from your finger and place it in his palm.

“Well, now that that’s finished–”

“(Y/N)--” 

“I’ll be in the attic–”

“(Y/N).”

“Lots of research, probably.”

“How did you do that.” The look on his face was one of disbelief when you finally met his gaze again.

“What?” You knew what.

“You know what. You can’t lie to save your life. How did you–”

“Really don’t see how this is important, Lockwood–”

“Were you telling the truth?” You were silent for a moment.

“You got us into this. I could’ve– I would’ve stayed silent forever, but you had to come up with another insufferable plot. And I’m sorry, I can’t lie like it’s some sort of second language– That was quite good, by the way, the way you made me feel– made it seem like there was some chance in hell that you loved me back–”

He dragged you in all at once, catching you by the waist and interrupting your scattered thoughts with his lips. Kissing you. Soft at first, but deeper, harder, as you brought your hands up to his neck. As you kissed back. By the time he pulled away, you were breathless.

“It was never– I was never– God if I thought I could lie my way through this, I would’ve asked George or Lucy even. It had to be you because– because it was always real with you. I have loved you ever since I met you. That night in the library only confirmed it.”

“I thought that was unrealistic.”

“Maybe for someone who's never been in love with you.”

“Ask me again if I’ll marry you.”

“Again?” His eyebrows raised at the implication that there had been a first time.

“Just do it, you twat.”

“(Y/N) (L/N), will you marry me?”

“A million times yes, Anthony Lockwood. A million times, yes.”

[historyofshipping]

Endless Lockwood flirting gifs 1/?

[why-what-no]

Always Have Me

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Warnings: Slight depictions of violence. Me being obsessed with this show. Might be idiots in love, idk

Notes: Felt a little odd writing this about teenagers, but the actors are like a lot older than I am (why am i so in love with Lockwood’s actor?? He’s so pretty boy) and it’s totally PG, so I figured it was fine

Summary: When Lockwood’s friend and associate, aka the person he might even love, got injured during a case, he was more scared than he had been in a very long time. Leading to him dealing with his feelings in a less than productive way until the “friend” finally confronts him

Honestly, (Y/N) didn’t even feel it. But they could blame that on the shock.

Later on, when they’d ask George about it, he’d tell him quietly and morosely (like even the memory caused him pain), how dodging a ghost’s outstretched hand had led to the young operative tripping down a flight of stairs and slamming down onto splintered wood.

Wood that had pierced them right in the side. Which admittedly was gruesome, but (Y/N) just counted themself lucky that they had escaped being ghost touched. Lucy had told them about what happened to her old friends, and the thought of leaving behind their housemates terrified them.

All they could hear was the ghost’s shriek as their team neutralized it and…

And Lockwood’s voice - muffled, terrified. “No, no! (Y/N), stay with us. It’ll be okay! George! Call for help!”

***

Lockwood could barely stay focused in his fear. The moment he saw (Y/N) disappear down the stairs, his attention fully left the ghost that they were trying to contain. Bolting after his friend, not even thinking of the possibility of getting touched by the ghost. It didn’t even matter in his mind, if something happened to (Y/N) then it didn’t matter what happened to him.

The horrific sight of his friend - although honestly at that point ‘friend’ sounded like too weak of a word for their attachment - bleeding out send a coldness through his body. Kneeling over them, not knowing what to do, he could only attempt to comfort them as he yelled for George to get help.

Lockwood always felt a bit out of his element around (Y/N). A good kind of awkward, but awkward nonetheless. He’d read the books they’d like so he’d have something to talk about with them, and he’d try to be suave and charming but they’d always tease him about it. A little grin on their face that made it all worth it.

But in this moment. There was no awkwardness, just the knowledge that he completely forget what he was supposed to do. The imagined image of him lowering their casket into the ground imprinted in his mind as he begged (Y/N) to stay awake.

***

(Y/N) woke up in a hospital bed, obviously DEPRAC from the document on the clipboard that the nurse was holding. They let the woman fuss over them for a second, before beginning to push her to let them see their friends.

As Lockwood, George, & Lucy burst into the room, (Y/N) could only grin at how glad they were to see them. Only a few months ago, nobody cared if they were dead or alive. Now, they had a family who cared about them with all their hearts and souls.

“Are you okay?” Lucy asked, her sweet face wide with worry.

“We thought you were gonna die…”

“You were bleeding like mad…”

As George and Lucy talked over each other in their concern, Lockwood finally spoke. “Okay, you lot. Let them take a breath, it’s been a rough go.” He stood back, not getting close to take their hand or pat them on the shoulder. Which wasn’t a good feeling for (Y/N), but he never stopped looking at them, making them feel a little better. “Are you alright?” His brow was knitted in concern, as well as another emotion that (Y/N) couldn’t quite read on his face.

(Y/N) was close to all their housemates, but ever since they met Lockwood there was this pull that they felt for the handsome young operative. He seems to make every room he entered brighter, every joke he told lifted their spirits. They’d never felt so happy to be alive until they moved to 35 Portland Row.

