#lockwood x lucy fanfic

[manikas-whims]

Cookie Crumbs and a Kiss

[Read on AO3]

For Locklyle Week 2023 (@locklyle-week )

Day 2: Food/Colors

Lucy spots some cookie crumbs on Lockwood's cheek.

Lockwood does something unexpected.

And George is tired of the idiots he lives with.

It was another one of those late nights where they'd narrowly escaped the clutches of not one but five horrifying type 2s, sealed them as per the protocols and were now back at Portland Row.

Currently hovered around the thinking cloth, each member of Lockwood and Co was busy sipping tea and scarfing down doughnuts and cookies before retiring to their own rooms for the rest of the night.

Lucy glanced at George, who was busy tinkering with a relic they'd come upon during their job. It was hard to believe he'd nearly been ghost-locked half an hour earlier. She scoffed to herself and turned her gaze towards her other friend— the quick-witted and enigmatic Anthony Lockwood. He took a sip from his mug, eyes closed in hopes of relieving them from even a little of the weariness caused by their harrowing profession.

She spotted some crumbs of a cookie dusted along his cheek. The boy himself seemed to be too tired and lost to take note of his state. And so, Lucy took the courtesy to inform him about it.

She tapped his shoulder, making his eyes flutter open, dark circles prominent around them. He quirked his brows languidly but expectantly, to which she wordlessly gestured towards her own cheek in order to indicate the presence of those crumbs on his cheek.

Despite how tired he was, Lockwood smiled his usual charming smile at her and leaned towards her face. And before she could comprehend what was happening, his lips brushed against her cheek, lingered for a moment, before he pulled back, flashed her another lazy smile and resumed sipping his tea.

Lucy blinked, the shock of the act slowly fading from her mind. Then, she felt the rapid spread of a crimson blush across her face. Lockwood just kissed her! Well not directly but he did kiss her cheek and..and the cookie crumbs were still sticking around his cheek and—

“Seriously?” came the repulsed voice of one George Karim, shattering her spiraling train of thoughts.

Both her and Lockwood glanced questioningly at their friend, confused about what they were being accused of.

George shook his head as if the cause of his disgust was obvious and didn't even require any explanations. Still he chomped on a slice of doughnut, gestured at her and Lockwood, and spoke, “How are you two so oblivious!?”

But before either of the two teens could utter a word in their defense, George shushed them. He gulped down his remaining tea, slammed the mug against the thinking cloth, grabbed two more doughnuts, and marched right out of the kitchen, grumbling about how he was living with idiots.

despite being super busy with assignments and project reports and tests at my Uni, I wanna contribute something to this event.

Happy Locklyle Week! ♡

[marvelwitchergilmore]

Punch At First Sight

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

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

It was meant to be an easy case. 

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

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

But, no. 

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

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

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

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

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

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

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

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

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

Then came a scream. 

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

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished. 

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

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

“Run?” you offered. 

“Run.” Lucy replied. 

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

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

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

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

“Relax. I’m safe enough.” 

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

“Are you?”

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

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

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

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

“Move here.”

“What?”

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

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

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

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.” 

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

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

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

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

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

You moved in three days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they know? They have to know.”

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

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

George just nodded. 

“Seriously?”

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

“Yeah…” 

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked. 

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

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

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

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

But it didn’t take too long. 

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

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

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

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

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

“And why not?”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

“Are you-”

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

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

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“She made a mistake.”

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

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

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

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

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

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

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded. 

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

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

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did. 

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

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

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

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

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

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

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

“What truth?”

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

“Lucy-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

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

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

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did. 

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

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

Until you kissed back. 

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

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

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

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

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

“Not this time,” you laughed a little. 

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

“Like Victor?”

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

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

“You are.”

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

“Good.”

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

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice. 

[jackie5656]

Say It Like You Mean It With; Anthony Lockwood

A/N: Hello again! We’ve begun a new obsession, I am absolutely hooked on this show. And if there’s no renewal announcement in the next month, or at all, I’m fighting. @sunshineangel-reads​ provided some suggestions in the inbox, so I figured I’d tag <3. All right, hope you enjoy!

Summary: The one where you meet the newest addition to the agency, and insomnia strikes again

IMPORTANT: All characters are aged up. I wouldn’t be comfortable doing so if they were played by minors, but that’s not the case here. Just wanted to make that clear before we begin. 

“She can’t just go taking two at once like that.” 

“the rule is each member of the agency can only take one biscuit at a time in a strict rotation. Keeps things fair.”

“E-each member of the agency?” 

“Assuming you are still interested in the position?” The front door opens just as Lockwood’s finished. Three heads snapping toward the mud room as you shuffle in, arms weighed down from grocery bags.

“Of course she’s still interested!” To Lucy’s relief, it’s a female voice that sounds before you appear in font of them. Tufts of hair spilling over your face at the exertion of errands. The two boys are immediately at your side, ridding you of all baggage and heaving it toward what she assumes is the kitchen.

“Lucy,” Lockward calls out behind him as he descends the staircase along George. “Meet y/n y/l/n, another associate.” You scoff, extending a hand with a kind smile. Undoubtedly the most welcoming so far. “She’s most sensitive to sound, much like you. Not bad with a rapier, either.” 

“I hope they haven’t irritated you too much so far.” You beckon her to follow the boy’s path with you. “Please tell me you didn’t use the bloody toothbrush cup.” 

“Of course not.” Lockwood taps his nose with his finger when your back is to him, a silent beckon for your potential hiree not to snitch.

 The kitchen’s just down a flight of stairs, where you get unloading items into their designated spaces as George works on cooking. 

“We call this the thinking cloth,” Lockwood taps onto the wooden table after tossing you a box of pasta to put away. “We jot down memos, theories, trains of thought-”

“Cheesy love confessions.”

“Shut up, George.” The redhead misses the inside joke, brows furrowing with confusion as Anthony continues on. “I located the bones of the Fenchurch Street Ghoul by sketching out the street plans here at three in the morning over cheese on toast.”

“When a case goes badly an we’re not talking to one another, it’s good for exchanging insults too.”

“Ah, and how often does that happen?”

“Almost never.” You butt in, giving her your most genuine expression despite the white lie. You’re so eager to finally have another girl around, it’s only fair you promote the job as much as possible. 

“Now, basement. Follow me.” Lucy does as asked, sending a quick look of concern your way before she disappears down the stairway. 

“She’ll never last.”

“Oh c’mon George, I was more than welcoming when you came along.” 

“That’s because my natural talent was evident.” 

“Is that why you screamed like a little girl during the test?” 

“I wasn’t expecting the gunshots from the knife, alright?”

**********

“This was my bedroom when I was little, and y/n’s for a while. You can use it, if you’d like. Unless you have other sleeping arrangements?” 

“Yes...No-I mean-”

“Of course, we’d deduct the rent from your wages. Nothing too steep. Just enough to cover the bills. I’m a very reliable landlord.” 

“Jesus, Anthony. Give her a second.” You tear open the blinds, smirking when Lucy takes a moment to admire the view at such height. Something tells you the pair of you will get on just fine. She hesitates, then. Looking Iver to you with confusion. 

“Do you sleep elsewhere?” There’s a sudden silence between the three of you. Lockwood clearing his throat as he pulls at a the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. He studies the newest employee with a twinge of anxiety, presumably understanding how things might seem...Unprofessional. Granted, it’s a business run by an 18 year old, but an official one nonetheless. 

“We share the bedroom downstairs.” Is all you manage, blush adorning your features as her jaw slacks in understanding. 

“I’d like to make it clear,” Anthony looks over your frame, smiling fondly. Then back to Lucy. Who seems to hold no judgement despite her obvious contemplation. “Y/n and I attended academy together, she was with me when this all began.” 

“In other words,” you finish for him. “We were sleeping together before he became my employer.” The closed-off girl huffs a laugh for the first time since you’ve met her, though your boyfriend twinges pink with an abashed smile. Diffidence is awfully rare on him, though it's quite adorable. It’s then Lucy decides she’s fond of you already. 

“Please excuse my girlfriend’s lack of filter. I suppose George’s rubbed off on her.” He's only teasing, Lucy knows that when you shove at his shoulder. The pair of you are not overly affectionate, you don’t seem like the types anyway. Of course, she’s only caught a glimpse of your relationship, there’s an undeniable glint in her potential boss’ eyes as he looks at you. 

“Like Anthony said-” 

“Lockwood, please.” Though he interrupts you, he’s only looking at Lucy. She comes to understand you may be the only one unwilling to refer to him as such. It almost twitches a smile to her lips. 

“This used to be my room, before Anthony begged for my hand.” 

“Was that before or after you professed your undying love for me?” Said boy backs up toward the stairs, noticing the inklings of a friendship beginning to form between the two girls front him. 

“Before then, but definitely after you pleaded to kiss me when you drank the better half of MY whiskey. Which was a gift, by the way. An expensive one.” 

“From that muppet at academy?” He scoffs, wiping an invisible stream of dust off the banister. “Horrid flirt.” A grimace sets upon his face. Josh Collins was a right prick, you had to admit. Though it was an obliged graduation gift. 

“Don’t speak so poorly of yourself, sweetheart.” Lucy can’t help but really smile this time, features immediately dulling once she realizes she’s been caught. You pretend not to notice.

Lockwood sends a half-assed glare your way, holding his tongue in lieu of the new company. “This has got it’s own bathroom. There’s a bigger one downstairs, but that’s mean sharing with George. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” A beat of silence after you nod in agreement, cringing at the flashbacks. “Right, well, we’ll leave you to unpack. Settle in. That’s assuming-”

“Those newspaper clippings on the wall...”

“Oh. You saw those. Not very modest, is it?” 

“But definitely on brand.” You mutter what you think is to yourself, smiling innocently when they look your way. 

“Should really take them down.” 

“No, it’s more...It’s just. Well you haven’t said anything about...I mean, who are you guys?” 

“Plenty of time for that. You should rest. Get some sleep.”

“That’s...If you’ll take the job?” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you are, voice tilting with anticipation as you wring your hands together. 

There’s a couple, agonizing beats of silence that feel like hours. Finally, the girl nods, “yes.” 

You all but shout, fighting jumping up and down at the confirmation. Anthony shakes his head at you with a fond roll of his eyes, sending Lucy hopeful smile. “Well then, welcome to Lockwood and Co.” You squeeze her arm gently in congratulation, taking hold of your boyfriend’s chin to press a swift kiss to his cheeks. Unaware of his skin flushing with heat as you descend the stairs in an elated hurry.

“Georgie, she said yes!!”

****************

It’s dark when you wake, rolling over in search of warmth that isn’t there. Unsurprisingly, Anthony’s not beside you. You huff a sigh, cursing your boyfriends’ relentless insomnia before wrapping the quilt folded at the bottom of the bed around your form and stalking down the hall.

He’s in the library, of course. The bright fire pops into the silence of the night, illuminating the room in a tantalizing warmth. Lockwood runs a finger over his bottom lip as his eyes remain trained on the book in hand. Up until a weak floor board gives your presence away with a groaning creak.

His lips curl into a tired, yet no less pleased smile at the sight of you. Shifting the couch so you’ll fit perfectly into his side. “Why are you awake, dove? It’s late.” He pushes a stray strand of hair from your face, brows furrowing when you scoff at the irony.

