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sailorholly · 1 year

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Strictly Business Pt 1

Summary: Spencer wants to gain sexual experience before asking his out his dream date. You just want a way to release stress. What could go wrong?

Pairing: Spencer Reid x F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Descriptions of crime scenes/cases. Friends with benefits. Eventual smut.

W/C: 1.5K

You roll your eyes at Officer Brewer. The handsome cop came on pretty strong with his cheesy pickup lines. Each one was more inappropriate than the last. It’s not that you didn’t find him attractive, but in your five years at the BAU, you had learned not to hook up with the officers you were assisting.

You had only been with the team three months when you were called in to help Portland’s local police on a case. Deputy Julian Lopez had been assigned to assist you on the field and you quickly fell for him. It took six weeks to catch the unsub. During that time, you and Julian were sneaking around, having a secret relationship.

You were heartbroken to learn he had been using you for information he fed to the media to make himself look like the sole hero on the case. What made it worse was the scolding Hotch gave you. You should have known better.

You and your favorite coworker, Spencer were on your way out of the small police station to see the medical examiner. A jogger had stumbled across two bodies in the woods on their daily route. The two of you were going to see if you could find any similarities between them.

“Hey beanpole, take care of my girl for me.” Brewer called out to Reid, winking at you in a way that made bile rise in your throat. “You don’t actually like that guy, do you?” Spencer asked once you left. “No way! I just flirt with him to make sure he cooperates with us.”

Spencer took his plump bottom lip between his teeth. You watched the innocent act wondering what it would feel like to have his teeth sink into your lip like that. You were attracted to Spencer, there was no denying that. It was purely sexual though. You knew the kind of hectic life JJ and Will had. You wanted no part of that.

You didn’t understand why there wasn’t a pile of women at his feet at all times. But so many thought he was too awkward or talked too much. You found it endearing when he shared the information his brain retained from reading something only once.

The two of you were closest to each other out of everyone on the team. You read together on the way home from cases. You would let him look at the latest book you were reading. He would finish it in three minutes, then continue with his own. Once you had finished, he would discuss it with you. You loved that about him.

You mostly read smutty romance, and you looked forward to the blush that would flood his cheeks when he read a particularly spicy scene. Sometimes he would clear his throat and shift in his seat. Those were your favorite moments. You spent most of your spare time together watching movies, you were teaching him how to cook and he taught you how to play chess. You paled in comparison to his skills, but he enjoyed playing with you.

When you returned to the police station, Spencer started giving statistics about the unsub. You watched as he scrunched his nose when he got to a part he found particularly interesting. You were practically drooling when he started talking with his hands. You couldn’t help thinking of what they would feel like against your skin.

You squeeze your thighs together trying to suppress the throb in your panties. Most everyone hated when he went off on a tangent, spilling every detail he knew about something, but not you. You never interrupted him once he started. You thought it was incredibly sexy how much endless information was stored in that brilliant mind under his messy curls.

After four long days, the case was finally solved. Morgan had captured the unsub when he went back to visit the crime scene. The whole team and the local police went out to the closest dive bar to celebrate. You were three shots in when Officer Brewer asked you to dance.

You decided it wouldn’t hurt, and you felt a little bad for shamelessly flirting with him all week. To your surprise, he was a great dancer. He spun and dipped you like a professional. When the song ended, you both walked over to the large booth both of your coworkers had settled in. Brewer placed his hands on your hips pulling you tightly against his body. He pointed at Spencer. “That’s how you woo a lady, Einstein. I’ve seen how you look at her. Just know she’s in good hands. She will be sleeping with a real man. She’ll be screaming my name tonight.”

You quickly remove his hands from your body. One glance at Spencer was enough for you to know that the jab had hurt him. Luckily, Brewer wouldn’t be able to tell. But you could read Spencer like a book. You grabbed the nearest drink off the table, splashing it in his face.

“You pompous ass! I wouldn’t sleep with you if you were the last man on Earth. For your information, Spencer is more of a man than you’ll ever be. He’s the perfect lover. He knows the female anatomy like you know your ABC’s. He can spell out Webster’s Dictionary in its entirety with his tongue when he goes down on me. He’s incredible.”

Spencer looks at you in disbelief. His brown eyes widen as he takes in what just happened. You take his hand in yours. “I’m ready to go.” He stands and walks out with you. You go back to the hotel spending the rest of the night watching rom coms on TV.

When you were back home, everyone was talking about what you said at the bar. Most importantly, you had to explain to Hotch that you and Spencer were not involved. He didn’t want to deal with all of the paperwork or the drama if it didn’t work out.

Penelope, Emily, and JJ cornered you by the coffee wanting every dirty detail of your hookup with Spencer. They were understanding when you explained you made it all up to defend him. Rossi seemed amused by the gossip. When you tried to set the record straight, he said “What you kids do behind closed doors is your business.”

Morgan was a different story entirely. He greeted Spencer with a high five. “My man! You could have told me. You and Y/N, huh? I’ve seen you two all cuddled up after cases. I should’ve guessed.” Despite Spencer denying anything between you, Derek couldn’t be convinced otherwise.

A few weeks passed, the gossip had been long forgotten with all the cases you had been working on. Your first free weekend, Rossi invited everyone to his house for a cooking lesson. The wine was flowing, even Spencer had a few glasses.

He was chatting with Derek about some girl he met through his Dr Who fan club. Spencer described her as his dream girl, but he was nervous to ask her out. Derek slapped him playfully on the back. “At least you’re not a virgin anymore, Pretty Boy. You should have plenty of confidence with the ladies now.”

Spencer’s face fell. He stormed out of the house. You followed after him, concerned for your friend. “Hey, what’s wrong?” You catch up to him, sitting on the step beside him. “I’m just tired of all the comments on my personal life. Just because I don’t have a different girl in my bed every night doesn’t mean I’m a virgin. Can I ask you something?”

“Sure, anything.” You reply laying your head on his shoulder. “Why did you say all that stuff at the bar?” He places his head on top of yours. His mop of messy brown hair flowing down your cheek. “I didn’t mean to offend you. I was just trying to stand up for you. I wasn’t going to let anyone talk to you like that.”

“I know that. I meant… Never mind.” He lifts his head and scoots over, distancing himself from you. “What is it? You know you can talk to me about anything, right?” He sighs looking everywhere but at you. “Why did you say I was a perfect lover and that thing about the dictionary?”

“It just kinda came out. I guess I said it because that’s what I always imagined it would be like.” Finally he looks at you. “You’ve imagined doing that with me?” His voice raises several octaves when he asks. You nod your head in response. You could tell the conversation was taking an awkward turn so you change the subject.

“So tell me about this dream girl. You’ve been keeping secrets!” He smiles sheepishly. “Her name’s Chloe. She’s brilliant. We like a lot of the same things. She speaks three languages. I want to ask her out on a date, but all that stuff Morgan said is messing with my head. What if I’m not enough for her? I’ve only been with one woman. I’m not exactly skilled in that department.”

He swallows hard, self doubt sketched all over his soft features. “I would like to have more experience before I take her out. So I can be more confident.” “I have a crazy idea. You can say no if you want. But what if we slept together? You want more experience and I haven’t been with anyone in a long time. It would be great practice for you since we are comfortable with each other. I would tell you what you need to improve on. And it would be a good stress reliever for me. What do you think?”

Spencer studies your face carefully looking for any signs of this being a cruel joke. When he is certain you meant it, he answers. “What about our friendship? I don’t want to mess this up.” He gestures between you.

“Of course we will still be friends. It’s not like we are going to fall in love. Think of it as a business transaction. We won’t let emotions get in the way. It will be strictly business.”

“No feelings?” He asks reaching his outstretched pinky towards you. “No feelings.” You confirm hooking your pinky with his.

Part Two

Tags (if you want to be added let me know)

@cindylynn @potter-puff007 @multifandom-worlds @mochie85

#spencer reid #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x fanfiction #spencer reid x fem!reader smut #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid x fem!readr #spencer reid x female reader #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid smut #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid fanfiction #Spencer Reid fanfic #spencer reid fic #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds fanfiction #spencer reid imagine #strictly business

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lewkwoodnco · 2 months

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guardian angel - lockwood x reader

As a Visitor lingering in 35 Portland Row, you can’t help but worry over Lockwood and his reckless ways

He caught a familiar Visitor trying to wrench open a warm can of beer left on the kitchen table. So far, it seemed that she had only been successful in vigorously shaking it up. She had been too engrossed to notice Lockwood walking in, so she was just startled enough for him to swipe the can out of her barely-there grasp.

"Nice try. Maybe when you turn 18."

She groaned. She had been so close. "Technically speaking, I'm 87 years old."

"Technically speaking, you're dead."

a/n: might fuck around and make this a series idk idk also halfway through I realised the reader would be classified as a type three i think? but lockwood can’t talk to type threes so let’s just pretend she’s the only one he can talk to

tropes/warnings: angst, a lil fluff, slight slight hurt/comfort, descriptions of injury, visitor!reader

word count: 3.8k!

MASTERLIST | TAGLIST

Anthony Lockwood had one rule and one rule only when it came to psychical investigations - there was no such thing as a friendly Visitor. And for the most part, he abided by it. But every rule has its exception, and this one came in the form of a sharp-eyed Type Three not much older than himself.

On this particular evening, the trio had just returned from a particularly draining case. George padded down to the basement to put away their iron chains while Lucy headed for the kitchen to put the kettle on. Lockwood winced as he peeled his coat off, heavy with decades-old dust and soot. He shuffled into the nearly pitch-dark living room, visibly unwinding as he sank into his favourite armchair. But he knew better than to hope for some peace and quiet just yet. Almost immediately, the hair at the back of his neck prickled not uncomfortably as he cast his eyes around. The air shifted, and he looked up just in time to see a familiar face materialise.

“Butter-fingered Locky nicked himself?”

He smiled weakly, carefully pulling his shoes off with his good arm. A shallow gash ran through his left bicep where something had ripped through his coat and shirt. The Visitor fiddled with some trinkets on the mantle above the fireplace with a carefully crafted air of nonchalance, occasionally glancing at his face expectantly.

“Broken window. Some of the glass ripped through my coat.”

“Ooh. How dramatic,” she teased playfully. He reached for the first-aid kit on the coffee table, pulling out the disinfectant and bandages he needed one-handed. He tentatively dabbed at the wound, twisting his torso uncomfortably as he struggled to bandage it up.

“Shouldn’t you be getting someone else to do that for you?”

He looked up and arched an eyebrow. “Why? Are you offering your services?”

She grinned, her face creasing into a light-hearted expression he found oddly relieving. She opened her mouth to reply when the living room door creaked, and the warm light of the hallway flooded the living room. Lockwood jerked his head up as she flattened herself against the fireplace, much less opaque now. George was standing at the door, squinting as his eyes adjusted to the darkness of the living room.

“How’s the arm?”

Lockwood grimaced, carefully checking how sore it was. “Could be worse.”

George nodded absent-mindedly, wandering towards some files haphazardly stacked on the coffee table. Lockwood turned back to see her watching his wound thoughtfully, a gentle frown marring her face.

"That’s got to hurt. I think. It's been a while since I…you know.”

"How did you die?" Lockwood asked in a low voice. Instantly, her concern evaporated. Her eyes darted towards George, pouring over those files only a few feet away from them, with mock severity.

"Hmm. Pneumonia, I believe."

She batted her eyes at him coquettishly and, as was routine, vanished into thin air. She didn't like giving him straight answers in general, and never for that question. One day it would be typhoid, the next frostbite, and then the Plague, and so on. Still, maybe one day she’d blurt it out without thinking, and so Lockwood kept asking.

She had been haunting 35 Portland Row from before Lockwood's parents had moved in. As a child, before his Sight had fully developed, he always had an inkling that something was there, hiding in the shadows. She had watched his mother mark out his height on the wall year after year. She had watched him scrape his knee barrelling down the front porch steps when he was five. She had watched his father chase him around the front yard on Saturday mornings. She had watched him grieve the family stolen from him. She had watched him stumble around, figuring out what to do with himself, night after night.

And so began her little acts of kindness. It was only because she was bored, she had told herself. A flare burn on his coat mysteriously mended seemingly overnight. The kitchen table flowers never seemed to wilt despite his forgetful watering habits. The orange juice carton was always put away in the refrigerator, even on nights when he was too exhausted to remember if he did. She had never meant to get this emotionally invested. Eventually, when he started noticing things were rarely where he had left them, he began to pick up more on her presence.

The first time she had materialised in front of him was when a 14-year-old Lockwood had yelled into the abyss that was an empty 35 Portland Row in the middle of the night, threatening to snuff her out for good if she didn't show herself. However, as far as 14-year-old boys went, Lockwood was not particularly menacing, so it was more pitiful than frightening.

Still, the Problem had been relatively new when she had kicked the bucket, and she was nothing if not curious to a fault. He hadn't seemed to have expected her to actually show up, given the deer-in-headlights look on his face when his nervous brown eyes met her shining, lifeless ones. She had an inkling that the threat had been an empty one, because as much as he pretended otherwise, Anthony Lockwood never hurt anyone or anything as long as he could help it.

“I don’t understand,” he had whispered, looking terribly vexed, a strain to his pale features. “I’ve never felt any malaise from you. I don’t even feel it now. How could you -?”

She had shrugged. Her guess was as good as his. Probably worse, since she hadn’t had access to half of the numerous books written about the Problem in her time.

After the first time she had materialised, he had resolved to find her Source and end the whole affair. But as their friendship blossomed, his resolve weakened, until eventually he decided it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world to let a harmless Visitor like her lurking around. That isn’t to say they never slipped up around the others. If George himself wasn't so prone to talking to himself, he might have picked up on Lockwood seemingly muttering to no one in the pitch-black darkness of his room being odd.

Since then, she started showing up more and more frequently, as early in the day as she was able to. This one evening, she had shown up as Lockwood had been cutting a slice of treacle tart to go with his cup of tea.

"Tony." Lockwood flinched. The air near him shimmered as she materialised, laughing, perched on the kitchen table. She enjoyed startling him more than any decent person should. Lockwood eyed her warily, mildly peeved.

"I've told you, it's Lockwood now."

"Yeah, yeah, but I've got nothing better to do for the next, hmm, I don't know, forever. This is my only entertainment, you know" she said, staring dolefully at the treacle tart. He followed her line of sight.

"I thought you didn't like treacle tart."

"I don't," she sighed exaggeratedly, unfolding her legs from beneath her, "but if I were still alive, I'd be able to give it a second chance, wouldn't I?"

He rolled his eyes and tossed a fork at her, and she gave a playful shriek of laughter as it flew through her.

Occasionally, it had crossed his mind that perhaps he was being selfish by keeping her here. He didn't know any more than the next person about what 'the next world' was, if it even existed, but in the psychical investigation industry, it was generally agreed upon that putting a Visitor to rest was the closest they could come to moving on. Despite the blades and gunpowder involved, freeing Visitors from their eternal agony was almost humane.

He didn't mind however she addressed him after that evening.

There was an old mansion right on the outskirts of London that was infamous for being impossibly haunted, earning it the nickname “Hell’s Manor.” Many agencies, including Fittes and Rotwell, had tried their hand at ridding the place of the supernatural phenomena, with little luck. It was only a matter of time before it was their turn.

“The main problem with Hell’s Manor,” George was saying over lunch after spending the morning at the Archives, “is how much the Visitors interfere with the investigation. More than half of them are Type Two’s, and according to the few survivors, they could barely see their teammates, let alone speak to them.”

The three of them glumly picked at their ghormeh sabzi, weighed down by the complexity of the case. “So what do we do?” Lucy finally asked.

“We could…” George glanced cautiously at Lockwood before continuing. “We could always turn down the job.”

Lockwood didn’t look too appreciative of that suggestion. He set his jaw, stabbing at his lunch with a bit more force than necessary.

“Fine,” George relented. “Let’s give it some more thought. We’ll pick this up again next week.”

As George started on the dishes after lunch, Lockwood wandered over to the living room where George’s extensive, meticulous notes were scattered across the coffee table. Hell’s Manor was no joke, and George’s extreme attention to detail was a testament to that.

Lockwood scanned the notes thoughtfully. A nagging, reckless idea began to take root in his mind. He doubted any agency in their right mind had considered sending in only one agent, not with the horror stories chronicling the place. But what if…what if it was such a terrible idea, that it just might work? Lockwood was not one to doubt the power of sheer dumb luck, not when it had gotten him this far.

He heard the kitchen floorboards creak. He surreptitiously snuck a few of the sheets up to the library, where he started drawing out some plans of his own.

A few hours later, he caught a familiar Visitor trying to wrench open a warm can of beer left on the kitchen table. So far, it seemed that she had only been successful in vigorously shaking it up. She had been too engrossed to notice Lockwood walking in, so she was just startled enough for him to swipe the can out of her barely-there grasp.

"Nice try. Maybe when you turn 18."

She groaned. She had been so close. "Technically speaking, I'm 87 years old."

"Technically speaking, you're dead."

She pulled a face. "Boo." She turned to get a proper look at him and frowned at the sight of him nearly fully decked out in equipment. “Hang on,” she said, “I thought you didn’t have any cases tonight.”

Lockwood tried to appear engrossed in whatever he was reading. “Lucy and George don’t have any cases tonight,” he said far too casually without looking up.

“This better not be about Hell’s Manor,” she said in a flat voice, no trace of humour in her voice now. He didn’t reply, avoiding her gaze.

“Lockwood. Promise me you’re not going to Hell’s Manor tonight. Alone.”

When he still didn’t reply, she laughed humourlessly, as if she refused to believe it.

“Are you completely mental? Did you not listen to a word George said at lunch? Even I’m too nervous to hang about riff-raff like them, and I’m just about as dead as it gets.”

“It’s easier this way. Trust me.” She watched him stuff more flares into his gear belt than it could comfortably allow. “You can’t miscommunicate with anyone if there isn’t anyone to communicate with.”