“I’ll live.” They mustered up a smile, not wanting to make their friends more worried than the three of them clearly already were. “Just get me back home as soon as possible.”

They missed the comfort and familiarity already. The old knickknacks and books lining most surfaces, the smell of wood, paper, coffee, and whatever delicious thing George was cooking.

Lockwood smiled back. “I promise.”

And as usual, he kept his promise. It took a couple of days, but soon (Y/N) was healed enough to return to the agency and start getting back to normal. Helping George out around the house and researching new cases.

There was one problem, however. Ever since they had returned, Lockwood was… distant. Never alone in a room with (Y/N), never making excuses to speak to them and spend time with them like he did before they were injured. No, he just acted like they were just some acquaintance.

It broke their heart more than they cared to admit. Having got so used to Lockwood being so important in their life, that the loss of it felt like something had been stolen from (Y/N).

Lucy noticed the disquiet that (Y/N) was feeling. “Go talk to him, yeah? I’m sure it’s fine and you two can sort this out.” She told them comfortingly. “He was so worried about you when you were hurt. Nearly wore a hole in his shoes with his pacing.”

So they did. It took a bit to work up the courage, but eventually they managed to find him in the library.

He looked elegant in the dim light, although he was always beautiful looking. Entirely focused on the book in front of him, his hand on his chin with the curves of his face accentuated by shadows.

It almost felt sacrilegious to ruin this moment, but (Y/N) needed his attention. “Is everything alright?” They asked.

Lockwood jumped a bit as the words broke through the silence. He looked nervous for a second, before masking that emotion behind one of his calm, superiority complex-ridden expressions. “Of course.” He said, putting the book down and standing up. “Why wouldn’t it be? Did something happen?”

“You tell me. You’ve barely spoken to me in days, Lockwood.” Judging by the slight guilt on his face, he knew exactly that they were talking about. “What happened. What did I do?”

That immediately got through to him. “Nothing.” He said quickly. “You didn’t do anything, you’re wonderful.”

“Then why…”

“I was so useless.” He them her off, eyes glancing anywhere but at (Y/N). “You were hurt and I wanted to help and I just… I completely forgot my training.”

They’d rarely seen him this vulnerable before, a strange sort of desperation in his eyes that made them want to pull him close and never let go of him. “I’m fine, I’m going to be fine. You were there, that’s all that matters.” (Y/N) tried to consol him. He always had this need to be the defender, the one to look after everybody. It broke (Y/N)‘s heart sometimes how ragged he’d run himself trying to make that a reality.

“No it’s not all that matters. I’m supposed to protect you, and I couldn’t even do that!”

“That’s not your job, Lockwood.” They reached up to cup his cheek, trying to give him some sort of comfort. Almost immediately he leaned into their touch, raising his hand to lay in on top of theirs and wrap his fingers through theirs.

“It is. I…” He tried to decide best how to say what he needed to. To get across the emotions that he felt whenever he was around (Y/N). “I don’t know what I’d do if I didn’t have you here with me.” He finally said, looking down at his feet to avoid seeing their eyes.

But they took matters into their own hands, tilting his face up so that he was looking at them once again. Their eyes slightly watering, but a small smile was playing on their lips.

“You don’t have to do anything.” They told him. “You’ll always have me.”

There was a relief in his eyes as they told him that. “Promise?” He was deathly serious, needing to hear them say it.

And they just leaned forward to kiss him, surprising him at first but thrilling him at the same time. He quickly reciprocated, taking their face in his hands to keep them close to him, never wanting to let go of them now that he finally had them in his arms.

“I promise.” They told him when they finally leaned away to breath. And fully intended to keep that promise. They needed him as much as he needed them

[manikas-whims]

ANGER || ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

[oblivious-idiot]

you asked about lockwood & co inspiration :

maybe lockwood x reader inspired by the deleted scene with the pyjama and towel thing. i thought it was hilarious. could include some teasing bc of anthony‘s color choice

Heart patterned pyjamas

A/n: Ahh thank you so much for this!! I love this idea so much omg, hopefully you like it!! 🧡 Warnings: mild swearing, but mainly fluff Word count: 5oo Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

After a late night on a case with the team, you head up to your room to take a shower. You were absolutely covered in soot and dirt as always so it was nice to finally get clean and wash away all the thoughts from case. It was the early hours of the morning still, so everyone was so exhausted and ready to sleep before you all even walked through the front door.

You put your radio on while you shower, one of Lockwood’s favourite songs starts playing - it was a song by The Cure, which makes you smile to yourself as you thought about his stupid cocky smirks he sends you all the time, or the way he clutches onto your hands to make sure you’re okay after battling Visitors.

Once you finished your long, much needed shower you step back into your room, just as you realise you forgot to bring your clean laundry and pyjamas upstairs. “Shit” you mutter to yourself, really hoping the boys are in bed by now so they don’t have to see you in just a towel, having to stop yourself from blushing at the thought of Lockwood’s face.