“Could say the same for you. Can’t sleep again?” He hums, elaboration not necessary. Hurt tugs at your heart strings as your thumb trails over the dark skin just below his eyes. A hand wrapping around your wrist to kiss your doting ones away.

In the solitude of these hours, you’re both able to find comfort in your gentle affections. It’s much easier alone, sometimes. There’s an unspoken ease in the solitude of it all. In these moments, Lockwood can feed into the delusion it’s just you and him in this house, in the whole world.

“Close your eyes and get some rest.” He wraps an arm around your sternum. Your back to his chest as he continues reading. A pout adorns your features, eyes narrowing.

“But I’m not tired.”

“Yes. You most definitely are,” the corners of us eyes crinkle with his knowing smirk. “You just don’t want to make me feel bad for making you feel obligated to stay awake with me.”

You envy his ability to read you more often than not. Pulling the quilt further over the two of you so as to seem inconspicuous. Failing miserably when a yawn tears through you. Long lashes fluttering over your cheekbones as you blink slow, gazing up at him. Anthony feigns stoicism under your gaze, though you’re just about the only person to make his heart race with just a look. The one you’re giving him right now is particularly cruel. Pleading, soft, all things sweet and alluring. He figures you’ve perfected the craft of drawing him in, unknowingly or otherwise.

“I’m wide awake, actually.” Is all you manage. Voice rasped with sleep as your nails run over the exposed skin of his forearm. Sending chills down his spine. The arm resting over you pulls slightly back, just enough to enable his hand to hold the side of your face. Fingers smoothing over your warm skin to lull you further.

You’ve always been naturally much warmer than him. A personal furnace, he regards you. Seeing as he’s always too cold for his liking.

It makes sense. You’re all things sweet and painstakingly kind. There’s not a soul who’d be able to repay half the debts you deem mere favors. You’d give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, especially those you care for.

You’re everything Anthony Lockwood is not. And sometimes, most times, he hates himself for it. Hates he’s too selfish to let you go and award you opportunity to find someone much more worthy of your heart.

“Hey. Where’d you go?” He’s stopped his ministrations, seizing your attention from the cackling fire and back to him. He offers a small smile, one you read right through. Here he is again, pulling away and closing off in the moments you’re both most vulnerable. It’d hurt, at first. The beginnings of your relationship...Friendship, even. Had often been strained by Anthony’s reclusive  habits. You’ve shared just about every piece of yourselves to one another, yet he still manages to find more fear in love than fighting the dead.

Over time you’ve developed patience. Reveling in the small moments of softness he’s awarded you in all the chaos. They’re worth it. Knowing him, learning how to love him, has been worth it.

“I’m right here, love. I’m always here.” He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. Pretending to get lost in the pages afront him once more.

“Come to bed.” You’re so quiet he almost misses it, folding the book against his chest to meet your gaze. Doing his best to ward off your obvious puppy eyes. (though he lacks lacks the best track record with this)

“Just one more chapter? Then I’ll take you to bed and pretend to sleep for the next few hours.” You frown at his teasing, swatting away his poke to your sides in search of a smile.

“You’re not funny, Lockwood. All i want is for you to rest. Really rest, for once.” Rapier-calloused fingers card through his hair, eliciting a gracious sigh.

“I’m only joking. I do rest much easier with you around,” a swift kiss to your lips. “Sleep better when you’re beside me,” two more against your cheeks for good measure.

“You’re awful.”

“Awful?”

“Awful!” A hand collides with his chest, chastising. “Being sweet so I’ll stop worrying. It won’t work. I’ll always worry about you.” And there it is again. The agonizing clutch at his heart at your compassion. Unable to resist the notion there are so many others much more worthy of your affections.

“I know.” It’s a whisperer, forehead pressing against yours. “You should probably start saving that for a bloke who deserves it.” There’s no self-pity to it. No trace of malice or fish for reassurance. So succinct and matter of fact you want to tackle him into an embrace in lieu of willing away every deprecating thought that intrudes his conscience.

“Anthony Lockwood.” You’re stern, then. Maneuvering upward so your head can rest on the arm of the love-worn couch and better face him. “If you’re mean to my boyfriend one more time, I’ll ensure my spirit is tied to you. Haunting you with love and affection for the rest of eternity.”

“I feel like that’s supposed to be a threat...” Cold fingers trace over your collar bone, peeking out from under his dress shirt you’ve stolen. “Though it’s almost endearing. I’d quite like to be stuck with you for the rest of time, I think.” A blush flushes your features, worsening when it elicits his cocky smirk at the observation.

“I hate you.” Hands concealing your abashed face with the muffled whine.

“Say it like you mean it, Darling.” He stretches under you, nudging at your forearms with the spine of his book. “Will you uncover yourself now? I’d like to see you again.” You oblige, hands falling atop your thighs and against his stomach. Anthony’s gasp startles you, features taught with confusion. “My God, it’s happened again!”

“What?”

“You’ve gotten prettier! Just now, I swear it!” A groan sounds as you press your face into his chest, shaking along with his rumbles of laughter. 

“Just read your book, Lockwood. I like you better when you’re quiet.”

“Just one more chapter. Then we’ll head to bed.” He straightens, getting ahold of himself as he obliges. Eyes meeting yours once you tap his elbow.

“Read to me?”

“I thought you liked me better quiet?”

“I like you best complacent.”

“Noted.” And with that, he begins.

You stretch over him as he begins, his shirt on you rising just enough to expose your mid drift. Greedy fingers take the opportunity to run themselves over your soft skin. Cool rings giving eliciting goosebumps. He does it mindlessly, which makes you heat even more

“Stop blushing, you’re distracting me.”

************

Lockwood squints as the curtains are torn open with a cruel screech. George stands a-front him, hands on his hips. You’d never managed to make it back to bed, both having fallen asleep in the sam positions as the hours before. This particularly apparent when Anthony raises his head from the back of the coach, wincing at the soreness in his neck. 

“You know, I may as well take the master bedroom if you’re never gonna use it.” 

“Quiet down, George. You’ll wake her.” The curly-haired boy rolls his eyes when his colleague cuffs his hands over your ears, shielding you from the noise. 

“Good. We have work to do.” 

****

“Our first official case as a team of four.” Your boyfriend beams brightly despite the morbid information in hand. Passing it along so the rest of you can be caught up. 

“Mrs. Hope...Looking to rid her house of a Problem following the demise of her late husband.” George adjusts his glasses as he sums the story to you and Lucy.

“Cheeky.” The girl deadpans, taking a sip of her steaming cup of tea groggily.

“Pay grade. That we desperately need.” You shrug, doing your best to make light of each job despite their implications. 

“George, you should get a head start on the research while we pack the bags. Lucy we have to learn plans A-F, as well.” The three of you nod along, Lockwood tilting his chin upward to allow you better room to adjust his tie, Pulling away so he can offer the portion of buttered toast and chopped fruit he’s plated for you. You only take a strawberry, a polite shake of your head when he pushes it forward once more. 

“Later.” You note, running your fingers under his collar to smooth it out. 

“You should eat.” He’s stern, pulling away his steaming mug you reach for with furrowed brows. “Can’t have tea on an empty stomach, you get all shaky.” Your jaw slacks in half-serious offense at the notion, the pair of you turning your heads toward your colleagues sat at the table, 

“You’ll have to get used to their old-married-folk tendencies. It’s quite insufferable at first, but becomes increasingly tolerable over time.”

“Oh shut it.” It's in unison, only aiding in your flushed demeanors as their grins grow. 

“Told you.” The bastards’ irritatingly smug as he motions toward you. “I’ll be off to the archives, I’ve reached my morning’s capacity of affections.” Anthony’s arms cross with a scoff, eyes trailing over to you and face igniting in a mischievous smirk. Your brows furrow, about to question his sudden change in attitude before he’s on you. Making a show of grabbing the sides of your face and littering kisses all over your face. Pushing so you have to step backward toward a horrified George, hands over his ears as he attempts to escape the treachery. 

Lucy can’t help but laugh. Overcome with the realization of all the agencies in London, she’s likely ended up with the best one. 

[bloodcanbehot]

I Wish You Would

(gotta keep that Taylor Swift theme)

Anthony Lockwood x f!reader

Content: Angst? Fluff? Touched starved Lockwood

Warnings: Mention of blood and wounds, also some curse words (I think)

Characters: Anthony Lockwood and (y/n) Kipps. (Lucy Carlyle and Quill Kipps also appear)

Word count: 1.083

A/N: Exactly two people told me to post it, and that was enough (I'm literally about to enter to an online class while typing this). Chronology speaking, this goes BEFORE their first kiss but I'm a dumbass and forgot to post this one first, hope you like it

(I'll attach their first kiss here)

“Where were you?” Quill asked, seeing both Lockwood and (y/n) walk in with dirt on their faces and hair. As soon as he spoke, his sister’s face told him to not speak, unless he wanted to die.

“We’re fine!” (y/n) said, grabbing Lockwood by the arm and walking to the kitchen.

“You guys don’t look-” Lucy started, but the slamming of the door cut her off.

“Sit”

“I’m not your dog”

“And I don’t care” (y/n) said, pointing at the kitchen chair “sit down”

Lockwood did as she said, even though he didn’t want to. (y/n) started taking out items from the first aid kit, slamming them on the table as she cursed.

“I cannot fucking believe you” she said “seriously, why is it so hard for you to take care of yourself while we’re out on a case?” (y/n) asked, soaking a small piece of cotton with disinfectant. She grabbed Lockwood’s arm, forcefully moving the sleeve of his dress shirt up to see his cut better.

“(y/n) I-” Lockwood started, hissing when the cotton made contact with the cut on his arm.

“This might hurt” (y/n) said, after hearing him hissing, a smirk on her face.

“Okay” Lockwood said “I deserved that”

“You deserve more” (y/n) said “actually, you don’t even deserve me doing this for you, should I just tell my brother to do it, so you suffer a bit more?” she questioned, sarcasm all over her voice.

“(y/n)-”

“You know, when Luce told me you were reckless, I thought 'well, he's certainly not stupid' guess I was wrong!” she grabbed one of the big band aids and covered his cut.

“(y/n) I’m sorry, okay?” he said “this wasn’t reckless, I had a plan, it just didn’t work”

“Wow, what a surprise”

“I didn’t know the golden blade was gonna be there!”

“The what?” (y/n) stood up, forgetting about his other cuts.

“Last year we encountered him” Lockwood explained “we think he somehow works for Penelope Fittes-”

“My boss?”

“Yes” Lockwood nodded “he tried to steal the bone glass from Lucy and I” he explained “he’s also the one who shot me” he grabbed her hand “you have to believe me”

(y/n) looked at his eyes, processing what he had said in silence, enough to make Lockwood panic, the hold on her hand tightening.

“I… I believe you” she said, sitting back down. She wasn’t gonna lie, she always felt a weird vibe from the woman, or the entire agency for that matter. And she didn’t think Lockwood would lie to her.

He sighed in relief “Thank you (y/n)-”

“What I also believe” she started, letting go of his hand and grabbing a new cotton piece “is that your other cuts need to be taken care of” she said “specially this one” she tapped slightly the cut on his forehead, making him hiss again “I thought you were good at fencing?”