“Lockwood,” she said mournfully, “they’ll eat you alive.”

“I’ll be fine,” he said tersely. “I’ll be in and out in a jiffy. And if you know what’s good for you,” he hurriedly added, recognising the defiant look brewing on her face, “you’ll stay away.”

“Loc-“

“I mean it, Y/N. Stay out of this.” Lockwood stared hard at her as her mouth pressed into a thin, flat line. He was impossible to reason with when he had his heart set on doing something like this.

He turned, heading straight for the front door, pausing only at the rapier stand while her protests fell on deaf ears. In a haze of desperation, she slipped in between him and the door, as if she had enough substance to bodily block him from leaving. Without thinking, she stuck a translucent hand out to stop him. A translucent hand that, if Lockwood hadn't reflexively flinched, would have passed straight to him, and stopped his heart.

They stood there frozen for a moment, paralysed by shock and the terrifying almost-tragedy. Regret washed over her like waves crashing against a shore as she internally berated herself for being so careless. She was the first to break the silence, sharply sucking in an airless breath as she squeezed her eyes shut. "Crap. I didn't mean to -"

"So that's how it's going to be." Lockwood's voice was as wooden as his face.

"No." She bit down on her tongue, which was itching to go off on him and his injured expression. Logically, she knew he was only trying to emotionally blackmail her into letting him leave. So why couldn’t she bring herself to truly believe it? "Don’t be like that. It was - it was a mistake. You know I didn’t do that on purpose."

"Do I?" He glanced downwards to where her hand was still poised, mere inches from his chest. Immediately, she lowered her hand, putting as much distance as she could between the two of them as she flattened against the door. The lump in her throat made it hard to swallow.

She glared at him. "God, Lockwood, it was a mistake. You know I wasn't trying to -" She struggled with her words for a moment. "Trying to off you."

"Whatever," he muttered darkly under his breath. He reached around her to open the door as she moved out of the way, momentarily too flustered to stop him. He took advantage of her hesitation as he briskly walked out before she could recover.

"Anthony John Lockwood, you'll be sorry if you leave like this!"

Lockwood had never seen her this livid. He had made it all the way to the garden gate but she could only follow him up till the front porch steps, and even now her image was beginning to dangerously shimmer. Visitors couldn't manifest in the physical realm if they were too far from their Source, especially this early in the day, and both of them knew it was only a matter of seconds before she disappeared entirely. Her eyes flashed with anger as her mouth twisted into a vicious snarl, and she had never seemed more non-human than she did in that moment.

What did she know, Lockwood found himself thinking. She's been dead for nearly a century.

He paused long enough to watch her and her wrathful stare fully dematerialise. Then he turned and started walking, as if he couldn’t feel the leaden weight in his chest.

Hell’s Manor was a blur of anxiety and nausea. Lockwood had come up with a flimsy sort of plan where he had shortlisted the rooms most likely to contain the Sources, but he hadn’t anticipated the struggle just to get to them. His hands trembled, his stomach churned, and sweat beaded across his forehead as he fought against the overwhelming malaise beating down on him.

As he crept up yet another winding flight of stairs, he felt himself shiver as the air grew colder and thinner. He forced his eyes open wider, trying to block out the howling of some far-away draft and the creaking of the stairs. Out of the corner of his eye, he spied the ephemeral silhouette of a Wraith slowly advancing towards him through the shadows. Shadows, or other Visitors? His heart thudded unsteadily as he reared an arm back and lobbed a flare at the Wraith.

The Wraith flickered and howled as it burnt up, its agonising shrieking filling Lockwood’s ears. He stumbled gracelessly, latching onto the railing for support, his legs nearly too weak to hold himself up. As suddenly as the screeching had started, it ended. His head spun, ears ringing with the quickly disappearing echoes of its cries. Although the Wraith was momentarily incapacitated, the other Visitors were not.

Lockwood realised far too late that what he had erroneously registered as dizziness was the stairs beneath his feet ripping off the railings, twisting this way and that. He had the wind knocked out of him as he flailed, falling backwards and hitting his head on something very hard, the bitter taste of copper filling his mouth.

Bloody and bruised, he finally gave in to the overwhelming urge to close his eyes and pray for a quick death, the blood roaring in his ears muffling the rest of the noise. He took in a shuddering breath. Some of his ribs were definitely broken. The side of his face stung where a falling piece of wood had struck him, narrowly missing his nose.

He ached and hurt all over. He imagined not leaving Portland Row that evening. He would have been home - warm, alive, and mostly pain-free, curled up in an armchair with a magazine, listening to whatever inane prattle Y/N chose to fill his ears with that day.

Oh, how he wished they hadn’t fought.

Unfortunately, the quick death he was hoping for refused to come. The chaos of the manor had reduced, as though there was a lull in the destruction. In fact, it was almost too quiet. Distantly, he heard some shuffling, then the sound of wood being dragged. Dragged, as though by someone alive and solid. The piece of debris that had been pinning his leg down being moved out of the way. Hands reaching out and pulling him up. But no one knew he was here. Only one person did, but it couldn’t be her. Could it?

That question was the last thing hovering on his mind before he slipped out of consciousness.

When he came to, the assault on his senses was overwhelming. He could hear his associates arguing over the beeping of some machine. The strong scent of antibacterial soap grated on him. The bitter taste of oral anaesthesia burned his tongue. He groaned softly, head shifting on his pillow. Almost immediately, the voices ceased. With a tired sigh, he reluctantly cracked open an eye despite the pounding in his head.

“What the hell were you thinking?” His eyes fluttered close as they started going off on him, only half-listening.

“- it was only by sheer dumb luck that we knew you were gone, otherwise who knows when somebody would have-“

He hadn’t been listening too closely, but he perked up considerably at the last bit. “Wait, wait. What do you mean, ‘sheer dumb luck?’”

He could see George seriously considering outright refusing to explain himself, but he finally gave in. “Your bedroom windows. You left them open, and your closet doors were making a racket slamming open and closed. That’s what tipped us off that you were gone, and the papers on your bed told us where. Great plan, by the way,” George’s tone shifted into something more sarcastic, “Why bring an entire team down when you can get yourself killed all on your own?”

He knit his brow, certain that he had shut his windows that morning. He hadn’t even taken any of his plans to his room; he had left them in the library. He cast his eyes around the room where they landed on Y/N hovering in a corner, intently watching him worriedly. As soon as a look of recognition crossed his face, the tension in her face softened and she winked at him, turning her attention to an anatomy chart behind her. With considerable difficulty, he tore his eyes away from her.

“Yeah. Sorry.”

It was evident from their perplexed looks that they hadn’t expected such a ready apology. Usually, it took much more threatening and scolding to get Lockwood to express any kind of remorse. They stuttered for a minute, truly taken aback, until Lucy suggested that they go find the nurse.

"You snitched on me?" Lockwood cried out incredulously as soon as the door closed behind them. This, apparently, was far from the right thing to say, if the way she glowed brighter was any indication.

"Hey. I don't want any lip from you 'till you can breathe without wincing. Plus," her lips twitched despite herself, "I can see you've done a pretty excellent job of busting it up yourself."

"Ha-ha. A regular comedian, you." She extended a hand, her ghostly fingers hovering above the cut on his lip, only this time, he didn’t reel back. Her fingers skated over the other bruises and scratches on his face as if she secretly wished to erase them. He watched her impassive face with half-lidded eyes and, despite his annoyance over her interfering, drunk in the sight of her like a man starved.

A sense of awkwardness hung in the air from their fight earlier. Lockwood might have wanted to talk it through if he wasn’t in so much pain. Instead, he was bad-tempered and sulky, and god did his ribs hurt. He sank into his pillows, burying half of his face into them, like a petulant child throwing a tantrum.

"I had it under control," he whispered through gritted teeth.

Her eyes roved over his battered form disinterestedly. “Yes. I can see that.”

They fell silent again.

“You’re welcome, by the way.”

He mumbled something less-than-complimentary into his pillow.

"Lockwood?"

"What?" he bit out. Only, it wasn’t Y/N who had spoken. Lucy was standing in the doorway, her forehead creased and her eyes fixed right where Y/N had been floating just a moment prior. She seemed too distracted to have noticed the unexpected venom in his voice. A good amount of Lockwood's frustration dissolved as he tried to keep his face blank of any panic, sitting up the best he could. Lucy frowned around the room for a minute, and he was sure the jig was up, until she shrugged casually. Lockwood relaxed visibly.

"Oh, nothing. Thought I heard some voices."

“Hmm. Must be the, uh, other room.”

“Probably.” Lucy paused for a moment, eyes dragging over the cuts and bruises on his face. Did he really look that terrible? “Try to get some rest.” She gave him a small smile as she turned to leave, quietly closing the door behind her.

He didn’t like how empty the room felt. For the first time in a long while, he felt well and truly alone.

"Y/N?" he called out in a soft voice, much more in the mood to make up now. He hated how pathetic and vulnerable it made him sound. But there was no reply. The air remained still, his surroundings free of any Visitor-like haze. There was only the beeping of the hospital machines left in her wake, which lulled him to a fitful sleep.

TAGLIST: @neewtmas @midnight--raine @ahead-fullofdreams @how-to-stuff-and-things @cielooci @mohinithoughts @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @elenianag080 @avdiobliss @houseoftwistedspirits @mischivana @dangelnleif @mitskiswift99

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #fanfiction #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader

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atlabeth · 1 year

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leave the door open - anthony lockwood

summary: no matter what happens, there's always the light underneath the door. the sign that, when you're ready, he'll let you back in with open arms.

a/n: obviously inspired by leave the door open by silk sonic because i could (and have) listen to it on repeat for hours. this spiraled way out of control but im honestly really happy with it and i hope you all are too!

wc: 8.2k

warning(s): mild angst, arguing, hurt/comfort, mildly serious injury, short scene with a gun/gunshot wound, but the whole first half of the fic is fluff and it is all wrapped up w a fluffy ending

127.

128.

129.

13–

Your focus was broken as police sirens blared past your window, and you let out a long-lasting sigh. This was the fifth time your count had been interrupted, and you weren’t starting over again.

Trying to sleep was a fruitless endeavor at this point, and that wasn’t going to change no matter how many notches in the wall you counted—you might as well accept it.

You’d never been much for sleeping through the night, but your new home boded worse for it all. A new room, a new house, a new city, a new agency. Being in the thick of it all after what felt like so long on your own was overwhelming, and it still felt like it could all fall apart. Being given the job all because you passed a few tests in the living room didn’t exactly feel like security.

You sighed as you slipped on a sweatshirt and walked out of the attic— your room, at least for now— carefully moving down the steps in an effort to not make much noise.

35 Portland Row was filled with warmth, that much was obvious from your short time here, but that warmth had not yet penetrated your skin. It was all too foreign.

You meant to go to the kitchen and make a midnight cup of tea, but your eyes were drawn to a slightly open door, light spilling out in the cracks. The library, if you remembered correctly from Lockwood’s tour.

It must have been George. You didn’t know much about him, but the way Lockwood described him certainly made him seem like the type to be up pouring over books until the early hours of the morning.

It wouldn’t hurt to say hi. Let him know that they’d added another restless soul into their agency.

You pushed the door open a bit more, knocking on the wall as you leaned against the door frame, and your eyebrows rose slightly when the boy looked up.

“Lockwood,” you said, tamping down on your surprise.

He said your name with a slight smile and a bow of his head. “Couldn’t sleep?”

You nodded. “Have you got room for one more?”

“Always,” he said with a gesture at the seat across from him.

You closed the door behind you and took the offered chair, glancing down at the papers in front of him. “What’s got you up?”

“Bills,” he said dryly. “The mortgage, the utilities, our certification, and now—” he looked at you— “another agent on the payroll.”

“I’ll be sure to try and bring in more than you spend on me,” you said, and he smiled as he set his pen down.

“How thoughtful.” Lockwood laced his fingers together before he leveled his gaze fully at you. “And what’s got you up?”

“Just what I said,” you answered with a shrug. “I couldn’t sleep. I haven’t gotten used to this place yet.”

“Hopefully it doesn’t take too long, because you’re going to hit the ground running,” Lockwood said. “We’ve got a meeting tomorrow with a client, and if all goes well we’ll be having tea with a Visitor by noon.”

“Honestly, that would make me feel like I fit in more,” you said. “I’m much better with the ‘nearly dying’ part of this job than the settling in part.”

He cracked a small smile. “I’m hoping we’ll avoid that part, especially with your help.”

Your eyebrows rose. “You’ve got that much faith in me?”

“I assumed you knew the amount of faith I have in you when I hired you,” Lockwood joked. “Your Touch is just what we’ve been missing.”

“Thank you for taking a chance on me,” you said. “There’s always uncertainty about freelance agents because we work on our own, but I promise I’ll try my best to merge back into a group.”

“Like I said,” Lockwood’s eyes twinkled, “I’ve got full faith in you.”

You chuckled and nodded, and you tapped the desk before you stood up. “I’ll leave you to your devices. Thank you for the talk, Lockwood.”

“Try and get some sleep,” Lockwood said. “After all, tomorrow is when you prove yourself.”

“Ah,” you said sagely. “Tomorrow will determine whether I have a job or I’m back on the streets.”

“I won’t let that happen,” he said, and he looked wholly genuine. “You’re part of Lockwood & Co now, and we take care of our own.”

You nodded, your lips quirking into a small smile. It had been a long time since someone had so clearly said to you that they would watch out for you— that they saw you as more than just your Touch.

“Thank you,” you said softly.

Lockwood nodded, his expression turning slightly wry. “Besides, the only real reason I think I’d fire you is if you got us all killed.”

“You can’t fire me if we’re all dead.”

“I suppose that means you’re thoroughly employed,” Lockwood said with a smile.

You chuckled. “Good to know.”

“Truly, though, try and get some sleep.” He picked up his pen again, clicking it a few times. “We might be London’s smallest agency, but we take cases the likes of Fittes would handle.”

“As long as you try and get some too,” you said.

Lockwood smiled, but there was a notable absence of a promise. “Goodnight.”

“Are you always in the library?” you asked suddenly. “Because I— I find myself awake a lot at night. It would be nice to know when you’re open to chat and when you just want to be alone.”

He nodded. “I’ll leave the door open for you. Just like tonight.”

You stared at him for a moment more, taking in his slightly ruffled hair, his undone tie and rolled up sleeves. The dark circles under his eyes.

“Perfect,” you responded softly. “Goodnight, Lockwood.”

"Goodnight," he repeated, that same small smile on his lips.

You closed the door behind you.

You fell asleep as soon as your head hit the pillow.

It was another two weeks until your next sleepless night.

Kept busy with countless cases, you were exhausted near every time you stumbled back through the doors of Portland Row. Part of it was from adjusting back into an agency after being on your own for so long, the other part was the seriously intense jobs that Lockwood kept taking.

And you did adjust, that was true.

You didn’t know if you and George were exactly friends, but he allowed you to help when he cleaned up in the kitchen, and you’d already spent a few afternoons in the archives together—today had been the best, him sharing all the material he found with you and willing to listen to your theories and look at your notes. He was warming up to you, at least.

Lockwood was completely different. He exuded charm, all easy smiles and plying words meant to get someone’s guard down. It was how he operated, how he had to live—everyone underestimated him so he took it upon himself to prove everyone wrong. His name was on the door, after all, as he liked to remind you all.

Maybe that was why he was always up, you thought, because as you slowly moved down the stairs, rubbing grogginess out of your eyes, you noticed that the light was on in the library again. Door slightly cracked open.

You huffed a laugh before you knocked on the frame again, pushing it open to see Lockwood in almost the exact same position as last time. Instead of a variety of papers, though, he was hunched over a map.

He said your name, a small smile already pulling at his lips. “So we meet again.”

“We live in the same house,” you said wryly, “and we work together.”

“All the more reason to be thankful that you put up with me past billing hours,” Lockwood said. You chuckled, and he gestured at the chair across from him. “Take a seat.”

You did, and you tapped your fingers on the table before you took a look at the map. “What’s got you up so late?”

“I’m scouting out a potential job,” he said. “A very old, very haunted mansion owned by a very rich family.”

“I like the sound of that,” you mused.

“So do I.” That spark was in his eye again, and you found yourself watching him as he talked. “The patriarch called me last night, and I met with him and his wife while you and George were at the archives today. He offered the job of clearing his ancestral home, and I told him I would get back to him after I consulted my colleagues.”

“Colleagues,” you hummed. “I like the sound of that too.”

Lockwood chuckled. “I thought after freelancing for so long you would be against working so closely with a team.”

You shrugged. “I needed a change. You lot have been a pretty good one.”

“It’s certainly an honor,” Lockwood said with mock austerity, and you rolled your eyes with a laugh.

“Just get on with it, Lockwood.”

He nodded, and he pushed the map over to you. “I was going to lay it all out for you two tomorrow morning, but since you’re here, I might as well get your opinion on it.”

You took a moment to fully examine it. “Well, it’s certainly very big.” You glanced back up at Lockwood. “How much are they willing to pay?”

He smiled. “Fifty thousand pounds.”

Your eyes about burst out of your head, and you slid the map back over to him. “That’s all I need to hear. I’m in.”

Lockwood laughed and he took it back from you. “You don’t even know anything else about it. You could be walking into a death trap.”

“Every job I did on my own was a possible death trap, and none of them were for fifty thousand pounds,” you said. “I’m in—I don’t care if half of England is haunting that house.”

His smile faded a bit, and he cleared his throat as he looked you in the eye. “You know, you haven't talked much about why you were a freelance agent. Even during the interview.”

Your brows furrowed at the sudden question and you shrugged. “I wanted to be.”

“Everyone knows it’s a lot more dangerous than being in an agency,” Lockwood said. “Ghosts are hard enough to deal with in a group— going on your own is asking for trouble.”