Silently you creep down the stairs to the kitchen, your bare feet slightly sticking to the wooden floor boards and your hair dripping onto your shoulders. As you enter the kitchen, your eyes immediately meet with Lockwood’s, who’s just casually sat drinking a cup of tea in his pink button up pyjamas.

“Sorry I-, I forgot to grab my pyjamas from the dryer” you say to him, trying not to laugh at his appearance “nice er, pyjamas Anthony”

“Thanks!” his face lighting up, looking at you and only just fully realising what you’re wearing - which is very little. “Nice… towel” his gulp audible as he pulls his eyes away from you as you kneel by the dryer. Heat rises to your cheeks when he comments on your appearance, quickly grabbing onto your warmed clothes.

You look over to him and notice that his pyjamas have small embroidered patterns on them, and you can’t stop yourself from walking over to him and touching the fabric on his collar, surpressing a snigger from your lips. “You know Lockwood, I never saw you as the kind of guy to wear baby pink pyjamas, let alone ones with hearts on them.” His face visibly turning red from the fact that not only are you stood so close with your hand on his shirt, but also from seeing you in just the towel, hair still dripping. “The pink really brings out the rosy colour in your cheeks” you add with a chuckle before giving his nose a little boop and leave him in the kitchen.

George was, of course, stood in the kitchen doorway the whole time, and when he catches Lockwood’s eye from across the kitchen he just sighs and laughs. Lockwood looks at him as if nothing weird just happened “What?” “Nice towel? really??” George replies, shaking his head in bewilderment.

(I know Lockwood doesn't technically have hearts on his pyjamas, I just thought it would be funny to add it in!)

[paganicher]

This was unintentionally funny to me…

[kerrusesthisapp]

Lucy getting jealous over Flo and asking who is she and why does she call Lockwood Locky, like gurl he butters toast for you he’s basically confessing his love for you.

He even finishes buttering it with a flourish look at him go 😭

[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.

[thisgameissonintendo]

[ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ] ᴏʜ. ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ꜱʜᴏᴛ. 

(requested by @foxtrotlatte)

[lockwoodandcosource]

Lockwood & Co. "Not the Eternal"

[lady-ashfadeblog]

Cameron Chapman on bloopers of lockwood and co

He’s so adorable when he laughs!

[bumblebugwrites]

Are You Mine?

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: For as long as you could remember you and Lockwood had butted heads. Always getting on each other’s nerves, getting in each other’s ways. You basically hate each other. Right?

Warnings: Canon typical violence, Cursing, Angst (like lowkey)

Word Count: 3.8k

If there existed within the planes of this earth a man more detestable than Anthony Lockwood, you had been lucky enough to avoid making his acquaintance. Though Quill Kipps may have made for a close second, you would rather spend an hour locked in a room alone with the latter than fifteen minutes solo with Lockwood in the kitchen of your own home. It had always been that way, with some minor exceptions and though time managed to cool some of the ever-raging conflict between you, you never quite saw eye to eye.

It was a well-known fact that you and George came as a package deal. The brains and his bodyguard, that’s what Lockwood called you. And for what it was worth, it wasn’t too far from the truth. You were, always had been, a strike first, ask questions later kind of girl. Where George had the perspective and the research to see the world in shades of gray, your situation forced you to see only in black and white. Maybe that’s why you and Lockwood had always hated each other so much. Everything was always an act with him, and you simply didn’t have the time to peel back the layers. 

From your very first meeting two weeks after George was fired and you quit to ensure his safety, your chances at friendship had been dismal. The pair of you had been staying in a small, rundown hotel with what little money you could spare from your previous stint of employment, getting by on only one meal a day, a small black coffee passed back and forth and one half of a bagel each. It was miserable to say the least. Needless to say, not many people were looking to hire a fired Fittes employee and his weary sidekick. Then, on the second Tuesday since your loss of employment, George found Lockwood’s ad in the papers and after calling and being informed that you would be given the chance to interview immediately you couldn’t help the small plum of hope that settled deep within your chest at the opportunity. George on the other hand was ecstatic, fantasizing eagerly about his first meal post hiring before even setting foot in the door. That is until it opened, revealing a boy no older than you, outfitted in a freshly pressed suit.

“Mr. Lockwood?” George questioned, as you held back taking him in.

“That’s me, come in.” He signaled you forward with a smile so dazzling you were forced to avert your eyes. Your gaze fixed itself on the ground instead, taking note of the unsullied sill and the doormat, that’s edges aligned themselves perfectly with the jambs on either side. It was pristine. Alarmingly so.

“I take it we’re your first interview of the day?” The boy looked caught off guard by the sound of your voice, but quickly readjusted his features into an easy grin. 

“The rest were here yesterday, so you’ve just missed them.” You quirked a doubtful brow but remained silent and followed as he beckoned you forward into what looked to be a small library of sorts. 