“I am” Lockwood shot back “I was just… surprised”

“Your blood says otherwise” (y/n) replied “now, lean closer so I can help”

Lockwood only nodded and whispered a small ‘yes’, letting her do the work and leaning closer as she instructed. As she leaned in, she quickly realized how her back was going to kill her if she did that, so she grabbed her chair and dragged it a bit closer to his, eventually ending up with her thigh in the middle of his thighs.

Lockwood chuckled “you might as well sit on my lap if you-”

“Shut up or I’ll do it” she cut him off with a smile.

He smirked “be my guest”

She ignored him, grabbing the back of his head to steady it as she disinfected the cut across his forehead. She was focused, focused on cleaning the blood and figuring out which bandage to use, but Lockwood’s wandering hands on her knee were distracting her.

It started with his fingers, slowly tapping her knee, barely noticeable, and she wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t kept going at it. His fingers slid across her knee and (y/n) made her best to ignore it, but as she stood up to change the cotton piece, he pushed her leg open, causing her to fall on his lap.

“That’s better” he said, smirk on his lips again.

“Lockwood-”

“Please” he said, voice so quiet she barely heard him.

She looked at his eyes, and for one moment she saw his mask crack. His dark circles and clenched jaw showed her how tired and stressed he was. She couldn’t even imagine how much his muscles ached after the fight, let alone the throbbing of the multiple cuts on his skin.

“Fine” she whispered, not trusting her own voice with the feeling of his hands on her waist.

She kept doing her thing in silence and he just watched her, tracing small circles on her sides with his thumbs. (y/n) just wanted to close her eyes and enjoy it, enjoy his touch on her skin and wish she could feel it for longer, to forget about the case, the fight, everything. She wanted to focus on him and him only.

“There” she said, breaking whatever spell was between them. She grabbed his chin, angling his face to admire the, now taken care of, cut “you’ll live”

He chuckled, smiling truthfully for the first time that night, or since (y/n) knew him, she didn’t care. She liked the small glow on his face.

They locked eyes, the blanket of silence settling on them again. (y/n)’s fingers slid across his chin towards his jaw, making him close his eyes and just enjoy her touch. His hands started moving up her waist, slowly, also making her want to close her eyes and enjoy, but she still leaned forward, closer and closer to him.

He felt it, the weight shift on his lap, some of her curly locks tickling his shoulders.

She could feel their lips almost touching.

The door opened, making her open her eyes wide and snap her neck so hard she wondered if this is how she was going to die. That would be better than the image she saw.

Both Lucy and her brother were standing at the doorstep. (y/n) stumbled off Lockwood’s lap, feeling his hands fly away from her and almost fell. Chair and all.

She gripped the thinking cloth “I was tending his cut” she stupidly said.

She could feel how Quill resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as she looked at him.

“You sure were”

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

A/N: I feel like this scene and the other one are pretty similar, so if I do write the fanfic I'll change it, but let me know what you think! (Again, be nice)

[lewkwoodnco]

I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey - Lockwood x Reader/ Locklyle

And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden.

a/n: it's been a while since I've been inspired to write a fic impromptu and GOD have I missed it!! this was very cathartic to write and is one of my fav pieces of writing yet :) I decided to try something new by writing it in first person, from Lockwood's perspective, to the reader/Lucy (so it could technically also be considered a lockyle fic) there's not exactly a linear storyline heheh and i hope u enjoy!

warnings/tropes: first/second person writing, love??? fluff at least, sickeningly romantic, but also a dash of angst

word count: 720

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

I watched you make your first cup of tea on a blustery January morning. The kitchen was too bright, and with the pounding in my head, it hurt my eyes to look. But I watched you add a drizzle of honey and a squeeze of lemon.

What's the point, I asked, of adding both honey and lemon? One sweet, the other sour, only tasting whichever’s sharper in the moment. You smiled at me. You held your cup like it was home. Outside, the curtains were singing and sighing. A new day had begun, just like any other, except now I knew how you took your tea.

You are a thousand different flavours that riddle my tongue blunt all the time. How to handle the scrapbook of memories that you are, I wonder. One moment you’re pressing a flare into my hand, making me promise not to blow up in a fit of recklessness, and the next you're resting your head on my chest, and I am too terrified to breathe.

When I'm in a mood and when you're rough with your words, I burn my tongue on you. A part of me eggs me on, pushes me to be something violent and unforgiving. Another part of me is crippled, and won't move on from the deathly quiet you left behind all those months ago. Tell me how I am supposed to love you when I don't have the capacity to do anything but, I wanted to demand. I was tired. Exhausted. You exhausted me. But still I thought, oh, love is stored in the tea leaves you wrung the very life out of.

What's the point, you say, if we are dizzy with grief as we spiral all the way down to ground zero, again? Then you look at me strange, and I realise no one's spoken. What’s the point, I ask, if we’re only running this into the ground. What’s this, you ask. I leave the door ajar.

On the morning of your trip, we’re having breakfast when George looks out the window and says the garden needs seeing to. He’s right - the grass needs cutting, the weeds need weeding but for a moment I watch the dandelions toss their heads in the wind. And then you’re gone, along with half my hyper heart, leaving me alone with half-formed images of soil, rich and dark, burying what’s left of me. Oh darling, I wanted to write, I fear it is the future I hear calling, and I fear that it is from no further than our garden. That night, I forget to sleep. I sit at the kitchen table just like I did in the morning, and continue watching their ghostly heads sway in a nonexistent breeze. I dream of you, miles away from me, and I humour myself by thinking you can feel the disease rotting away at my heart. It is some dream that you float back home, back to me, on a cloud of hope and contentment. It is some dream that I can make you happy.

I hold you close to my chest when my throat is raw, clutching you desperately like a promise for salvation. You tell me I'm hallucinating, and press a cold pack to my head, and I'm too weak to explain myself. I’m terrible and you don’t know half of it. You yell at me, wrap up my scrapes, and make my tea something bitter awful, and you still don’t know. You sit there at the corner of the table with your pencils, colouring something happy, and you don’t know that you make me half decent.

Every day, I hold you like water in my hands. You are forever slipping away and there is nothing I can do about it. I am no anchor, but rather the rough seas which capsize any hope for freedom from calamity.

There is the sweet, and there is the sour. There is the good, and there is the bad. I take them both. I take it with your palm slotted against mine, grimacing, like a bitter vitamin. I take it all. Just keep your fingers laced with mine.

Maybe love is the brew you use to irrigate my system when you get too sick of my cough. Or, maybe, love is you, and not your tea.

TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits

[starzortega]

I want to request Anthony Lockwoodxfem!reader, where Anthony meets the reader and immediately falls for her, but she doesn't notice because she's very socially awkward. Also, she is Inspector's Barnes niece, so they always meet each other after a case when DEPRAC shows up. Lockwood always flirts with her, but she doesn't think his being serious. When she calls him Lockwood, he tells her to call him Anthony. That surprises George and Lucy, and they tease him for it. The reader is also starting to fall for Anthony , but she doesn't think he could ever like her back. The reader and Lucy start becoming very good friends, so she's around Portland Row a lot. After a case goes wrong, Anthony is injured, and the reader gets mad at him about being reckless. They get into an argument, which leads to an angry confession.

Stars upon the face

Masterlist

Warnings: a lil bit of angst and mention of being st!bbed

Word count: 689

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

A/n:Thank you so much for this request!! I didn’t do the whole request as I’m really new to this but I hope you enjoy it <33

I’m really sorry if this is bad!! This is my first fic ever!!

Feel free to send in more requests <3

————————————————————————

“Please look at me” Lockwood voiced, staring at Y/N.

With tear-rimmed eyes, she looks over her shoulder meeting his eyes, breathing erratic.

“Was it worth it Lockwood? Worth almost dying” Raising her voice anger lacing her words as she turned back around and walked through into the kitchen.

“Listen, I had it under control. I would've been fine.” he grits his teeth, holding back a breath as he leans against the kitchen counter.

Stepping towards him, Y/N snorted “Really? Well if you had it under control we wouldn’t be in this situation right now!! I mean look at you, you were stabbed, Lockwood. Sometimes I feel like you go in harm's way on purpose” Her voice wavers, tears streaming down her face.

His face softens lightly, They’d known each other for almost a year, meeting after a case that went terribly wrong yet again.

She had been with her uncle Inspector Barnes when the team of Lockwood and co staggered out of the Combe Carrey Hall. He was angry. Really angry. Uncle Barnes after a bad day often vented to the young girl about the troubled trio, saying they were dragging Fites through the mud, employing people who didn't have the right grades, practically making Barnes’ job more difficult. Much to her uncle's dismay, Y/N began harbouring a small crush on the determined Lockwood even though she had never even spoken to the boy. Walking over to the group that just walked out of the Building with her uncle, Y/N stood giving the trio an apologizing look as her uncle shouted at them she kept her head down embarrassed by her uncle's frantic. Since that day, Y/N kept bumping into them after cases or even just out stocking up on salt bombs often stopping and chatting to them for a while. That was until one day Lucy offered for Y/N to come back to their home Portland Row for a cup of tea and biscuits. I mean how could you say no?

Now, it being almost a year since Combe Carrey Hall, they have all gotten close. Portland Row felt like Y/N's home she was there practically every day, always staying too late so she’d bunk with Lucy in the attic.

“So what’s going on between you and Lockwood?” Asked Lucy one day, she was led on her stomach looking up at Y/N.

“What do you mean?” She replied, confusion written on her face.

“Come on, you don’t see it? The way he looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other.”

Y/N shakes her head “We’re just friends I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think that?” Lucy raises her eyebrows

“Well.. yes he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Well, what do you feel for him? Do you like him?”

Y/N's face flushes red “Well er I think so? anyway change of topic I don't feel like talking about it anymore”

————————————————

“Lockwood, I'm just looking out for you. I know you’re just trying to protect Lucy or George but please just think about how I’d feel if something bad happened to you. I need you, Anthony.” Her voice cracks, Sobs emitting from her mouth. Lockwood grabs her wrist and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting her wet his shoulder.

“Lockwood I don’t think you understand how much I need you here I don’t even know what I’d do if-“

“Hey, I’m here. I'll try. I promise I’ll try to be less careless, okay? I’m so sorry dove.”

Lockwood pulls back their faces close together, their eyes lock looking at each other with pure love.

Her eyes move from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again, parting her lips ever so slightly.

Lockwood moves one of his hands to cradle her face.

“Can I kiss you?” Whispers Lockwood, smiling when Y/N nods vigorously bringing her closer to slot their lips together.

Their lips move in a synchronized rhythm only parting when they run out of breath.

“I really like you.”

“I really like you too.”

[wenigstenshabeichesversucht]

Spoilers for The Creeping Shadow and The Empty Grave!

So I had this thought... Lucy/Reader and Lockwood have to escape to the other side. Before stepping through the gate, Lucy/Reader gets badly hurt. While walking through dark London, she realizes, while Lockwood gets weaker and weaker, she isn't affected. In contrary, she feels more lively. Realizing what that means, she urged Lockwood to walk faster, so he can escape the other side. He walks in front of her, and she tells hims to hurry and not to look back, out of fear, that when he sees her he also realizes, that she is dead. But of course Lockwood looks back...

[wellgoslowly]

hehehe wrote a "fake dating/kiss" locklyle thing in my campus cafe mwah ha ha

“Lockwood, you have royally screwed us this time.” Lucy Carlyle muttered under her breath. 