“Before I came in, it was just you and George,” you countered. “You’ve got no supervisors, just the two of you hoping for the best. I’d say that’s asking for trouble.”

“You’re deflecting,” Lockwood said.

You glanced away, finally letting out a sigh as you leaned back in your chair.

“You don’t have to—”

“Because from the moment I discovered my Talent, I’ve heard horror stories from agencies. Entire teams going down on doomed missions, sole survivors left to live with the guilt for the rest of their lives. It happened to one of the teams in my agency, and I knew I wasn’t going to wait for it to happen to me.”

Lockwood’s eyes softened, and he stayed silent as you continued.

“I have no team, I have no roommates—when I’m on my own, no one has to worry about me,” you said quietly. “If something goes wrong, and I die, that’s it. No guilt, no problems, no legal trouble. No mourners.”

Lockwood frowned. “That’s not a very good way to look at it.”

“Never said it was,” you said wryly. “It’s just the way I look at it.”

“Your family would care.”

You shook your head. “They wouldn’t.”

He was silent for a good moment, and then he reached over and took your hand. It was a shock at first, your eyes widening slightly as they darted up to meet his, but he was calm as ever.

“You’ve got us now,” he said. “Lockwood & Co. Me and George. And we’d care very much if you were to die, so I’d appreciate it if you refrained from that.”

That got a watery laugh out of you, and you felt the beginnings of tears behind your eyes for some reason. “I don’t think that was in my contract.”

“It was in the fine print,” Lockwood assured. He looked so much younger when he smiled, like he didn’t have the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“That changes everything then.” Your voice was slightly stilted as you pulled away, and you turned slightly as you wiped at your eyes so he couldn’t see. If Lockwood noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Try and get some sleep,” he murmured. “If George is on board, we’ve got a very long day tomorrow.”

You nodded, clearing your throat as you stood up. “You too. Can’t go into battle without our fearless leader.”

He chuckled and nodded, his eyes never leaving you as you walked to the door. You paused, setting your hand on the frame, and turned around.

“Thank you, Lockwood,” you said, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I mean it.”

He smiled, and you found yourself lost in it for a moment. He really was beautiful. “Any time.”

And so your days continued on as a certified member of Lockwood & Co, becoming more integrated by the hour.

It wasn’t much longer before George took to you, and when you found a break in a case that saved you hours of potential digging through the archives, your spot as ‘respected colleague and potential friend’ was cemented.

Lockwood already knew more about you than most, putting him in the ‘weird friend, weird boss’ category. The man literally never slept, and all the information he knew about you was willingly given to him through late night vulnerability. You needed to start forcing yourself to stay in bed, if not solely to keep some secrets between you.

But— yeah, he was nice. Easy to joke around with, easy to work with, easy on the eyes. You’d smiled and laughed more in a single month at Portland Row than you had in three years as a freelance agent. Far better than the lonely studio apartment you holed up in between cases.

The warmth was beginning to penetrate your skin, you thought with a slight smile.

“What in the world are you doing?”

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a voice. You looked up from the baking sheet to see Lockwood waiting in the doorway with a small smile.

“Stress baking,” you said with a slight chuckle as you continued scooping dough onto the tray.

“At two in the morning?”

You shrugged. “I couldn’t sleep, and extra research wasn’t doing me any good. I had to get the nerves out somehow, and unless I fancied a nice bout with a Visitor, I couldn’t exactly go for a run.”

“So you decided on cookies instead,” he said wryly. “You know, you really should try and get more sleep.”

“Says you.” You finished filling up the tray and you picked it up, glancing at Lockwood as you walked over to the oven. “Every night that I’m up, you’re up too. That’s got to be unhealthy.”

“I’m a busy man,” he responded. “I can’t have half of my employees running around sleep deprived.”

You chuckled. “Good to know you care.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Always.”

“But you have to care about yourself, too.” You shut the oven and set a timer on your watch, then gestured at the counter where an already finished tray sat. “Try one.”

“Sugar so close to bed?” he joked.

“Oh, please,” you brushed your hand through the air, “we both know you’re not falling asleep any time soon.”

Lockwood cracked a smile as he walked over, picking up a cookie from the sheet. “Chocolate chip?”

“The best,” you confirmed.

He took a bite and he hummed as his eyebrows rose. “Surprisingly good,” he said after he swallowed.

“‘Surprisingly’?” you repeated. “Why can’t they just be normally good?”

“You may have noticed, but George is our resident chef.” Lockwood finished the rest of the cookie, much to your silent delight, and he went to the fridge. “I’m just surprised we’ve got two culinary experts on the team now.”

You chuckled and shook your head. “I’m not anywhere near an expert. I’m much better at baking than cooking, so George has that market cornered.”

Lockwood smiled, and he finished his cup of water. “He’ll be happy to know that. He’d probably love to share some of his recipes with you.��

“I’d love that more,” you said. “His halva the other day was incredible.”

“I’ll let him know. Of course,” his eyes twinkled, “he’d probably be more flattered if you told him yourself. If there’s one thing he’s prouder of than his work in the archives, it’s his work in the kitchen.”

“I’ll be sure to,” you agreed.

“Are you going to sleep anytime soon?” Lockwood asked as usual.

As usual, you rolled your eyes, bit back your smile. “I’ve got two more trays worth of dough. I promise I’ll go after they’re done.”

“Good,” he said with a nod. “Do you also promise to leave some for us?”

You laughed. “Of course. I didn’t make them just for stress relief, you know.”

“Good,” Lockwood repeated. “I’ll see you in the morning, then. The later morning, rather.”

“You get some sleep too,” you said, pointing your spatula at him, “or else all of these are going to George.”

He placed his fist over his chest. “Cross my heart.”

“Good. Now get out of here.”

Lockwood chuckled as he walked out, spurring a smile of your own. You picked up a cookie and took a bite, humming in approval at the taste.

“Normally good,” you murmured to yourself as you watched the oven. “Not surprisingly good.”

(When Lockwood came down the next morning, there were two plates of cookies sitting on the counter. He moved to take one, but then he noticed the Post-its.

One read GEORGE and one read LOCKWOOD, each in front of their own separate plates. There was another at the top—NO STEALING :) or I will never make cookies again

He chuckled, his mind wandering to you as he finally took one—from his plate, of course—and bit into it.

Normally good, he thought with a slight smile.

A fine addition to the team indeed.)

You yawned as you walked down the hallway, rubbing at your groggy eyes. You couldn’t sleep, as was per usual when you were working on such a big case, but that didn’t mean you had to like it.

Your mind ran a thousand kilometers a minute any time you even tried to close your eyes. Truly, you had no idea how George functioned with a brain like his.

You were about to go into the kitchen to make yourself your usual midnight cup of tea, hoping it would work its usual magic, when you saw the door to the library cracked open.

You couldn’t help but smile. He’d told you and George to go to bed early to make sure you were all ready for the job the next day, and here he was. Restless as ever and still a liar.

You pushed the door the rest of the way open, blinking a bit at the lights as you leaned against the frame. “Up late again, Lockwood?” you asked, and he started when he turned to you and said your name.

“You should be asleep,” he said.

“So should you.”

“I’m looking over the floorplans one last time,” Lockwood said. “This place is huge, and I want to make sure I know every part of it.”

“We’ve drilled the exits a thousand times,” you said. “We already know the mansion inside out—cramming at midnight isn’t going to help anyone. Actually being rested for once will.”

Lockwood gave you a wry look. “Awfully strong words coming from you.”

“I was going to the kitchen to make some tea,” you defended. “And then I was going to go right back to sleep.”

He smiled as he looked at you, and then he nodded and stood up. “Alright. Come on.”

You raised your eyebrows as Lockwood started walking, and then he took your hand and started pulling you along.

“Oh my god,” you said with a laugh, “I can walk on my own.”

All he said was, “I know,” in that annoyingly cocky tone of his, and you continued following him as you went up the stairs. When he pulled open the door of his room, you

“Neither of us are very good at staying asleep,” Lockwood said wryly, “and I really don’t trust you to get enough in the face of tomorrow. So…”

“You think sleeping in the same bed will help,” you surmised.

He shrugged. “At the very least, I’ll be able to make sure you do fall asleep.”

“Then the same goes for you.”

“Obviously.”

You stared at him for a moment. You didn’t exactly… know what to do.

The words rushed out of his mouth. “Of course if you don’t want to—”

“No,” you interrupted, shaking your head. “No, it’s alright. I want to.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “Alright.”

You pulled back the covers, clearing your throat as you took your side and Lockwood took his after turning the lamp off. You didn’t know why this was so awkward, sharing a bed with the boy you’d worked with for the past few months, but it was. You’d faced down countless ghosts together, but this was apparently too much.

“Your bed’s comfortable,” you said, desperate to break the silence. You stared at his wall, your back turned to him, Lockwood in the same position.

“Thanks.”

“I don’t know how you’re ever not sleeping through the night with a mattress like this.”

Lockwood chuckled. “Sight isn’t my only talent.”

You smiled. “Very true.”

“Why are you always up?” he asked. “I know my old bed isn’t the most comfortable, but it seems you’re always up.”

“It seems you’re always up.”

“Deflecting,” he said. Your mind flashed back to the first night in the library.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I’ve always been a restless person, but being an agent has just… worsened it. I had a couple of bad months working on my own and I don’t think I’ve fully recovered.”

“Ah.” You could feel his breathing in the slight shifts of the bed, and it was oddly comforting. “I hope that we haven’t made it worse.”

“Oh, no.” You shook your head. “If anything, you’ve made it better. Portland Row is the embodiment of warmth, and you two are fantastic.”

“Well, we aren’t going anywhere,” Lockwood assured. “...I’m not going anywhere. So if you ever need anything, please tell us.”

Your voice was hardly more than a whisper. “Thank you.”

“Always.”

Your sleepless nights varied in frequency as the months went on.

Sometimes you were so exhausted when you staggered through the doors of Portland Row that you felt as if you could sleep the night away on the couch. Other times, despite being worked to the bone from a difficult job, you would find yourself staring up at the ceiling of your room, unable to get the visions from the day out of your head.

That was the lovely thing about Touch. The way you saw it, you gave a small part of yourself over each time you used it, and once you got it back, the things you’d seen were embedded in it—in you. It was awfully difficult to separate yourself from your jobs when you threw yourself so fully into it, when you had no other choice but to do so.

Lockwood and George had become accustomed to how deep you felt things. When you needed to be alone after a job, when you needed one of them to talk nonstop to keep you distracted, when you just needed to sit with them in silence and be assured that this too would pass, no matter how slow. That was the nicest thing about being part of the group—you didn’t have to lick your wounds on your own.

When it got really bad—and sometimes it did—you and Lockwood would share his room. His presence was unparalleled in bringing you comfort, and whispered conversations in the dark made you feel some sort of way. He was practically your savior.

When he wasn’t helping you through the night, more often than not, Lockwood would be up at the same hour as you. It was concerning, though you couldn’t say anything about it. He would just throw it back at you, claiming you should be asleep as well. At least George was exempt from the criticism. Bless him.

He found you in a lot of positions. Sitting on the floor of the kitchen scrubbing furiously at the plasm stains on your boots. Sitting on the floor of their living room, one of their case files in your lap as you recounted a previous case. Sitting on the floor of the basement, measuring out salt for bombs and ensuring their flares were stocked. You liked sitting on the floor while you did things, apparently—Lockwood had figured that out after a few weeks of sleepless nights. It was strange.

And of course, the occasional bout of stress baking, ranging from cookies to brownies to pastries and more. You once even baked an entire cake in the middle of the night out of pure anger, the result of a frustrating loss to a Fittes team. Not getting the case hurt a little bit less the next morning when you all had cake to dull the pain.

You found him just as many times. Sometimes getting his own cups of tea in the kitchen, sometimes reading those gossip magazines he was fond of, sometimes doing his own restocks of your supplies. Usually, though, he was just sitting in the library stressed over one thing or another.

You noticed he always tried to hide it from you, covering it with his easy smiles and well-placed jokes. It couldn’t be easy to run an agency as a teenager, no matter how small—you wondered how many restless evenings you would have to share together for him to drop the mask.

Eventually, though, it was decided that another agent was needed. Lockwood and his Sight, you and your Touch, George as an all-arounder—he was your only source for Listening, but it had never been his strong suit. After you nearly got ghost-touched because of that blatant lack of Listening, Lockwood put his foot down and put out an ad.

Enter one Lucy Carlyle: excellent Listener, skilled in Touch, a myriad of opinions. You liked her the moment you met her, her image only sullied by her taking two biscuits. You could hardly blame her though, the way George pushed her. He loved to push.

Due to a lack of rooms but an imminent need for Talent, it was decided that Lucy would room in the attic with you. You were able to get one of the spare beds all the way up to the attic between the four of you, and when you all promptly collapsed on the ground together, it was agreed upon that Lockwood & Company would stick to ghosts. Very good for team bonding, though.

It took Lucy a bit to get used to you, especially in such close quarters, but soon enough you were joking around and talking like you’d known each other for years. You knew she was good, but witnessing her listening was awe-inspiring. You almost couldn’t believe you’d gotten her over Fittes or Atkinson and Armstrong, but you weren’t going to complain. You felt as if your motley crew could do anything.

“I can’t believe he did this,” you seethed.

Well, there were certain things your motley crew did not need to do. Especially your leader.

“You’re going to wear a hole in the floor if you keep pacing like that,” Lucy said.

“I can’t believe he did this!” you repeated, louder and more annoyed as you threw yourself against the wall. “How stupid can one boy be?”

“He was trying to save you, y’know,” Lucy said dryly.

“I didn’t need to be saved,” you grumbled. “He did it because he’s reckless and stupid.”

“...That’s fair,” Lucy said after a moment. “He is quite reckless.”

“Don’t forget stupid.”

Her lips twitched for a moment. “Perhaps you shouldn’t speak ill of the injured.”

“That’s just the dead,” you muttered. “And we speak plenty of ill of them.”

This was all because of a job that went wrong. And you were certain it wouldn’t have gone wrong if Lockwood could hold himself back for a moment.

“Are you sure that’s him?” you murmured, disguising your words with your cup of sparkling cider.

“Positive,” Lockwood confirmed. “Arthur Torres, one of Sunrise Corporation’s many useless executives.”

“Lovely.” You finished your drink. “I distract and you steal, right?”

“Actually,” Lockwood said, and you didn’t like that at all, “you steal, I distract.”

Your brows furrowed. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“I make the plans,” he said, “I can change them.”

“Not when we spend hours going over them to ensure they’re flawless,” you said tartly.

“Relax.” He smiled at you, and somehow it managed to carve through your irritation. He slipped the keycard out of his pocket and pressed it into your hand. “I’m very good at improvising.”

“Lockw—” You didn’t have the chance to chastise him the way he deserved before he slipped off, a very convenient waiter filling the space he left before you could dart after him. You scoffed as you placed your empty glass on their tray, your eyes narrowed as you glared at Lockwood from beyond.

He paid no attention to you, not until he made the signal. He ‘accidentally’ bumped into Mr. Torres, spilling his wine all over his jacket, and before the first apology could fall from his lips, you were gone.

You muttered curses under your breath the entire way, slipping past guards and security the best you could on the way to the stairwell. You took them two at a time as you hurried to the fourth floor, and though you were completely out of breath by the time you made it, you were pleased that there were no guards. George said he would have the security cameras disabled before you got there, so you just had to trust in him.

You continued to take in and let out deep breaths as you walked up to the door, and they turned into a sigh of relief when you scanned the keycard and it opened. You heard footsteps behind you and whirled around, your hand flying on instinct for the rapier that wasn’t there, and your eyes widened yet again when you saw it was Lockwood.

“What the hell are you doing here?” you hissed.

He held up his hands in defense, as he stopped jogging, and then he brushed out the wrinkles in his dress shirt. “I came to help you.”

“You’re meant to be distracting Mr. Torres,” you said incredulously. “Lockwood, do you even care for the sanctity of plans?”

“I care about your safety,” he said, calm in the face of your anger. “That’s why I’m here.”

“And where is he? Hopefully not in reach of his various guards that could ruin us and our careers at any second.”

“I left him in the washroom,” Lockwood said. “How are you doing?”

You set your jaw, and you sighed as you gestured with your head into the now-open office. “Let’s just find this source so we can get out of here.”

Now came the not-so-legal part, that some may even call theft. Lockwood called it discreetly fixing mistakes, you called it your shoddy morals. Not that you were torn up about stealing from an executive businessman, you just didn’t particularly fancy losing your license over it.

A rich family had hired Lockwood & Co to find and return a source that was important to their family, and of course it was housed by Mr. Torres of the Sunrise Corporation. You’d no idea what it was with wealthy people and their flaunting of sources, but you’d had enough of it. They paid handsomely for the risk though, hence your shoddy morals.

This, honestly, was the easy part. You touched a few things, concentrated until your head hurt, and it led you right to it. Quite disappointing—you didn’t know why the Paladinos would keep a paperweight in the family, and more importantly how it came about to be a source, but that didn’t really matter. It sat on Torres’s desk, surrounded by Sunrise Corporation silver-glass, and just for extra measure Lockwood put it into a metal box of your own. You shoved it into your backpack, and the job was halfway done.

The other half was getting out without being spotted.

The two of you worked quickly to erase all traces of your being there, and soon enough you were hurrying through the halls together.

“That was good work.”

You ignored him.

“The Paladinos’ money will do a lot of good for us.”

You ignored him.

“Seriously. You work well on the fly.”

“We shouldn’t have had to work on the fly,” you finally said bitterly.

“Why are you so mad?” Lockwood asked with a slight laugh. God, his nerve. “It all worked out. We’ve got the source, we’ll get the payment, and we didn’t even have to deal with any Visitors. Torres is still clueless.”