“Normally I do my interviews one-on-one,” Lockwood spoke, looking back and forth between the two of you as you sat shoulder to shoulder on the couch. You felt George shift uncomfortably to your left.

“Well, we’re a package deal. We come together or not at all.” The phrase weighed on your tongue as it left your mouth. You’d been using it all week and where at first it felt simple, some sort of obvious truth, it was growing harder and harder to use. Especially when George had his parents to rely on and you had, well, nothing.

“Right… Well, the tests don’t work quite as well when you’re both in the room.” George leaned over, squeezing your hand in a signal that all would be well, before standing up to move to the hallway.

“That’s fine, I’ll wait my turn.”

After a series of demonstrations regarding your Talent, easily passed as you’d always had a fairly strong sense of Sight and a long wait in the hall for George’s turn, you were back in the room once more. 

“Right then, that’s all I’ve really got for today, so you can be on your way, and I’ll be back to you tomorrow with my decision,” Lockwood smiled, leaning back into his armchair.

“Tomorrow?”

“(Y/N)--” George attempted to place a soothing hand on your shoulder, but you shook him off with ease.

“No. I want to know what is going on here.” Once more Lockwood’s brows arched in surprise, but he kept the remainder of his features under control this time.

“Excuse me?” 

“You’re not excused. You have an ad in the papers calling yourself an agency, but you’re obviously just some sad excuse of a one-man operation, sorry one-boy operation. I mean do you even have a Supervisor?”

“Well–”

“Oh, never mind that, because worse yet, you’ve been lying to us since the moment we set foot in the door. There haven’t been any other interviews, have there Mr. Lockwood? And you had better tell me the truth because I don’t appreciate having my time wasted.”

“You do realize I’m the one conducting this interview? As in I have the power to employ you, or not.” The boyish facade vanished in only a moment and the clear hint of a threat laced his tone, but it didn’t matter, because you were outraged. Act first, think later, right? Your hand flew without hesitation to the rapier at your side and within a moment it was drawn and swinging directly towards the boy in front of you. Not to harm of course, just to return the threat. But he was fast, faster than you’d realized, and by the time your blade was making its descent, he had risen from his seat to meet it with his own.

“I highly doubt you would like to face the implications of attacking me in my own home.”

“I was just leaving anyways.” You resheathed your sword in one quick motion, and began your warpath towards the door, George calling out after you. He caught your arm just as you reached your destination.

“(Y/N) please. He’s actually considered us, that’s more than we can say for any other place.”

“I am not here to be to entertain the fantasies of some boy who’s decided to play grown up for the day.”

“Come on, this seems real enough, he’s certified and everything. Besides, we’re running out of options, and you know it–”

“We can find another–”

“We can’t. I could always go live with my parents, but it will take years for anyone to hire me after Fittes let me go. And you– Well I doubt any of those places from before will take you now, and it’s not like you have–”

“That’s enough George–” You cut him off as Lockwood appeared in the doorway to the library, a knowing look painted across his features. “We should just go. I’ve caused enough of a mess as is and it’s not like he’s making his decision any time soon.”

Your stature deflated as you reached once more for the exit.

“Actually, I made my decision the moment you both passed my test.” You and George spun around in unison. “You were right,” he said, hanging his head sheepishly, “there were no other interviews.”

“So, what are you saying?” It was George who spoke, but Lockwood kept his eyes fixed on you as he made his answer.

“I’m saying you’ve got the job.”

Since then, you and Lockwood had come to a sort of understanding: as long as George was safe you would do anything he asked. Any job, any task, no matter how dangerous. Still, that didn’t mean you would take his shit either, a fact he picked up on rather quickly, and though he never let you in completely, a trait that went both ways, he told you enough to gain your trust and you returned the favor. 

And so it went in the year before Lucy came. You weren’t friends, necessarily, but you knew at the end of the day he had your back, and in return, you had his.

Still, Lucy’s arrival made the waters more murky, as she went about breaking down walls like they were nothing. One night, Lockwood happened upon the pair of you in your shared bedroom, giggling like schoolgirls at a story from your youth, splayed out across the attic bed in identical fits of laughter and though you missed it, Lucy told you in a barely audible whisper that night of how his gaze had lingered on your scrunched up face. How his eyes had softened. How for a moment, the dark circles beneath his eyes seemed to vanish as he stood there in awe. Just a boy looking at a girl. No more, no less. 

“You should have seen his smile,” she whispered, her body turned to face yours beneath the covers of the queen. 

“Trust me I’ve seen the ‘Lockwood Smile’ more than enough in one year of acquaintanceship,” you huffed out a laugh, rolling your eyes.

“No, no. It wasn’t like that. It was– He looked so–” She sat up then hands flying at the air as though they might grasp the words she was trying to say.

“He almost looked like a kid. So… unburdened. It was pretty disturbing actually.” She broke off with a laugh. “Look I can’t explain it, but it was like he was actually happy and not just using his dashing good looks to get whatever he desires.” You rolled your eyes at the final bit, but tucked the rest away deep within your heart, stashing it beside that single plum of hope from that very first day on his doorstep.