Anthony Lockwood scoffed, their forced proximity causing his breath to fan over Lucy’s face. She tried to suppress a shiver at the prolonged contact with his body that she was forced to maintain. 

“Yeah, well- Luce, you might not believe me, but I certainly didn’t have this in mind while we were planning out how the case was going to go earlier.” Now it was Lucy’s time to scoff.

And what precarious situation did the members of Lockwood & Co. find themselves in this time, you might ask? Well, it just so happened that Lucy and Lockwood had to go “undercover”, as Lockwood like to call it, to retrieve yet another dangerous relic that had been stolen from the gravesite of another job that Lockwood had recklessly dove headfirst into, despite both George and Lucy consistently telling him that they were all way out of their depths. 

And now, Lucy Carlyle was stuck in a horribly small broom closet in an intimidating warehouse-turned-banquet hall with Anthony Lockwood, her employer, her best friend, and the man she was extremely attracted to as they tried to evade being caught.

The night was not going well.

Lucy’s breath hitched as Lockwood laid a hand on her waist, trying to maneuver himself closer to the door so he could attempt to hear if anyone was coming down the hallway.

“What-” Lucy began to speak, but stopped as Lockwood put a finger to his lips. His face was the only thing she could see within the dark space due to the bright light leaking in from the gap between the closet door and the ground. “There’s someone coming.” He whispered, and Lucy nodded in understanding. 

Lockwood moved back to his previous position, standing directly in front of her, but didn’t drop his hand from its place on her waist. She was grateful. That area of her body had been extremely, devastatingly cold just seconds before, so he was doing her a service, really, keeping his extremely warm hand on her extremely cold waist. 

“What do we do now?” She forced herself to whisper, attempting (successfully) to find Lockwood’s eyes in the darkness. Suddenly, his other hand was also holding her waist, and thank god for that, because she was just thinking about how terribly cold that side of her was becoming. 

“Plan K.” He whispered, and Lucy’s face contorted in confusion. She furrowed her brow as she searched her brain for whatever he meant by “plan K”. Lucy looked at him, and if she wasn’t so busy being confused, she would’ve noticed just how close his face was to hers. “What the hell is plan K?” She whispered, the rest of her mind catching up with what was occurring. 

Lockwood’s arms were now wrapped around her waist, his forehead close to resting on her’s. Her hands had somehow made their way up and were resting on his chest. At this proximity, she could see everything- the batting of his eyelashes, the slight discoloration across his cheeks that might just be a blush, his open lips. She especially noticed his lips.

Lucy couldn’t breathe, but she felt her heart pounding an increasing staccato and she knew that if someone were to turn on the light, her face would be bright red. But she couldn’t worry about anything like that, because in that moment, Lucy Carlyle saw Anthony Lockwood’s eyes flit from her eyes down to her mouth, then up and back down again.

She was overwhelmed but in the best way possible. Lockwood’s chest was strong under her touch. His arms were around her waist. His eyes rested on her lips. And there were the telltale signs of someone running in the hallway.

“Please don’t hate me, Luce.” He pleaded, almost like a repentant prayer.

And then the door was opening, and Anthony Lockwood was kissing her.

[maraschinomerry]

simple ask; just a george trying to hide a crush on gn!reader?

Matching Mates

Pairings: George Karim x gn!reader, Locklyle

Summary: Lockwood & Co are invited to a Valentines ball at Fittes, forcing George to admit who he wants to take as his date.

Content: brief kissing, couple-centric Valentines plot

A/N: I'm not sure if this is exactly what you were going for but I thought it was such a cute idea! Part 2 here

Word count: 1.6k

George stared at the crisp white and pink invitation with something close to disdain.

"You have got to be joking."

The fuchsia pink envelope dropped into the hallway of 35 Portland Row earlier that morning, to be immediately snatched up by Lucy. She promptly bounded into the kitchen.

"It's here!"

Her glee was unmatched by the remaining members of the agency - Lockwood was focused on trying and failing not to burn his toast, George was scribbling something on the Thinking Cloth and you had been in the library, following with confusion when you heard the excitement.

"What's here? We're not expecting any parcels, are we?" you frowned.

Lucy gawked.

"It's the invitation for the annual Fittes ball," Lockwood supplied helpfully. Of course. You'd heard tales of the grandiose event, but hadn't joined the team until after last year's 'Fittes at 50'. There was always some sort of theme - one year it had been aquatic where people went dressed as stylised sea creatures or in rippling blues, another was a masquerade where any guest without a mask had been refused entry. This was only Lockwood & Co's second time as invitees.

"Drum roll, please!" Lucy brandished the envelope. You and Lockwood began hammering the table top, grinning at each other. George rolled his eyes. Lucy tore open the seal and threw the enclosed invitation onto the table with a flourish. Everyone gathered in close to read, George peering over your shoulder and Lucy over Lockwood's.

Penelope Fittes cordially invites

Lockwood & Co

To the 51st Annual Fittes Ball

'Love-Locked' (Lucy winced. "Tasteful," George muttered sarcastically.)

A celebration of romance on February 14th.

We request that all guests attend as part of a couple and have accounted for one +1 each if required for partners outside of your agency.

Dress code: matching mates.

RSVP

Lucy was overflowing with anticipation, already dialling up the number to RSVP. Lockwood was watching her fondly. You were trying to wrap your head around the theme. George was fuming.

"You have got to be joking."

—

It had been nearly a week since the invitation arrived, and George was still not happy. Lucy and Lockwood watched him from the comfort of the sofa as he paced up and down the living room.

"It's such a stupid, reductive theme. Why can't I just go with (name)? I mean, you're going with Lucy." He gestured flippantly at Lockwood.

The other boy laughed. "We are a couple, remember? Besides, you can go with them if you want. Just ask them out."

A blush spread across George's cheeks.

"Or," Lucy gave him a coy smirk, "you could always just pretend to be dating."

The blush reached George's ears.

"No- I'm not- I can't- that's not the point!" he stammered. His friends exchanged a knowing glance.

"Fine, we're still going as a team anyway," Lockwood replied calmly. "Just find yourself another date so you can actually be there with us and (name). How about Arif's new delivery person? They seem nice."

"But I don't want to go with them," George whined.

"And you do want to go with (name)."

George opened his mouth to protest, realised he'd been had, and flopped into the armchair in defeat. "It's not that simple."

Lucy watched him carefully. Everyone knew he liked you, the two of you had clicked the moment you joined the agency, but up until now it had seemed just as friends. As he sat there, cheeks burning, trying desperately to explain why he couldn't simply ask you to be his date to a Valentine's ball, she was hit by what should have been blindingly obvious.

"Oh my god, you have a crush on them!"

"Of course I have a crush on them," George blurted, laced with his usual level of snark. That was more like it. "Have you seen them?" He suddenly seemed to realise what he'd admitted, gaze dropping to his rapidly fidgeting hands. "I want to go with them, really I do, but we have such a good dynamic and I don't want to mess that up, either between us or the whole team."

His friends softened. It was so unlike George to be open with his feelings like this, and they knew how much you meant to him.

"Tell you what," Lucy began, "I have a few friends in the city. How about I find you a date - I promise it'll be someone you'll like - and I'll even put together your matching outfit? It'll be a surprise though, that way you don't have to be overthinking it and can focus on the fact that you get to be there with the rest of us." George pondered for a moment before nodding firmly. Lockwood stood, patting him on the shoulder, and left.

Lucy grinned. "If you'll excuse me, I have some shopping to do."

—

The day of the ball arrived, and with it came a brown paper parcel outside your bedroom door. The wrapping was messy, held together with tape in too many places and a clumsy twine bow. You recognised Lucy's handiwork immediately.

She had told you she was organising dates for the ball, and although you were still excited for the event you had to admit you were a little disappointed. It was no surprise that she and Lockwood were attending together, but a part of you had secretly hoped you and George would too. You'd fallen so hard for the resident researcher, with his cheeky grins and fluffy curls, his passion for research and his amazing cooking. The two of you spent most of your free time together, exploring the city or chatting away into the night over tea, biscuits and leftover pizza. It had really seemed like maybe he was interested in you, but then when he'd had the perfect opportunity to ask you to be his date and said nothing, you started to doubt yourself.

You forced your thoughts away from George and back to the parcel, which you had now brought into your room. A slip of folded paper was tucked under the twine.

Hey (name)!

Hope you're excited for tonight, and hope you like the outfit. Your date will be downstairs at 7.

Lucy x

Eagerly, you pulled the paper apart.

—

George was pacing again. Lucy had said his date would be arriving at 7, and he'd made sure to get ready early to meet them at the door. Give him time to adjust to whoever they were.

He had to admit, Lucy had done a good job with the outfits. She and Lockwood were every bit the couple - she was busy swishing round the kitchen in an emerald green and black shot silk gown, while he watched from the doorway in a matching green tuxedo with black collar and tie. George was curious what his date would be wearing to match his blood red suit and shimmering gold tie. He didn't often dress formally, never really, but as he looked in the mirror he quite liked what he saw. Maybe you would too, if you ever got down here. Late as ever. Probably making sure you looked amazing. Wait George, stop. You're about to go on a date with someone else. Cut it out.

The clock in the hallway chimed the hour, and Lucy and Lockwood emerged to join him. Any minute now, there'd be the knock at the door.

A noise sounded on the stairs, and George tried to hide his excitement as he turned to see what you were wearing.

His jaw dropped, and he was convinced he'd stopped breathing.

You gracefully descended the staircase in the sleekest outfit he'd ever seen, deep red with gold accents so bright they made your eyes sparkle. Your hair was neatly styled away from your face so he could see every inch of your nervous smile and the crinkles of joy in the corners of your eyes.

You looked to Lucy first, silently thanking her for such a gorgeous outfit. Next was Lockwood, face plastered with an encouraging and yet worryingly mischievous grin. Finally, your gaze came to rest on George. George, who was very clearly dressed in your matching colours.

You faltered.

George snapped back to reality as you stumbled on the bottom step, reaching out instinctively to catch you with one hand in yours and the other around your waist. Your breath hitched, and in your shock you barely registered the way you leant into his embrace.

"Wow, you really fell for him, huh?" Lucy snorted, earning an elbow in her side from Lockwood.

George's eyes met yours, face so near you could see the hope shimmering behind his glasses. You bit your lip.

"I really did," you smiled, stomach doing backflips as George smiled back and tugged you even closer.

"Well I hate to rush things, but we do have a ball to get to," Lockwood interjected playfully. "George, I believe there's a question you ought to ask, shall we see you in the cab?"

He and Lucy threw you both a backwards glance as they eased out the front door, Lockwood's accompanied by a wink and Lucy's an enthusiastic thumbs up.

George cleared his throat, finally releasing your waist but immediately taking your other hand and facing you.

"(Name, last name), would you do me the honour of being my date? For the ball, and in general, if that's okay with you."

You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to his cheek, giggling at the way it knocked his glasses off balance. He let go of your hand to adjust them, and you took the opportunity to do it yourself, hand trailing the blush on his cheek.

"George Karim, I would be honoured."

He pulled you in, placing a soft sweet kiss on your lips, and pulled you to the door and the taxi that awaited.