“That’s not the point, Lockwood,” you hissed. You forced your expression back into neutrality as you walked out of the stairwell and back into the midst of the party, and you and Lockwood moved at a normal pace. He offered occasional smiles and nods to people in the crowd, and you both nodded at the guards at the exit when you left.

You couldn’t even relish in your victory, because once you’d gotten out of hearing distance, around the corner where no guards or partygoers could see or hear you, Lockwood stopped you.

“What is the point then?” he asked. “If none of what I said is the point, then what is the point?”

“The point is that you don’t trust me!” you exclaimed.

He immediately frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Why did you even follow me in the first place?” you asked. “It was your decision to switch it up at the last moment, and you couldn’t even follow through with that?”

Lockwood didn’t say anything, and you shook your head.

“You don’t trust me,” you repeated quietly.

He said your name then, a slightly wild look in his eyes as he turned to you. “That’s not it.”

“It is.” A muscle worked in your jaw. “Because if you thought I could do it, you would have let me do it instead of risking both of our lives. You wouldn’t have switched our roles in the first place.”

“Torres was suspicious,” he insisted. “He— he was saying things, talking about how he had to make his guards check on his office. He’s a paranoid man, and you could have been in much more danger if I hadn’t abandoned him.”

“That is bullshit!” you exclaimed. “God, it was your bloody idea in the first place! Is it suddenly not good enough? Am I not good enough?”

“That is not what this is about,” Lockwood snapped.

“Then what is it about?” you marveled. “Why did you switch roles in the first place? You’ve told me I could talk my way out of anything, but when the time comes, you shake things up for no reason. For no reason, Lockwood.”

“People know my face better than they know yours,” Lockwood said. “Torres was more willing to talk with the head of a rising agency, you were able to slip around easier because of who you are.”

“Why didn’t you think of that before we were in the thick of it all?” you asked incredulously, and you laughed. “I’ve saved your life multiple times, Lockwood, and you’ve done the same for me. You talk me up all the time to my face, saying I’m what this agency was missing, that I’m part of your family, that— that you’ll never let me go. But that’s all it is, isn’t it?” A shaky smile formed for just a moment before it broke. “Just talk.”

Lockwood said your name desperately, but you shook your head. “No. Justify it however you want, but you nearly sabotaged the entire job just because you didn’t have enough faith in me. That’s it.”

“I’m telling you, that’s not it.” He let out a ragged sigh, running a distressed hand through his hair, when he suddenly froze.

“Good evening, sir!” he called, confident as ever, like your argument hadn’t just happened. “We’re just—”

His voice broke off mid sentence, and then he yelled your name. You whirled around.

It was a guard, and he was armed. He must have spotted you when you were leaving the office, or maybe George had missed a camera and he’d seen your thievery—there were about a thousand things that could have gone wrong. For a split second, you stared down the barrel of the gun. Funny how you’d stared down what felt like hundreds of ghosts, and a bit of metal was what had you frozen.

The guard pulled the trigger.

Lockwood lunged.

You screamed.

“He’s lucky DEPRAC didn’t find the source in my bag,” you muttered. “They already interrogated me to hell and back while he was in the hospital. Luckily, it usually doesn’t look too good when an adult shoots a teenager and can hardly defend himself against it.”

“The bloke deserved to be fired,” Lucy said. “A paperweight is certainly not worth shooting someone over.”

“And it’s certainly not worth getting shot for,” you added.

“It’s kind of funny,” Lucy said offhandedly. “He’s the one that got shot for you, and yet he’s apologizing to you.”

“Because it’s his fault that he got us in that situation in the first place!” you exclaimed. You winced as your words sunk in, and you looked over at Lucy. “That was too harsh, wasn’t it?”

“...A bit,” she admitted.

You sighed dramatically and hit your head against the side of the wall. “I’m acting like a child.”

“A bit.”

“I just don’t know how he expects me to face him,” you said. “I’ve been working with him for the better part of a year, and somehow he still doesn’t trust me.”

“I… don’t think that’s it,” Lucy said.

“How could it not be it?” you said. “He wouldn’t have acted like he did if he trusted me.”

She shrugged. “Have you thought that it’s because he cares about you?”

“He cares about all of us, Luce.”

“He cares about you more,” she said plainly. “In a different way.”

Your head whipped towards her, and you stared at her for a good five seconds. “You are not saying what I think you’re saying.”

“If you think I’m saying it, it’s for good reason,” she said.

“We are colleagues,” you said slowly. “Nothing less, nothing more.”

Lucy said your name with a slight laugh. “He took a bullet for you.”

“He shuffled our assignments because he didn’t trust me,” you said.

“He shuffled your assignments because he was worried about you,” she countered. “He didn’t want you with Torres because if you were found out, Lockwood didn’t want him to remember your face. And he abandoned his post because he was worried about you, that something would go wrong and he wouldn’t be there to help.”

You stared at her before you continued your pacing. “You’re insane. You’re kicked out of the agency.”

“I’m right,” she said wryly. “And may I remind you again that he took a bloody bullet for you?”

“I’ve already given him that,” you said. “I lost my damn mind when it happened—almost tore the guard apart with my bare hands. I freaked out the entire way to the hospital with him.”

“And now you’re almost completely ignoring him,” Lucy said. “Face it: you like him. You just don’t want to admit it because it would mean having an actual conversation with him about it all rather than pacing a hole in the floor.”

“You’re wrong.” You huffed and leaned back against the wall. “You’re wrong.”

Lucy sighed and she offered a faint smile as she stood up. “You take some time to realize all this. I’m stealing George for an Arif’s run.”

“Leaving us alone,” you said flatly, staring ahead as she walked out. “You’re not clever, Lucy Carlyle!”

“Thank you!” she called with a laugh, and you hit your head against the wall once more when she closed the door behind her.

Sometimes you really hated your friends.

It wasn’t like you were avoiding Lockwood. That would be cruel.

Stupid as he was, he got shot, and he got shot for you. Avoiding him would be ridiculous.

You were just… strategically not talking to him.

And that was arguably worse, yes, letting him see you but not deigning to say a single thing to him that wasn’t business related.

It was even worse than worse because you’d inadvertently proven Lucy right. If this were any normal annoyance between friends, like the squabbles you and George were prone to or the bouts that your boys got into over patience and its virtues, it wouldn’t be this strong.

You’d held grudges against Lockwood before. When he forgot to soak your boots overnight so you had to go into an important job with plasm stains, when he ate the strawberry sprinkled donut just to spite you, when you and George were still in rocky territory and he made you marathon the archives with him for nine hours straight.

All of those, annoying as they were, were forgiven rather quickly. And yes, maybe this grudge was especially strong because of the severity of his injury, but…

You could admit it. Normal people didn’t hold grudges over their best friend throwing themselves in front of them to prevent them from getting shot. Normal people were thankful. Normal people could talk about their feelings when they realized it was the reason for their strife.

You, apparently, were not normal. And neither was anyone in this bloody agency, because nobody deigned to make it any easier for you.

Perhaps it was a bit stupid on your part, but you walked down to the kitchen anyway. You needed some tea to clear your mind. Instead, you were met with a half-shirtless Lockwood.

“Ah,” he said your name, looking up from his spot against the counter, “nice of you to finally grace me with your presence.”

“What are you doing?” you asked. It was almost embarrassing—you were meant to be holding a grudge and ignoring your feelings, and instead you were staring at him like a girl in primary school. Remarkable how quickly you forgot your objectives.

“The doctor said I had to redress my wound every day for the first week,” he said. “Lucy and George just went out, so I figured I would do it now.”

Your brows furrowed. “How do you feel?”

“Better now that you’re here,” he said. Lucy’s words pounded in your ears. “I don’t think you avoiding me is good for my health.”

You bit your lip and remained silent. Rocky territory, this was.

“It’s alright if you just want to stand there.” Lockwood grimaced a bit as he pressed the alcohol-soaked pad to his wound. “Moral support is very helpful.”

Remarkable how quickly the dam broke. You sighed and closed the distance, holding out your hand when you stopped a few meters in front of him. “Give it to me.”

Lockwood’s eyebrows rose.

“Give it to me,” you repeated. “I’ve dealt with many of my own wounds over the years. It’ll be a lot faster if I do it for you.”

His lips quirked into a slight smile as he handed the cloth over. “This is better than moral support.”

“Yeah, yeah.” You couldn’t help the small smile of your own as you started to dab at the surrounding blood on his chest, innately aware of your proximity but trying your best to ignore it. “This doesn’t look too bad, honestly.”

“I was shot,” he said dryly. “I think I deserve a few style points for that.”

“You’ve already earned them all, Lockwood.”

“That makes sense.” You felt his eyes on you as you continued to work, pointedly ignoring his gaze. “You know, they didn’t take the bullet out. Said it would be worse to take it out, and it’s not causing any problems inside. So I’ve got a bullet in me now.”

Your brows furrowed. “Interesting.”

“Indeed. I’ll be going off in airports for the rest of my life.”

Your fingers hovered over his chest for a moment, and you pulled away with a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

It was his turn to frown. “What for?”

“For—” you let out another sigh, rougher this time. “For this.”

“It wasn’t your fault I got shot,” he said. “I quite clearly remember pushing you out of the way.”

“I know,” you said. “I— I am quite sorry that you got shot, though.”

“Obviously,” he said coyly, and you let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m sorry for this grudge. It’s probably the stupidest out of all the ones I’ve held against you so far.”

“George keeps a running list,” Lockwood said. “I’m sure we can figure that out.”

“I’m serious.” Your hand lingered on Lockwood’s chest for a moment, his body warmth almost shocking, before you set the cloth down on the counter. You started to put a fresh bandage on, but you finally mustered the strength to look at him. “I was so upset at the thought that you didn’t trust me because your opinion means a lot to me, Lockwood. The way you think of me means a lot to me.” You cleared your throat, averting your eyes for a moment. “You mean a lot to me.”

Lockwood gently tipped your chin back towards him, your eyes meeting his. He really was beautiful—eyes that were softer than ever, his tousled hair, the slope of his jaw. Slightly chapped lips, the bags under his eyes that seemed to be permanent, the weight of the world on his shoulders that seemed to diminish ever so slightly when you were around.

Your Lockwood.

“You mean a lot to me as well,” he said. “Why do you think I reassigned us last minute? Why do you think I took a bullet for you?”

“Because you’re a reckless idiot?”

“Because I panic around you,” he said, “in addition to being a reckless idiot. Whenever we’re on a job, half of my mind is focused on ghosts, and the other half is making sure nothing happens to you. You drive me the best kind of insane.”

You couldn’t help but stare at him. You wanted to kiss him more than anything, to root your hands in that tousled hair and make it an even bigger mess. You wanted to make him realize he didn’t have to worry about you, because you weren’t going anywhere without him.

The words stuck in your throat. You finished applying his bandage, and you took a step away.

“Thank you,” you said.

He didn’t look angry or annoyed or irritated—he understood. He understood you.

“Always.”

And it was as simple as that.

It wasn’t really a surprise you couldn’t sleep that night. You hadn’t exactly talked to Lockwood since your show of emotion in the kitchen, embarrassing as it was. You made Lucy check downstairs before you went down for supper, and that was just so you could make the quickest sandwich of your life and immediately hurry back upstairs.

Pathetic, really. You mustered the strength to tell the boy you liked him, he returned it, you ran off and locked yourself in the attic.

And it wasn’t because it was too much. You just… you didn’t know. You might’ve driven Lockwood insane, but he turned you into a complete idiot. It was ridiculous. And you were not ridiculous.

So when night rolled around, when Lucy and George were sound asleep and the ghost lamps flickered on every three minutes and you had only the owls outside your window for company, you knew what you were going to do.

You threw on your sweatshirt, carefully padded across the floor and out the door so as to not wake Lucy, and you went down the stairs.

Surprisingly, you’d never felt calmer.

The light was on in the library. The door was slightly pushed open, the nondescript act that had turned into a beacon for the two of you.

You knocked on the wall before you pushed the door open some more, not waiting for an answer as you leaned against the doorframe.

Lockwood sat in his armchair, a magazine half open but neglected on his lap. His eyes shined the moment you stepped inside.

“Got room for one more?” you asked softly.

Lockwood’s shoulders relaxed, his throat bobbing for a moment before that damn smile pulled at his lips.

“Always.”

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

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skzhua · 1 year

Text

Episode four.

MASTERLIST

pairing: XO, Kitty's Min Ho x Female Reader

genre: Fluff, angst, enemies-to-lovers, slow burn, coming-of-age.

word count: 2.8k

warnings: Swearing, mentions of divorce, mentions of deceased parents, arguing. (And Min Ho gets on my nerves in this one.)

summary: Transferring to KISS was the last thing you had asked for and, yet, a certain tall boy made it seem both worse and better than you expected.

note: Bold - Korean, Italic - Over the phone

(let me know by filling the form in my bio if you want to be added to the taglist!)

"You kicked her out?" you yelled as soon as you stepped in your dorm.

Min Ho frowned in confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Kitty. I just walked her to her new dormitory. I thought we agreed you wouldn't call Campus Police."

He got up from the couch and approached you close enough so you had to look up at him. "We agreed I wouldn't call Campus Police on you, which I didn't do. You never said anything about Portland Stalker."

"I wouldn't have minded that much but since her new dorm mate is weird as hell, I am concerned."

He shrugged his shoulders. "Then don't be? I don't get why you all worked up on this."

You groaned and left to barricade yourself in your room. First day of school went on even worse than you expected. You were startled when you phone started to ring.

"Y/N! We just wanted to check on you. So, first day?"

The excitement in your aunt's voice made you feel bad for not enjoying as much as you should. They had been trying to get you the scholarship for a while to give you the best scholar environment and you couldn't be ungrateful to them. Especially not when it was all Principal Lim's doing for allowing you to stay there.

"Great. I met up with Yuri and made some friends. Classes seem fun and I like my roommates."

They smiled through the small screen of your phone. "We're happy to hear that. Tomorrow, you have a class with me. I can't wait to see you there." your uncle said excitedly.

"Me too. I'll go to sleep now. Good night!"

"Good night, Y/N! Take care."

After changing into your pyjamas – that were surely too revealing for some people but you didn't care at this point – you went to the bathroom for your night routine. Min Ho was already there, doing his own skin care. While he didn't talk to you, he still stepped aside to leave you some space. Him checking you out didn't go unnoticed by you but you decided to not say anything about it. You brushed your teeth quickly and then proceeded to apply your primer.

"That's mine." Min Ho pointed out.

"It's not, I just brought it with me."

He chuckled. "I don't think you did. This is worth $200 and my mom got it for me."

You observed him take it from you. "You do realize I have money too, right?"

"Because of Principal Lim and Yuri? Yeah." he attempted to mock.

You took the primer back. "Because my rich parents died five years ago."

Stunned, he didn't move for an instant. While satisfied with the reaction you got from him, you began to regret spilling out about your parents. You usually kept it to yourself that even Yuri didn't know what happened.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know." he said, his voice now much softer.

"It's fine."

You went back to your room immediately. You didn't want to discuss it any further, nor did you want Min Ho to be pitying you. You needed sleep, and fast.

A week went by pretty quickly. Your uncle taught your history class and you both agreed to not act like family in class, although most of the students knew you were relatives. You bonded closely with Kitty over that week and rarely ever saw Yuri since she was so busy with everything going on in her life. Plus, Kitty was avoiding her as much as possible.

You, yourself, had avoided Min Ho successfully for most part. The only times you really interacted with him were in chemistry class or in the morning where he would always make you a cup of coffee.

You were walking to the library when Kitty intercepted you.

"Help. Me."

Analyzing her appearance, you took in the bags under her eyes and the hairdo that seemed have been done last minute. You held back a laugh and Kitty simply told you you could laugh at her.

"I'm so sorry, but what is this?" you sneered and gesture her whole figure.

"My roommate is the worst human being on this planet. She eats all day, screams at night, throws tissues at me – used tissues – and I have never smelled such a horrid odor. Get me out of there."

"Have you talked to the dormitory advisors?"

"Yes but they said the girls dorm is full."

You smiled apologetically. "Then there's not much you can do, I'm afraid."

She whined. "I hate this."

"You'll be fine, I'm sure of it."

"Says the one who seems to live the perfect life with the guys. How is that going for you?"

You let out a chuckle. "Q is the sweetest and Dae is pretty respectful of my privacy. But then there's freaking Min Ho who can't seem to give me a break."

She squealed. "Oh, Min Ho! I almost forgot about him." she wiggled her eyebrows at you.

"You're so annoying." you shook your head in despair.

"I know." she snickered. "Ah, by the way. Remember how Q and I found a baby bracelet?"

"Ah, that."

"I wonder how I can find my half-sibling. Do you think they would want to meet me? Do they know our mom has passed?"

You sighed loudly. "Kitty, I love talking to you but we went over the same questions yesterday."

"Sorry." she said in a small voice. "I'm just really excited."

"I know." you gave her a smile.

"We have a watch party tomorrow evening at your dorm, by the way, if you didn't know."

"I didn't know." you frowned.

"It's normal, I just planned it with Q. You can join us. Min Ho's going to participate."

You faked a smile and walked straight to the library. She really was determined when she had a plan in mind...

Q had begged you to join the Outdoors club. While you weren't one for physical exercise, you did love enjoying nature. So you agreed to go to the first hike at least. When you considered having packed everything you needed, meaning sunscreen and a bottle of water, you went to the living area and just had to listen to Min Ho whine like a child.

"I really don't remember giving permission to Y/N to use my custom blend products. She doesn't even need to use them, she has her own stuff!"

Dae zipped up his bag and ran out the door in a second. "Sorry, man. Got to go." he said quickly before closing the door.

"Thanks, great talk!" he yelled back even though Dae couldn't hear him anymore.

He seemed to not have noticed you were in the living room as he slumped on a stool and took out his phone. He looked at it for a bit and then sighed.

"You're always busy, you're never around." he said out loud before dialing to call someone.

"My darling boy!" a female voice spoke.

"Hi, Mom! You're doing good?" he waved at the phone.

"Yeah, just about to head to set." she informed.

"I miss you."

Your heart warmed up from the cute interaction. You were happy to know he had a great relationship with his mother, which you wished you still had.

"But since you're more important, should I tell them to wait?"

He paused for an instant. "No, it's okay. Let's just talk next time."

"Okay, kisses."

He hummed as the call ended. His head down, he folded his phone and breathed out. He kept the same position and you noticed that his jaw clenched.

"Your mom seems sweet."

He turned to look at you and was suddenly alert of his surroundings. "You heard?"

"Not on purpose, I was getting ready for the hike."

"I see. Yeah, my mom's great."

"That's good." you awkwardly went to the front door and put on your shoes while he stood still at the counter, not having moved much. "See you later, Min Ho."

"See you."

When you joined the group outside, you were surprised to see Kitty already stretching out. You walked up to her and asked what she was doing there.

"Q suggested I joined the club so I can have some time with Dae without Yuri around." she explained. "As friends, you know?"

"That's a good idea, yeah." you nodded in agreement.

Q was quick to arrive and encouraged everyone present to do some stretching beforehand. Dae then arrived as well and was surprised to see Kitty there. He joined her the moment he laid eyes on her and she explained to him that she wanted to stay friends. But it was rapidly ruined when Yuri spawned out of nowhere like a character in a video game. She interrupted their conversation and led Dae away from Kitty.

"Do I really have to hear from Min Ho that you're hanging out with Kitty?" you overheard her say.

Just when you thought the man had some sort of feelings behind his pretty face, he had to pull a move like this. Kitty changed spots and, after sending a glare to Yuri's direction, you moved as well and positioned yourself next to Q.

"Alright, who's ready to go on a hike?"

And Min Ho spawned too, and just right next to you. You were about to question him on his presence but Dae was as perplexed as you were and asked him first.

"What? I can't hang out with my best friends?"

You rolled your eyes at his behaviour. If there wasn't anyone else around, you'd definitely be beating the shit out of him. And what annoyed you even more was Madison coming up to him with a flirtatious look on her face. Though he surprised you by not looking so thrilled with her advances. You were thankful that Q started the hike soon later and you stuck with Kitty to avoid having to witness Madison almost drooling over Min Ho. It also allowed Kitty herself to forget about Yuri's presence.

"You guys are making great time. Let's keep with the pace, people!" Q encouraged proudly as you were almost to the top.

Walking behind Yuri, you almost walked into her when she stopped so suddenly and let out a yell. She jumped around trying to get worms off her and Kitty took the opportunity to go see Dae.

"We're in nature, embrace it." Q tried to get some sense into her but she kept on yelling.

"They're just worms, Yuri." you said but in vain, she wasn't hearing you.

"Is it on me? I thought the worm followed me, where is it?" she talked to herself.

"I'm surprised you aren't the one screaming about bugs." Min Ho joked as he joined your side.

You moaned in annoyance. "I'm not talking to you."

"Why not?"

"I think you can answer that yourself." you spat out.

Not looking in front of you properly, you didn't see that Kitty had tripped. Luckily, Dae caught her but as for you, you halted your moves too fast and fell backwards. And again, Min Ho was the one who caught you in time.

"So clumsy." he tsked at you.

You quickly broke away from him and cleared your throat. Meanwhile, Yuri interrupted the duo in front of you and Q went on about safety before walking again. You definitely regretted coming here.

"You still haven't answered my question."

"What question?" you acted clueless.

Min Ho chuckled. "So we're being petty now?"

"I'm always petty with you." you argued.

"You weren't this morning."

You groaned, growing impatient with him. "Can't you leave me alone for a day?"

He didn't know what to respond and you took it as he understood the message. With that being said, you fastened your pace and arrived next to Dae.

"Hey." he smiled at you.

"Not in the mood, just walk."

The poor guy gulped but listened to you and didn't speak to you again. But your hike was halted once again when Kitty and Yuri started to run to the end.

"Just, make sure that you stick together!" Q yelled at them.

"I'm pretty sure they can't hear you." you smiled at him sadly.

"I know." he shrugged.

Min Ho then went to Dae causing you to walk away from them. You hated this, all of it.

"Why did you come?" Dae complained to his friend.

"Because I'm looking out for you, that's why I called Yuri."

"Let me deal with it on my own."

Dae came next to you again, visibly avoiding the man as much as you were.

"So much drama." you heard Madison from behind.

"No one asked." you said loudly for her to hear.

With Kitty running away from the hike, you went on with the watch party without her. After Q set up everything, he sat next to Florian while you sat on the floor to let them have their moment. Focused on the screen, you were disappointed to get interrupted by Min Ho walking out of his room.

"Hey! My mom is in this. She plays the king's second daughter."

"Nice, now shut it." you said rudely but he dismissed your request as Florian asked him about her.

"Does she still act?"

"Oh, yeah. She's absolutely smashing it right now in LA. She's up for a role as a mermaid in the mafia."

"Great, can you go now?" you asked, insistent since you didn't want him to be ruining Q's moment just like he had done with Kitty.

He ignored you again and walked to the couch, asking Florian to scooch over to leave him space to sit.

"Oh, I could give you, guys, the behind-the-scenes dirt on this." he continued and you mentally cursed at him.

"Okay, I love dirt." Florian replied.

He finally shut it for a while and you thanked whoever for it. As per usual, it didn't last long.

"It took that guy twenty takes to nail that."

You threw your head back in disbelief. Was he that clueless to not get a hint? The thousands of glares he got from you and Q weren't enough?"

"Oh, hey, look! It's my mom."

"Oh, wow." Florian commented. "She's gorgeous."

"I know! Thank God I got her bone structure."

"Taking any opportunity to make it about yourself, uh?" you turned to look at him.

The infamous smirk was already there. "Always."

"Wait..." one of the other guys said. "Didn't your mom and dad have that messy divorce?"

"The whole mess was exaggerated to sell magazines." he said in defense right away. "But yeah, they did get divorced."

That part was said which a much calmer tone, it sounded almost sad to you. Determining that it was enough of him ruining Q's evening, you let out a long breath.

"Okay, we get the point." you announced as you got up. "Your mom's an actress, it's great and all but I need to talk with you."

You took him by the arm and forced him up. He tried to stay at his seat but you were stronger than he expected. So he let you forcefully get him off the couch and you dragged him back to his room, not forgetting to close the door.

"Is it the moment that we're supposed to kiss after you reveal you have a crush on me?"

You scoffed. "So you really do think about yourself all the time. I was saving your ass from talking any more about your parents and that's how you thank me?"

He smiled with a knowing look. "So you do care about me."

"I care more about Q. Tonight was for him to make a move on Florian but you couldn't shut it."

"Well, how was I supposed to know that?"

You deadpanned at him. "Really? Ah, you're killing me."

"Fine, maybe I did get the message but I'm looking out for my friend."

"Yeah, just like you're looking out for Dae when it's none of your business."

"Y/N, this isn't your business either."

You huffed. "You're damn right it isn't but for some reason, I get dumped with all of it and it's a hassle to carry so many drama when it doesn't even involve me."

"Just go away then!" he snapped at you. "If it's that hard to deal with."

Your jaw clenched as you stayed still, glaring at one another. You scoffed once more and left his room without adding anything else. It took you aback when you heard him follow you. The other guys had already left so only Q remained in the living room. That made arguing less embarrassing.

"Y/N." You stopped and waited for him to continue. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

You went to hide in your room and you heard him sighed in defeat. You didn't know what was up with him today but it only confirmed to you that you wanted nothing to do with him.

taglist: @nanaspalette | @schniti-is-in-the-house | @bakugou-katsukis-wife |@soobin-chois | @honeydewpie

#xo kitty #xo kitty fanfic #xo kitty x reader #xo kitty minho #xo kitty min ho #xo kitty minho x reader #xo kitty min ho x reader #min ho x reader #sang heon lee #sang heon lee x reader

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marvelwitchergilmore · 1 year

Text

Wake Me Up (And Hold On To Me)

Summary: Lockwood x Fe!Reader (third person) -> She suffers with nightmares. Lockwood has a feeling he knows why she’s awake every night. So, he finally does something about it.

Disclaimer: Not specifically mentioned but characters are aged up a little more than in the show. Nightmares, angst, fluff, love etc.

Sweat dripped down her forehead as she sat up. She wouldn’t be surprised if there was a water-shadow left on her bedsheets from where she had been lay. It was worse this time. Constant running, screaming, shouting and yet…nothing but silence.

Across the room, Lucy lay fast asleep. It was like trying to wake the dead with Lucy, but sometimes she’d wake in the night and she’d lay completely still. Most times, Lucy would fall back asleep. Maybe the sounds came from outside. It was London, after all.

But not tonight.

Her screams and terrified yells hadn’t woken her roommate.

Thank god.

She took a moment to look around her.

She wasn’t in the graveyard, or at her childhood home. She was home, at Portland Row. The moon was shining it’s light into her room from the window, a small breeze flowing in from where Lucy must have lifted it open. It provided a cool breeze to her skin.

Taking a few breaths, she lifted the covers from herself and placed her feet flat on the ground, looking around her a bit more.

No ghosts. No hunters. No spirits trying to kill her and her friends.

She’s safe. She’s at home, at 35 Portland Row.

She wrung her hands over themselves for a few moments. Her heart rate was slowly lowering to a pace that didn’t feel like her heart was about to burst from her chest.

Standing after a few minutes, she was careful to avoid the creaks in the wooden floor. It didn’t take much thinking, though. This had now become second nature.

Slowing herself down, she opened up the door and closed it behind her. She took her time to admire the pictures on the wall and the feel of her home.

She’s safe. She’s home.

She felt the carpet beneath her feet, leading the familiar path to another bedroom.

This was second nature, too. Now, at least.

Before, she would turn left instead of right. She’d sit in the large arm chair, watching the moon dance its beams across the bookshelves before the sun would do the same. Finally, she would go back up stairs, take the yet again familar path to her bed, avoiding the creaks, get dressed and head downstairs for a cup of coffee.

No-one knew any different.

But Lockwood did.

He’d known for a while. Although, he didn’t know what it was exactly that kept her up. Insomnia? Too much tea? Too strong of a coffee in the day?

Wrapping her hand around the door handle, she slowly crept inside before she reached her side of the bed.

Lockwood woke for a moment. She lifted the covers and he helped her. Slipping inside, she lay with her back to his chest before she felt his arm lay across her before he took her hand in his, holding her with a gentle-yet-secure grip.

I’m here. It told her. It’s okay. You’re safe. You’re home.

The pair drifted off together, their breaths syncing as her heart beat calmed in order to match his.

If only he’d done something earlier, this could have been the solution a long time ago.

He knew something had been keeping her up. After all, whenever he woke in the night himself, he could see the light in the library from under the door. He never did anything at first. After all, they’d had a busy day. Maybe the adrenaline was still running.

But then he began to hear the phone ring - or, at least, he thought he did. One ring and the line would go dead. But, in the morning, there was a notepad filled with contact numbers and most of the research was done before they even sat down for breakfast.

She’d lie and say they called whilst he was in the bathroom. Not that they had called at 2 in the morning and she’d already been downstairs in the living room watching and old tape of Casablanca in silence.

Except, no matter how many times he’d ask if she was okay or if she had even slept, she’d simply laugh it off. Sometimes, she’d go to bed early - it was the only way she could get at least a few hours of sleep before the nightmares kicked in.

But she always made sure no-one knew; or she’d at least try. Lie still when they woke up. Act as if she was asleep on the sofa at night when they all gathered to watch a movie when in fact she was more awake than the rest of them.

However, when Lucy went away for the weekend to visit Norrie and George went to visit his mum and dad for a few days, thus leaving Lockwood and herself alone at Portland Row, there was no excaping his questions.

Lockwood had been out for most of the day, gathering and paying for more stock meanwhile she was at home fixing the shelves of the library that had recently fallen down. She’d told them time and time again that they needed new shelves. The wood was old and starting to rot.

So, with George away, it gave her enough time to reorganize and fix what needed fixing in the home without someone being in the way. As much as she loved them.

Lockwood got back around 9 and after calling out for her a few times, he went in search for her to find her fast asleep in the library. Everything was fixed and looking like new. The books still had to be shelved, but they could do that tomorrow.

Pulling the blanket from the back of the sofa, she lay it over her before switching out the light and placing the fire guard up. He didn’t exactly shut the door, but just enough to block the light out from the hallway.

As the hours passed, Lockwood labeled all the stock and filled in the papers he needed to before George came back to strangle him. But, as he began to climb the stairs and switch off the hall light, he could hear mumbling.

It was incoherant. Barely audible if someone had been speaking to him. But in the dead silence of the home, he could hear it.

Standing in the door way, he pushed the library door open. He could hear it louder now.

“Run…no…let…let go of me…”

She got louder as he got closer and before she knew it, she woke to find Lockwood kneeling on the ground beside her.

“Hey, hey. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re with me. Hey, look at me. It’s me. You’re okay. You’re safe.”

Lockwood could see the change in her eyes. From fighting to recognition. He visibly saw her shoulders drop before she put her head in her hands and swung her legs so her feet were on the ground.

Now, she noticed the blanket.

He must have covered her up.

“Let me get you some water.”

Moments later, Lockwood came back in with a glass of cold water and handed it to her.

“What happened?”

“Nothing.” She tried to deny it.

“You were having a nightmare.” He pointed out. “That’s not nothing.”

A few moments of silence passed over both of them. Until, finally, he spoke again.

“Is this what has been keeping you up at night?”

She looked to him, shocked, for a moment. She had been trying to be silent.

“I’m fine, Lockwood.”

He shook his head. “No, you’re not.”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“Well, it’s not exactly going great if you can’t sleep,” he pointed out, again. “Is this how you get everything done, in a morning? Why you’re up at the crack of dawn?”

He already knew the answer but the fact that she looked down at her feet, trying to look anywhere but at him was confirmation enough.

He placed his hand in hers, “Hey,” she looked at him. “Next time it happens, wake me up.”

The heat was slowly dying now from the fire, but it didn’t matter because she could already feel her cheeks burning. Maybe it was embarrassment? She didn’t want anyone knowing what she was dreaming about at night. She didn’t want to be a burden on any of her family. They all had a job to do.

“You shouldn’t be going through this alone.”

It took her a moment, but eventually she nodded. She tried to look down again but she felt his hand on her cheek, making her look up. It took him a moment, before he moved closer and placed a kiss on her forehead.

“Let’s go to bed.”

It was a week before she had another nightmare that woke her up so early that it wasn’t even the next day. Any time she closed her eyes, the images and the noises would come flooding back to her.

That was the first night she went to his room.

Neither of them said anything. He just pulled the covers back and she slipped inside, leaning into him. He asked her a few questions, holding her hand against his chest whilst two of his fingers wrapped around her wrist. He could feel her pulse. It was racing.

That same night, he placed a kiss to her temple before pulling her closer.

It was the first night either of them had fallen into such a deep sleep, George had to knock on the door when passing to wake them up.

Neither George or Lucy had any idea what was going on. When Lucy was in the bathroom, and George was in the kitchen, she’d rush up the stairs, careful to avoid the creaks before quickly putting on some fresh clothes, running a brush through her hair, washing her face in the sink and heading back downstairs.

By the time she was downstairs, Lockwood was dressed and Lucy had come downstairs running a brush through her hair.

Everything continued on as normal.

And now, months after that night in the library…the nightmares were becoming less and less intense. Less waking up and feeling as if she was still stuck in the nightmare.

They were getting easier to deal with.

Sometimes, George or Lucy would see the pair come out from his bedroom but neither asked any questions about it.

The way they both saw it, both Lockwood and herself look rested. They were better on the job - more alert and less on edge - and they seemed…happier.

Relaxed.

Some nights, she wouldn’t have to sneak down the stairs and into his room due to him taking her hand leading her up the stairs. They were both the only two awake anyway.

And, as she climbed in beside him and he switched off the lamp and they both listened to the movement of distant cars outside, still bustling about. Even if it was way past cerfew, some still broke it; whether they worked for DEPRAC or not.

She would feel his arms wrap around her, holding her as if she was his home. Maybe it was a stretch to think so but she knew he was her’s.

In his arms, at 35 Portland Road, she’s safe. She’s home and nothing could hurt her.

Not even her nightmares.

#lockwood and co #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x fe!reader #fluff #angst #kisses #one bed trope #home in your arms #poortland row #lucy carlyle #george karim #london #netflix #we need a season 2 #love

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youunravelme · 1 year

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hi!! congrats on 1k! could i request prompt 75 from the 100 ways to say i love you list: “I was just thinking about you.” thank you!!!

hi friend! thank you so much! your wish is my command!

roadies are hard for both of you, that much is expected. every time he came back, mat didn't let you out of his grip for more than five minutes. he'd follow you to the bathroom, to the kitchen, and if he didn't get up to follow you, he was calling your name and whining until you were back in his arms.

he was used to being the one to leave. so when you went on a girl's trip to portland, mat was out of sorts.

the apartment was way too quite first of all. did you need a dog when he was gone? was this what it felt like all the time?

secondly, the bed was entirely too cold. it was easier to get up in the mornings, yes, but his morning was drastically worse because he was waking up to an empty spot where you should be.

he had to resist the urge to call you every time he had downtime, and he was positive his teammates were tired of him moping around the locker room when he remembered you wouldn't be waiting for him at home.

mat got home and threw his stuff down on the ground next to door and felt a wave of sadness cover him. you were only gone for three days, your flight got in tomorrow, but couldn't you come home now?

his phone started buzzing, and in an instant, his mood shifted when he saw your contact photo light up his screen.

"hey baby," he answered immediately.

"hey my love," you replied. god even the sound of your voice soothed the deprived part of himself. "how're you doing?"

he almost admitted he was missing you, but he didn't want to guilt you into rushing home. he was twenty-six years old for fuck's sake.

"i'm alright," he said instead. "how're you? how're the girls?"

"we're good, we've been having a ton of fun..." you trailed off.

so mat filled in the gaps. "but?"

"but i'm just--ugh," you groaned into the phone. "i called because i was just thinking about you, and i miss you."'

"baby--"

"i know that probably makes me clingy or something but i fucking love you and miss sleeping in the same bed and cooking dinner with you and hearing all your stories from practice. i miss the view from our apartment. i just--" you sighed. "i miss you."

"if you keep going, i'm going to book you a flight home for tonight."

"don't threaten me with a good time, barzal."

"don't make promises you don't intend on keeping."

you laughed into the phone. "i love you, maty. you can still pick me up tomorrow, right?"

"wouldn't miss it for the world," he said. "i love you too."

and when he picked you up in the afternoon, mat held you for at least three minutes, pressing kisses into any skin he could reach.

#mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal x reader #mathew barzal imagine #mathew barzal #nhl blurb #nhl imagine #nhl imagines #1k celebration

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brf-rumortrackinganon · 6 months

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What’s your pov on her pregnancies? Of the body or surrogate?

I'm opening Pandora's Box tonight in honor of the eclipse.

I'm 80/20.

20% of the body because:

There are tiny skinny-Minnie people in my family who didn't gain any weight during their pregnancies except in their faces and in the baby bumps (as photographs of Meghan depict), so I know it's possible.

That one appearance of Meghan where she accompanied Harry but hid backstage until he cajoled her out. She was not looking her best that day (very puffy, bloated face) and seemed a bit angry, to me, at being called out/forced onto the stage to stay hello.

Padding the bump - which some celebs do, especially when their bump isn't the typical "cute" baby belly - can explain the difference in sizing day-to-day.

How early it was announced.

How long it took Meghan to lose the baby weight - she was still carrying a lot of extra weight at Trooping 2019 (and the weight gain was amplified for me by poor styling choices with her hair, hat, and outfit).

80% surrogacy because:

There was no PR about Meghan's pregnancy compared to Kate's, and Meghan has always done the "anything Kate can do I can do better" PR competition every chance she could. If Meghan had terrible morning sickness, it'd have been all over the tabloids about how much worse than Kate Meghan's morning sickness is. If Meghan didn't have any sickness, it'd have been all over the tabloids about how much better and hard-working Meghan is during her pregnancy.

The excessive belly-groping and coat-flicking. Yes, she was doing that on purpose to get all the cameras and attention, but IMO she was doing it so excessively that it crossed into "the lady doth protest too much" territory for me.

The bending over and squatting down with knees and feet together. I've never been pregnant but I am a bigger girl who carries her weight in her midsection and who also cannot bend or squat down with knees, ankles, and feet together.

The alleged deal she had with Trevor that if she had a baby, he would pay for a personal trainer and a nutritionist and a nanny so she could whip her body back into shape. That's not someone who wants to be pregnant (but of course, people *can* change their minds. But still.)

The "rules of engagement" that Meghan and Harry sent to their Windsor neighbors/community about how the neighbors couldn't speak to the Sussexes or take their photographs.

The inconsistencies between what Harry reported in Spare and what the Portland Hospital's actual procedures are and the people who were involved.

Meghan choosing to deliver at Portland instead of Lindo and refusing to serve the baby on a silver platter after birth. The Lindo photocall is one of Diana's five* iconic photos. Are you telling me that Meghan happily copies Diana's outfits, copies Diana's pregnancy woes (emotional/mental distress to the point of self-harm), copies Diana's complaints about the BRF and the grey suits, copies Diana's second pregnancy announcement, and copies Diana's Panorama makeup...but she draws the line at copying Diana's Lindo photoshoots? And has a controlled photoshoot with one television camera and one photographer instead?

Meghan's birth "stories" matching more of the American Hollywood stereotypes than actual British practice.

Just one papwalk during all of her second pregnancy.

Hiding her belly with a giant-ass purse during the NYC baby shower after having spent the evening partying with friends, including Markus Anderson.

Harry's first appearance after Archie's birth being in the horse stables at Windsor instead of around the hospital (as William and Charles had been) and also Harry's "babies change so much in two weeks" comment.

Tacky social media influencer games with Archie's first photos under the guise of "privacy" - showing us the back of his head first, or his hand or his foot. Just show us the damn baby. No one cares about him that much.

Editing Archie's birth certificate.

Sara Latham bungling the media strategy for Archie's birth announcement. (Let's be real here. It's not Kensington Palace that fucked it up. It was the Sussexes' own people giving KP the wrong information in the first place.)

In the same vein of Meghan's "anything Kate can do I can do better" PR competition, there have been no stories about how Meghan felt of the early baby days. Kate and her family/friends have gone on record about how difficult the first few weeks with George were. Where is Meghan's equivalent? If Archie was a terrible newborn, then where are the stories about how much worse than Kate Meghan had it? Or if Archie was a happy, easy newborn, then where are the stories about how easy Meghan found motherhood? Instead the only story we got was "oops, it's feed time. Gotta go. Peace."

How early the pregnancy was announced.

How quickly (and suspiciously) the clinic/practice that Meghan used for her second pregnancy closed soon after Lili was born.

On that note, I don't subscribe to the theory that a lot of you may have (and which has ended up in my inbox quite a few times) that Archie doesn't know who Meghan is because he didn't smell her milk in South Africa and had a reaction. First off, PLEASE stop sending me that. I REALLY don't want to read about Meghan's breasts anymore.

Second, I don't think the Sussexes having nannies to help care for Archie is the kiss of death that many of you think it is. Some people just aren't baby people or little kid people. Some people like the older years better, when the kid can talk and is a little more independent and mobile. I've always suspected that that's Meghan and Harry, because all of their PR about wanting kids or liking kids has alwas featured older school-aged kids. They're not baby/toddler/early years people. And that's OK. That's not something to condemn them for.

And I don't think it's fully fair to call them out on their hypocrisy of what they said they wouldn't do as parents before they had children. Some of the hypocrisy is deserved (like the comment about not dressing their kids as Victorian ghost children but then turning around and giving Lili a Victorian ghost child dress for her 1st birthday photo), but they do deserve more grace than they're sometimes given; people just don't know how hard parenting or having children is until the baby is here. Yes, ding them for saying they'd never have a nanny but then turning around and hiring two or three, but also let's acknowledge that they know they can't (or don't, or won't, however you want to say it) care for their own kids themselves and hired responsible caretakers.

Finally third, I don't think Meghan ever breastfed those kids. Maybe she tried in the beginning with Archie, but if she did, she gave up pretty quickly. Those kids are formula babies. That's OK! So I don't buy the theory she was taking hormones and her weight gain was hormone-induced. Again, it's because of the missing "anything Kate can do I can do better" competition here.

*Diana's top 5 iconic photos are (in no particular order) the wedding dress portrait, the Lindo photos, the Taj Mahal photo, the Panorama photo, and the Revenge Dress photo.

#ask #sussexes #brf #theories

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athenasnina · 2 years

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there’s so much said abt the portland row trio and their dynamic. and even more abt the pining between lockwood and lucy. but there’s not nearly enough talk abt lockwood and george. their relationship ya’ll. it just warms my heart.

whether you ship it or see it as purely platonic, doesn’t even matter. because these two guys love each other without question. charming and confident lockwood offers george, a neurodivergent boy and self proclaimed outcast, a home, friendship, and a chance to research the subject that brings him joy. and in return, george gives lockwood his acts of service of cleaning, cooking, along with his unparalleled research abilities.

but more than even those things, george is aware of just how unhealthy lockwood is, telling lucy that she must learn to say no to lockwood’s reckless choices and crazy schemes, lest lockwood only get worse. george understands that in lieu of no longer having any family, lockwood needs george and lucy to keep him in check before he gets himself killed. he understands that they are lockwood’s family now, just as lockwood has been for them. and when it’s george’s turn to need saving, lockwood is ready, no hesitation, no irritation. george is in danger, his family’s in danger, and he immediately prepares to save him.

and the winks omg

these are for george and it’s so cute

this kid is thankful for and proud of his friend, and then said that there’s no better reason to die than to protect him. just... the utter devotion and care they have for each other. the acceptance and appreciation of each other’s differences. THEY LOVE EACH OTHER SO MUCH AND I HAD TO SCREAM ABT IT!

#i love them a lot your honor #i have a mighty need for more gifsets of these two #lockwood x george #anthony lockwood #george karim #lockwood & co #lockwood and co

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wellgoslowly · 1 year

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fic idea: Lockwood comes back early from a job, George and Lucy are out doing whatever so the reader takes this as an opportunity to dance in their underwear (called pants in England) and an oversized button up (which looks shockingly similar to one that disappeared from lockwood’s laundry a while back) while blasting music and singing along. But when she finally notices Lockwood standing at the kitchen door, she goes over and grabs his hands and pulls him into the kitchen to dance with her.

NEARLY WITCHES (EVER SINCE WE MET)

a/n: I am so sorry this took so long to get out- it's been a hectic couple of weeks. however!! for some reason I listened to vices and virtues last night and decided to write and I've been in a frenzy ever since. I hope you enjoy!! also this is my first ×reader so if it's not great, that's why. however, I'm personally really proud of it :))

pairing: anthony lockwood × fem!reader

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none :)

tags: @ettadear (ty for the request!!) @givemea-dam-break @slag-for-the-fetch @ikeasupremacy @oblivious-idiot (yall seemed interested hehe)

“here I am, composing a burlesque, out of where they rest their necks…”

It was a quiet day at 35 Portland Row. Lockwood, Lucy and George were all out on a case (you had gotten injured the week before so Lockwood was putting you on time out for the time being while you healed), so you took the opportunity to tidy up the kitchen, which was growing messier and increasingly in need of care as the days went on. it wasn't as if the four of you were unaware of how dirty the house had been getting- you simply just didn't have enough time to address it. You rather liked Lucy's idea if getting an assistant.

“sunken in their splintered cradles, and ramshackle heads, they asked for it…"

Surprisingly, you didn't hate being on the Lockwood equivalent for house arrest. Ok, yes, you itched to get your rapier back into your hand and go back out on cases, but it was also really nice to just have a break once in a while. At a small agency like Lockwood and Co, as much as you loved it, breaks didn't come very often.

Besides, you knew that the second that the trio came home and saw your work in the kitchen, they would be beyond grateful. You didn't do it for the praise, but you knew precisely the type of exhaustion they were feeling and wanted to do something to lessen their stress, even if it was something as simple as washing the dishes.

“You have set your heart on haunting me forever from the start, it's never silent…”

You found you did your best cleaning while you were listening to music, resulting in you singing along to the music blasting out of your speaker, deciding not to worry about any possible noise complaints.

“ever since we met, I only shoot up with your perfume… it's the only thing that makes me feel as good as you do…”

it was because of your loud music that you didn't realize that Anthony Lockwood, your employer and one of your best friends, had returned earlier than expected and was now standing in the doorway to the kitchen, looking at you with wide eyes and slightly parted lips.

You turned around as you danced to the music, songs from an album that you knew Lockwood loved filling the air. It was then that you noticed Lockwood standing behind you, the shock on his face mixing with another emotion you couldn't name.

You greet him with a smile and a soft “Hey, Lockwood”, but he doesn't respond- he just stares at you. It takes you a second to realize why- but when you finally understand, you feel your body warming in embarrassment.

You were wearing nothing but undergarments and a shirt- one of Lockwood's button-ups that you had stolen a while ago.

Thankfully, the shirt fell down to your mid- thigh, covering anything that might’ve made your situation worse had it been a little shorter. Still, you couldn't prevent the warmth that filled you as Lockwood took in your choice of outfit, eyes darker and more intense than usual.

“Hi.” He spoke in a whisper, as if he needed to save his energy to survey you. You suppressed a shiver at his tone, and his eyes flitted up to meet yours.

You were burning. You were on fire and Lockwood was the one who had lit the match. You had known your feelings for Lockwood for a while- you had been attracted to him ever since he had practically begged you to quit your business as a freelancer and join his scrappy little agency. You had convinced yourself that there was no way he could feel the same- that his lingering glances and flirting were just characteristics of his charming personality. But now, as he stared at you with something in his eyes that made your hands shake, you weren't so sure.

Either way, you needed to break this trance. It was dangerous, and you could feel yourself slipping away into the “what ifs” that always seemed to fill your mind whenever Lockwood was around.

“Dance with me?” You whispered, giving him your best “I Am Totally Not Attracted To You And I Am Totally Not Wearing Your Shirt” smile. You prayed that it worked.

“What?” Lockwood asked, breaking out of his trance. You held out your right hand as the song finished its second verse. “I know you love this album. Dance with me?” And then Lockwood was smiling and damn, if that didn't do something to your resolve. “If you insist.”

You don't know what you were expecting, but you certainly weren't expecting for Lockwood to grab your outstretched hand and pull you into his embrace.

You very obviously had never danced in this context before. Lockwood smiled, deciding to be the one to teach you. “Here. You put your hands,” He spoke, grabbing your wrists and gently guiding them to wrap around his neck. “… here.” Your breathing became more shallow as you felt the warm solidity of his body beneath your arms. “And I put my hands here.” He whispered. Your breath hitched as you felt his hands find their places holding your hips.

It was too much and not enough at the same time. You turn your head away from him, trying to allow yourself a moment to collect yourself and get your shit together. Lockwood didn't need to know that this was something you had imagined many times- getting to be this close to him, finding comfort on his arms after a long case or feeling his arms wrap around your waist from behind as you cooked breakfast.

“Is this ok?” Lockwood whispered, lessening his hold on your hips before taking his hands away entirely. Your head snapped back to look at him, willing him to please put his hands back. “Yeah, it's ok.” You whispered. You see the side of his mouth quirk up as he returns his hands back to where they were. And then the song was changing and he was pulling you in so your head rested on his chest and you were slow dancing.

“When the world gets too heavy, put it on my back, I'll be your levvy.”

You instantly recognized the song that began playing, and your face heated up even more, thinking about how many times you had thought about being this close to Lockwood while listening to this song.

“Where are Lucy and George?” You ask, trying to keep your voice calm despite the mass amounts of emotions that were plaguing your heart. “Took the source down to the furnaces and then to bring back food. They won't be back for a while.” Lockwood spoke softly, and you hummed in understanding.

“It was always you, falling for me. Now there's always time, calling for me.”

You stayed like this for a little while- his hands on your waist, your head against his chest, swaying softly to the song playing from your light green speaker. You found yourself wishing that you could stay like this forever, happily dancing with your best friend.

And then the song ended and Lockwood broke the spell. “Are you wearing my shirt?” Lockwood asked, his voice huskier than usual. You flushed bright red as you extracted your hands from around his neck, moving to back away but not being able to go far as Lockwood didn't realize your intentions and kept his hands on your hips.

“Uh, yeah.” You admitted, looking away from him out of embarrassment. “I forgot to do the wash and I realized this had gotten thrown into mine a while ago, so it was all I had to wear. I can return it as soon as I finish my laundry-” You were about to profusely apologize for taking his shirt, but within seconds you weren't able to say anything as Lockwood surged forward and pressed his lips to yours.

It was quick, chaste- fleeting and burning and gone far too soon for your liking. Lockwood was the one to end it, his eyes wide once more, but now filled with something like fear.

“I am so sorry. I don't know what came over me-” It was your turn to interrupt him, you decided, as you wrapped a hand around his tie and pulled him back down to kiss him again

His hands went back to your hips as you moved your right hand up to hold his jaw momentarily before slipping into his hair. He let out a low sound, something that sent your brain into a frenzy as he kissed you with increasing fervor, pressing you up against the kitchen counter.

You couldn't tell how long you stayed like that, limbs tangled together as you kissed like it was the last kiss you would ever have, but eventually you had to separate to breathe. You smiled as you took in the sight in front of you: Lockwood was standing there, staring at you, swollen lips and flushed cheeks and messed hair all indications of what you had just been doing. It was the most beautiful you had ever seen him look.

He smiled back at you. “You don't have to give me my shirt back.” was the first thing he said, his voice raspy and way too attractive for his own good. “Do you like me wearing your shirt?” You asked, smiling. “Way too much.” He admitted before kissing you once more.

You lost time again- you practically melted into his arms. You were too caught up in kissing Lockwood- finally- to realize that Lucy and George had returned home until they appeared in the kitchen.

“Finally!!” George yelled, startling you and Lockwood.

“Wait- why aren't you wearing trousers?? Please don't tell me you're having sex on the counter!” You laughed into Lockwood's chest as he wrapped his arms around your waist.

Much later, after you all had said goodnight to one another, you found yourself creeping downstairs and into Lockwood's room and asking him if he wanted to dance some more, a smile lighting up your face as he said “yes, of course.”

ty for reading!!! I will be writing more requests now that I have time and motivation lol. also in case u were wondering, the two songs referenced in here are nearly witches (ever since we met) and always by panic! at the disco!!! I hate brendan urie but vices and virtues is such a good album.

anywho I hope yall enjoyed!!!

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bippiti · 2 years

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kintsugi

kintsugi is the japanese art of repairing broken pottery with gold. it treats breaking and repair as part of its history, rather than something that should be hidden

synopsis when you go searching for your cousin in london, you find yourself meeting someone you wouldn’t expect

pairing george karim x gn carlyle! reader

req yes

wc 1.6k

an i lowkey wanna make this a series so pls lmk what you think!

as you walked the cobbled streets of London, you stopped at 35 portland row. you walked up the steps and paused. you were here to see your cousin Lucy, and it wouldn't be a stretch to say you were both somewhat estranged.

after your aunt had told your mother of what Lucy had done, running away from home to who knows where she was never spoken about again. any mention of her name would have your mother sending daggers in your direction. so when you saw a boy on the news talking about a Lucy Carlyle and her talent, you knew what you were going to do.

following in her footsteps in the early hours of the morning, you collected most of your essentials in a trunk and maneuvered yourself out of your window. it took a bit of parkour to get down, but you hit the ground running.

after saving money from all the jobs you've worked, there was more than enough to get a one-way ticket to London. you couldn't go back, not that you minded that much. your mother and hers were alike in many ways. always taking what they wanted and never offering any affection in return. after all, it was better to be alone than surrounded by those who didn't care about you.

the train ride was more nerve-wracking than you expected. your mind kept on bringing up different scenarios, each worse than the last. what if she didn't want you there? what if she hated you? what if she somehow blamed you for all of it?

you were so deep in thought you almost didn't clock that the train had begun to slow, eventually halting to a stop. you stood up as your heartbeat quickened. you were here.

you made your way through the crowd, acutely aware of those who surrounded you. being pickpocketed, or worse, kidnapped, was the last thing you needed. not knowing where you were going, you stopped a guard for directions for Lockwood & co. once you had them repeat it thrice, you were on your way.

it had started to rain. you didn't notice it at first, gentle taps soon turned into harsh strikes. the muscles in your arm were burning, and you regretted bringing the trunk each step you took. your hair was soaked, your socks were soaked, but at least your coat was waterproof. once you spotted your destination, your shoulders relaxed. only a few more steps and you were there.

you were at their doorstep; her doorstep. you were here. really, actually, truly, here. your heartbeat quickened, and your hands began to wetten; the rain and sweat combined left you cold and terrified. suddenly all your fears were hitting you in full force, and you couldn't help but want to walk away; to simply become a hermit in some far-off place, never to see her or anyone else again. but before you could wallow in your misery anymore, you brought your fist to the door and knocked three times, very aggressively. probably too aggressively, but the cold had set in, and you couldn't help the shakes you were getting.

george was on the stairs, dusting the clippings that were framed on the wall. lockwood really needed to up his cleaning game. he liked cleaning though; it helped him relax. as he wiped the glass, he was in an almost meditative state, the monotony drowning out everything else around him.

that was until he heard something assaulting the front door. to call whatever he had just heard a knock would not only be a false but a totally erroneous one. already dreading who he assumed was a new customer, he envisioned some old man. entitled and rude, not willing to pay even half of what should be expected. but as he opened the door and came face to face with the visitor, he couldn't have been any more wrong. they looked like a wet cat. hair stuck to their face, the coat they had on was fighting for its life in the storm, and they were shaking so much that it looked like they were vibrating. you were intriguing

he was pretty, really pretty in fact. but after holding eye contact with this boy for an uncomfortably long time you spoke, "Is Lucy Carlyle here?"

that did the trick. his eyes lit up as he quickly ushered you inside, muttering something about you becoming ill. those mutters quickly turned into shouts as he screamed

"LUCE, COME DOWN HERE"

your head snapped up to him before looking back down. you shrugged your coat off and placed it on top of your trunk. you really eyeing freezing now. it seemed like he could tell; eyed you up and down he announced that the kettle was going on.

once you were left alone, you stood awkwardly at the entrance. messing with your hands, you thought back to when you were little.

you and luce were the same age; your mothers had thought it would be nice to have you both at the same time and live together as neighbours. after your mother moved for work, you did with her. that didn't stop you from seeing each other during break or holiday, though. not a month went by where you didn't meet up at least once.

when you were 3, you baked your first pie together; it was an apple one. lucy had picked them herself. she was awfully proud of it. while you were making the filling, she kept on adding more spices, saying it would make it “more pretty”. you put the top half of the dough on top, adding the small slits. once it was baked, your mom cut you a slice, and you nearly gagged. there was way too much cinnamon.

when you were 10, you learned how to ride bikes together. it was serious business. one day, you both decided to finally go down the big hill in your neighborhood. as you went down, you lost control and ended up scraping yourself up pretty bad. lucy held your hand as you walked back home teary-eyed, she tapped out a pattern on your shoulder to distract you when the hydrogen peroxide came into contact with your knees. you could still remember the bubbles.

when you were 15, she introduced you to her friend Norrie. you went out and picked apples together to make pie. now you could lattice it, and as an extra touch, you added some roses. as you bit into your artwork, you held back a choke. still way too much cinnamon

george’s mind raced as he set the kettle on. you were stunning, you were interesting, ugh. he had so many questions, for you, for himself, for lucy. who were you? why were you here? did you think he was cool?

he poured milk into a cup and microwaved it. he normally didn’t bother, he didn’t really know why he was doing it right now. and for a complete stranger too. but he ignored the chaos going on in his head to make the tea. it was going to be the best he’s ever made.

lockwood came from the basement to see george acting like he was on masterchef. there was no reason for him to be that into making tea, in his time knowing him he’d never seen him so into something not ghost related. so he sat down and watched the performance.

as the kettle boiled george poured it all into a saucepan, adding spices and tea leaves he swore he wouldn’t touch even if the queen herself was at their door. as it boiled even more, he took out the warm milk and added the tea to a cup. then the milk, and he was done. it was his masterpiece. as he turned around, cup in hand and jumped. he hadn’t noticed lockwood and he had really given him a fright.

hearing the sharp echo of glass breaking broke you out of your trance, you glances quickly towards the sound before hearing a voice you’ve been dying to hear for months.

“y/n?”

lucy stood atop the stairs in her heart pajamas, the ones you got for her. her hair was still dripping, but that didn’t matter as she bolted down the stairs and into your embrace.

your worries melted as her arms encompassed you. you both knew what the other wanted to say, no words needed. how’ve you been? have you been eating well? i’ve missed you. i’ve thought about you. i love you.

you pulled away from each other and smiled. how could you have ever thought she’d be upset at you?

both your heads turned as the boy with glasses came out, with another this time. lockwood, you recognized him from tv. he seemed amused while the other was grumbling on about something.

after lockwood assessed the situation quickly, he offered you his hand and introduced himself. you did the same.

you faced the other boy, his eyes didn’t meet yours as he said his name.

george karim, it had a nice ring to it. you smiled at him, and he did the same, finally bringing his eyes to look back into yours.

lockwood and lucy shot each other a knowing glance, you both were going to get along very well.

#george karim #george karim x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fanfiction

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sandy-the-glader · 1 year

Note

George x reader. Enemies to lover. Whatever situation you want to write, it's totally your choice. I just want to laugh. That's it.

I Like Your Lips Better When They're Not Talking

Character: Georgie Karim x Gn!Reader

Type: Guys I don't even know

Length: 1.3k words

Summary: You and George have been at a constant war of who's the better researcher. One ups, sabotaging, etc... After a disastrous trip George lets something go even you couldn't read

Trope: Enemies to lovers

A/n: Ignore how I forgot about my requests until like a few days ago and I've been a writing machine. So yeah 💀

"You're joking." I scoffed and crossed my arms.

"You two need to get along and besides I already told our client you and George would be there." I let out a long and dramatic groan.

"Lockwood, I swear you don't pay me enough to be around him." He scoffed, wandering to the fridge for another cold beer. I'm gonna need 5 of those if I want to get through this case semi-happy.

"I pay you both just as well as you work." I heard bottles clink together as he shuffled around.

“At least get me to work with Lucy! Or even you I mean come on Lockwood we can pretend you’re George.” Lockwood scoffed and opened the beer and tossed the opener back in the fridge.

“You know that house will end up worse than the time you and Luce ended up burning down that other house in Sheean Road? You're asking for something that's ultimately going to fail.” A hand went through my hair.

What was Lockwood thinking? Usually when all four of us went on missions me and him were split up because we couldn’t work together in the slightest. He always made sure to show off his touch in front of me which he knew very well I was weaker in. Much like Lucy I was more of a listener which I think is way cooler than touch.

George had coincidentally walked into the kitchen and glared at me. I rolled my eyes and turned my attention back to Lockwood.

“Come on. This is one case.“ He pleaded. Yeah, one too many.

“What case?” George budded in. I mentally groaned. Lockwood locked over to the kitchen table.

"You two are going to this address." He tapped part of the thinking cloth which had a house and a time.

"What day are we going?" I sighed.

"Tonight." Lockwood winced because he knew I'd explode.

"Tonight? Lockwood, I had plans tonight. Why didn't you tell me ahead of time?" George rolled his eyes.

"Why are you never prepared?" He complained.

"Why don't you have other friends?" I argued.

"Okay, guys, let's calm down." Lockwood tried to settle the dispute. "Look just realize your romantic feelings for each other and get the job done." He teased.

"WOAH!" Me and George burst out at the same time.

"This is absolutely NOT what this is about." George flailed his arms around.

"Are you on something Lockwood because this" I motioned between me and the stupid boy with glasses. "is not happening." For once in his life he agreed.

"Exactly." Lockwood scoffed at both of us.

"Yeah sure whatever you guys say." He raised his eyebrows. "Remember. Tonight." He spoke before exiting the room. I looked back at George and I narrowed my eyes.

"Ugh gross." I winced before exiting the room. I only wish that's how I actually felt.

“Oh come on how was that my fault!? You didn’t bring enough salt bombs!” I grumbled at the stubborn boy. We barged back into 35 Portland Row. Home finally. The night was so long I never thought it would end. George slammed the door basically shaking the house.

“Don’t give me that! How was I supposed to know that we needed more? I barely knew what we were dealing with. I didn’t know they were gonna be wraiths other than phantasms!” He rolled his eyes throwing his rapier into its place by the front. I tossed my jacket onto the hanger. And tossed my rapier into the same spot.

We got attacked by a lot more than we thought we had coming. It really wasn’t his fault but I was just so upset with him. He’s been so Unbearable lately. I don’t know why he was so frustrating to work with.

The client we had said there was one ghoul they knew of and that was a phantasm then there were 2 wraiths…

"Also, you were too busy feeling the walls and easily got distracted." I shouted.

"I was trying to know what we were dealing with. I didn't give you shit about you using your listening."

"Well, I'm sorry listening is more helpful than touch."

“I specifically told you to get more. I thought you were smarter than that.” I rolled my eyes. It was pretty early into the morning and we didn’t care we were being loud. Lucy and Lockwood have learned to live with our constant bickering.

“Well, you were in charge in chains!” He threw his hands up. “My first mistake.” I rolled my eyes.

“This whole trip was a mistake.” I sighed deeply. I stormed off to the kitchen. I rummaged through the kitchen and found a beer I knew I was going to want earlier.

I sat down at the table and started to scribble doodles of George getting attacked by a wraith on the thinking cloth just to aggravate him more. It was fair because he’s drawn many of me. More than He’s drawn off Lockwood. George stormed in because he obviously wasn’t ready to end our disagreement. His eyes scanned me. Brows furrowed and I focused on the stupid doodle.

“What are you doing?" He referred to my drawing.

“What does it look like? Piss off. You really don't need the last word.” I spat. I usually tried to ignore him but I’d really had enough of his pissy personality and damn attitude.

“Asshole!” He blurted. I stood up.

"Jesus for someone so ‘smart' you’re so ignorant!” I dropped the pen back on the table. He stood with his arms crossed. And his face was red. I mean red. He was absolutely fuming.

“At least I’m smarter than you’ve ever been. You don’t think before you do things.” His jaw tensed. My eyebrows furrowed. I laughed shocked. “Oh, you think this is funny? You know you have such a horrible attitude.”

Then we were close. I don’t know who stepped forward or if we both did but we were so close. So close.

“Then fix it for me.” I grumbled.

My lip quivered out of anger. He took notice of it because he was staring at my lips.

Then It just happened. Our lips were together. I don’t know who went for it but I wasn’t complaining. All the anger washed away immediately. My hands immediately tangled into his dark curls. I pulled myself away.

"Okay. Um whoah." I blinked a few times trying to determine if that actually happened. Did we just kiss? Me and George Karim out of all people? Holy shit.

"Yeah, I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry." I'm pretty sure that was the first time I heard him say this without sass and sarcasm. "I-I didn't mean to kiss you. W-well I did but-" He stammered.

"Just kiss me again." I rolled my eyes and kissed him again. He melted into the kiss and let out a small groan as he was taken aback by the kiss. He slowly pulled away looking confused and shocked that I kissed him again.

"I thought you hated me why did you.. kiss me!?" His eyes were wide beneath his thick frames.

"Oh my god, I could ask you the same thing! But George, I don't hate you. I hate how smart you are! You always have good idea's and I just wanted to be better." I smiled sheepishly.

"You've interested me the day you got to Portland Row." He confessed. "And um... I am pretty smart aren't I?" He teased. I playfully smacked his arm.

"Oh shut up I like your lips better when they aren't talking." I teased back. He smiled ear to ear and his cheeks were flushed. Then we heard Lockwood shout from upstairs.

Lockwood had wandered downstairs to try and stop the yelling and bickering so early in the morning. We didn't have a case for the rest of the day and he wanted to sleep in. Lockwood inched closer to the kitchen door and he was almost scared they had killed each other from the quiet environment.

The door was slightly ajar and he saw them smiling at each other then they kissed. Lockwood's eyebrows rose. He almost thought this was a dream. He quickly rushed upstairs with loud footsteps.

"Lucy, you owe me 15 pounds!" He yelled extremely loud with a grin on his face.

#lockwood and co #george karim #lockwood & co #george karim x reader #save lockwood and co #lockwood being the number one y/n and George shipper #george cubbins

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gaintsnowflake · 1 year

Text

𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘

PAIRING : Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader

ONESHOT : in which after a breakup a sweet stranger comforts you

TRIGGERS : flashbacks of cheating, a breakup, and being kicked-out

A/N : This is aged up so that Lockwood is nineteen for the purposes of I don't know why the reader would move in with her boyfriend if they are under eighteen, also please do not let random sad strangers off the street into your house no matter how stunning they are or vice versa. Sorry if this is badly written, currently going through a lot, so I didn’t get to go through it as much as I would have liked. This is mainly fluff, but their is of course angst because of the ex-boyfriend.

WORD COUNT : 1.7k

masterlist

"ARE YOU ALRIGHT?"

A stranger's voice took me away from my thoughts as I continued to sit on the kerb of Portland Row, sobbing.

"Oh- uh, sorry. I will be," I attempted to whip away the tears streaming down my face, failing as only more left my eyes.

It must have been a sad sight, seeing someone late teens, early twenties, sitting on the kerb crying their eyes out. Especially since I have been out here for well over two hours. And even worse it had to only be a few minutes till curfew.

Just as I thought I had successfully gotten the stranger to go away I heard someone sit next to me. I looked up slightly analyzing the boy who has sat down. He was dressed very formally as if he owned some sort of business, but he couldn't have been much older than me if at all. His eye bags were prominent, he looked as if he hadn't slept in days. His tie was a completely different colour from his socks, the tie being blue and his socks being bright pink. He gave me a grin as he put his hand on my shoulder.

"Lockwood, Anthony Lockwood," he greeted me. "Now, why don't you tell me what's wrong? I can't have a girl crying out front of my house, may draw away business." He laughed lightly at my joke before asking if I was okay.

Before I could answer, I just started crying once again. Tears flooded my vision as I leaned into him. Which I probably shouldn't do, but I just continue to cry as he starts to hug me allowing me to cry on his shoulder.

After a few minutes, I pulled away, whipping away the tears again, this time they nearly completely stopped. I looked at his shirt, the white of the dress shirt was nearly see-through as my tears soaked into it.

"Sorry," I looked away from him, fidgeting with my fingers."

It's okay, love-" a few tears spilt at the nickname but I was quick to whip them away- "What happened?"

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to relieve the memories of about three hours ago.

---

"Patrick? Patrick, I am home," I called as I stood in the doorway.

Our door was left unlocked, that should have been my first red flag. The second should have been the rushed movement I heard from our room.

Hesitantly, I walked into our room, preparing to be met by a criminal of some sort, but instead, I was met with my boyfriend of two years naked, trying to hide another woman in our closet.

My world stopped and shattered at the sight. It felt like my heart had been crushed into thousands of pieces and then stomped on.

My hands ran into my hair as I began to pull at it. My eyes closed as I felt the tears start.

"y/n," I heard his voice say, trying to calm me down as he stepped towards me. I only walked backwards as I opened my eyes and put one of my hands in front of me and the other around my body. "I can, I can explain I promise."

"What is there to explain, Patrick? What is there to explain?" The words out of my mouth sounded venomous as I backed out of the room.

"Look, I have needs," He started, almost acting as if he was the victim in this twisted crime. "You weren't satisfying me, I needed someone who could. Please, love, just understand."

"Oh my god. Oh my god! You are acting like you are the victim here! Like you didn't fucking do anything wrong. Like you weren't just fucking cheating on me."

"Y/n, listen."

"No, I am not fucking listening for you to try and tell me how much of a victim you are and that I shouldn't blame you for going and sleeping with another. How long has this been going on?"

"Y/n..."

"How long has this been going on?"

"Six months," his voice was now rising at me as well as this was beginning to turn into a screaming match.

"Is she the only one?" Silence. "Answer me, Patrick. Is she the only one?"

"No, of fucking course not."

"Oh my fucking god. Do you know how low this is?"

"I have needs, y/n, you couldn't fucking meet them so I found someone who could."

"You fucking cunt. I can't believe you. I honestly can't believe you. Going off with another girl because I didn't turn you on enough? Is that all a relationship is? A sex life?"

"No, y/n, I still love you that's why I never left. That's why I never-"

"Obviously you don't fucking love me enough, to go fucking other people behind my back. You should have just fucking broken up with me."

"Fine then. We are over. Get the fuck out of my house."

"You're kicking me out just like that?"

"Yes, get the fuck out. Now. You can come back for your shit another day."

"Fuck you, Patrick, fuck you."

With that I stormed out of the house, tears streaming down my face. I sobbed knowing that I didn't have a place to stay the night. No family to go home to. I ran away for him.

After ten minutes of walking, I found a small street called Portland Row. I sat down on the corner, my face in my hands as I sat on the kerb.