By the following morning the whole thing was nothing more than a distant memory. You stood, pouring yourself a coffee, watching George scribble away at his notes on your current case when, Lockwood slipped by, swiping the mug from right under your nose.

“That was for me.”

“Well, I pay for everything in this house.” He smirked from behind your steaming cup.

“You don’t even like coffee.” Without breaking eye contact, Lockwood took a long sip and physically incapable of suppressing his reaction scrunched his brow in disgust. Then, parting the drink from his lips he smiled.

“Delicious.”

“You’re such an ass, now I’m going to have to brew another pot.” He shrugged off your inconvenience and took the seat beside George at the table. After putting another pot on, you joined the pair, ditching your previous research in favor of etching your new mantra into the tablecloth. Anthony Lockwood is a pompous ass. Anthony Lockwood is a pompous ass.

“What have you got so far George?” Lockwood questioned, setting down the mug in his hand after just one more sip. 

“Nothing out of the ordinary. Just a Type One I think, probably a Lurker.” 

“Excellent, Luce and I should be able to handle that on our own.”

“Lucy? I’m sat right here.” You glared across the table, daring the coffee thief to disagree with you.

“Besides you know my swordsmanship is superior even if she is basically the Stephen Hawking of ghost hunting.”

“Which is why she needs the practice.”

“And there is a wonderful place for her to do so in the basement. Come on Lockwood, it’s like you won’t let me go anywhere since–”

“Since the last time when you acted like a bumbling idiot and almost got yourself maimed?”

“I had the situation completely under control.”

“You fell down a staircase.”

“You can’t keep me on house arrest for forever.” Lockwood groaned and drew a frustrated hand across his face.

“Fine, but if you screw up like that again I’m locking you in the archives with George myself.” With that he withdrew, coffee abandoned on the table. Dragging it towards your person you let out a deep huff.

“It’s like he doesn’t trust me at all.”

“Or maybe he just cares about you?” George suggested, but quickly averted his eyes following a threatening glare thrown in his direction.

It was late when you reached the house, later than you would have liked. Lockwood had forgotten his rapier, so you’d had to turn back, though you had a suspicion it was some sort of ploy to get you to stay home and let Lucy go instead. Still, you held your ground and remained patient. Well as patient as you could.

“Lockwood, what the fuck. You said this place was ten minutes away, that was a thirty-minute metro ride. Not to mention the fact that that man beside us was trying to look down my shirt the whole way here.” You shivered at the thought but continued to fix Lockwood with a glare as you spoke. Through your anger you almost missed the slight shift in his demeanor at the second comment.

“Well, we’re here now are we not? Besides, it’s only a Type One, we’ll be fine.” 

You were not fine. Within only a moment of stepping foot inside you felt the temperature drop dramatically.

“Lockwood–”

“I felt it too.” His face twisted into a more serious expression. Still, you continued inside to further assess the threat. Dropping your bags several feet inside the entryway, you crouched almost immediately to sift through them for the filings when from across the house, a shadowy figure flew by.

“(Y/N)--”

“One second, you did an absolute rubbish job of organizing the kit, I can’t find the filings anywhere.”

“(Y/N), really–” 

“I said just a second Lockwood–” But he cut you off by using two fingers to drag your chin upwards, fixing your gaze upon the glowing figure lying in wait across the room. 

“That is definitely not a Lurker.”

“No shi–” Lockwood was cut off as the ghost unleashed an unearthly scream, launching itself towards the pair of you. The boy beside you was quick to draw his blade and, tucking yourself into a small ball, you rolled deftly out of the way in an attempt to attack the Type Two from behind. Pulling your rapier from its sheath, you took a defensive position as Lockwood struck at the figure from in front. After causing the ghost to dissipate into thin air his eyes quickly sought yours out.

“We need to locate the Source. Now.” With a shared nod, the pair of you began to advance throughout the remainder of the house. Upon entering the kitchen, something caught your eye immediately.

“Lockwood, look.” You pointed your rapier in the direction of what appeared to be a hand carved cuckoo clock, hung high on the wall. “He was a clockmaker, right? That’s what the file said.” 

“That has to be it.” Lockwood nodded in agreement. Moving at a slow and measured pace, you advanced on the clock, before realization hit and you grabbed Lockwood by the arm. 

“The net–” You stopped short as a glow began to form in the upper corner of the kitchen.

“Go, I’ll handle it,” Lockwood ordered and with a final concerned glance in the direction of the ever-expanding light, you set off in a run down the hall. Distant clattering sounds informed you that the ghost had made its appearance in the other room, and you pushed forward harder, now at a sprint.

Skidding to a halt, you all but dumped out the entire bag of kit in your effort to locate the silver net, before grasping its cool material and spinning on your heel. Distantly, you thought you heard Lockwood call your name, though any reason as to why was beyond you until your eyes caught on the ghostly figure just before you. 