[jesslockwood]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist

Chapter Two

Word Count: 2.3k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Ex-Detective!Reader

Warnings: Angst, a bit of Fluff, Swearing, Talk of Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, small details of a death/ murder.

A/n: OMGGGG here's the second chapter, and where everything just goes to shit lol. I love causing pain Let me know what y'all think so far!!!

!!! PLEASE REMEMBER TO REBLOG !!!

It's a free form of "payment" for my hard work for the time and effort I put into my works

Thank you and enjoy ❤️

Lockwood opens the door, surprised to see you standing there in the rain, drenched and shivering. It was nearing dusk, and the haze of the rain and light fading from the day, and the street lamps started to turn on, the glow of them lit up your face.

It had only been two days since he last saw you, and even standing there soaked with your converse full of water sloshing when you leaned onto either foot, holding a grey duffle bag, you took his breath away. It was just the same as your badass move in the house during the ghost fight, even when he saw you getting fired up over his endless and harmless flirting. 

Lockwood finally looked into your eyes, and it wasn’t just the rain that was pouring onto your face, there were tears coming out of your eyes. 

He wanted to bring you into his arms to comfort you, and never let go. That is until he's brought out of his thoughts, when Lucy and George shove their way into the small entryway, to see the same sight he saw. 

“Lockwood Let the poor Detective in!” Lucy says, before making a path for you to step inside. 

When you planted your feet into the home, Lucy maneuvers to shut the door behind you. The home wasn’t what you expected three agents under a small agency to have. To be quite frank, It was quite a bit nicer than you expected.

“Uhh, I’m not a detective any longer, actually.” you blurt out. It seemed as the three heads turned right towards you all at once with the same shocked expression.  

They all turned to look at each other like they were having a private conversation with their eyes. 

“Uh, then uh- Y/n What brings you here?” Lockwood asks with his soft puppy-dog-esq eyes.

That was probably the first time you’ve ever seen Lockwood stumble over his words.

“I needed a place to stay for the night? I can crash on a couch or whatever…” you pause swallowing, “I’d be leaving tomorrow by train, out to the countryside where my mother lives… since I’ve got no job, or job prospects.”

You start drawing circles with your feet. Waiting for their answer.

“Of course you can stay, for as long as you like, actually!” she said through gritted teeth, giving a side eye to the other agent you haven't met, with a curly black mop of hair on his head.

“Just don’t go giving her a job now.” he mumbles, pretty loudly, rolling his eyes, before walking off. 

Before she gives him another glare, “Here, follow me, We should get you dried off, and you can sleep in the attic with me.”she says before dragging you up the stairs. 

Lockwood gives you a sympathetic smile, before he's out of sight.

“Ignore George, he was the same way when I was employed here.” she mentions, before opening a door to a bathroom, giving you a towel. You start to squish the water out of your clothes. 

“I’ll give you the Tour later.” she says, “c’mon I'll show you the attic.”

You got upstairs basically being dragged by Lucy.

It had been a couple of hours since you had entered 35 Portland Row, and Lockwood was sitting in the library, trying to distract him from what just happened. He liked you, but he definitely didn't want you to get involved in all the mess that always seemed to trail behind the three who already lived there. 

 However, the real issue was, he didn't want you to go. He’d miss your banter too much, and especially your wit, and how you weren't charmed by his antics.

He could help but smile, just thinking about how fired up you had gotten over the conversations you've had.

He’s pulled from his thoughts, when he sees you entering slowly through the doorway. 

“Hey.” you whisper.

“Hi.” Lockwood greets you, putting his book down, and sitting up straighter. 

You didn't seem to be soaked anymore, and you were wearing an extremely long t-shirt, with some yellow fuzzy socks on your feet.

“I uh…” you pause, “I just wanted to thank you… and to say goodbye.” you say solemnly.

Lockwood was contemplating his next words as you sat down across from him. 

“We’re the reason you got fired… isn't it?” 

your eyes widen like a deer in headlights, as you gulp before choosing your next words. 

“It’s my fault really… I shouldn’t have helped you…” you say with tears starting to form in your eyes, “There were other reasons too… but it doesn't matter now.”

You take a shaky breath before telling him, “Don’t blame yourself.”

He looks at you with sympathy, before, gently and slowly placing his hand on yours.

“I’ll be okay. My mother moved out to the countryside after my father… She probably needs my company anyways…” you say trying to avoid mentioning it.

You get up to your feet, feeling claustrophobic from the weight of talking about it boxing you in.

“Stay safe, Lockwood.” you say before heading out of the room, to bed. 

The next day, you creep out of Lucy’s bed, that you both had an almost sleepover in.

You couldn't remember the last time you had giggled like that in the early hours of the morning, out of your tired mind as she told you so many of her stories such as the ones of the Quill Kipps vs. Lockwood, or the funny mess ups of their agency, or even better, the failings of the Fittes team. You had even told her of some of the pranks you and James had done to Barnes, which he never could pin it on who did it. 

You wished you could somehow stay close by, and become a friend of Lucy’s. You felt if you had the option, the two of you would be inseparable.

You leave a note for Lucy of your mailing address so the two of you could communicate when you had the time to write letters. You really wanted to say goodbye, but you knew it would just make it harder to leave someone you felt already so close too. 

As soon as you headed downstairs, the smell of food filled your senses, and it was delightful. 

 You decided to skip breakfast, and just eat the snack you had stashed in your locker when you were employed instead. You didn’t want any trouble from George for staying around much longer, nor to face Lockwood. You didn’t think you could refuse to linger just to be close to him, which scared you. 

After your father had died, things just shifted. Your mother didn't let people into the house, and rarely went out. She just shut down everything that used to make her eyes light up. For the hope that one day your father would come back. The same had probably happened to yourself. You made a choice to drown yourself in work, but now that was gone, you didn't know what you had anymore to keep you going, and not dwelling. 

You had got your shoes on, that were still damp, before turning to the door staring at it for a good minute. 

You were broken out of your thoughts, when someone spoke up, “You do know Lucy’s right?”

You turned around to see that It was no one other than Anthony Bloody Lockwood. 

“What do you mean?” you ask confused. 

“I mean,” he takes a step forward cautiously like you’d run if he moved too fast, “You could stay for as long as you like.”

You blink a few times, like if you blinked him away, you could maybe have unheard what you just heard.

“I mean, if you want to. You could even work your wage here. You're not an agent so I couldn’t employ you as one without the proper training, but you could do research with George, or even just…something?” 

he pauses, taking a breath, “I just can't let you go home without trying to convince you to stay… even if it's only for a little while?”

You think on it for a moment, with him fidgeting with the silence. Flashes of your fathers warnings come back to you, but you ignore the caution. You had to do it… after that case the fire for being an agent wouldn't snuff itself out.

“I’ll make a deal with you, Lockwood. You train me as an agent, and I’ll stay. I’ll just do research until I get all my grade levels.” you say trying to strike a deal.

He looks conflicted, like there was an angel and devil on his shoulders, shouting at him all at once. 

He must have decided to be the devil's advocate agreeing, “We have a deal. But any seriously dangerous cases are left to myself, Lucy and George, got it?”

You nod pretending to tip a hat to him that wasn't there. 

He laughs, and it warms your heart.

You take off your damp shoes, as he guides you towards the kitchen.

He yells off towards the direction of the kitchen before the two of you enter, “Hey, George, we're going to need another plate for our new colleague, Y/n!”

You had been staying there for a week by now, and you were ignoring the side eye George kept giving you, as you followed him like a lost puppy, to the library every day. He seemed just annoyed with your presence and the more you ignore his ignorance the more of a bad mood he seems to be in. 

You were glad you at least had Lucy on your side completely, with her giving you the tour of the house, minus what was behind the mystery door, which she defended that it should be Lockwood to show you since it was his home. But she shared a lot of things with you, like a sister would, to confide in. It was nice to have that, since you never had any siblings.

Lockwood was iffy. You didn’t know exactly where he stood half the time. He still seemed conflicted and you couldn't pinpoint the whole reason why. You thought it was just his complex feelings on you becoming an agent, but you didn’t think that was the whole truth to it. He was one of the harder people to read. 

During the week, nearing dusk, after Lucy, George and Lockwood had left for a case, you heard a knock at the door, as you were in the kitchen researching the next case they had lined up.

When you opened the door, you saw James, looking slightly stressed, holding a file folder in his hand. 

“James? How did you-”

“-Find you? There was a rumour that started from Kate that you've been hanging around the George Karim kid, and that you were living here.” he smiles trying to be genuine, but you knew something was bothering him.

“Kate may be a gossip monger but she got it right this time…” you mention, before asking, “So why are you here, out of the blue, other than to check up on me?”

“Since you couldn't access your Dad’s file… I may have flirted with the files clerk to get it.” he says looking guilty, since he knew that was a reason why you got fired, for trying to access it. 

“Don't worry it’s a copy, so you can keep it. Edith copied it for me… just now I'm going on a date with her because of you!” he half jokes trying to lighten the mood a bit before handing it to you.

“Do you want me to stay, or-” 

“I think I need to face this myself.” you say, before he nods giving a small smile, taking his leave.

You looked down at the file like it was death itself. 

You gulp, before closing the door, and heading to the library to read it. 

You were in utter shock. You couldn't believe the piece of paper in your hands and what it said. The pain you felt was even worse than before, causing you to choke up, like you couldn't breathe.

You hyper ventilated for a minute, before sobbing your eyes out. 

It was his fault. 

You could barely fathom all the anger you had inside of you, stretching its way out from the pit of your stomach over your heart. 

You hated his guts. He destroyed everything you had hoped and dreamed for. For your father to come home. To even just have a father. But it was taken all away, and the hope was buried with him.

Now he was six feet under because he was slaughtered by a black market seller, trying to protect him because he wouldn't go. Your father had to have warned them. But it says that he insisted on staying, when your fathers death could have been prevented. If only he hadn’t stayed or convinced his colleague to stay.

Your father was dead, because of Anthony Lockwood. 

You would never forgive him for this. You didn’t think you ever could.

He was the leader and he led someone into their death. An innocent man who had a family waiting for him to come home and to be reunited with. 

The only thing you were given was an empty coffin to represent his body and all it symbolized was the complete emptiness you had from that day on. 

There was no question, once you became a full fledged agent you had to get out of here.

Far away as possible to Lockwood and co, and Anthony Lockwood himself who destroyed everything you had held dear. 

Taglist: @waitingforthesunrise

[saltwaterburns]

LOCKWOOD & CO.

·:*¨༺ Anthony Lockwood

everyone adores you (at least i do)

what it's like dating anthony lockwood

je sais pas m'oublier

you comfort lockwood after a mission gone wrong and somehow end up tangled together with him in the library

two times you kissed him and the one time he kissed you

you and lockwood pretend to be married for a case

as our worlds move on, in this shirt, i can be you

he didn't realize there would ever be an 'after you'

·:*¨༺ Lucy Carlyle

addicted to kissing you

lucy makes her way to your room after a sleepless night, and you can't help but let her in. kissing ensues

SHADOWHUNTERS

·:*¨༺ Jace Wayland

jace wayland comforting you would include:

jace finds you crying your eyes out in the greenhouse

HARRY POTTER

·:*¨༺ Theodore Nott

i walked with you once upon a dream

theodore nott seems to have a thing for girls who see peculiar dreams

[manikas-whims]

Intense Reading Session [AO3]

Lucy wakes up one night and finds Lockwood reading in his library. She joins him for an intense “reading” session *COUGHS*

– a locklyle smut fic

[rentaldarling]

we really need more lockwood & co x reader fics. be it fluff, angst, smut, whump. idc i just need more to fill in the gaping hole in my heart, caused by netflix cancelling yet another good show

[jackie5656]

Compromise  With; Anthony Lockwood

A/N: An anon requested angst, and who would I be not to deliver? This one took a while, apologies for the wait. Thank you so much for all the recent love, it means so much. I hope you enjoy.