---

"My boyfriend, well ex-boyfriend, I just caught him cheating on me. He kicked me out after we had a screaming match. I just have nowhere to go for the night," I explained to Lockwood as he kept a hand on my arm, rubbing it as if he was trying to comfort me. "So I just have been out here, trying to figure everything out."

"Come on, you can stay at mine for the night. There is only two minutes till curfew so we should get you safe," he told me as he stood up. He outstretched his hand, trying to help me up.

"I can't ask that of you... Besides, how will I know you aren't a murderer?" I stared at him, staying seated.

"I assure you I mean no harm, I am just a young man who runs an agency to help a pretty woman out. Now would you like to come inside and get some rest? I have tea if you would like."

I sat there for a few seconds before taking his hand. Staying with him was safer than sleeping on the streets, I know that. Besides, I am exhausted from the long hours I worked and all of the crying.

"Great, come on, let's get inside."

Lockwood led me inside one of the houses on Portland Row, it looked very homey. The thing that caught me off guard was an umbrella rack that had been used to house rapiers, which I then noticed the rapier Lockwood had on him.

I heard a few other voices talking in another room, but Lockwood told me to pay no mind and it was just his co-workers, reminding me that he did say he runs an agency. He led me to a room with two couches and a chair. It was fairly messy, but it gave a rather lived-in feeling. I was instantly at ease, admiring the old house.

"I'll be right back, I am going to go get you a blanket and pillows," Lockwood walked out leaving me in the room by myself.

As I sat there on my own I began to run my fingers on the objects on the mantle, the couches, and the table. Finally, I sat down on the couch, which was ten times comfier than I expected.

The tears in my eyes had completely disappeared now. I felt a lot better than a few moments ago.

"Hey, I am back! I brought multiple since I don't know how many you would like."

Lockwood looked at me as he began to set down three pillows, two on the floor and one on the couch. He then put down a folded blanket next to me on the couch.

"I don't think I can thank you enough Lockwood, really, this means so much."

"No worries. You get yourself settled for the night, alright? In the morning, I'll make you some tea and we can talk about it."

"Yes, yes, I will pay you back as soon as I can."

"Don't worry about that right now, just let's focus on getting you back on your feet. Now get some rest, alright," He gave a smile, very similar to the grin he gave me outside.

"Thank you, again, I don't know what I would've done if you didn't give me this opportunity."

Lockwood went to leave but only after a few steps he turned around to face me. He walked back and kneeled down to my level as I sat on the couch, he took my hand in his, caressing it.

"I am sorry about your boyfriend, I can tell you didn't deserve it, you seem like a great person. Stay strong, that dick didn't deserve you. There are better people out there, I am sure you will find them. Just keep your head up."

I looked at him, tears brimming my eyes as I gave him a half smile. "I don't know what I did to deserve to you meet you, but I am so happy I did."

"Get some sleep, alright?" His smile turned softer as he began to stand up.

Before he could go, I grabbed his wrist preventing him to leave. He turned to face me, once again, but this time a confused look played on his face.

"Could you," I stopped myself realizing how odd of a request this would be. I let go of his wrist before continuing. "Nevermind, it's fine. Have a good night Lockwood."

A look of worry crossed his face briefly, "What is it you wanted to ask?

""No, no, stupid honestly."

"Are you sure?"

"It's just... I haven't slept alone in two years. Could you stay?" I closed my eyes bracing to either be kicked out of the house or yelled at. "I'm sorry, I know it's asking a lot, you don't have to say yes."

"Of course, I will stay," He smiled at me once again before sitting next to me. He rests his hand on my knee as I lay my head on his shoulder. "Just, go to sleep, I will be here, don't you worry."

I smiled at him before closing my eyes. I slowly went to sleep, my mind nearly completely distracted from my breakup, by the boy I was resting on. I am so happy that I found such a SWEET BOY.

#lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood oneshot #fanfic

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crazy-pages · 4 months

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People like you showing Biden and other democrats that even genocide won’t stop you from voting for them, no matter what, have destroyed this country.

Fucking genocide apologist.

Okay I'm gonna rag on you for a moment because you're dropping anon-hate and anon-hate always deserves that, but then can we talk seriously?

First of all, lol, this is hopelessly optimistic of you to think that Biden's loss would change the mentality of the Democratic party when Hillary Clinton's loss didn't. It makes me look fondly back on my childhood when I was fresh-faced and naive enough to believe that a presidential loss could change the trajectory of a political party whose election officials, party apparatus members, and most of their elected officials will remain unchanged regardless of the outcome of a presidential election. I know you think you're a cynic kid, but trust me you have levels deeper to dig. Get on my level.

But to move past ragging on you and to speak seriously-

Sometimes, there is no winning move in an election.

Let's talk about an issue a bit more abstract than genocide first. I would really like the United States' business system to function more in line with socialist principles, where holding any sort of position of authority over others in a company requires the voluntary and democratic buy-in of those they oversee. I think unions don't go far enough, I want business executives to be elected and constrained in their actions by internally enforced constitutions.

And there is no elected official I could vote for to make that happen. They do not exist. But I can make decisions about which elected official will be easier to organize under, to get closer to making that happen. Who's going to be easier to fight? I'm not talking about voting for someone I think can be pressured into giving me what I want, I'm talking about someone who will simply be less hostile to organizing efforts. Sometimes that's as simple as "which state officials will let me have a graduate student union at all in this state?" and sometimes it's a question of what Supreme Court precedent I expect to be set by a president's judges, and which will be easier to fight later through other non-voting actions.

So here's the horrible, awful, sad truth I have for you.

There is no voting option for USA citizens, including non-participation, which will save the Palestinians in the Gaza Strip. We can hope for protests to continue to erode support and keep the issue in focus, we can use our financial positions to donate aid (as much as is allowed through), hell those of us with access can perform sabotage. But there is no voting option which will affect whether the genocide is permitted to continue by our officials, because this is a two-party oligarchy, not a genuine full democracy.

There is no voting option which will influence the long-term trajectory of the Democrats or the Republicans and whether they continue to be the kind of parties which will support genocide either. Neither is there a no voting or third party voting option which will replace either of them.

If you want that to happen, you're going to need to do organizing and disruptive actions outside the voting system. Maybe if we form enough connections at pro-Palestine protests, do enough organizing work, we can mimic the March on Washington and show up at Washington DC with a hundred thousand people and the implicit threat of "we are capable of putting this many people in the capitol, do not make us come back here". (It worked to get the Voting Rights Act passed).

But that organizing will not occur independent of our voting political system. Obviously not, Biden has been happy to give his seal of approval to police violence against pro-Palestine protests. But Trump's response to the Portland protests was worse. Much worse. He sent in federal troops who were even more violent than the college crackdowns and who black-bagged random people off the street to intimidate protestors, without even the fig-leaf of legal justification the college crackdowns have used (which is scary because it opens the door for even further escalation).

If you want to continue organizing outside the voting system, who is voted in is going to matter for that organizing. Biden is making it difficult, but it can be worse.

Also, Trump is going to make things much worse for a lot of different demographics, who will have much less available bandwidth to help with pro-Palestine organizing. One of my close friends is a trans woman living in California and right now she can and does help with the pro-Palestine movement. But if Trump is elected and passes federal anti-trans laws, that's not going to be possible for her anymore. She'll have to hunker down and go into defensive survival mode, just for the right to exist.

I know this probably sounds like me being derisive and saying, "Ohh, you're a single issue voter about genocide, tch, how naive!". But it's not. It's the practical reality of organizing. People who can commit hard, on the level necessary to affect change outside the voting system for people on the other side of the planet, are not people who are desperate and barely surviving. People who can help are people who are in a position to help others. And if Trump gets elected, a lot of people are suddenly not going to be in a position to help anyone but themselves, if even that.

As an extreme example, when Hitler came to power in Germany, well before the Holocaust got underway, he successfully killed socialist organizing in Germany. But not just because he was directly targeting them with police and the army. The previous regime had been doing that too and they hadn't successfully killed German socialism (hell they'd slaughtered socialists with cops after the socialists saved the freaking government from a coup, they were certainly no allies of socialism). But Hitler, by targeting Jews and disabled people and Romani and queer folk directly, hit populations who otherwise represented possible socialist allies. He made them hunker down and focus on purely self-defense, which allowed him to fully clean up socialist opposition before turning on minority demographics with the full force of the Holocaust.

Direct police violence against political opposition (what Biden has to offer) is less effective than that and a prejudicial campaign of dehumanization and oppression against demographic groups aligned with political opposition (what Trump has to offer).

If there's no voting option which will free Palestine (and there isn't), ask yourself the next question then. Is there a voting option which will free up people to help fight for Palestine's freedom?

If there is, and you're honestly more concerned about Palestinians than your own feeling of moral gratification, take it. Vote, get it over with, and then go back to doing the actual damn work.

#us politics

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maraschinomerry · 1 year

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Firstly, your fics give me life, they’re incredible! Secondly I was wondering if you could do a Lockwood x sibling!reader fluff? Where reader comes back to Portland Row injured and Lockwood’s worry comes across as frustration and they’re both tense until they eventually both cool down and it’s a soft/bonding moment. Maybe with dialogue prompts: “i’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. no matter the cost.” And "it's alright... it's okay... i'm here now. i've got you."?

Tea and Torn T-shirts

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn! sibling!reader

Content: physical and emotional hurt/comfort, blood, Lockwood being a fluffy protective big brother, mild swearing

A/N: thanks for being patient with this, I've been away all week and haven't had as much time to write as I'd planned! This is my first sibling fic so I hope it's okay!

Word count: 1.8k

Tag list: @neewtmas @marinalor (if anyone wants adding to the list, let me know!)

Where was your key? Where the hell was your key?

You scrabbled frantically across your pockets, trying to feel for the lump of your keyring. Not in your jeans. Damn it. Relief flooded you when you found it in your jacket, only to drain away as you tried and failed one too many times to fit the key into the lock with shaking hands. One more try, you told yourself. The key slipped from your fingers, clattering onto the step, and you swore as you dropped your bag and knocked firmly.

George was shuffling out of the kitchen with a glass of water when there came a colossal thudding at the front door. Nothing good ever came of knocking like that, but against his better judgement he opened it.

"Oh shit," he muttered before he could stop himself.

He barely recognised you at first. Your hair was matted against your head with a mixture of rainwater and something dark. That same dark liquid coated the fingers of your left hand, raised level with your weary face as you tried to look nonchalant leaning on the doorframe. On closer inspection, it was a deep red. The bottom of your T-shirt was jagged and significantly higher than it had been last time he saw you, exposing a grubby patch of stomach. What was missing of it was tied around your left leg, above a tear in your jeans from which radiated a large purplish patch, reaching from a little above the tear to almost down to your knee. George swore again.

"George please," you hushed him, doing your best to ignore how much of your weight you were now putting on the doorframe, "I'm fine. Just help me inside." The pressure of the wood digging into your arm subsided as George ducked under your shoulder to take the weight, other arm wrapping round your waist and holding you up as you hobbled through to the living room. The second you were in range of the sofa, you flopped onto it with a wince.

"I'm going to get Lockwood," he announced.

"No, don't-" you began, frantically and in vain; he'd already gone. Great. About the only thing that could make this worse was a lecture from Anthony bloody Lockwood, your overbearing older brother. Your only hope was to get patched up before he got here. There was a first aid kit in the kitchen, wasn't there?

You hurried to your feet, but a dagger of burning pain shot straight up your leg and into your brain, sending you staggering backwards. So much for that plan. Best bet now was to minimise any opportunities for him to fuss. That could work. You set to, untying the scrap of cloth from around your thigh with one hand and brushing your hair into a vaguely normal style with the other. Hasty footsteps hammered down the stairs, and in a last ditch effort you dragged a blanket over your lap.

—

"What the hell happened?" Lockwood appeared in the doorway, casually dressed in a black T-shirt and light grey sweatpants. His hair was unstyled. Had it not been for the fire in his eyes and voiced, he'd have seemed the most relaxed you'd seen him in years.

"Nothing, I'm-"

"Don't you dare say you're fine," he cut you off sharply. "George said you were bleeding!"

You feigned innocence. "George must have been mistaken." Lockwood moved towards you, silent, calculating, and you were attempting to figure out what he was doing when he whipped the blanket away. You gasped, a combination of shock and the lance of white hot pain the sudden movement sent through you. He swore at the patch on your jeans. You supposed everyone else had a go at swearing tonight, he might as well too. All the colour had drained from his face, and he instructed you to stay put as he dashed from the room.

"Not like I can run off anywhere in this state!" you yelled after him. You looked down at the rip and the gash underneath. Thick, dark blood had started to trickle from it once again. You quickly pressed the heel of your hand to it, biting back a groan.

Your brother returned a few minutes later with the first aid kit and a pair of your short pyjamas.

"Thanks." You held out a hand for the kit, but he kept it close and knelt down beside you. "Ant, I can handle it." As his sibling, you were the only person allowed to call him Ant, he was strictly Lockwood to everyone else or Anthony at a push, but under the circumstances even you felt on thin ice.

He ignored your protest. "Jeans off." Debating whether to be stubborn, a wave of exhaustion washed over you and shattered your willpower. You stood, a hand on his shoulder to keep yourself upright, and when the waistband brushed against the wound and you hissed his head snapped up, eyes filled with concern. As soon as you stepped out of the jeans, you wriggled carefully into the shorts and changed your top at the same time before sinking back onto the sofa. Lockwood held up the tattered remains of your T-shirt.

"What happened? You loved this top." His voice was much softer than it had been. He was right too - he'd bought it for your last birthday, emblazoned with the logo of your favourite band, and you could barely go a week without wearing it at least once. It wasn't unsalvageable, it would just have to be a crop from now on.

"I made a tourniquet with it."

"Oh, so you're not completely stupid," he smirked, but there was an edge to his words that suggested he meant the last word a little more than normal.

"No, just mostly." You tried to keep it lighthearted, thwarted when he pressed an antiseptic to your leg and a whimper fell involuntarily from your lips. He looked up at you again, worry painting his features, and you watched as those same features hardened. He dragged his eyes away.

"I can't believe you went on a case alone."

You frowned in confusion. "Wait, that's not-"

"I know you're still getting used to having George and Lucy around, but at least take me with you."

"No, Ant, listen-"

"No, you listen!" he snapped suddenly, body jerking upwards like he was reacting to the noise as much as you. His fingers slipped from the bandage he'd just finished tying round your thigh to ball into quivering fists, and his eyes were narrowed. You'd never seen him look so angry, and you shrunk back a little. If he noticed, he didn't seem to care. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when I realised you weren't home? How I've spent the whole evening wondering where you were and if you're okay? How much I'd blame myself if anything happened to you, because you're too young to be out there alone and it's my fault for getting you involved in the agency in the first place, because I was so excited that my sibling wanted to be just like me so I let you. I'll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, no matter the cost, but I can't do that if you go off half-cocked on cases alone!"

"Anthony!" you finally cried. The red mist lifted from his vision, and all his rage left with it when he saw you, trembling and on the verge of tears. Immediately he sank to his knees, hands on your shoulders. "I wasn't on a case!"

Now it was his turn to look confused. You sniffed, rolling your lips in as you persuaded yourself not to cry. A single tear broke the barricade, and in an instant Lockwood wiped it away.

You steadied yourself with a shaky breath, then explained. "I'd gone out for a walk, to the shop across town for that tea you like. I was on the way back when I heard a scream. There was a little girl, locked in the park, she was on her own and it was past curfew. I couldn't leave her there, Ant." Your voice cracked as you saw him nod in silent understanding. "I hopped the fence and boosted her over. There was something coming so I rushed and ended up slicing my leg on a fence spike."

"Was... was the girl okay?" Lockwood asked quietly.

"She was fine, she had no idea how much danger she was in other than being afraid of the dark. But I..." The Visitor in the park flashed violently behind your eyes, mouth warped in a piercing scream and hands reaching, grabbing. You broke down. "I was so scared." Lockwood leapt into action, moving beside you on the sofa and pulling you into a hug. "I didn't have any salt bombs or anything, just my rapier, and I didn't know what to do. I wish you'd been there, Anthony."

Your brother shushed you calmingly, stroking your hair. "It's alright... It's okay... I'm here now, I've got you."

"I'm sorry I made you worry," you mumbled.

"No, hey it's okay. I'm sorry I got mad. You were doing a good thing, two good things actually, and I don't want you to think that's wrong. Sometimes I forget you're not such a little kid any more, but you're the only family I've got. I know we have George and Lucy now, and they love you to bits too, but it's not the same. So I'm going to be the fussy big brother for as long as I can, okay?"

You agreed, then it clicked what he'd said about two good things. "Oh, I almost forgot! Where's my bag?"

Lockwood went to look - George had brought it into the hallway after he helped you inside. You rummaged through it, producing a small pink box with delight. "I managed to get you that tea after all!"

Lockwood laughed as he turned the box over in his hands. "Now I definitely can't be mad at you."

—

You sat together for a while, all frustration having faded away now you'd cleared the air. He told you stories to keep you calm, adventures from cases he'd done without you or memories from your childhood. At one point, once it was clear the animosity was gone, George popped in with tea, and Lucy also came to check on you. Eventually you let out a yawn, and after checking your bandage once more Lockwood helped you up to your bedroom. As soon as you were under the covers, he disappeared. No goodnight, no sweet dreams, nothing. Rude. You were about to call out for him when he returned with pillows under one arm and his duvet under the other.

"What are you doing?" You let out a surprised chuckle.

"Sleepover," he shrugged. You knew what he was really doing: showing he was there to keep you safe, proving he was absolutely not mad at you. He pitched up at the end of your bed, between you and the doorway. You smiled.

"Thanks, Ant. Love you."

"Love you too. Sleep well."

#lockwood & co x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #sibling!reader #gn!reader #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood

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