Easily dodging its first attempt to harm you, you slid past its grip and through the doorway to the hall. It followed close behind and as your feet pounded against the wood floor, you could feel the atmosphere around you grow colder by the second. Flying in a panicked fury through the doorway to the kitchen, you just managed to catch Lockwood’s eye before an unseen force threw you against the counter. Your head hit the marble edge. Hard. And in a single moment you crumbled to the ground.

All sound in the room became distant, including the noise of several items on the counter’s smooth surface being dislodged with your impact. And then, in a tone you’d never heard before, Lockwood’s voice cut through all the muffled, pounding noise. 

“(Y/N)!” Your head jerked up just in time to watch as the knife peeking out over the counter teetered over the edge. In a single moment of clarity, you angled your body towards the ground, clasping your head with your hands. A piercing pain laced your shoulder and you let out a scream. Distantly, you noticed Lockwood, backed into a corner, swinging wildly with his rapier, fear etched deep within his normally steady features. That was all it took.

Ignoring the sharp pounding of your head, you reached back to dislodge the knife, pulling it from the deep, now severely bleeding wound in your shoulder. It took most of your energy not to call out in pain at the action, but you knew it would only shift the ghost’s attention back to you. Dragging yourself across the floor, you snatched the net from the ground before using the wall to pull yourself up.

Three things happened at once then. Lockwood’s eyes fixed on you from behind the ghost, wide with concern and something else you couldn’t quite place. Simultaneously, your hand made contact with the clock, instantly alerting the ghost to your presence. Finally, the Type Two turned on you. 

In one fell movement, you wrenched the clock from the wall, just as the ghost launched itself in your direction and covered it with the net, the creature disappearing mere inches from your face. Lockwood took a breath. It was mesmerizing, though you couldn’t understand why, that moment of quiet. And then you began to sway.

“Lock–” But the name died in your throat as you began your descent towards the cold linoleum floor. You were out before you hit the ground, though not before you felt the comfort of two arms as they wrapped themselves around you, breaking your fall.

It had been two weeks and Lockwood could still barely look at you. By the time you awoke in the hospital, he was gone, though George and Lucy had stayed, tangled up with you in the hospital bed, a mess of sleeping limbs. Once they awoke, you questioned the pair on the absence.

“Where’s Lockwood?”

“Said he was too busy to wait for you to wake up,” mumbled George bitterly, but Lucy only chided the other boy.

“He was worried sick about you, really. It’s just, well you know. He’s Lockwood.” You smiled at Lucy’s words, but a seed of disappointment planted itself firmly in your gut.

Your arrival back at 35 Portland Row was not much better. Lockwood remained hidden away in the library as Lucy and George helped you through the door. 

And so, the first week continued. Wordless breakfasts in the kitchen, cold greetings in the hall. One time after you accidentally grazed his side in passing, he physically flinched away. 

On the eleventh day, you found yourself near tears with the behavior.

“I think he hates me, Lucy.”

“Lockwood could never hate you.”

It was day twelve of Lockwood’s one-sided standoff when you caught him in the kitchen alone near two in the morning.

“Could you make me a cup?” You’d questioned, coming up behind him to search the cupboard for some bread as he poured himself a cup of tea. Nothing. Not even a glance.

“Come on Lockwood, it’s been days, can you just drop it? I’m fine.” Still no response. No matter. You’d always known how to get a rise out of Anthony Lockwood.

Waiting until he’d set the kettle down to reach for some sugar, you moved quickly, sandwiching yourself between the counter and the boy. For the first time in days, his eyes met yours, though he dismissed the moment with a quick huff and reached once more for the cabinet above your head. You gave him a shove.

“Fuck you Lockwood, talk to me.” His eyes glinted in a warning, but he made no effort to speak. He didn’t move a muscle. You shoved him harder. 

“Talk to me you prick.” He caught your wrists in his hands as you pulled back for another shove and gripped them tightly.

“Say something!” As you struggled against him to give one final push, your shoulder caught at an odd angle and the searing pain from your still healing wound nearly sent you crumpling to the ground. Nearly. As you began to curl in on yourself, Lockwood removed his hands from your wrists and caught you by the waist.

“You’re going to reopen the gash on your shoulder.” He chided, his tone cold, but his arms continued to hold you in place.

“I know that you hate me. And that’s fine. But this– The silence, it’s too much… It hurts too much.”

“You’re an idiot. You acted recklessly and without forethought. You could have died. You could have gotten yourself killed–”

“I was just–”

“I’m not finished,” he continued, his hold on you tightening, “you jeopardized the entire mission with your actions–”

“I saved your life!”

“I had it under control–”

“Oh, like I did with the staircase?”

“I should never have brought you.”

“Because you hate me? Yeah, I know.”

“Because you are nothing but a distraction.” You froze. Body rigid in his hold. He pushed on.

“Because all I could think about the entire time we were in that house was you. If you were safe, if you were– if you were alive.” One of Lockwood’s hands traveled carefully from your waist to your cheek.

“It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the staircase. It’s why I couldn’t bear to go on any missions with you, it’s why I nearly made you George’s bloody research assistant, it’s why– it’s why I nearly fell apart when I watched you hit that oven– when I saw that knife about too–” 

You could hear his breaths becoming labored and his grip tightened once more as his eyes clouded with the anxiety of distant memories.

“Hey. I’m fine.” You reassured him, bringing a hand up to caress his face. “I’m okay, really.”

“I think I’m– I care about you, so much it hurts.”

And there it was, the boyish face Lucy had seen that night in the attic. Young and afraid. Completely unguarded. You really couldn’t help kissing him.

Bunching the fabric of his shirt in your hand, you pulled his lips down to meet yours, and though surprise initially stilled his mouth, he quickly pulled you closer, kissing deeper, pressing forward to meet you. His hand curled gently in your hair, his other arm pulling you closer, closer, as though if he loosened his grip, you would simply slip away. You only pulled back to catch your breath though you could barely convince yourself to do that much as his lips followed after yours, looking to meet again.

“I love you too Anthony Lockwood.”

[fictional-addiction]

I'm Not Really Here.(Pt.2)

Relationship: Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, reader whump and pain and general chaos

Requested: icl it wasnt 100% in the works but so many of you came forward asking for pt2, thank you, so here we are🙏🙏

Word Count: guys.. idk. probably similar to the last one lol

Part: 2/2

Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong. You and Anthony are left to face the consequences. !! PART 2 OF 2 !!

Warnings: blood, swearing, angst, creeps, violence, torture. I AM NOT CONDONING/ROMANTICISING VIOLENCE. THIS IS PURELY FICTION. PLEASE TAKE THIS INTO ACCOUNT. DO NOT READ IF THESE WARNINGS TICKLE YOUR BRAIN THE WRONG WAY. THANKS BESTIE

-/-/-/-/-

It had been hours.

Your throat was scratched raw with the echoes of screams. Cheeks stained with the remnants of tears that had tracked down your face. No sense of what was real, and what was in your mind.

Chaos.

The blade dragged against your jawline once more, never enough pressure to make a cut, yet just enough to leave your skin burning with the scrape of the uneven edge.

A new tear slipped out the corner of your eye, a silent plea for this agony to end.

The man saw it.

The blade pressed harder.

"Didn't I tell you, you weren't to let a ano'her one of them tears to fall? Oh, princess.." he snarled. "Time to start with our favourite toy again, no?"

Your eyes squeezed shut. When the man had showed it to you and Lockwood all those hours ago, you had almost scoffed at its appearance. Small, rusted, and seemingly barely functional enough to make a dent.

A drill.

You would have thought otherwise. Yet this, this thing; it had deceived you.

The man yanked the chain and fired up the ancient tool as it grated and grinded, specks of rust flying in all directions.

I'm not really here. I'm not, I can't be, I'm not here, I'm not-

"Ohh, princess?" the man taunted. "What-" , he brought the drill closer, "did I say about sleeping on the job?"

A horrifying smile glimmered on his face.

"You sleep- you pay," he whispered, breath hot on your neck.

Another tear slid down your grimied face as he held the drill even closer to you- this time grabbing your left leg.

"I think it's a'out time we do th' other one, yeah? Since your right one seems to be all dolled up now', aight?"

The blood had dried somewhat a long time ago on your right leg. In certain places, fresh drips seeped out of the cuts. The tidy handwriting.

'Lockwood's bitch', it read. All neatly cut out and on display for all to see.

Well. At the moment, 'all'... was Lockwood.

He sat opposite you, eyes wide. Hands still bound behind him, his futile attempts at escape falling flat as he struggled to undo the knot of the fabric. Mouth stuffed with a rag - courtesy of the man, who had wiped the blood off your right leg with it, before promptly shoving it in his mouth to silence his shouts and protests.

He was helpless. And Anthony Lockwood couldn't bear it.

The man began to softly drag the drill up your leg, prolonging the process of digging in to the skin. Your eyes followed the moment of the drill, a deep panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Ah, 'ere we are. This seems like a perfect spot, dontcha' think."

The fear crept through your body; it trembled in anticipation. I’m not really here, I’m not, I’m not here, I-

The man dug the drill into your calf. You bit down harder on your lip, as you tried not to scream. You couldn't give in this time.. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe your body had gotten used to the pain, maybe it was going to be fin-

It wasn't.

The drill bit into your skin and your mouth flew open as a shrill scream ripped out of your throat.

"Y/N!" Lockwood bit down on the rag, struggling to speak through the material.

"Y/NNN!"

You tried to look at him - he always knew how to ground you. If you could just catch a glance, maybe it would hel-

Nothing but blinding pain tore through you. Your vision went white, your ears deaf to the screams... your screams. Oh god, it- it ripped across your body, leaving streaks of raw pain in its path.

It was the type of pain that you couldn't get used to. Sometimes, one can bite down and bear raw pain-- but this, this was unreal. This seemed to only grow, trawling through your veins, clawing its way out as it scrabbled up your throat- filling the room with ugly, horrid screams.

And all you could do, was... struggle to breathe. Struggle to live.

You wished you would die; you couldn't.

But if you truly wanted to die, wouldn't the world grant you that?

-/-/-/-/-

"Boss, come here. Look at this."

With a sneer, the man eventually pulled the machine away, the drill bit dripping blood onto the dirty cement and stomped towards Cliff. Your vision was screwed beyond belief, but your eyes could still carve out shapes, colours; his face.

Your ears were- ringing-

painfully

ringing.

Your head dropped back, your neck protesting at the steep, uncomfortable angle that it was now dangling at. Yet it dulled in comparison to the fire burning in your leg as air seeped into the fresh wounds.

"Oh god... I..," your voice strained, fading as it became harder and harder to form words. "Please..."

Lockwood could only watch as the horror unfolded before him. Limp. Pale. Almost dead.

He wanted to reach out, assure you that he had a plan, that he knew what to do- but he couldn’t. He was frozen, heart beat-beating beat beat beat beating.. louder, and louder, and loUDER-

I’m not really here.

The man's head twisted over his shoulder, ignoring Cliff as the plea fell from your cracked lips. Striding back towards you, his heavy footfalls causing you to wince and furrow your eyebrows as the sound went straight to your pounding head.

He pouted. "Please, what?" he taunted. "Please, again? Tha' can be done-"

You pushed yourself to interject, "-No; please, no.."

The man cocked his head, eyebrow raised as he continued to mock you. "But hun, dont'cha want to add to the beautiful handiwork? My, there's s' much already etched on you, we could turn ya into a art piece, fit for one of them fancy galleries uptown. Like the one you an' your little friend here tried to catch us at." His eyes darkened as he recalled the previous events of that night. The trap you and Lockwood had attempted to set for them to walk into.

How ironic- you had fallen into theirs instead. No longer the hunters, but the hunted.

You could only hope George had realised what had happened and was doing... something. Anything. At this point, you could barely think straight.

The man had continued to drawl on, and you forced yourself to try and focus on his words- anything to keep you lucid.

"See, princes-" he had been saying before he noticed your head lolling as you struggled to maintain consciousness. "Oi-"

A sharp pain burned against your cheek.

Your head had dropped to the side from the contact, and you managed to make brief eye contact with Lockwood.

One look in his dark eyes told you that things did not look good. At all. He was terrified. You were terrified.

Yet…

I’m not really here.

Strangely, in this moment, your fear seemed to have melted away. Your pain dissolved into numbness. Your heart no longer felt like it was being crushed, without breath. You felt… nothing.

You couldn't let this sicko win.

The man seemed to have lost his focus on you and instead began to walk back to Cliff. Until you muttered a few choice words that spun him right back around.

"Excuse me." He stated, voice lurking dangerously low.

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, before turning your gaze to him.

"I said-"

Thwack.

"I heard what you said, you stupid bitch."

A slight smirk ghosted over your face. You could taste blood. You could taste freedom.

He dusted his hand on his grimy trousers and proceeded to straighten up, as he raised his hand to prepare to strike again.

Your head hit the back of the chair with a crack.

crack.

cRAck

cr a c k.

He searched for the spark in your eyes as you blinked them back open. When you turned and spat at his feet, contempt coursing through you, he drew his fist back and let the full weight of it slam into your jaw.

Your head twisted under the force and whacked against the chair frame again. This time, stars danced across your vision and your ears protested, ringing loudly.

The room-

Room-

The room spun. You couldn't...

"Oi, lady-"

"She's losing conscious-"

"Look what you did to her face man, what the f-"

"Boss, maybe we should lay off..."

You couldn't..

It hur-

Wh-?

Hel-

No.

Don’t help-

-want to be free

Life should give you death,

surely?

Through your bleary eyes, you caught Lockwood's gaze. You wanted to tell him it was alright. You wanted to reach out your hand and intertwine it with his. There were so many words that were desperate to be said, but your mouth wouldn't open. Your voice lay dormant in your throat. There was nothing.

The room spun. The world stopped. Your heartbeat slowed. His eyes clouded with distress. Your body stilled.

It's dark.

It's dark here.

Cold.

Cold, here.

The world

stopped

bre at h i n g.

And you were-

no lon g e r

Here.

-- fictional-addiction (and all my grammar errors. we ❤️ chaotic writing)

-/-/-/-/-

ahh hey everybody!!

I'm back besties with more on the way (I'm being fr this time 🤍) can't wait!

do y’all want a pt3? idk if it needs one or not. if yes lmk what you wanna read in pt3! help me choose my ending cause I feel like it can go many, many different ways lol

so basically yeah hope you liked, hope it was worth a lil wait andddd check you next time :) keep sending in requests I'm starting off there!

byeee loves have a great day/night xx

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