TW: Descriptions of injury, arguing, suicidal ideation(?), Lockwood being a self-absorbed prick :)

Summary: The one where you and Anthony are at odds, and there seems to be little room for reconciliation. 

Taglist: @sunshineangel-reads @fox-bee926 @helpmelmao @galactidiot  @soupsaurus @nekee-lilac02​ (Tagged ppl who seemed to like my last story, lmk if you want to be removed <3)

       Lockwood isn’t accustomed to your anger. 

Well...That’s not entirely true. You have a bit of a short fuse, sometimes. Accustomed to your occasional irritance, sure. He fancies teasing you, pushing your buttons for the sake of admiring the way your nose scrunches up, how you huff that ever-stubborn strand of hair from your vision. 

This, though. Whatever this is, it’s different. You’re practically seething as you search around the lamp-lit kitchen. Booming thunder and relentless London rain the only noise accompanying your movement. That and the boot shackled around your left foot, which thumps pitifully as you rummage the first aid kit. He feels like a disobedient child sat in the headmistress’ office. Ragged hair still damp from the rain after a grueling mission. One that’s left a nasty gash across his forearm, having been forced into a picture frame in the midst of fighting a vengeful type two. 

George and Lucy had long gone off to bed. A brisk debrief over a final cup of tea before slugging off to their respective bedrooms. Luckily, your bastard of a boyfriend had suffered the only injury. You’d missed all the action considering your current state, though that hadn’t ceased the fierce beating of your heart as you slumped into the seat in front him. Drawing the oil lamp nearer for better light as you motion for his arm. He obeys immediately, silently, face pulled with the kind of tension only present when he’s really worried. 

Good. You honestly hope he’s terrified. Serves him right. Your tense mood is not only due to his ailment, but the lingering frustration from your argument earlier in the evening. 

**************

“Absolutely not. You’re not coming along on any missions ‘til that boot is off.” 

“Anthony, I’ll be alright. I’ve been getting around the house just fine so far!” “You shouldn’t even be on it as much as have been.” He’s got the audacity to scoff, almost amused. “More stress will only make the healing process longer.” You cross your arms, looking toward your bag-clad friends for support. 

“We should check on the cab.” Lucy offers a tight-lipped smile as George nods, ushering her out the front door before you can direct your anger toward them.

“You said yourself this case is going to be especially touch sensitive. That the client reported how evasive the problem was. Sight and sound won’t be as useful.” 

“Precisely. Perfect that George is coming along, yes?” Your eyes narrow at his condescension, you’d grown tired of his babying ever since your incident two cases ago. It felt like ages since you’d been in the field. 

“George will be too preoccupied with all the evidence! I won’t even go further than a few feet from the threshold. Just let me get a feel of things so I can-” 

“I said no, y/n. It’s final.” 

“Says who?”

“Says the leader of this company.” You choke a laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor with a heavy thud. 

“Right, yes. The one who makes all the calls?” 

“Sounds about right.” His brown eyes narrow in challenge, frustrated you’re failing to understand he’s only trying to keep you safe. 

“Same one who made the call we go into the Hope residence without well-rounded research? The case we rushed into without enough information and it ended with me on house arrest?” It’s a low blow, undoubtedly. A twinge of wounded guilt flashes across his face before the venom seeps back in. Lump in his throat burning horribly before he swallows it to dissipation. 

“Same one who knows if things go South this time ‘round you’ll only slow us down.” Your stomach twists with the distaste in his tone, vision blurring with tears as he turns toward the door. Jumping as it slams shut and takes him with it. 

********

“Won’t need stitches.” You note simply, surveying the wound gently. He nods, shoulders straightening in preparation for the oncoming pain. “Still some glass debris, I’ll have to take it out.” He’s lucky, from what it looks like the gash could have been much worse. 

“I can manage it just fine on my own.” You bite your tongue. In the year’s biggest plot twist, Anthony Lockwood insists on suffering alone in lieu of his own pride. 

“You can’t. You’re not risking any more damage to the arm that wields your rapier. Just let me.” He doesn’t listen, of course. Pinching the tweezers in his grasp and looming forward to get a better look. Dizzying at the sight, he’s not strong enough to prohibit you from taking them back. Pushing at his shoulder so he’ll relax against the chair. 

It’s not your typical bedside manner. Usually when injuries happen its gentle touches and muttered sorries or other affections. Soft and kind. 

The intruding thought pulls Lockwood’s frown deeper. The throbbing in his arm practically minuscule to the war zone in his mind. It’s awful...He misses you and yet you’re a mere foot away. 

His fist clenches as the tweezers near his skin once more, hand taking hold of your wist to cease the uncontrollably trembling of your appendage.

“Love-”

“Shush, I can do it.” You take a deep breath. Wordlessly combatting your conflicting emotions with slow, calculated inhales. You’re an agent. You’ve trained for this. Though the textbooks help little with the patching up tactics when it’s someone you love, when you’re at such odds.

You approach again, steady this time. He sucks his teeth at the particularly intricate extractions, but remains still for you. You move with as much efficiency as possible. Trying to remove the person from the wound, just as the books suggest. Though it’s nearing impossible with his eyes trained on you. Trying to steal every thought from your mind as if they’re his own. 

When you’re applying sterile gauze after thorough disinfection, he finds the courage to speak. 

“Thank you.” He clears his throat after it falters...From emotion or lack of use, you aren’t sure. Doesn’t matter, honestly. You’re still keen on grilling him. 

“George said you followed it up the stairs without telling him and Luce.”

“I was in a hurry. Wouldn’t have found its’ source in time if I hadn't.” You don't event try to conceal the roll of your eyes. Anger sinking back in as you collect the wrappers on the table and toss them into the bin. 

“So you’re allowed to be reckless on the job as long as nobody else is?”

“Reckless. I’d argue, is an exaggeration.” 

“Exaggeration? Christ, you’re impossible.”

“Yeah?” He stands as you do, holding his wounded arm to his stomach as he leans against the counter. “How’s that?”

“You’re fine with breaking protocol so long as you’re the one doing it. Putting yourself at risk any chance you get without a second thought. It’s maddening!” 

“And how do you suppose you got yourself in that boot?”

“Not by beckoning death! Mine was an accident, Anthony. I swear, sometimes it’s like you want to get yourself killed!”

“You don’t-”

“No! I’m not finished.” You step toward him, jabbing a finger into his chest to accentuate your wrath. “You have people depending on you. People that care about you, love you to bits. And you’d rather spend the better half of missions taunting death than preventing it. If you wanted to be so fucking careless, you shouldn’t have made me fall in love with you. Now here we are, both vexed and in varying casts because of you can’t seem to understand the sanctity of your own life.”

He knew that much had been true. Lockwood would risk just about anything in a case so long as it granted him victory. Hadn’t that been in the fine print, though? Guaranteed in this line of work? So long as you were granted this talent, this curse, you had a responsibility to utilize it to the best of its ability.

“Sweetheart.” It’s strained, nearly a beg with the amount of exhaustion ridden in his tone. “We can continue this tomorrow. Let’s go to bed, please.”

“I can’t,” his knuckles go white with their grip on the cold countertop as you hurriedly wipe at your eyes. “I can’t go to bed angry with you.” 

“Then don’t.” He takes one, two careful strides toward you. Fingers pinching at your elbow in an attempt to satisfy the burning need to hold you. “Let’s forgive each other for the next seven hours. Then you can go on hating me, okay?” You huff a laugh, forehead instinctively pressing to his chest. He bathes in it as long as you’ll allow, pulling back seconds later and headed toward your room with him in tow.

********

Anthony’s eyes follow your frame as you approach the stove. Taking the cup of tea he’s prepared for you and taking your usual seat between him and George. He pushes your chair out with his foot to allow you easier access, nudging a plate of buttered toast your way. It’s not an apology, not even an olive branch. Lockwood simply refuses to cease these small acts of service no matter how angry you are with one another. It’s practically instinctual at this point, second nature. His brows furrow when you let out a relieved exhale once sat. Joining along your accomplices’ conversation about your ongoing case he’s drowned out momentarily in order to observe you.

“It hurts, doesn't it,” he unknowingly interrupts George’s spiel, “your foot.” 

“Only a bit. Just this morning.” It’s a meek defense. An evident dismissal so as not to prove his bench-warming call the right one. 

“You’ve been on it too much.” 

“It’s fine, I’m fine.” 

“You’re not. And if you had just listened-”

“Are we really starting this up again, right here?” Your eyes bore daggers into his frame. Doing your best to conceal your rage in leui of your dear bystanders beside you. Theres a few beats of silence, a moment of peace before the sorry fuck plates the nail in the coffin.

 “George, any word of upcoming cases? The sooner we leave for the day, the better.” Your chair scrapes against the hardwood as soon as he’s finished, silverware trembling as you force yourself upward. 

“You just can’t help yourself, can you?” It’s practically a whisper, ridden with rage and overwhelming upset. His brown eyes meet yours, cold and distant. Completely unfamiliar. 

“So you like to think.” He quips, eyes following your form as you exit the kitchen twice as quick as you came in. There’s silence again, impossibly more awkward than before. 

“Dick move, Lockwood.”

“Stay out of it, Luce.”

“She’s right. Real dickish move there.” 

“George-”

“Right. Staying out of it.” 

*******

Lockwood prides himself for a lot of things. Communication, definitively, has never been one of them. 

How’s he supposed to explain it’s easier to put himself in front of the all the danger you face? That the rest of you need each other much more than you need him. 

That he’d rather die than lose someone again. 

He’s quiet as he creeps in, the usual love-lorn quip forgotten as he enters your shared bedroom. You’d been laying in bed, had been since breakfast. You weren’t usually one to sulk, but you were still in pain and definitely still angry. At your boyfriend, this damned boot, the world. 

“Word is your boyfriend’s been a right prick, lately. I’m hoping this can be my opportunity to stake my claim. If you’re cutting him out, that is.” He’s kneeling at the bedside, chin pressing into his forearms as he supports his head. You can feel his heat from here, hate how it weakens your cold resolve. His fingertip traces the skin on your back where your shirts ridden up, a ghost of a small passing his lips when you shudder. You’re pulling up the duvet, ceasing his touch while a trace of you wishes it hadn’t. 

You can’t see any hint of amusement leave his features. The dim of his eyes and the stutter of his heart. He swallows, subconsciously shuffling nearer. The need to be close growing tenfold. 

“Lovely, will you look at me?” Lockwood can’t help but cringe at how desperate it sounds. Whispered, rushed, fragile. Every indication he cares much more than he’s used to. 

He almost wishes he had’t asked. Dread consuming him when you turn to face him, tear stained cheeks and blotchy eyes. Lashes stuck together with moisture, blinking slow and strained. “Darling.” Is all he can manage, wounded and hushed. It makes you want to cry even more. 

“Why can’t you see I’m worried about you?” You croak out, voice strained and scratchy. His knuckles brush the moisture from under your eyes, brows furrowed with an expression you can’t quite read. 

“I do.” He wets his lips, “I see that.” An implication of I see you and I’m sorry. He’s never been good at apologies, but this time you need one. You need something, anything more than the breadcrumbs he drops. The urge to invite him in plagues your mind, broken expression tugging at your heart strings. You know better than to brush this one off, it’ll only have the same conflict arising again and lead to resentment. The realization reforms the burning lump in your throat, vision blurring with fresh tears. 

“I just-we need space.” Don’t we? Lockwood rears back, mustering up resolve he doesn’t have. You don’t mean indefinitely, you don’t mean a breakup, he knows that. Doesn’t make the words burn any less. 

“Okay, fine then.” If that’s what you really want.

He’s grabbing the dog-eared magazine at your bedside before you can say anything else. He hesitates at the door knob, begging to force himself to turn around and plead. Anthony Lockwood’s ego is somewhere near the sun, but its no match for how he feels about you. 

*******

You know when you suddenly become conscious of blinking? And it starts to feel a little odd, manual instead of automatic? You can almost forget what it was like to not have to consciously do it...

Breathing is kind of like that too

At least, that’s what Lockwood thinks when he’s sure he’s suffocating. 

His heart thrums so roughly against his chest he’s sure it’ll burst. He wonders who’d find him, huddled in the corner of the library. Cold and lifeless. He must be trembling, it feels as though the whole ground is vibrating, or-sinking. Swallowing him entirely. 

Then there was the pounding. His head, yes. There’s a dull throbbing at the base of his skull. But this is different. A rhythmic thumping approaching. Closing in on him, eager to push him into the sinking floor to meet his imminent demise. 

You’re in the kitchen. Leaning over the sink, eyes trained on the tap filling up your glass. The bed feels empty without him. And sure, you’d probably sent a clear ‘fuck off to the couch’ message with your latest conversation...But it hadn’t made falling asleep without him any easier. 

You’re taking a deep breath in, preparing for a right pitiful sigh when you hear it. Some sort of squeaking. Your head cocks to the side, discarding the glass in search of its origin. Surely one of the sources wasn’t acting up, that’d be right terrifying when you’re alone. It leads you toward the study, louder and more frequent as you draw closer. 

It’s when you cross the threshold do you see him. Tall frame curled into the corner as hiccuped gasps rack his frame. 

He scoots impossibly closer to the wall as you approach. Dropping to your knees and lifting his face to study him. A foreign sheen of panic clouds over his eyes, sending your stomach turning. 

“Anthony, it’s me. I’m here, I’m right here.” 

You’ve coached him through as many panic attacks as he’s allowed throughout the years. The first time, in academy, you were sure he was choking. A plate of biscuits strewn over the floor as he gasped for breath. 

They’re unpredictable, no matter how many times you’ve handled them. He needs something different almost every time to snap him out of it. Though it’s mostly physical touch. 

“C-cant breathe.” Your boot thumps as you draw closer, eliciting another wince from him. Clutching into the fabric of his shirt as if trying to pull it free. You undo his tie and the first couple buttons, grabbing at the sides of his face in a desperate attempt to get him to focus on you. 

“Anthony please, listen to me. I’m going to try something. If you don’t like it you just push at me, alright?” A curt, gasping nod in understanding before you’re enveloping him in an embrace. Squeezing so tight you can feel his panicked heart thrumming against your chest. It makes you want to cry and scream and hold him even tighter. Willing his pain away with all of your might. 

It’s not working this time ‘round. He can’t seem to collect himself despite your efforts. You pull away, fearing your persistence will only send him further spiraling. But he’s tugging you to him again. Arms tight around your waist as he buries himself into your neck. 

“Dont. D-don’t go. Don’t leave.” The usual cool and collected tone is manipulated to something unrecognizable. Rasped and unsure. 

It’s then you remember the look in his eyes when you’d dismissed him. The abandonment he’s feared his entire life. The little boy who forced himself to stay awake all those lonely nights, just in case he heard the lock turn and the front door open to bring them home. His adamant refusal to ignore your connection for years in lieu of protecting his broken heart. 

“Hey, look at me.” You’re pulling him back by the sides of his hide, forcing him to meet your gaze. “Lockwood, I’m not going anywhere. Doesn’t matter how angry I am,” you wince when he hiccups a sob. “Doesn’t matter how much you try to push me away.” He shakes his head, something short of a disbelieving chuckle passing his trembling lips. “I’m not leaving. I’m staying right here. With you, always. You understand?” He manages to nod, an inkling of solace flashing across his form.

“Just breathe, Anthony. In…and hold…and out” 

Your words sound a mantra in his mind. Your scent flooding his senses, skin on his bringing him back to reality. A morsel of relief prodding its way in as you caress the sides of his face and up into his hair. 

“I’m sorry.” He swallows, focusing on formulating the words. “I know I haven’t said it. Never say it enough.” Shaky arms wrap tighter around your waist, keeping you close. Afraid you’ll disappear despite your affirmations. 

“Consider yourself forgiven.” You bite back a smile when the tension unknowingly spills out of his body. Frame drooping with undoubted relief at the simple words. “I love you. Even when you’re a right prick.” 

“I know.” He pulls you so you’re between his legs. Your back against his bent appendage and your own pair over his other outstretched one. Right side of your body pressing against his chest. You try to push away, unable to fight his affections off despite his weakened state. 

“See? Right prick, you are.” 

“Shush. You know bloody well I love you.” He presses a kiss to your temple, smoothing over your hair and gaging your reaction. Still catching his breath from before. “I know I don’t say that enough either.” He’s quiet then, brown eyes looking to yours with such sincerity your breath catches in your throat. “I’d do anything for you, you know that.” 

“That’s sort of what I’m afraid of, if you don’t recall.” You’re both solemn then. Your fingers intertwining with his in a familiar dance. He can only hum, swallowing thickly. 

“What if,” his eyes rake your frame. Studying you again. “What if you came along the next assignment?” You light up at that, searching his features for jest. 

“Really?”

“Just outside. Making sure we’re all alright. And I don’t go off getting myself killed.”

“But-” 

“Dove.” The nobility in his tone finds him again. A subtle warning. “This is me. Anthony Lockwood, attempting a compromise.” You bite back an abashed smile at his raised brows, urging surrender. 

“Noted.” You fiddle with the cool, silver ring adorning his index finger. “I get to select the case, then.”

“Alright.” 

“And I get to intervene if things go South.” 

“Absolutely not.”

“Figured that was ambitious.” 

<Masterlist>

[bloodcanbehot]

Dancing With Our Hands Tied

Anthony Lockwood x f!reader

Content: angst, kissing, bit of fluff?

Warnings: some curse words, but other than that none (kinda proof read)

Characters: Anthony Lockwood, (Y/N) Kipps and one mention of Quill Kipps (not directly his name). Also one or two mentions of the golden blade

Word count: 1.011 (according to word)

A/N: Just a heads up before you read, this scene is from a lockwood fanfic that I'm working on, the fanfic is with an oc but I changed it to y/n to post it here. Is this basically that scene after the auction with Lockwood and Lucy but in here y/n kisses Lockwood? Yes, leave me alone.

Enjoy

(here's their almost kiss if your interested)

I promise, he'd said before letting go of her hand and the cold water of the river hitting her skin brought her back to reality.

She felt him fall onto the water a bit later, grabbing her to get to the surface. She gasped for air, swimming away from his embrace and crawling to shore.

She laid there, gazing the stars on the sky and trying to make her heartbeat calm down with her mind. The image of her fist or palm on Lockwood’s face was helping a bit.

She saw him getting out of the water of the corner of her eye, falling next to her for a moment with a heavy sound.

“I promised, didn’t I?” he breathed out. She could even hear his smile. His annoying smile.

She wanted to punch him.

“Are you stupid?” she yelled, sitting up in one go and making her sight go spotty for a second as she did it “I know you're Anthony Bloody Lockwood and all but that was... fucking mental!”

He got up too “(y/n) listen-”

“No, you listen!” she snapped back “That wasn’t just stupid, it was… fucking reckless! And I understand crazy plans, I do! But I'm not the one who jumped from the top of a building! Twice!”

“Actually, three times but the first time was a house so I don't think it counts-”

(y/n)’s eyes opened wide “What?” she said “No, you know what? I don’t wanna know” she started walking away, hugging herself to somehow shield her freezing skin from the wind.

She heard his steps trail behind her, his dress-shoes hitting the small rocks from the river. She didn’t even want to imagine how she looked like. Mascara running down her cheeks, because of her tears or the water from the river, she didn’t know; her wet hair felt heavy, her new dress too, she only wanted to hide under the warm covers of her bed and forget all about this night. About the mission, about the fight, about everything.

About Anthony-fucking-Lockwood.

“(y/n) wait, oh god you’re fast” he finally caught up to her fast and heavy steps. She had learned from older agents under the agency to not just walk well on heels, but also fight with them on, “please”

There was that plead again, the one he had used on her last time they encountered that golden blade-bitch. She didn’t know why his begging caused her to stop, but she did.

She turned around, the knot on her throat growing back before she could even speak “I hate you”

“And you have every right to”

“You dropped me onto the fucking river!”

“I had a plan, things went wrong, I didn’t want you to get hurt” he explained.

“I can protect myself just fine!” she yelled.

“Yes, you can!” he yelled back “but you would also step in front of me and the blade, I would never forgive myself for that!”

“From the moment he appeared I knew the plan was fucked, but no, you risked it, again" she said “What were you gonna do? Fight him? You were going to die! Do you think I could forgive myself if that happened?” and I wasn’t there, she thought as she pushed him “Your sight might be great but you sure are blind when it comes to-”

“When it comes to what?” he cut her off, taking another step closer.

My feelings.

“You know what” she said instead “you think you're so good, you think you're the next big shit, but you’re just reckless, a reckless coward”

That what he needed, a punch to his ego.

“I’m not a coward”

“Then look at me in the eye and tell me how you feel” she almost whispered, feeling her hands shake at the thought of his answer “look at me in the eye and tell me you didn’t understand what I told you back at the library”

He didn’t say anything, and even when (y/n) thought she’d had enough, his silence was the last straw.

“I’m done” she said “I’m so done with you, if you want someone to help you with a case, call anyone else, not me! Call my brother for all I care!” she started walking away again, getting closer and closer to the steps leading to the street.

“(y/n) please-”

“No, don’t you ‘(y/n) please’ me” she yelled, not even bothering to turn around to look at him, missing just for a moment how he got closer before he grabbed her, forcing her to stop just a few steps away from the stairs.

“I did get it” he said “not just what you told me, but why you told me” He said, caressing her cheek like how he had done merely hours ago “and I… I do too” he said “I don’t know for how long, but I have feelings for you too (y/n)”

Maybe it was just a thing between them to panic each other with silence, but (y/n) enjoyed for just a moment the spark of fear growing on his eyes.

She grabbed him, smashing their lips together. He froze, but (y/n) didn’t care. She was about to pull back and yell some more when he grabbed her cheeks and pulled her in again, his hot breath fanning against her, bringing some relief to her cold aching skin for a moment.

She had completely forgotten what she was going to say after the kiss, probably insult him, but her mind was filled with fireworks.

No thoughts, just him. His lips, her lips. Their lips. (apocalypse)

“This- this should be- against some sort of rule” he said in between kisses.

(y/n) only hummed, barely registering what he’d said. Her fingers slid up his neck and grabbed his wet hair as he grabbed her by the waist, walking them both backwards till her back hit a wall.

They separated.

“Kissing me won’t make this go away” (y/n) said, breathing heavy and gazing at his eyes and lips.

He chuckled “I don't mind”

“You owe me a dinner” she said, straightening her back and stabbing his chest with her finger “A very nice dinner”

“Are you asking me on a date?” he asked.

“Sure”

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

A/N: Last night I had the idea to post it here to ask you guys what you think. Tbh I feel like it need a bit more editing, like, there's a piece of dialogue I wrote for this scene but idk where to sandwich it.

Please let me know what you think! Feedback is appreciated as long as your polite

[lewkwoodnco]

Northern Attitude - Locklyle

A/N: ajsdklsd my first locklyle fic!! decided to post this one early (was planning to do this from 20 Dec - 31 Dec) in celebration of 35k signatures WOOO!! very excited heheh I feel this song is rlly very lucy coded so tw self esteem issues? but nothing suicidal. pure angst, ending is a little here and there? not exactly happy but not exactly sad, wc 2.1k!

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST

"Forgive me, for all the things I did but mostly for the ones that I did not."

- The Secret History, Donna Tartt

The anxiety overwhelmed Lucy as soon as they stepped into the house on their latest case. She swayed dangerously, and her lips parted in surprise, but her grip on the doorframe was enough to steady her. Lockwood's head snapped back reflexively.

"Alright, Luce?"

Lucy nodded weakly, taking a deep breath in.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to linger."

He didn't look fully convinced.

With the days getting shorter and her mind wandering to less-than-favourable places over the past few days, she wasn't in the best emotional shape, even for a flimsy Type One. They walked in further, and the malaise grew stronger. Somewhere to her left, George fidgeted uncomfortably, but it was clear that neither of them had picked up the shift in the air like she had. Lucy closed her eyes. Happy thoughts.

She thought about her sisters, or what she could barely remember of the misshapen motley crew from her earliest days. She thought about the days before she Listened to ghosts, when she listened to the wavering hum of some distant dragonfly skimming over the tops of forbidden ponds. She thought about Norrie, and her team, and how excited they were on the night of their grade three certification. Lucy had been dizzy with glee and whatever was in the drink Norrie had given her, her hand drifting to the hilt of her rapier whenever the conversation ebbed. She couldn't stop smiling. For a moment she felt on top of the world, even if by only two inches. It was something she had earned, something hers to keep.

Then there was the Wythburn Mill incident. She jerked out a hand, trying to regain some grasp on the present as she traced the rough wall, trembling as her mind carried her onwards despite her efforts. That ominous premonition she had felt that day began to swell in her stomach, the feeling that had bred her knee-jerk reaction in the following weeks of considering any sort of malaise synonymous to the siren of death. Even now, if she wasn't too careful at times, she'd struggle to choke out the words to Lockwood and George when she would get too swept away in that unpleasant paralysis.

Her mother had been less than forgiving, which was nothing new. But what she hadn't expected was the cold dread and debilitating survivor's guilt that followed, as the bustling, rosy faces of what was left of her sisters had faded into obscurity. For three days, she had laid in her bed, silent as stone, and on the fourth day she had decided that she could bear this house no longer. She remembered cracking open her bedroom window one last time before leaving, breathing in the distinctly frigid, sterile Northern morning air. There was nothing, not even a single dragonfly, to pierce through the thick quiet.

As she walked away from her home without so much as a backwards glance, some part of her was painfully aware of how deeply ironic it was that she never felt quite as comfortable anywhere as she was whilst leaving. It was a realisation that weighed on her mind even after joining Lockwood & Co, the bogeyman that underpinned her rhythmic yet devoid-of-comfort routine. After every case, every agonised visitor launching themselves at them, she was left with an even stronger turbulence. What was she doing this all for? What happened next? And when would it all end?

The hollow vacuum following the questions was shattered by the spark of a flare that stung the side of Lucy's face. Her mind jumped back to the present, and she fumbled with her rapier for half a second. George lets out a strangled cry and half a minute later, they've bagged the source and the excitement's come to an end.

But on the way home, it felt like the Lurker hadn't truly been put to rest. Lucy ruminated on events she hadn't thought about in months. But one thing was clear: all the roads she's ever taken and all the roads she would take would lead her back to this exact spot - alone. Perhaps it was something implicit in her DNA: Lucy Carlyle did not seem to possess the genetic makeup for love.

It's these thoughts that she's too wrapped up in to pay more than a superficial level of attention to the others. She tosses and turns in bed until she gives up, deciding that a cup of tea was just what she needed.

As she walks down from the attic, there's a rustling in the shadows of the moonlit library. Faint glimmers on dull photographs materialise fleetingly as the figure erratically flips through plastic albums with a feverish intensity. The floorboard creaks as she shifts her weight, making his head snap up. She sees the vague outline of his rigid spine and crossed legs, poised to attack, as if they were still in that house. She steps out of the shadow of the door.

"Luce." He visibly relaxes, but there's still a troubled strain to his gaunt face. "Something wrong?"

"Couldn't sleep, is all."

Lockwood is already unfolding his legs to make room for Lucy as she walks in to sit next to him. He lamely tries to half-close the album, which awkwardly slips off his lap. His mildly pleasant expression does little to distract her from the aggrieved look in his eye. No matter how much he insisted otherwise, she could tell there were times when he felt no bigger or stronger than the small and vulnerable boy forced to grow up uncomfortably fast to fill shoes two sizes too big. They sit in silence for a while, and she argues with herself on how to reach out. She wants to hold his hand and tell him that everything would be alright. She wants him to believe her. She wants to take care of him in a way that matters.

"Do you ever wonder, about your family?"

But a want is a wish, some unrealised dream hovering at the edge of reality. The question catches her off guard, rendering her momentarily speechless. Her mind clouds over with a blurry sort of rage and that alienating grief she's carried with her all the way from Cheviot Hills. She stands up, and a part of Lockwood retreats into himself. There's an injured expression on his face.

"Go to bed, Lockwood." She wishes she knew how to convince him.

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

In the morning Lockwood's restless and mopey and an utter pain to deal with. George barely manages to get through breakfast, after which he washes his hands of him and grumbles something about going to the Archives. The last time Lucy had seen him as disagreeable as this was when Holly had placed him on house arrest when she reached her limit with his hacking cough and runny nose. The blow might not have been so terrible, perhaps, if he hadn't had to watch the rest of them continue with their cases without them.

"A whole week, Luce," he had said, with watering eyes and a nose rubbed raw, when George and Holly were away on a case. Of the three of them, Lucy was surprisingly the most sympathetic to his plight, but only because she understood the agony of being cooped up. "What am I supposed to do for a week?"

"I don't know. Have a rest, maybe? Relax, read a book, like a normal person?"

He laughed bitterly, staring out the window with his back turned to her. It makes him look vaguely unfamiliar. "I'm happier out there than I could ever be in here."

An uncomfortable silence follows, littered with the muffled sounds of the sleepy traffic outside their windows. She knew he didn't mean it. She hoped he didn't mean it. He turned to stare at a picture frame on his nightstand defiantly.

"I don't want to waste the life I've left staying shut up inside when I could be out there, making it all...worth it. Worth something."

He hadn't clarified, and she hadn't needed him to. She sees him, six years old, far too young to be forging an enemy fused to his lifeblood for the next fifteen years. She sees the grief, the anger, the thirst for vengeance, for retribution over what was stolen from him. She sees the tarnished walls closing in on him and the way their history weighs on him. A memory of what he can't let go of but is already forgetting, if the tremble in his hands as he flipped through the photo album had been any indication.

But she pretends she doesn't see any of it, because that's easier than figuring out what to do with the rage that flickers inside her.

"You're being awfully dramatic over a...a week."

He had rolled his eyes, peeling away the hair plastered to his clammy forehead. "You'd be too if George kept trying to boil you alive with blankets."

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

Now, a cold silence settles over 35 Portland Row. She finds him in the living room, and she thinks she's done a wonderful job at sneaking in until his rough voice startles her.

"I didn't mean to upset you last night." He seems astonishingly fragile and wholly disinterested, brooding at the window. It gives her a sickening feeling of deja vu. "I can really put my foot in it."

"S'alright."

He continues to stare lifelessly out the window, long enough to stir some urgency in Lucy. She isn't sure how to make it better, but knows she can make it worse. It holds her back.

"Well, if you ever wanted to...talk..."

She couldn't go any further. How could she, when she and the unfeeling Northern air were one and the same? But with Lockwood...she wanted to ache for him, cry for him. He speaks to the window pane aggressively.

"What?"

"George and I-"

He exhales derisively, and her quick temper rears its ugly head.

"It's not our fault you're an emotionally stunted twat-"

"Like you're any better."

"We're trying our best-"

"Then why won't you listen for longer than two seconds?"

Some mild reaction must have passed over her face, because the anger in Lockwood's face instantly softens. He sighs restlessly.

"I don't understand you, Luce. You can act so...brusque, and cold...but sometimes I look at you and...I don't believe it."

Her voice is a strained wisp of breath and she feels as small as she did when she was eight years old. She feels dangerously unbalanced, disfigured and grotesque.

"I'm...harsh. Unforgiving."

"Lucy, that's a lie and you know it."

"I'm only brave when it's easy. I'm a wreck when it gets tough."

"Infiltrating Winkman's operation was a far cry from easy."

"I'm so afraid, Lockwood. I'm terrified. All the time."

"Even with me?"

She doesn't know how to put into words how hard she tries to love him. She'll yell at him until she's blue in the face, but it is always with aching eyes that she looks at his sallow face and thinks I want him to be happy. With Lockwood, it was never about being loved; rather, she would succumb to the clawing desperation to love. If only she knew how.

"I'm afraid...I'm nothing you want."

He finally tears his eyes from the window, slowly turning to face her, and his expression is one of complete surprise. If she wasn't so close to tears she would have felt half-compelled to laugh.

"I don't know how to do it. Any of it. I want to know when you're okay and when you're not and I want to know what the hell I'm supposed to do when you shut yourself up but these are all things I've never known and...I don't have a bloody clue."

"Nothing...I...want?" he echoes. "Luce...you're incredible."

She picks up a cushion and aims for his head, which he smoothly catches, much to her irritation. He tosses it aside and slowly, carefully, wraps his knobbly arms around her. He holds her delicately, resting his cheekbone on her head, his breath tickling her fringe.

"Sometimes...I think I might be a little too in over my head thinking about everything I've lost. It makes me forget what I have now."

There's a thin strain in his voice towards the end of the sentence, and Lucy picks up on the emotion rattling in his chest. She wraps her own arms around him, caving in. He gives a shaky laugh.

"Maybe...maybe we possess some deficiency that make us entirely inept at caring for each other. Isn't that funny, Luce? Downright...hilarious?"

She closes her eyes and breathes in, humming noncommittally. For a moment there, she feels warm.

TAGLIST: @mitskiswift99 @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @elenianag080 @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits