#Lockwood and co Lucy x reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

gwqine · 4 months ago

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‘ADDITIONS AND DONUTS’

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: lockwood proves to George and Lucy just how well he knows you.

THEME: just two highly oblivious individuals at each other’s throats

WARNINGS: none

NOTES: not proofread. requests open, leave a comment or a message. comment to join my taglist. click here to see my masterlist.

My work is not to be reposted, copied, translated or used in any form without explicit permission from myself.

"And this is the kitchen!"

You turned your head at the sound of the kitchen door opening with a rather loud thud, followed by a pair of footsteps. One of these was light, hesitant, but the other was deafening. The sound rattled the messy table, littered with countless papers and files, and Lockwood’s eyes widened at the state. You saw him glance at the red-haired girl beside him sheepishly, scratching the back of his neck. His hair, you noticed, was gelled to one side today, and at the sight, you could barely suppress a little snort. Lockwood’s eyes met yours, and for a moment, they narrowed as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. His gaze trailed over to your gloved hands, and the seemingly endless pile of dishes. His features contorted into a smirk at a painfully slow pace. He didn’t envy you one bit.

“That’s our dishwasher,” he said, grinning at the girl to his right. She must have believed him, because her lips parted a fraction as she looked over at the mess before you. “Shut up, Lockwood.” You smiled at her pointedly, and she returned the gesture, but it seemed difficult, perhaps nervous. Her shoulders were slightly hunched with the weight of her bag—no, bags. She fumbled with the straps of the one on her right, glancing at Lockwood anxiously as if she expected some sort of introduction. He noticed it, and cleared his throat loudly.

“Y/n, this is Lucy Carlyle, our newest addition. Miss Carlyle, Y/n.” He turned his back to you, yet remained purposefully loud. “She’s a handful,” he told her, and you could feel the boy smirking. “I’d steer clear.”

“I assure you i’m not,” you swore to her, turning away and turning on the tap. “And you could have at least taken her bags, Lockwood.”

Behind you, Lucy had frozen. Lockwood looked down at the bags as though they’d appeared from thin air.

“Ah— would you like me to…”

Lucy shook her head, pulling the straps of her bag tighter over her shoulder. “It’s fine.”

Lockwood nodded awkwardly. “Well, er– you’ll both be sharing the room upstairs, like I said.”

He looked over at you as you rinsed off a marble mug and placed it to dry. “Y/n, if you could show her upstairs?”

You turned off the tap thankfully, practically throwing off the rubber gloves beside the sink. “Gladly,” you replied with a grin, moving around the table towards the door where they both stood. Lockwood moved suddenly. His arms were now crossed, and he stood in the middle of the little room you had to get to the door. His gaze travelled around the kitchen, silent and still as though he expected you to ask him to move. When you didn’t, he let out a huff and moved of his own accord.

Lucy followed you into the hallway, her eyebrows furrowed. You tucked your hair back behind your ears and held up an arm. “Here,” you offered, nodding towards her bags. “I’ll grab one.”

She smiled properly this time, a glimmer of gratitude in her eyes and she swung a bag into your hands. She let out a sigh you recognised to be relief. You could already tell you were going to like her very much.

“I’m sorry for this,” she began, pursuing you up the stairs. “I know you were busy.”

You dismissed this with a wave of your free hand. “Not at all. I hate doing dishes.”

She blinked. “Do you have to do them often?”

God, did she really think you were a cleaner around here?

“No, thankfully not. We have a whole rota.” You grinned at her over your shoulder. “I think i’d run away if that was the case.”

She didn’t laugh. Her steps faltered ever so slightly, her face falling. Your own smile faded. You turned awkwardly and proceeded up onto the landing.

“Lockwood’s room,” you told her, pointing to a door with notable distaste. Opposite it was another. “That’s George’s.” His door was open a fraction, and inside you could see books thrown across his desk. Lucy had noticed it too, and the pair of you looked at each other, both of your lips tugging upwards slightly. “I’m so glad there’s finally another girl in the house.”

This got a laugh out of her. “Are they that bad?”

You paused thoughtfully. “George can be…passionate, at times. Eager. Likes things orderly, but once he starts working, he’s a machine.”

She hummed, looking at the crack in his door again. “I got that feeling in the interview.”

You grinned. “You’re the only person today who hasn’t left screaming, be that because of George or that stupid skull.”

She looked unfazed, as though she expected such.“And Lockwood?”

You motioned for her to follow you up the next set of stairs. “Unbearable, to put it simply. He can talk for the whole of England though, I’ll give him that.”

She frowned at this, dragging along her bag and dropping it outside the attic. “Is that a good thing?”

She noted how your lips widened an inch. “Good for business. Bad for bickering around the house. This is our room.”

You pushed open the door, and headed in. Lucy followed, pausing to look around. Your room wasn’t huge, not at all, but you liked to think it was as homely as could be. You’d hung up lights wherever you could reach, plastered little polaroids in a line beside your bed. She smiled at the sight.

“I’ll shuffle by bed up,” you told her, looking over at it to assess how much impact that would have. “That should widen this side of the room slightly, and then we can get rid of that desk. It barely gets used.”

Lucy nodded, smiling gently at the thought as you set down her bag. “Thank you.”

You smiled gently. “No problem. I’d better go and finish in the kitchen before George riots. If you need me, just let me know, yeah?”

She nodded, and you took it as your cue to leave, shutting the door behind you to give her some privacy. It was a lot to take in, you knew that. You’d been just as hesitant at first, but it had passed. All she needed was a bit of room to get used to the chaos that followed Lockwood and Co. wherever they went.

Humming gently to yourself, you headed down the stairs to get to the kitchen. But on the landing below, you came across the devil himself. His hand rested on the handle of his door, but he paused, glancing over his shoulder at the sound of your footsteps. He grinned toothily.

“Haven’t scared her off, have you?”

You raised a brow challengingly. “If that face of yours didn’t scare her off, believe me, mine won’t.”

He pouted dramatically, but stepped closer, voice falling slightly as he leaned on the frame of the staircase. “She's a good listener, from what we saw in the interview. I think this is finally our breakthrough.” The excitement in his voice was unmistakable.

“Really?” Your own voice had lowered. “That good?”

He nodded, glancing up as though he thought Lucy might hear it. He leaned closer, his voice falling to a whisper. You’d have hit him, in any other circumstance, but this was clearly something intriguing. “She told me she’d passed Level Four,” he whispered, and you frowned, wondering where this was headed. “I’ve just checked with DEPRAC and they’ve denied.”

Your brows knit together. “What? Why on Earth would she lie?”

Lockwood shrugged. “I haven’t the faintest. But she’s good.”

You bit your lip. “I need to go finish downstairs.”

Lockwood didn’t seem to care; he fell into step beside you as you made your way down the steps, a stupid lopsided smile on his face. “This could be it,” he informed you excitedly, but you knew him well enough to know that he was heading somewhere with this. “Just imagine it! George as our researcher, Miss Carlyle as our listener. Me, as the handsome face of this agency!”

He smirked at you sideways, waiting for you to wonder where on earth your name came into the mix. You sighed. “I’m not even going to ask.”

“No, go on!” urged Lockwood. “Ask!”

You exhaled loudly. “Fine. What about me?”

His smile widened unbelievably, almost ear to ear. “The finest dish scrubber in London!”

He barely had time to slam and lock shut the library door as you chased him.

A few hours later, Lucy found herself sitting at the kitchen table with George, deepy immersed in a book. He barely spared her a glance, so much so that she didn’t think he even kneel she was here at all. Instead, she sat assessing the notes scribbled across the tablecloth before her.

The most recent one, it seemed, was a rather exaggerated drawing of Lockwood, his head at least three times bigger than the rest of him. She couldn't help but smile a little.

A sudden crash upstairs practically brought her heart up into her throat. Her eyes were wide, and she looked hurriedly at the boy across her. He seemed unfazed.

“Is everything okay?” She asked, looking up apprehensively. She seemed to think the roof would collapse down on her any second now.

“You get used to it,” replied George, taking a sip from his steaming cup of tea without looking away from his book.

She fumbled with the edge of the tablecloth, as if assessing whether she had the place to say what was on her mind. A cry of “Lockwood!” echoed down the hallway, making her eyes widen again. She’d expected chaos, of course, based on what you had told her, but not like this. “Are they erm— is there something going on between them?”

George turned a page. “Define something.”

Lucy hesitated. “You know… romantically?”

George’s book lowered instantly, his eyes fixed on her as though she’d cursed his entire bloodline without a care in the world. “I should hope not. They’d set the world alight.”

Lucy bit back a grin. That sounded close enough to her.

She heard footsteps in the hallway, and soon the door opened, and in stalked a jolly looking Anthony Lockwood. “Oh, hello!” He exclaimed at the sight of Lucy, as though he’d forgotten she had even been here. He headed over to the kettle, fumbling with its switch as he looked out of the window. “I thought you’d already gone to bed,” he paused thoughtfully, mid-way through grabbing his mug. “It’s probably good you didn’t. That racket she’s making upstairs would have kept you up.”

George tutted loudly from behind his book, and Lockwood’s head snapped back as if he was offended. “What?”

“Do you need to wind her up at every chance you get?” He exclaimed, placing down his book. “You know it never ends well! I go to bed with a headache every night! Not to even mention what the neighbours must think!”

Lockwood chuckled, pulling the chair beside Lucy out from under the table. “Come on, George. Lighten up, it's funny.”

“Does she find it funny?” Interrupted Lucy, and Lockwood glanced at her sideways. She froze, as though she had accidentally spoke out of turn, but he didn't seem too bothered. A smile spread over his face again, and he leaned back in the chair.

“She does. Wouldn’t dare admit it.” He stood up at the ping of the kettle and went over to it, his back to the pair once again.

“Doesn't seem it.” grumbled George.

“You wouldn't be able to tell, George.” said Lockwood, a hint of annoyance laced in his tone.

“It's not hard to tell that she's mad, Lockwood.”

“She’s not mad, George.” It was now Lockwood's turn to tut. He turned to face them, his back to the counter top as he mixed the mug in his hand with a little spoon. “She only scrunches her nose like that when she's holding back a smile. And she’s not a kid. She doesn’t chase people she’s angry at, nor does she push them the way she does me all the time, with her hands flat forward like that.” He took a sip. “It's too soft to do any damage.”

Lucy stared at him, lips parted, and then over at George, who had stopped mid sip, his mug in the air, and his thick, dark brows knitted together. Lockwood, on the other hand, continued with a little smile, paying no heed to the pair at the table.

“And if she was mad, you know she'd raise her eyebrows while shouting at us all," he stated matter-of-factly, “and she would be sat here right now here tugging on her sleeves and eyeing us in hope that we say something.”

George looked almost distressed as he met Lucy's gaze at these words, remembering the conversation they had only minutes ago. Lockwood took a seat in his chair again, mug on the table.

“And she isn't giving me the silent treatment. And most importantly,” he paused to reach for a chocolate biscuit, before leaning back with a grin as he took a bite. “She isn't calling me Anthony. That would be a dead giveaway to anyo— why are you two looking at me like that?”

He looked between them, brows furrowed at their relentless gaze. “Is there something on my face?”

George shook his head in disbelief. “You fool!”

Lockwood's forehead crinkled. He looked to Lucy, who shrugged, pushing her chair back with a piercing screech and getting up.

“I should get to bed,” she told the pair awkwardly. “Goodnight.”

Lockwood nodded, still frowning and bid her farewell. George, meanwhile, remained astounded, his book forgotten. “I can't believe it!”

“You can’t believe that she doesn’t get mad?” Lockwood scoffed, smiling as though he found George ridiculous.

George’s face was scrunched up incredulously. “You’re oblivious!”

Taking his book beneath an arm, he left without another word, muttering incoherently. Lockwood stared after him, wondering what on earth had gotten into the boy.

“Lunatic,” he said finally, giving up and looking down at his tea with a shake of his head.

“You’re no better.” Lockwood feigned a dramatic sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. He watched you head over to the fridge with a grin. “Talking to yourself is a sign of insanity, did you know?”

“Sounds about right,” he replied, resting his elbows on the table before him. “Seeing as you do it all the time.”

“That’s what being around you does to people.” You shut the fridge, and Lockwood caught side of a white box in your hands. He grinned.

“Give me a donut.”

It was more of a request than a demand. He saw how your own face morphed into a devilish smile as you plopped down in George’s empty chair. “No.”

His beam had disappeared, now replaced with a look of irritation. “Just one, come on.”

You stared at him, knowing damn well that it was pestering the boy. “And why would I do that?”

“Because I'm your favourite?” He said hopefully, but the laugh that left you told him it was pointless.

“Try again, Lockwood.”

He crossed his arms. “Because I’m your Boss? Is that good enough of a reason?”

Your grin said it was not.

Lockwood groaned. “Oh, for goodness sake! Just one!”

Your face softened slightly, and Lockwood noted it. He sat slightly more hunched, plastering the most helpless look he could on his face. It must have worked, because you’d opened the box and looked over at him.

“The white one, right? Coloured sprinkles?”

Lockwood nodded eagerly, hand held out. You reached into the box, and he saw a look of fake guilt pass over your features.

“Oh no, would you look at that! I've already took a bite!”

Lockwood let out an incredulous gasp of offence. “What?”

“Sorry, Boss.” The title felt so foreign on your tongue, but you carried on nonetheless. “You wouldn't want one I've already bitten, right?” You sighed dramatically. “Looks like you'll have to go buy your own.”

With a smirk irritating enough to counter his usual one, you held up the white donut in your hand so it was clearly on display. Lockwood's eyes remained on it, studying the bite in it closely, and then onto you. His gaze remained steady, threatening even, and you held yours too, but you could feel a smile threatening to bloom. But suddenly, his eyes had lit up, like an idea had crossed his mind. In the time you had frowned, Lockwood had already reached across the table and pulled your hand over to him by the wrist. He took a bite out of the donut and sat back to swallow it. Jaw hanging open, you looked from him to the donut, then to his fingers around your wrist tightly. Lockwood seemed to notice it too, for he let go instantly.

“You won't want one I've already bitten, Y/n.” He quoted with a smirk, holding his hand out again, looking pointedly to the donut you still grasped. With a scowl, you handed it over. “Thought so.”

He took an exaggerated bite from it, and his eyes travelled onto the rest of the box, which you grabbed and hugged to your chest. “Don't even try it. The rest are mine and Lucy's.”

“I'm sure Lucy won't want all of them, Y/n.”

“Well I do,” you shot back defensively. “So back off.”

He laughed as you stormed out of the kitchen, steps echoing off the floorboards.

“Good night to you too!” He called, and you could practically hear him grinning.

"Unbearable," you muttered, but the smile on your face as you took the stairs two at a time wasn't one that would disappear any time soon.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #Anthonylockwoodxreader #lucy carlyle #george karim #george cubbins #cameron chapman #ruby stokes #DEPRAC #bring back lockwood and co #neflix

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jc-writes-bullshit · 6 months ago

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@ elon musk why can’t you do something that’s actually useful to society like giving Netflix a big chunk of money to renew Lockwood and Co.???

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kestisvrse · 1 year ago

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bad for business

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

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

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

♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter

1. a walk home

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

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

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

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

“hold my hand.”

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

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

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

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

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

2. too close for comfort

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

that damn grin.

3. distraction

you had warned him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

4. overdue confession

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“oh thank god.” he laughed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you were not.” you laughed at him

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

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

#lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #anthony bloody lockwood #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #x reader #lucy carlyle #george karim #netflix #lockwood and co netflix #fake dating #oblivious idiots #sienna’s fics

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eeechooo · 7 months ago

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Just Maybe

Fandom : Lockwood and Co. Pairing : Female Reader x George Karim Request : @sarahhelpimsinking "Reader is also part of Lockwood and co and they are really close, but George starts to get super attentive and touchy and she starts to catch in and mess with him, happy ending."

You were still buzzing with the adrenaline of the latest job as you climbed into the back of the cab with Lucy. The boys took the front seats, Lockwood chatting animatedly with the driver about something you couldn't quite hear. You settled into your seat, letting out a sigh of relief. The job had been a close call, but you had all come out unscathed.

Lucy leaned closer, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. "I am telling you, something is wrong."

You turned to look at her, raising an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"

She glanced towards the front where George and Lockwood were deep in conversation. "George. He's been acting weird."

"Weird how?" you asked, genuinely curious. George had always been a bit of an enigma, but you figured you knew him well enough.

Lucy rolled her eyes, clearly frustrated. "He's been all... touchy. And he's never like that."

You frowned, thinking back to the events of the night. George had been more... present than usual, sticking close to you, even holding your hand during a particularly tense moment. But you brushed it off. "He was just scared, Lucy. It was a tough case. Anyone would be a little more... clingy."

Lucy shook her head, her expression sceptical. "I don't buy it. I've seen George scared before, and he doesn't get touchy. He gets quiet and intense, but not touchy."

You sighed, leaning back in your seat. "Look, George and I are just really close friends. Maybe he felt safer with me nearby. It's not a big deal."

Lucy gave you a look that said she didn't believe a word you were saying. "Close friends, sure. But he's been different lately. More attentive. Haven't you noticed?"

You shrugged, trying to brush off the growing unease in your chest. "We've all been under a lot of stress. Maybe he's just... I don't know, reacting to that."

Lucy crossed her arms, clearly unconvinced. "Maybe. But I still think there's more to it. Just... keep an eye on him, okay?"

You nodded, more to placate her than anything else. "Fine, I'll keep an eye on him. But I still think you're overreacting."

Lucy sighed, leaning back and staring out the window. "We'll see. Just don't say I didn't warn you."

You turned your attention to the front of the cab, watching George as he animatedly discussed something with Lockwood. You couldn't help but smile. Whatever Lucy thought, you knew George better than anyone. And if there was something more to his behaviour, you were sure you would notice it. Eventually.

For now, you were content to brush off Lucy's concerns and enjoy the calm after the storm. But a small part of you couldn't shake the feeling that maybe, just maybe, she was onto something.

The next morning, you made your way downstairs, still shaking off the remnants of sleep. The house was unusually quiet, a stark contrast to the usual hustle and bustle. As you reached the kitchen, you found a note on the table from Lucy and Lockwood. They had gone to Arif’s shop for some supplies, leaving George in charge of breakfast.

You spotted George at the counter, his back to you as he prepared something. The smell of fresh tea and baked goods filled the room, instantly lifting your mood.

“Morning,” you greeted, sliding into your usual seat at the table.

George turned around, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Morning. Tea and an orange muffin, just how you like it.” He placed the steaming cup and the muffin in front of you, then took the seat next to you.

Your heart did a little flip. It wasn’t unusual for George to make breakfast, but the fact that he had gone out of his way to prepare your favourites made you pause. “Thanks, George. This looks great.”

He nodded, already launching into a detailed recount of his latest research findings. His enthusiasm was infectious, and you found yourself drawn into his world of dusty books and ancient lore.

“And then I remembered that the spectral resonance in Type Two ghosts is significantly higher in areas with historical trauma,” George said, his eyes alight with excitement. As he talked, he absentmindedly brushed your arm with his hand.

You felt your brain short circuit for a moment, your skin tingling where he had touched you. It was just George being his usual self, you told yourself. There was nothing more to it. But Lucy’s words from the night before echoed in your mind, and you couldn’t help but wonder if there was something you were missing.

You tried to refocus on what he was saying, nodding along, but your thoughts kept drifting. Why was he being so attentive? And why did it matter to you so much?

George must have noticed your distracted state because he suddenly fell silent. You looked up to find him staring at you, a curious expression on his face.

“You’re really weird, you know that?” he said with a smirk.

You blinked, taken aback. “Excuse me?”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “You’ve been staring at me like I’ve grown an extra head. What’s going on in that mind of yours?”

You felt a flush rise to your cheeks, quickly looking down at your tea. “Nothing. Just… thinking about your research. It’s fascinating.”

George raised an eyebrow, clearly not buying it, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, his smirk softening into a genuine smile. “Well, if you ever want to dive deeper into the archives with me, you know where to find me.”

You nodded, the gears in your mind turning. Maybe there was more to George’s behaviour than you had originally thought. And maybe, just maybe, you were starting to see him in a new light.

For the next week, you began to notice the subtle changes in George's behaviour. It started small, with him standing a bit closer than usual or offering a hand when you climbed out of the cab after a job. His attentiveness grew more noticeable, and there were times when you caught him looking at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

But then, just as quickly, his demeanour would shift back to his usual sarcastic self. The mixed signals were driving you crazy, leaving you confused and off-balance. One minute he was the George you’d always known, and the next, he was someone new—someone who seemed to see you differently.

It was during a particularly tense moment after a mission that you started to piece it together. The team had just finished a challenging case, and as you all piled back into the cab, George had taken your hand to help you in, his grip lingering a bit longer than necessary. You felt a flutter of something—excitement, maybe?—and you glanced over at him, but his eyes were already back on his notebook, jotting down notes as if nothing had happened.

Lucy, who was sitting next to you in the back, nudged you. “See what I mean?” she whispered, her eyes flicking to George. “He’s never like this.”

You shrugged, still trying to convince yourself it was nothing. “He was just anxious, Lucy. It’s not a big deal.”

Lucy gave you a sceptical look but didn’t press further.

The real turning point came a few days later. You were all gathered in the library, sorting through the latest research for an upcoming case. George was sitting next to you, his knee brushing against yours under the table. You found yourself hyper-aware of his presence, his proximity.

Lockwood was across the room, leaning against the fireplace, watching you both with a knowing look in his eyes. It was a look you couldn’t quite decipher, but it seemed to make George uncomfortable. You noticed that every time Lockwood gave him that look, George would pull back, retreating into his usual sarcastic demeanour.

Like clockwork, it happened again. George was in the middle of explaining a particularly complicated theory about ghostly manifestations, his arm resting on the back of your chair, when Lockwood shot him that look. George immediately withdrew, his tone turning sharp and distant as he redirected his attention to the books spread out on the table.

The shift was jarring, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of hurt and confusion. Why did he keep doing this? What was going on between him and Lockwood that made George act so erratically?

That night, as you lay in bed, your mind raced with thoughts. George’s mixed signals, Lockwood’s strange looks—it all swirled together in a confusing mess. You needed to figure out what was happening, to understand why George’s behaviour was affecting you so much.

The next morning, you woke up with a new resolve. You would get to the bottom of this, no matter what it took. George’s actions were starting to feel like a puzzle, one that you were determined to solve.

As the days passed, you couldn’t shake the feeling of unease that had settled in your chest. George’s behaviour continued to oscillate between attentive and distant, leaving you feeling more confused than ever. You realised that while you appreciated his friendship and companionship, you didn’t quite reciprocate the level of physical touch he seemed to crave. You thought you'd never think that, but that was true at the moment.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like him or that you didn’t enjoy his company—you did, immensely. But the sudden shift in his behaviour had caught you off guard, and you weren’t sure how to navigate it.

So, you decided to take matters into your own hands. Literally. You started to initiate small touches—brushing against his arm as you passed by, resting your hand on his shoulder when you laughed at one of Lockwood’s jokes. You made sure to respect his boundaries, never pushing too far, but you couldn’t help but notice the way he seemed to relax under your touch, his tension melting away ever so slightly.

And then, something strange happened. Lockwood stopped giving George those odd looks. Instead, he watched the two of you with a fondness in his eyes, as if he knew something you didn’t.

It was then that it hit you. Lockwood wasn’t trying to make George distant by giving him those stares. He was scared. Scared that his best friend was going to get hurt if he got too close to you. If it was unrequited.

The realisation hit you like a ton of bricks, and suddenly everything made sense. The mixed signals, the strange tension between George and Lockwood—it was all because of you.

The pieces finally fell into place.

“Oh. Oh.”.

That was when you started to tease him.

The opportunity presented itself while you were grocery shopping together. As you reached for an item on the shelf, your hand brushed against his, ever so subtly. You pretended not to notice, but you felt the slight twitch in his fingers, betraying his surprise.

“Oh, sorry,” you said innocently, flashing him a quick smile before returning your attention to the task at hand. But you couldn’t help the thrill that ran through you at the contact, the electricity of his touch lingering on your skin.

Another chance came when he complained about his unruly hair one morning. Normally, George couldn’t care less about his appearance, but today seemed different. As he grumbled about his curls, you stepped closer, reaching out to gently smooth them down.

“They’re not that bad,” you remarked, your touch light and fleeting. But as your fingers danced through his hair, you felt him relax under your touch, his shoulders dropping as a sense of calm washed over him. It was a small gesture, but it felt good. Alright, more than good, you had to admit. It felt peaceful.

But perhaps the boldest move came when he mentioned his sore shoulders after a particularly long day. Without a second thought, you moved behind his chair in the kitchen, your hands finding their way to his tense muscles.

You could feel him tense up at first, his body rigid with surprise. But as your fingers worked their magic, kneading out the knots and tension, you felt him slowly start to relax, his muscles melting under your touch.

“Wow, that feels amazing,” he murmured, his voice low and appreciative.

You couldn’t help but smirk, enjoying the reaction you were getting out of him. It was fun to see George, usually so composed, let his guard down for once. And if it meant you got to enjoy a few stolen moments of closeness, then all the better. Maybe, just maybe.

Then one night, you didn't know if you wanted to kick or kiss your coworkers.

The movie night started out promising enough, with everyone gathered on the couch, snacks in hand, ready for a cozy evening. But as the movie dragged on, it quickly became apparent that it was a snoozefest of epic proportions. Even Lockwood, the eternal optimist regarding his tastes, couldn’t hide his yawns as he struggled to stay awake.

You, on the other hand, weren’t so lucky. Despite your best efforts to stay engaged, the monotony of the film proved too much, and before you knew it, you had drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up, it was still dark outside, the remnants of the movie flickering on the screen. Blinking blearily, you realized that George was lightly snoring beside you, his head resting on your shoulder. You were both lying on the couch, tucked under a blanket, and for a moment, you couldn’t help but chuckle at the absurdity of it all.

Clearly, Lockwood and Lucy had orchestrated this whole thing, choosing the most mind-numbing movie imaginable so that you and George would fall asleep. Sneaky, but effective.

As you shifted slightly, George stirred, his eyes fluttering open to gaze at you with a look that was equal parts dazed and disoriented. It was as if he had just woken up from a particularly bizarre dream, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the sight.

“Enjoying the view?” you teased, a playful smirk playing at your lips.

George blinked, his brain still catching up to reality. “Hmm? Oh, uh, yeah. Very scenic,” he replied, his voice thick with sleep.

You rolled your eyes, suppressing a giggle. “Smooth, George. Real smooth.”

But despite the sarcasm, there was something undeniably comfortable about the moment. You shifted onto your side to face him, hiding your face in the crook of his neck as you both settled back against the cushions.

And then, almost on instinct, George tilted your chin up, his eyes meeting yours with a mixture of hesitation and determination. You don't know who initiated it, but without another word, you both leaned in, meeting halfway in a soft, quick kiss that left you both breathless.

As you pulled away from the kiss, the air between you crackling with a newfound tension, you couldn’t help but chuckle softly, the sound vibrating against George’s lips. He blinked, his eyes still closed as if savoring the moment, before finally opening them to meet yours.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, his voice low and tinged with curiosity.

You shook your head, a playful smirk dancing on your lips. “Oh, nothing. Just guessing about how Lockwood and Lucy must be thinking they’re some sort of mastermind matchmakers.”

George’s lips twitched with amusement, a faint smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Well, they do like to meddle, don’t they?”

“Definitely,” you agreed, your laughter bubbling up between you like a shared secret. “But I have to admit, they might be onto something with this whole movie night setup.”

George raised an eyebrow, his gaze locking with yours in a way that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh? And what do you mean by that?”

You shrugged, feigning nonchalance even as your heart raced in your chest. “Just that… maybe there’s something to be said for falling asleep on the couch with your best friend,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

There was a moment of silence as George processed your words, his expression unreadable. But then, without warning, he leaned in again, his lips capturing yours in another kiss that was both soft and electrifying. You both moved gently against each other, fearing the other would break the spell. You both did not. He was the first one, however, to pull back, only slightly to mumble against your lips.

"Just maybe?"

"No, definitely."

This time, there was no laughter, no teasing remarks. No mixed signals, no one around to tell you if what you were doing was good or not. It felt good, that's all that mattered.

And as you lay there in the quiet darkness, tangled together on the couch, you couldn’t help but think that maybe, just maybe, falling asleep during a boring movie wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

okay so i am lowkey proud of that one??? i made it way longer than the others because i found a new way to write and it actually helped a lot! i hope you liked it, it was very fluffy, i tried my best LMAOOOO

i wanted to include lucy and lockwood because they're my favourite matchmakers, but also oh how lockwood is worried for his friend and just doesn't know how to help george so he's just like "yep. just be distant" lucy should slap him but we love a bsf who just wants his happiness AND HE GOT IT

anyways i read too many notes from ao3 authors, have a good day!

taglist : @neewtmas @cielooci @thestrangerblog

(if you don't want to be tagged anymore or want to be just tell me!)

#lockwood & co #lockwood and co #george karim x reader #anthony lockwood #george karim #lucy carlyle #muffins #yes food again i know #fluff #lots of fluff #touchy feely #teasing #lockwood is a good friend #lucy is slaying #george is screwed (positively)#george karim x you

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lewkwoodnco · 6 months ago

Text

Masterlist

All works written in third person fem!reader

➳ timeless ♡✧✿ 900 w 🖋️

you see your relationship with lockwood reflected in an antiques’ shop and realise you might be more than friends

➳ cruel summer (part 1, part 2) ♡✧✿ 3.2k

you agonise over the push and pull between you and lockwood as you navigate ordinary cases and the Fittes ball together

➳ august (tsitp version) ✶ 1.3k 🖋️💙

haunted by a Changer’s terrible prophecy, you make the difficult decision to leave Lockwood & Co.

➳ the alcott ✶✿ 1.8k 🖋️

after having left Lockwood & Co., lockwood finds you at an old haunt and persuades you to return by mending the rift between you two. can be read as a sequel to august (tsitp version)

➳ I Can See Youᶻ♡✧✿☆ 5.9k 💌

(enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) as a rival agent at Fittes, you loathe the smug bastard that is anthony lockwood. or love him. one of the two.

➳ and I hope it gets to you on some Pacific wind✶ 6.3k

after getting laid off from Fittes, you struggle to find another job and struggle even more with accepting lockwood’s affection. can be read as a sequel to I Can See You

➳ You Belong With Me ♡✧✿ 2.4k 💌

you stumble along in your relationship with lockwood until he realises no one else is going to feel like home the way you do

➳ False God ✶✿ 4k 💌💙

the tension bubbling between you and lockwood finally pushes you to a breaking point as you leave Lockwood & Co., but someone helps you find your way back home

➳ Question…? ✶✿ 4.8k 💌

you deeply resent your ex-employer after a miscommunication on why he fired you, but the both of you can’t help but terribly miss the other

➳ Dressᶻ✧✿ 3.5k 💌

after a spur of the moment kiss when you nearly die on a case, you and Lockwood struggle with staying content as friends

➳ You Are In Love ♡✧✿ 2.4k 💌

bit by bit, you realise your love for lockwood over the course of a case

➳ Gold Rush ♡✧✿ 2.8k 💌

(friends to lovers) you find your employer utterly deplorable, but can’t help being drawn in by his wayward ways

➳ Safe and Sound ✶✿ 2k 💌

(hurt/comfort) you help Lockwood through a nightmare

➳ get him BACK! ♡✧✿ 5.4k 💙

(slight enemies to lovers, Fittes!reader) you hated Lockwood for being such an aggravating personality, and now you hate him even more for proving you wrong

➳ London Boy ♡✿ 3.1k 💌

(european!reader) anthony lockwood finds his newest employee’s accent terribly adorable

➳ How You Get the Girl ✶✿ 4.8k 💌💙

an unresolved fight with lockwood pushes you to leave Lockwood & Co., as you’re convinced he’d be better off with lucy, but he doesn’t give up on you

➳ Invisible String ♡✿ 5.4k 💌

(neighbour!reader, estranged friends to lovers) as an old friend, you start becoming more involved in lockwood’s life again with the arrival of lucy carlyle

➳ only love can hurt like this ✶✿ 4.7k 💌💙

your boyfriend risks his neck for you one too many times. loving anthony lockwood was anything but easy

➳ buy me presents! ♡☆ 2.6k ❄️💙

[jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood’s version)] spending christmas alone at Portland Row is terribly boring, so you decide to tease your somewhat possessive employer

➳ I got options, babe ♡✧✿ 2.6k ❄️❣️

(sequel to buy me presents!) it’s a Portland Row Christmas ft. slightly jealous reader

➳ tis the damn season ✶ 5.1k ❄️💙

after going away to boarding school, you visit lockwood for the first time in years but he doesn’t seem ready to forgive you

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

➳ Falling For You ♡✿☆ 2.6k ❣️

it’s Valentine’s Day, love is in the air, and you make a dangerous bet with lockwood over who was a better connoisseur of pick-up lines

➳ so american! ♡✿ 3.3k 💙

(american!reader, domestic sweetness) lockwood tries to teach you how to drive in a day in the life of Portland Row’s most nauseating couple

➳ but daddy, I love him! ♡✧✿ 3.8k

(socialite!reader) bored out of your skull with your lavish lifestyle, the psychical investigators your father hired provide a welcome change of pace

➳ you look like shit ♡✧☆ 1.5k 🖋️

one time you told lockwood he looked like shit and four times he told you you looked like shit

➳ loveSICK ♡✧ 2.3k

you don’t know what it is you’re coming down with, but you do know it’s Anthony Lockwood’s fault, the bastard.

➳ late nights ♡✧ 800 w 🖋️💙

you fall asleep while waiting for Lockwood to return from a case.

➳ Sneaking Around ♡ 1.6k 🖋️

you and lockwood are in a secret relationship, but unfortunately for both of you, lockwood isn't very good at sneaking around. three times lockwood almost gave it away and the one time you finally did.

➳ guardian angel ♡✶ 3.8k

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

➳ no one's ever had me (not like you) ♡☆ 2.1k

a day in the life of dating lockwood

➳ june gloom ✧ 1.6k

(can be read as a stand-alone of with the 1989 tv vault series) if lockwood's truly moved on, what's he doing at your house?

➳ panic attack ✶✿ 1.9k🖋️ 💌

set after the altercation at Winkman's - you help lockwood through a panic attack

1989 TV Vault Series (In Progress)

➳ “Slut!”ᶻ ♡✶✿☆ 5.4k

as an up-and-coming agent regularly torn to shreds by malicious tabloids, you decide that you’re better off alone. That is, until you meet anthony lockwood

➳ Say Don’t Go ✶☆ 3.8k

after your apartment gets flooded, you accept lockwood’s invitation to temporarily move into Portland Row, but through unfortunate unforseen circumstances you end up moving out of his life permanently

➳ Now That We Don’t Talk ✧ 3.1k

you try to piece together how lockwood is doing through the gossip rags you once so desperately detested and reflect on how your life has soured without him around to buoy your spirits

➳ love to think you’ll never forget ✶2.5k

blurb set after the phone call with lucy in the previous chapter where you ruminate over bittersweet memories and struggle with feelings of inadequacy

➳ Wildest Dreams ♡✧✿ 3.3k 💌

(Fittes!reader) you make an unlikely companion after investigating a certain pilfering boy

➳ After Hours ♡✧✿☆ 2.7k 💌

(librarian!reader) you occasionally bend the rules for a researcher you may have a soft spot for

➳ Be More ♡☆ 2.8k

after a mix-up of dates, you spend Valentine’s Day baking with George

➳ the tortured poets departmentᶻ ✶✿ 3.7k

(Fittes!reader) as you start to lose touch with George once he leaves Fittes, you make one last-ditch attempt to reconnect with him after Lucy & Lockwood’s wedding

➳ Northern Attitude ✶✿ 2.1k 💙

Lucy struggles with a disconnect from Lockwood, who helps her through it

➳ I take you like you do your tea, with lemon and with honey ♡✧ 720 w 🖋️💙

(first person!reader) it is both a blessing and a curse to love so deeply

♡ - fluff

✧ - mild angst

✶ - angst

ᶻ - mild smut

✿ - happy ending

🖋️ - drabble (under 2k)

☆ - popular

💌 - requested

💙 - my favourites

#masterlist #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #fanfiction #locklyle #fanfic #anthony lockwood x reader

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g1rld1ary · 9 months ago

Note

omg hiiiiii! just saw your requests opened, so excited! i was hoping you could write something for lockwood with the enemies to lovers trope. anything you feel like with that is awesome! and ofc if you don’t want to feel free to not write it 🩷🩷

-mel

what once was ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you and lockwood hated each other, you had since you were just starting out as agents. when your team is made to work with his on a big case, deeper feelings might just get revealed

➻ word count: 10K exactly (what are the chances?)

➻ warnings: swearing, mentions of kissing, angst maybe?, injuries

➻ thank u so much for this request lovely!!!! i am SO sorry this took almost a month, but it's the longest fic I've ever posted here so hopefully that makes up for it a little?? if this isn't what u had in mind pls let me know and I'd be happy to write something different! ik it might not be exactly enemies to lovers but I hateee when the dynamic has no respect or reason to be lovers. anyway thank u for the request lolol!!!! xxxxx

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You thought you were a good person. You dedicated your life to fighting ghosts, you helped old ladies cross the street, you recycled when you could. That was enough to be considered a good person, right? You were almost totally convinced, except for the all the vile things you had to say about Anthony Lockwood.

He was, with no exaggeration, the bane of your existence. You had known him all your life, but hadn’t been friends with him since you were both twelve, just beginner agents. And yet, despite all of this hatred burning up within you, it seemed like the universe wouldn’t give you a moment of peace.

You understood running into his company every once in a while — agency events, maybe the occasional case, but lately it seemed like it was every week you had to face Lockwood’s nauseating grin and infuriating attempts at being charming. Whether it was your respective teams being sent on overlapping missions, picking up more supplies or just trying to pick up a coffee after a draining night, you had started to see Lockwood everywhere.

When you saw him again whilst you were picking up some doughnuts for your team you couldn’t help yourself snapping at him.

“God, are you obsessed with me or something, Anthony?” You barely spared him a glance as you finished the transaction with the cashier, quietly thanking him as you left. Lockwood did the same, practically throwing down his cash to catch up to you.

“You wish I was obsessed with you! I am just as unhappy as you are, trust me.”

“So what, you chased after me just say something we both already knew? Or do you have something you’d like to say, an apology perhaps?” You chanced a look in his eyes. Hurt flashed through them, and you felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

“I’ve told you before and I’ll tell you again, I don’t know what you’re talking about!” He cried, almost dropping his own box of pastries when he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. You didn’t try to hide the rolling of your eyes.

“Whatever,” You huffed, before being struck with an idea. “By the way, did you hear that I’m now a team leader? That makes me the youngest in at least ten years — maybe ever. Pretty good for someone not fit to be an agent, don’t you think?” You feigned an interest in his opinion. His face dropped for a moment, then contorted to become almost polite.

“That was never—” You interrupted him with another sigh.

“Anthony, I really don’t care to listen to you discredit my achievements anymore.” You left him on the side of the street, marching back to your dorm at Fittes. You didn’t need to hear him tear you down and ruin your self-confidence more than he already had — not that you would ever tell him that. Lockwood was similarly disgruntled. Every interaction between you two turned into a fight regardless of what he said; he just couldn’t win.

You had a week of blissful distance from Lockwood and Co before you ran into them, quite unfortunately. You and your team had been assigned to an apartment that allegedly housed a few Type Ones, nothing serious but the residents had complained of hearing noises at odd hours. You held a bit of doubt — living in the dorms had forced you to become accustomed to the most bizarre noises at night, and those were most definitely not ghosts. Plus, adults tended to be paranoid; the noise could be anything from rodents to their little children being awake in the early hours of the morning.

Still, you had a job to complete, so you trudged your small team up to the apartment in question, ready for a quick job and to be cozy in bed before midnight. When Lockwood and Co were standing outside the apartment next to your appointed one, your face dropped into a scowl.

“What are you doing here?” You snapped, talking directly to Lockwood. He hesitated for a moment before turning to face you, brilliant smile shining.

“Lovely to see you again too, sweetheart, we’re actually here on a job? Nice of you to come as our clean-up crew, but that really won’t be necessary. Run along now.” You had to hand it to him, Lockwood had perfected his condescending tone. You were going to respond when the girl behind him began to talk.

“Hey, I recognise you! You’re—” Lockwood cut her off quickly.

“Alright, Luce, I think it’s time we go inside, don’t you?” He was shepherding the girl through the apartment door before you could process what was happening. George, to his credit, looked highly amused at the whole thing. You always liked George, even when he was at Fittes, and seeing him was usually the only upside to your interactions with Lockwood and Co.

“Who’s the girl?” You asked, nodding your head to where she and Lockwood had disappeared to.

“Lucy Carlyle,” He answered, “She’s a Listener — still learning the ropes.”

“And she knows me how?” George just smiled, and you could tell he was keeping secrets.

“I’m sure you’ll find out one day.” He began to follow the rest of his coworkers and you pouted.

“I hate when you side with him!” You called after him, before composing yourself and directing your own team to start the night. They just went along with it, used to your behaviour, and set up your equipment for the mission.

It was not going well. You could all feel a supernatural presence, but no ghosts and no signs of what you’d thought might’ve been the source. Plus, all you could hear was the apartment next door — their stompy footsteps, their laughter over the tea you knew they always had, and one of them wouldn’t stop knocking on the fucking wall.

It was supremely childish, and you would put all of your bets on it being Lockwood trying to throw you off your game. Unfortunately, it was working. And your bad mood was spreading to your teammates. The mission was certainly not going well, all four of you picking fights and throwing digs at each other as you searched uselessly for what could possible be the source, all with no confirmed supernatural presence.

Just as you were about to say something really cruel to your favourite member of your team, the words died in your throat. The temperature rose a few degrees, and you could practically see all your negative thoughts floating away. By the looks of it, your teammates all felt it too. When the freezing shock of the change wore off, you all resigned to embarrassment, realising exactly what had just happened.

This was only furthered when Lockwood waltzed into the apartment, cocky grin practically blinding you.

“Guess that another successful mission for Lockwood and Co now includes saving the careers of egotistical Fittes agents too now,” He crowed, and you rolled your eyes so hard you thought they might disconnect from your face.

“Clearly,” You tried to keep your tone level, “The source wasn’t in this apartment, so we couldn’t have found it regardless of if you were here.”

“Plus they were just Type Ones. You didn’t save any lives, Lockwood,” Your best friend, Sarah, piped up and you smirked.

“Maybe not in the physical sense,” He conceded, “But I definitely saved the career of the ‘youngest ever team leader’ — don’t think you would’ve kept the position for very long if you couldn’t fight a simple Type One.” You turned red in humiliation. How dare Lockwood act so high and mighty, like you owed him the career you fought so hard for? You wanted to express all the seething fury that burned your tongue, but the only thing that came out was a vicious declaration.

“I hate you, Anthony Lockwood.” Lockwood at least had the decency to look somewhat hurt. Although you’d been arguing for years with the insults only getting meaner as you both grew up and developed more precise vocabularies, neither of you had ever vocalised any hatred before. It cut deeper than Lockwood thought it would. You didn’t wait to observe the intricacies of his reaction, storming out of the apartment, making sure your kit bag hit him heavily as you passed.

“Well,” Lockwood broke the awkward silence that fell over the apartment, “I think we’re all done for the night. Let’s go.” Lockwood and Co began packing up their kit bags and gear, Lucy sweeping some leftover magnesium dust under an armchair. Lockwood paused in the doorway, looking back to Sarah with a curious softness.

“Make sure she’s alright, yeah?” Sarah nodded, swallowing a curious look. With a final nod he was gone, leaving the rest of your team to wonder what had just happened to shift the dynamic.

Back in your dorm at Fittes, you were still fired up. Pissed off by Lockwood’s ego, his audacity, you had practically already paced a hole in the floor upon your short return from dinner. All of these years and he still didn’t believe you were a capable agent, let alone team leader! You may not have really hated him; it was hard to truly hate someone who you shared so much history with, but you were glad you said it. Glad you hurt him, even a little. Maybe then he’d know how you felt.

He had — probably unwittingly — saved you arse though. It was one of your very first missions and unfortunately Lockwood was right; a team leader who couldn’t defeat a simple Type One, or realise that their case was a goose chase in the wrong apartment, wouldn’t last. So although he was the one who had told you you couldn’t be an agent in the first place, you probably owed your current position to him, which only mad you more mad. It was an endless cycle of being angry at Anthony Lockwood.

When Sarah came in to sit on your bed, you still weren’t done, taking the opportunity to verbalise your stream of thought.

“He is simply the worst person in the whole world and has no respect for me! I mean, he wouldn’t have helped at all if it didn’t serve his own inflated ego ,” You said, throwing your hands in the air in anguish. Sarah simply watched, barely concealing her amusement.

“Ok, but have you considered maybe he just argues back because you hate him? I mean, where did it start?” You huffed, vaulting yourself back onto your mattress.

“When we were twelve years old, he told me I couldn’t be an agent. I said ‘fuck you’ and have worked my bloody arse off to be one despite it, and to become the youngest team leader at Fittes, and yet every time I see him he still tries to sabotage my career or make me look stupid! God, he drives me up the wall!”

“So you’ve said all these horrid things because he didn’t believe in you?” She laughed a little, eliciting a deep frown from you.

“You don’t get it,” You said, tone solemn, “He was my best friend. He was supposed to believe in me even when everyone else said it was dumb.” The dampened mood brought a premature end to your conversation, Sarah leaving you to your thoughts and feelings as you dwelled on the past in a way you would usually forbid yourself from.

You pulled a framed photo out from behind your stack of books on the shelf. You and Lockwood as children, smiling brightly on a day at the beach, a spade in your hand and a bucket in his, your free ones intertwined as kids often do. You didn’t know why you’d kept it after all these years, looking at any photo of Lockwood typically made you mad, but you felt a bit guilty discarding the keepsake, especially the handmade frame his parents had given you one birthday before they passed. Plus, the memory untouched was one of your favourites — one of the last of your carefree days in childhood when you and Lockwood were best friends and both your families were whole. You held it softly for a moment, indulging yourself in being swept away by memories before deciding enough was enough and returning to the present, distracting yourself with a novel you’d picked up.

You were given a few weeks to cool down, blissfully free from any trace of Lockwood. You thought he must’ve been aware of the heightened tension between you recently, since you’d seen Lucy shopping around Arif’s and ran into George whilst getting your usual Friday night takeaway.

Hearing your name being called from around the corner of an aisle you turned quickly, reflexes on edge. Seeing it was just the redhead you relaxed, making yourself smile.

“Oh, hi, Lucy. How are you?” You made polite conversation, continuing on with your shopping. She replied cordially, a vague awkward air between you that you were both trying your best to overcome.

“We’re all really sorry about the case the other day, by the way. We didn’t mean to take it over or jeopardise your job or anything.”

“It’s nothing,” You assured, “I shouldn’t have let my emotions get the best of me, every agent knows that.”

“Yeah, but if Lockwood hadn’t—”

“Lucy,” You interrupted, “You don’t need to condemn Lockwood, or defend him. We both know where we stand with each other and that’s ok. I hope that doesn’t stop us from being friends either; you’re sweet.” Lucy managed a smile, revealing a pretty sparkle in her eye.

“I’d like to be friends too. Maybe we just won’t tell him,” She giggled, and you nodded gravely.

“Sounds like a plan.” You left Arif’s with a bag full of groceries and plan for coffee sometime.

George was less forgiving than Lucy. As you bickered over who got the last can of Coke in the restaurant’s little fridge, he imparted some of his very much unwanted advice.

“You should apologise. I think you crossed a line,” He said and you rolled your eyes.

“He questioned my right to even be where I am — I think I have the right to be pissed at him.”

“He didn’t mean it,” George said quickly. Almost too quickly.

“How would you know?” You narrowed your eyes. George recoiled — he’d been caught.

“You know,” He trailed off, “Lockwood’s not like that. You should know that better than anyone.” You huffed again, fed up.

“I knew,” You corrected, “He’s shown me exactly how he feels about me now. And I am absolutely fine with that. I’m taking the Coke.” You ended the conversation abruptly, snatching the can out of George’s grip.

“But Lockwood doesn’t like any of the other flavours!” He called after you. You exaggerated a laugh, not looking back as you opened the restaurant door quickly.

“I know!” You yelled over your shoulder. George watched you leave, calculating look in his eyes. You said you hated Lockwood, he didn’t doubt you believed it, too. But he knew that most people didn’t remember which fizzy drinks their enemies liked.

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Thankfully, you got just the distraction you needed. Your team had been given one of the most exciting cases on the Fittes roster. One of those old boutique hotels with funnily named rooms and a long, terrible history that had you buried in fascinating research. You couldn’t believe your team had been given the assignment, it was a sign that you were really beginning to be respected as a team leader in the agency. So, you couldn’t screw it up.

You and your team had been practically camped out in the Fittes archives, researching as much as you possibly could about the old hotel. There were a smattering of unfortunate deaths across the years — some darker than others, but you were confident it was nothing you couldn’t handle. The owners hadn’t specified exactly what supernatural experiences they had seen around the hotel, just that it was clear there were several presences around and they wanted them all gone to reopen the hotel as soon as possible. This did admittedly make you a little apprehensive — you didn’t actually have a solid idea of how many ghosts you’d be dealing with, and it was anyone’s guess how many of them would be Type Twos.

Finally, you were confident you and your team had done as much research as you could, and you were prepared for anything. And so you packed your kit bags, took the train ride and rocked up to the hotel mid afternoon, confidence overflowing. By nightfall you’d been on a tour of the grounds, set up your base and had started brewing some tea to get you all in the zone. You took a glance out the front window, seeing movement in one of the windows of the house next door. It was owned by the people who ran the hotel and they intended to open it as a second venue, but delegated the job to some smaller agency since the stakes for it weren’t as high.

It was all going well for a while. You had a plan to go room by room, making each ghost free before finishing in the majorly haunted kitchen. You were inclined to believe there’d be a cluster of Type Twos there since it was set alight years ago, and the accident had been swept under the rug in favour of saving the business.

The entryway was easy; a few Type Ones that practically led you their sources, clearly just wanting to finally be laid to rest. There was one nasty Limbless that gave you all a fright, but your researcher, Ben, was always miles ahead of the rest of you and knew exactly who the ghost was and therefore how to put him to rest. You told him you owed him a beer later and moved on, crossing a single room off the floor plan and shifting into the library, which was not so easy.

You started to think things were not as great as you originally anticipated when you turned to face the mass of Type Ones. Not the end of the world, a little bloody annoying though. Sarah seemed to agree, kicking the leg of a couch in frustration. The four of you figured your way out of it, though significantly depleted of supplies.

You returned to your home base to recoup, physically and mentally battered.

“What’s the plan?” Sarah asked, chugging down mouthfuls from her water bottle. You bit the inside of your cheek as you thought hard, tapping your fingers insistently on the old wooden table.

“Alright, I think we’ve got enough for one more safely. Kyan, you go outside and get the rest of our equipment whilst we hit the second bedroom.”

“If we’re right then there should only be the one ghost there, right? The strangled woman?” You nodded in response to Ben, mentally drawing your plan.

“And if you’re wrong?” Kyan asked.

“We won’t be,” You affirmed, tapping twice on the table to get you all moving.

Kyan left the building to go fetch the spare supplies and the remaining three of you ventured into the second bedroom. Everything was as it should be; lower temperature, creeping feelings of unease and miasma. You’d put together your chain circle and were feeling good about the Type Two woman you were facing, well, as good as you could in those circumstances.

That was, until it wasn’t just one Type Two. Despite the research and preparation you’d undertaken, there was definitely more than one Type Two enraged by your presence in the room at that moment. There was the woman, an angry apparition of some sort — you didn’t have the time to exactly figure out which subtype she fell into when a man also appeared. Shit. He wasted no time showing you he was aggressive too, and your heart sunk into your toes.

Doing some quick mental calculations, you announced the new plan — to get out. As team leader, you refused to be responsible for an injury or something worse because you wouldn’t back down when you knew you didn’t have enough defences left.

“Soon as it’s safe, get the fuck out of here,” You said, feeling to make sure they were still both in the circle with you as you stood with backs inward. “Use your defences as liberally as you feel you need to — we’re all getting out of here tonight.”

“What about the sources?” Sarah asked nervously, “We’ve only got one or two so far.”

“Who cares? Most agencies get one or two a mission and we’re in a giant bloody hotel. We’ve got more nights to get this done. We can’t get it done if you lot go off and die, can we?” Ben shrugged.

“S’pose not. Let’s go.” With that the three of you made a run for it, bolting out the bedroom door and into the corridor.

“Oh fuck!” You yelled, dodging out the way of another phantom headed your way. Evidently your previous endeavours had attracted the attention of some of the other ghosts inhabiting the hotel, none looking all that happy.

Your swear words didn’t falter as you continued the escape, ducking and jumping and making an utter fool of yourself to ensure you all made it out alive. You’d been covered by Sarah a few minutes ago with one of her magnesium flares, and so returned the favour without hesitation, only faltering slightly when you realised it was your last. You tried not to worry about it too much, you were nearing the laundry where there was a back door you could get to.

The closer you got to your escape the fewer visible apparitions there were. That was a good thing, your chances of ghost touch reducing greatly. However, that didn’t mean you weren’t still being hunted. A poltergeist had found you somewhere along the way, and the stream of things being thrown at you hadn’t ended yet. You’d vaguely felt something heavy hitting the back of your head and shoulders, but the adrenaline pumping through your veins was withholding the pain for the moment.

You’d crossed the threshold into the laundry, the back door within your sights. Maybe you got complacent, believing the end was nearer than you thought. Maybe it was just awful timing. However, as your feet hit the tiles of the room, you were being swept off your feet by the washing machine sliding into you, crushing you between it and the wall. You cried out unintentionally, feeling a sickening crack inside your chest. Your teammates turned back, door wide open and safety in sight.

“Don’t you dare come back for me,” You croaked, the wind pushed out of you. “Or I swear to God I’ll come and haunt you.” Ben took the threat and ran, ducking out the door into the fresh air of the night. Sarah hesitated, turning back to lock eyes with you, regret painted across her features. With a final threat she left too, leaving you to try and push the machine away from you in order to make your own escape. However, in an unfortunate series of events, the adrenaline started to wear off after your chase and you felt the sharp pain running along your skull, a thick drop of blood making its way down from a strand of hair into your left eye. Plus, you were pretty sure the machine had broken one of your wrists as any pressure you put onto it trying to move the machine set your nerves on fire, leaving you just your legs to try and make an escape. Turns out it’s harder than it looks to push a stupidly heavy washing machine away from you with your legs when you’re incapacitated on the floor.

Seeing your best friend the strangled woman approaching you sighed, trying to resign yourself to your fate. There was no way you were making it out without a miracle, and you were never the lucky kind. As she spotted you, you sealed your eyes tightly closed, unwilling to watch your own demise. It never came. When you chanced one eye open all you saw was sparks, the unmistakeable smell of a magnesium flare filling the room. You didn’t know what to feel. Relieved, of course, pissed off that your team had disrespected your wishes and endangered themselves, faint from the adrenaline and blood loss. Mostly faint, you decided, as you lay your head back against the tile, a sleep sounding like the nicest thing in the world suddenly.

You must have passed out for a minute or two as when you opened your eyes again you were in the air, distant voices yelling over the explosions and lights, but you felt a million miles away. You cuddled yourself into the body of whoever was carrying you — they were warm and your body felt ice cold. Everywhere you looked appeared blurry (and slightly pink, presumably from the blood in your eye), so you granted yourself some mercy and simply closed them. You thought you heard a mumbled “Hold on for me,” But you couldn’t be sure, everything was ringing in your head and the weight of staying awake was heavy on your foggy brain.

The next time you woke up was about half an hour later, or so you guessed. The sky was fractionally lighter than you remembered seeing, inching towards dawn, and you were laid down on dewey wet grass. The cool of it was nice on your skin, though you knew it would do major damage to your hair. Not that that was your greatest concern at the moment. You pushed yourself up on your elbows slowly, looking around at the scene that was coming into focus. Your team were on one side of you, looking exhausted but mostly physically fine. Straight ahead of you was Barnes, not looking as disappointed as you thought he would after a failed case. To your left was Lockwood and Co. Why were Lockwood and Co here? Why was Lockwood looking at you so intently, and why did he look like he was worried about you?

Only the first of your questions was answered. Evidently Lockwood and Co were the ‘small agency’ the hotel owners had given a chance for the smaller house on the edge of the property. They heard the commotion your team had made and Sarah’s screaming outside the kitchen door and came to save the day — of course. You were about to put up the protest that you didn’t need saving but it died in your throat when you saw the serious looks of everyone around you. Clearly this wasn’t the time for any of your bullshit.

“Clearly this case is bigger than your team can achieve,” Barnes said, and the fire was reignited within you. He must have been able to see what you were going to say and cut you off, “But I’m not taking you off the case.”

“Thank you,” You said quickly, tension in your shoulders releasing slightly.

“Lockwood and Co will work with you until the hotel is ghost free.”

“What?” You and Lockwood cried in unison, and you felt his eyes fall back on you. You refused to meet his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sir—” You started, being cut off by Lockwood.

“We don’t work well together—”

“I happen to know you both need this case, or do you not care about the future of your jobs?” Barnes raised an eyebrow in the intimidating way only he could pull off. He had you there. Failing in a case, especially one that resulted in a near death experience would certainly jeopardise your trajectory at Fittes, and, unbeknownst to you, Lockwood and Co were pretty desperate for some good representation, unable to receive the praise deserved from the Combe Carey Hall case. You looked at Lockwood to find him already searching your face. After a moment of silent arguing between the two of you, you turned back to face Barnes, exaggerated smiles on both your faces.

“We’ll do it.” You smiled sweetly. A few more formalities sent Barnes and the other DEPRAC officer off, and only the two teams were left standing around, shifting uncomfortably under the weight of all the kit bags.

“So what do we do now?” Sarah asked, a thought very similar to the ones bouncing around your head at the moment.

“Breakfast?” George suggested, and you didn’t think you’d ever seen your team agree to something so enthusiastically. The group of you all headed back to the train station, but Lockwood didn’t let you continue in the line to get your ticket. Instead he pulled you away from the crowd, seeming to have already told Lucy what was happening, judging from her cheerful wave goodbye.

You glared at him, yanking your arm away then groaning at the pain.

“What are we doing, Lockwood?” You asked with an exaggerated huff.

“We’re going to the hospital,” He said, unbothered by your protests. “And don’t say you’re fine because it’s clear you’re injured. I’d say a broken wrist, concussion and maybe a cracked rib, but we can let the doctors tell us I’m wrong, I’d be happy for them to tell you otherwise.” That shut you up, not least because you knew he was probably right. You’d been given a shot of adrenaline and a few painkillers by the DEPRAC officer who accompanied Barnes over, but you probably did need actual medical attention.

It was a very awkward cab ride to the local hospital. You and Lockwood were so used to arguing by now that silence felt like the only other viable option. You couldn’t make small talk, what would you even talk about? The only thing you knew about his life was his childhood, and you sure as hell weren’t gonna talk about that. The tension was palpable in the backseat, and when the cab driver wished you good luck for the hospital visit, you figured he didn’t just mean because of your injuries. You did force yourself to thank Lockwood when he paid for the ride though, even if it was just for the sake of the day moving on faster.

At least the waiting room created its own noise; beeping and chattering and footsteps filling the silence between you two. You struggled with the form in front of you, inconveniently having your dominant hand be out of working order. You painfully etched out your information over an embarrassing amount of time before Lockwood huffed loudly and snatched the clipboard from your lap.

“Fuck’s sake,” He muttered, pulling his own pen from his suit pocket, beginning to scribble down the answers for you. You just relaxed, your tired, drug-addled brain being allowed to rest for a moment. It wasn’t until he asked about your health insurance that you fully realised he was answering the questions by memory and forced your eyes to focus on the paper. Sure enough he’d gotten it all right, birthday and middle name included. You glanced up at him curiously, but it seemed like this was the moment he refused to make eye contact. You only had to inform him of things that had changed since you’d fallen out, neither of you verbalising that fact.

Things didn’t change when you were called into the doctor’s office either. The mix of pain, medicine and sleep deprivation led you to embrace the exam table and bordered on falling asleep as Lockwood talked for you. He’d gotten the rundown of the actual events from Sarah and his brief moments when he saved you, and explained the night as you got an x-ray for your hand. Plus, as you were waiting for the cast (it was, in fact, broken), he explained your previous medical history — the knee you dislocated when you were nine and the broken pinky finger from the year after. You only had to participate to explain the injuries you’d acquired during your career as an agent; the ones from after you and Lockwood stopped being friends.

The whole trip was extremely bizarre and slightly unnerving, and you were glad to get on the train on the way back.

“You were wrong about one thing,” You said, pulling out your walkman from your kit bag.

“And what’s that?” Lockwood asked, and you got the impression he was bracing to be yelled at again — you felt almost bad.

“No cracked rib for me.” You grinned, beginning to laugh uncharacteristically. You didn’t know why, it really wasn’t that funny, but Lockwood followed suit soon after. The two of you laughed borderline hysterically, much too energetic for that hour of the morning when everyone else was still heading to work. It only tapered off when your poor ribs couldn’t take it anymore (not broken but aggressively bruised), and the two of you fell back into silence. You had your music and Lockwood had a magazine you suspected he’d stolen from the A+E waiting room.

The only other time you spoke during the trip was when you summoned the courage to utter a somewhat genuine “Thank you.”

“What?”

“Thanks. For not letting me die. And stuff.”

“Oh. You’re welcome,” Lockwood shot you a smile, the glowing kind you rarely got to see anymore.

As you got back to London and closer to Portland Row where your team was waiting, the air seemed to get thicker between the two of you once again. Maybe it was the proximity to the things that had torn you apart or the sense that you had predefined roles to play, but the carefree air between you had dissipated, leaving only the familiar tension that had been building over the last four years.

You followed Lockwood inside, trying to hide the out of body experience you were having returning to his family home after so many years. It had changed a little, of course, but still felt overwhelmingly the same, which both scared and comforted you. All the freaky foreign ghost hunting objects still littered the shelves, and you took the liberty of admiring them once again, remembering the stories Lockwood’s parents would tell about them and the adventures they’d had when collecting them. In your periphery you saw Lockwood hurriedly grab something off the wall by the stairs, shoving it in a drawer, but you really had no interest, choosing instead to reacquaint yourself with the house. The glimpse you got up the stairs showed a myriad of framed pictures of Lockwood and you scoffed — of course his ego would be on full display within his own home.

⋆ ˚｡ ⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡ ⋆

It was surprisingly easy to get into the groove of working with Lockwood and Co. Obviously you already liked George and Lucy, but your team seemed to work unexpectedly well with theirs. You and Lockwood stayed out of each other’s ways, the few times you were left to work together resulting in another stupid argument. The first time when you thought he was calling you dumb, the second over something minuscule; who’d let the tea brew too long so it tasted shit. And then who had to subsequently get up and make the next pot. Despite both of you honestly trying to be professional and get on with the job, it was agreed by everyone that it was simply easiest to keep the two of you apart as much as possible.

However, when the hotel owners wanted the leaders of both teams to meet up for updates on the case, you couldn’t get out of it. The day wasn’t looking good. You’d shown up to Portland Row so you could get a cab together — the meeting being dinner in central London, and had already argued with him over his choice of socks. In your defence, the powder blue socks matching your dress did make it look like you were a high school couple trying to match at a formal! However, George had rolled his eyes and pushed the two of you back out and towards the waiting cab, effectively ending that argument. You’d also teased Lockwood for bringing his rapier to a business dinner, but that was neither here nor there.

You’d held it together for most of the dinner, both of you putting on your best fronts and using your most formal tones to convince the elder couple that you were confident about the case. You found yourself kicking his shins to stop Lockwood from making promises you couldn’t keep regarding the case, and he got you back with condescending remarks, correcting you when he disagreed with how you presented the case. Altogether though you thought you were pretty subtle, and the two of you were presenting a model image of your respective companies.

However, when you shot Lockwood one of your saccharine smiles under the pretence of friendliness — he’d just undermined your authority again and stolen the best piece of dessert that you were going for, as if he didn’t torture you enough — you were shocked to hear the woman across from you laugh.

“It’s so wonderful to see you two bicker like an old married couple,” She giggled, and both you and Lockwood’s jaws dropped. “I mean, it just seems so dismal to be dating in these times, but you two give me hope that the future generations will still be able find love despite the Problem.”

“And clearly you’re both sensible kids, which is very important for a lasting relationship. Working for two different agencies would surely diffuse tensions around all those dangerous missions and such you agents partake in — except for this one, of course,” Her husband chimed in, jolly glint in his eyes.

“Yes, yes, but it’s important to remember to be kids as much as you can. But you two playing footsies all night has proved that you’ve got that covered too. Silliness is just as crucial as being sensible, it’s how a marriage stays fun. We would know, we’ve had fifty odd years of it!”

You didn’t know how to react, and by the looks of it, Lockwood didn’t know either with his signature smile frozen on his face. First of all, you were not playing footsies with Anthony Lockwood — the bruise forming under his trouser leg was testament to that. Second of all, you had no idea how the woman could get your dynamic so incredibly wrong. Aside from all of Lockwood’s double edged comments and cocky corrections of basically anything you said, the two of you had hardly addressed each other directly all night, you might as well have been strangers!

The dinner wrapped up very soon after. The couple had taken a liking to you both and so trusted your teams to handle the case as you saw fit, only making you promise to take a romantic weekend getaway (or honeymoon! As the woman had remarked optimistically) to the hotel once it was completely ghost-free and renovated. For once you were glad that Lockwood was unable to ever shut up as he took the lead, seeming to believe that corroborating their assumption was the best choice in your situation. You weren’t sure you were entirely comfortable with lying to this sweet old couple, but you couldn’t deny that Lockwood was a better talker than you, and would probably handle the situation with more delicacy.

That was how you ended up being led out of the restaurant with Lockwood’s hand on the small of your back. You wondered if he’d ever done this before, and you didn’t know if you meant for a real or pretend relationship. You both said your goodbyes to the couple, flattered by the abundance of compliments they paid you — both personally and professionally, assuring you they were overjoyed to have your teams work the case. Just before they stepped into the cab the woman took you aside.

“Hold onto a boy who looks at you like that,” She said, “You might fight, but when he’s this in awe of you, you’ll find a way to make it work.” You didn’t know how to respond to that and so simply nodded, offering a weak smile as she slid into the back seat of the taxi.

That left you and Lockwood alone. You just looked at each other for a moment, unsure of how to proceed.

“Do you mind if we walk home? I really fancy some air right now.” Lockwood easily agreed, looking rather flustered himself, and off the two of you went into the night.

Neither of you spoke for a while, but you could tell he wanted to. Lockwood always chewed his lip when he was holding something back, he had since he was a child. You sighed and asked him, knowing it was the only way to make the habit go away.

“Nothing,” He said, “Just weird. Don’t you think?”

“Nah,” You lied, “Old people just say things like that all the time. They don’t care to know the full picture.”

“Which is?”

“We hate each other.” Hurt flashed through his eyes, but it didn’t make you feel as good as it did the first time you’d said it.

“I don’t hate you,” He said quietly, almost a whisper.

“What?”

“I don’t hate you. We don’t get along anymore, but I don’t hate you. I hope you know that.” You faltered for a second. Had his use of ‘anymore’ been intentional to create a stabbing feeling in your gut?

“Oh. I guess I don’t really hate you either, if we’re getting sappy about it.” You tried to diffuse the tension growing between you, not wanting it to evolve into a discussion about what estranged you in the first place. Lockwood refused to apologise and you refused to forget, resulting in the bitter stalemate you’d been locked in for the past few years.

Your distraction came with a glance over Lockwood’s shoulder, and the wisp of a phantom coming into view. Lockwood was trying to continue the conversation about your developing relationship, but stopped when he noticed you frozen beside him. Turning slowly he swore when he saw the ghost, going straight for his rapier.

“Put your hand into my coat pocket,” He said, effectively drawing you from your freeze.

“Excuse me?” You whisper-yelled, not in the mood for him to try and lighten the mood with whatever dumb joke he was trying to make.

“Just trust me, I have flares in the inside pocket, just reach in and grab them to defend yourself whilst I keep an eye on them.” Them? You wondered until you looked around, seeing other ghosts start to emerge from the shadows, attracted by the scene you were obviously creating. You wasted no more time, ignoring the intimacy of reaching into Lockwood’s jacket, grabbing yourself a flare for each hand. With you accounted for, Lockwood told you the plan, he’d fight a path back to Portland Row and you’d cover the both of you with the flares, since you weren’t good for very much else with a broken wrist and no rapier.

It was hardly the most intense situation you or Lockwood had been in, but as the primary fighter in the situation, Lockwood was still putting up a good show of skill. Despite yourself you were entranced, admiring the graceful way he moved with the rapier, so in tune with it you’d think it was connected to his arm. As much as you hated Lockwood — well, you’d just established you didn’t actually hate him. As much as you thought he was egotistical and irritating, you had to admit that you really admired him as an agent. Lockwood was undeniably talented with a rapier — it was the fencing competition that got him started in this business in the first place — but to watch him in action was really something special. If you didn’t know better you’d think it was easy for him, he fought with the same ease and elegance he might drink a cup of tea.

You were so caught up in watching him that you hardly noticed when you arrived in front of 35 Portland Row, both luckily un-ghost touched. You were also alerted to the proximity you’d found yourself in. You’d stayed close obviously, not wanting to be left to the ghosts, but when Lockwood had turned to make sure you were still with him safely inside the iron fence, you found yourself only inches apart.

At this distance you were alerted to just how much he’d changed since you were kids. He was taller, obviously, your chin tilted up to make eye contact. He’d lost the baby fat that used to fill out his cheeks, leaving his face defined and bordering on gaunt — you figured he wasn’t taking very good care of himself, judging on the dark circles that seemed by now permanent. Plus something had changed in his eyes. He didn’t look carefree anymore, something dark and tortured lay behind the charming smiles. It wasn’t hard to guess what it was, and you figured you probably had something identical. However, the small scar on his jawline from when you accidentally flung a plastic toy into his face was still there which drew a small smile from you. Something within you urged to run your finger along it, and you felt your fingers twitch before you realised how inappropriate it was. That instinct didn’t feel so bad though when you caught Lockwood’s gaze shift down to your lips. Only momentarily, but you saw it. And worse? The fact that you didn’t mind. After all of these years and the fighting and terrible words shared, here you were maybe about to kiss Anthony Lockwood. You would be disgusted with yourself if you didn’t have so many other feelings fighting their way to the top.

The front door opening was enough to make you both jump apart, you rushing towards it to get as far from Lockwood as possible.

“Hey Lucy!” You called, practically floating up the front steps you were going so fast.

“Uh, hey, guys. We thought we heard you outside so I got sent to check. Had to make sure you weren’t secretly making out or something,” She joked and you forced out a laugh, far too loud to be real.

“As if! Come on, I’m dying for some tea.” You slid past her, rushing straight to the kitchen for a minute to think.

Lucy watched you go suspiciously, before turning to Lockwood.

“What did you do?” She interrogated, all her scary Lucy-ness coming out.

“I don’t know,” Lockwood replied earnestly, still somewhat dazed himself. Lucy gave him one last look up and down before returning inside, leaving Lockwood to fix his smile on before rejoining the two teams.

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The week leading up to your team’s next attempt at the hotel was extremely weird. You and Lockwood hadn’t spoken about what had happened (or almost happened) out in the front garden, but you had had a long talk about your behaviour lately. Over a few cups of tea in the kitchen whilst the rest of your teams were working down in the basement, you managed to both admit you were being dickheads. There was no mention of the underlying factors of your resentment, but you both agreed for the sake of your jobs you would try and be friends, or at least civil. No more bickering, no more picking apart small comments, no more rolling eyes.

It worked for a bit, which was really complicating your emotions. On the one hand, Lockwood was lovely, like he’d always been, and it was kind of nice to be able to talk and joke with him again after so many years, although you both carefully avoided the topic of your personal lives. On the other hand, it made you sad to pretend that everything was fine when you knew what you did. He didn’t think you could be an agent; Lockwood didn’t think you were good enough. And you could both pretend all you liked to be friends, but as long as that was what he thought about you it could never be real. So, while you’d both stopped your rivalry on the surface and gotten on with the case, there was a tension bubbling behind your smiles that both of you could see whenever you locked eyes.

It all came to a head when you started discussing your action plan for the hotel. All seven of you were standing in the basement of Portland Row, staring at a blown up floor plan of the place, little figurines representing each of you. It didn’t take you long to realise that you weren’t being represented.

“Where am I?” You asked, an uneasy silence falling over the room.

“You’re not coming.” Lockwood took the fall, even though it had been a unanimous decision whilst you were on an Arif’s run one afternoon.

“Excuse me?” You couldn’t help the biting tone in your words, fury you’d worked hard to conceal bubbling back up to the surface.

“Your wrist—” Sarah tried to reason, but something in you had unlocked and you were not backing down this time.

“You and I know full well if this was a Fittes case I would still be out in the field, broken wrist be damned,” You spat, and you could practically see the gears turning in Lockwood and Lucy’s heads.

“They make you go into the field injured?” Lucy asked, but you weren’t focused on answering her — George nodded for you.

“So who’s barred me from being in the field, on what I might remind you, was my case first.” There were a few moments of silence where no one wanted to be the subject of your anger, but with a resigned sigh, Lockwood accepted the blame.

“It was my idea.” You couldn’t help the frustrated groan that came out of your mouth.

“God, this is so typical! You’ve never thought I was good enough, and now what? Sabotaging my cases? My career? Because you don’t believe in me,” Your voice broke on the last sentence, and you could feel the tears heavy behind your eyes, threatening to fall. You spat a final “Fuck you,” before running up the basement stairs, up to where you knew the bathroom would be for some privacy.

You realised when you were at the top of the stairs that in your time working with Lockwood and Co you hadn’t actually used their bathroom, and didn’t remember which of the closed doors it was. Choosing one blindly you shut yourself inside, finally letting the tears that blurred your vision roll down your cheeks.

You sobbed heavily, indulging all the terrible feelings you’d been concealing for far too long. When the tears weren’t so frequent the setting around you came back into focus, and you noticed with a start you definitely weren’t in the bathroom. The view from the window told you it was Lockwood’s late parent’s bedroom, but the used furniture and messy bed said someone was still living there. Your stomach dropped as you stood, wiping the tears from your eyes. Looking around you were sure this was Lockwood’s room, the suit jacket on the desk chair a dead giveaway. However, a picture frame on his nightstand attracted your attention the most. It was the same one you had in your dorm at Fittes, the one gifted to you by Lockwood’s parents for your birthday. Both of you grinning widely and carelessly joyful. It had been so long since you’d felt like that, even longer since you’d felt it around Lockwood. The thought made your heart ache a bit. His parents would be so disappointed in the two of you. That made you start crying a little again, picking up the photo to examine it closer.

“It’s been there since you left,” A voice from behind you said. “I couldn’t bring myself to put it away.” You hadn’t noticed Lockwood come in and you didn’t know how long he’d been standing there. You put the photo down with a start, turning away to wipe your face dry again.

“Go away, Lockwood. Just give me a minute and I’ll be back downstairs. I overreacted but I need to get over it, okay?” You snapped, praying your face wasn’t still red and splotchy (it was).

“No,” He said, and you turned to face him curiously. “Look, this has gone on long enough and we need to fix things.” You crossed your arms petulantly, a silent challenge for him to fix the damage you believed to be all his. “You said downstairs that I thought you couldn’t be an agent. Why?”

“Don’t you remember when I told you I wanted to be an agent like you?” You scoffed, “You all but laughed in my face! You said I couldn’t do it, that I’d be injured or killed and I couldn’t handle it. I’ve thought about that every case since, you killed my self esteem for years. I thought that if no one else, my best friend should have believed in me. But here I am, youngest team leader at Fittes with the highest successful case rate for my division. All in spite of you.” Lockwood stared at you, and you could practically see his neurons firing and making connections at a million miles an hour.

“That’s not what I said.” You could barely contain your bitter laugh.

“Does it matter? You didn’t believe in me, that’s what’s important.”

“No,” He said, “Because that’s not what I meant at all. I did believe in you — I do. I always have.” You scoffed again as he stumbled over his words. A little grovelling now couldn’t make up for all the years of anxiety and insecurity he’d caused.

“I mean it! If I didn’t believe in you, then what’s all this?” He led you to one of his dresser drawers. Opening it there were a stack of papers and you picked a few of them up, flipping through them. Every single one was about you. Photos from your childhood together, newspaper clippings of your successes throughout the years, the magazine article you interviewed for talking about women in power in the ghost hunting field. Lockwood had saved every piece of media about you, the ragged edges showing he’d ripped them out just to keep them. You remained silent, astonished by this new revelation. You looked up at him, and Lockwood could have cried at the look in your eyes.

“I didn’t say you couldn’t be an agent,” He explained, “Or that’s not what I meant. I meant that you shouldn’t, or more clearly, I was saying don’t. Asking. Don’t you remember? My parents were dead, my sister had just died. You were all I had left, and I didn’t want you to jump head first into the most dangerous job in the world. I wanted to protect you.” It was Lockwood’s turn for his voice to break and tears to arise, and you suddenly felt supremely stupid.

“Oh,” Was all you could say. After all of these years; the insults thrown and dirty looks exchanged, all your anger came from a misunderstanding? Not only that, a misunderstanding that twisted such an earnest declaration of care into something so awful.

“But you did it, and you weren’t just any agent,” He laughed slightly despite his emotions, “You were the best bloody agent Fittes has ever seen and all I could do was watch from the shadows and be proud of you silently. Why do you think Lucy knew who you were already? There were pictures of you all over the house before I made them take them all down when I knew we were working together. I didn’t want to scare you off.”

“But all the arguing…” You trailed off, still unable to completely process this information.

“Just because I love you doesn’t mean you don’t drive me up the wall, especially when you were being — or I believed you were — deliberately obtuse to my efforts to explain myself. But now I see we were just on totally different wavelengths.” You were really struggling, there was a lot of new information being revealed at such a rapid pace that was completely changing your perspective on your whole adolescence.

“You love me?” Lockwood did laugh this time, loudly and with the same charm he usually had.

“Yes, you idiot. I have since we were kids.”

Oh. Oh. You suddenly felt like an idiot. All of this time you thought that Lockwood believed you were weak, not good enough, not worthy of your successes, when in fact it was the complete opposite. And then you thought about how you felt about Lockwood. How his believed lack of faith in you affected you so much because you cared so deeply about what he thought of you. How you could never bring yourself to look away when he was fighting because he was so completely in his element. How nice it had been to be able to joke around with him during your research. Oh God. You thought you simply respected him and his skills as an agent, but evidently the truth had been just out of reach your whole life.

“Anthony?” He was already looking at you, eyes searching deep into your soul. “I think I might love you too.” Neither of you could help the kiddish smiles making their way on your faces, and he wrapped his arms around you tightly before you knew what was happening. It felt nice to be held by him again, the last time would have been after his sister died. These were much better circumstances.

When you both came down the stairs later, no one mentioned your intertwined hands. You all had a lovely dinner at Portland Row, warmth and laughter filling the space and making you feel at home like you used to when you were a kid.

It wasn’t until you were on your way back to the Fittes dorms that Sarah leaned over to you, mischievous grin on her face.

“Tell me you were making out up there, please,” She giggled, and you shoved her away lightheartedly.

“Shut up,” You laughed, “Besides, it wasn’t making out.”

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awriterinthenight · 3 months ago

Text

"Aren't you a bit young to be a doctor" - Anthony Lockwood

requested: Anonymous

words: 2198

warnings: mentions of murder and being shot, and Anthony being absolutely crazy in love and kissing

summary: reader is a doctor with no abilities, who meets Lockwood one night, and they grow close together

I had always wanted to be a doctor, so I was more than happy to accept an internship helping out injured agents. My family was good friends with inspector Barnes so it wasn't hard for him to find a way for me to start practicing to be a doctor. It was relatively easy, mostly just patching up scrapes and cuts, sometimes small burns.

It was a fairly normal night, only one or two injured having to be treated, or at least it was until three agents walked in. They seemed to be in rough shape. They were all sent to different rooms to be treated, the girl only having minor scrapes, and the boy with glasses had a few cuts too.

The boy with the suit seemed to have the worst injuries. He had a cut down his left arm ending just before his elbow. I walked into the room, and started to grab some supplies.

"Hi, I'm Y/N. Can you tell me what happened that you ended up getting a cut like that?" I ask, grabbing the rubbing alcohol and bandages.

He smiled softly, "Aren't you a bit young to be a doctor, not there's anything wring with that, I'm just curious," he says, "I got this from my colleague getting spooked by a ghost and when she swung her rapier she nicked my arm," he explains, placing his jacket next to him.

I nod, "Well I'm more of an intern, but I'm good at what I do I can assure you," I tell him, placing down my supplies, "And that looks a lot more severe than a small nick, can you take your shirt off?" I ask, since I need him to so I can clean his wound.

He smirks, "But we've only just met," he jokes sarcastically, as he starts to unbutton his shirt.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring his comment, "So what was your case about?" I ask, trying to distract him from the pain from the rubbing alcohol.

"Well we were investigating this house some old lady was living in. She said she was hearing wailing at night, and she wanted us to investigate," he says, wincing a bit, but I hum in response for him to carry on, "My other colleague, George, spent two days studying every bit of information, so we were thoroughly prepared. Or, at least we thought we were. Turns out we missed a death in all of our reports. There was a lady who was murdered there. Her spirit was attached to this jewelry box, which took us a while to find. This wasn't our best night, I have to admit," he says, chuckling lightly.

I finish cleaning his wound as he finishes his story, "Seems like you've had quite a night," I say, to which he nods, "Good news and a bit of bad news. Good news, your cut should be fine and not get infected, but bad news, you're gonna need stitches," I say, changing out my gloves for new ones and grabbing more supplies.

"And I thought today couldn't get any worse," he says, his voice full of sarcasm.

I sigh softly, "It won't be too bad, I promise," I reassure him, prepping the area, "Why don't you tell me something nice to distract yourself," I suggest to help him distract himself.

He smiles, saying, "You know I didn't tell you my name, it's Anthony, but you can just call me Lockwood," he says, watching me as I stitch his wound.

I nod, "That's a nice name, I'm guessing you're Anthony Lockwood," I say, continuing to work.

Surprised that I recognize his name he asks, "I know my agency had quite the reputation, but I didn't think you would recognize my name."

Working on the second stitch I say, "It's not that I recognize you from your agency's reputation, it's more from your own. My family is close with inspector Barnes, so he tells us stuff. He complains about you a lot, you know."

"I think deep down I'm one of his favorite people," he jokes, turning his head to look at the wound as I stitch it up.

I see him look, and use my left hand to push his chin, so he's looking away from it, "I can promise you that looking at it will only make it worse. Just keep talking, I'm almost done, just one stitch," I tell him, finishing up.

He looks like he's in thought before asking, "So Y/N, how do you take your tea?"

I chuckle softly, "Chamomile, with a bit of honey and sugar, why do you ask?" I question, as I finish up and start cleaning up.

He shrugs, "Incase I come here again, the least I can do is bring you tea," he says, smiling brightly at me.

"Well you're clear to go, and I do hope to not see you again, at least not here," I say, taking my gloves off, as he stands up and goes to leave. I follow out behind him as he keeps the door open for me, "Now for any pain, any over the counter pain meds should work, and make sure to rest. I'm serious about that, no cases for at least a week, and even then take it easy," I tell him.

He smirks, "Alright then Doc, I'll make sure to follow that," he says, walking away.

***

(Anthony's POV)

It had been almost a week since my visit with Y/N, but I kept thinking about her.

Everything about her was alluring. From our close proximity when she was bandaging my arm, to the way her hair fell, or even the way her face looked, concentrated on her work. My eyes stayed on her the whole time. It felt like I was stuck, but never wanted to leave that state. As if I were to look away I might never see her the same again.

I followed every word she said like it was bound to my soul. I stayed off cases for a little bit, shocking even George and Lucy, since they had tried many times before, but I never listened till now.

It had been about three weeks since I last saw her. When I went to get my stitches removed they told me she only works nights. So when I started to work cases again I wasn't purposefully getting hurt, or at least that's what I told everyone.

After a particular case I was left with a cut across my neck from a piece of glass. Luckily for me she was working that night, and I once again ended up getting my wound dressed by her.

She sighed, but couldn't hide her effortlessly soft smile that made me want to melt right there, "I thought I told you not to show up here again," she says, teasing me.

"I just couldn't stay away from you I guess," I say, trying to flirt with her a bit. She just shakes her head smiling 'god how I wish I could kiss that smile till her lips are sore' I think, before catching myself, and try to act normal.

She cleans my wound, her careful touch being the only thing I can feel, her being the only thing I can see, her perfume making me wish it was all I could smell for the rest of my life, her beautiful voice from heaven being the only thing I want to hear till my death. All I can think about is her.

I don't even notice when she finished, and is talking to me, "So you want- hey, are you listening to me," she teases, snapping me out of my trance.

"I-I...sorry, long night, started to zone out," I say, trying to cover up how I was looking at her. I think I'd rather die knowing she was the last person I saw, than to ever look away from her.

She breathed out a laugh, 'how I wish to be the one to make her laugh everyday' I think.

"Well what I was saying was that basic pain meds will work fine if it hurts, and to make sure to ice it, other than that you're free to go," she told, smiling as she opened the door. But before I could leave she grabbed my arm stopping me. Her touch felt like being blessed by a goddess.

"Let's not make your visits here a normal thing, ok. I don't need you getting hurt so often," she says, generally concerned for me.

I smile softly at her, "I promise, love," I say, giving her the nickname which makes her smile. I would call her 'love' 'darling' maybe even 'mine' one day, just see her smile like that till I can't remember her any other way.

I might've lied a bit when I promised her our visits wouldn't become normal. But I truly couldn't stay away from her. Every once in a while I would get injured and my first thought wasn't even 'am I ok' it was always 'I hope she's working today' and the thought would make me smile through the pain.

That was always my thought, except for once, when I got shot.

***

I heard what happened at the graveyard and immediately rushed to help out. I heard Anthony was there, but didn't see him making me a bit worried.

He started to let me call him Anthony, and I let him call me anything from 'love' to 'darling' to 'Doc' when he was teasing me. We'd grown close through our time together, and I couldn't help start to feel things for him.

I was tending to a Fittes agent when I was being dragged over to help with someone who apparently got shot. It was like a feeling no matter how hard I tried I couldn't shake. It was Anthony. He would be reckless enough to accidentally get shot, and he was always in some sort of trouble.

When I arrived to the ambulance I saw Anthony laying there as they tended to his shoulder. They took the bullet out and cleaned up the wound a bit. I stitched it close since I was the best at it. He started to wake up around when I had finished. Most of the workers had left, only one or two cleaning up the ambulance.

Anthony groaned in pain as he sat up. I helped him up, as he started to stand to get blood flow back through his body. We were silent for a little bit before I told him I was gonna grab a sling for him.

When I came back he was sitting on the edge of the ambulance. I stood in front of him, looming over him as I helped him get the sling on.

I took a deep breath, shaking my head before saying, "Anthony, how could you do this. I know how reckless you are, but this. This is a ne-" before he cuts me off.

"You can yell at me, you can berate me, you can say whatever you want till I'm in my grave, but please do so later. Right now I just want to be glad I'm here with you," he confesses, his hand moving to land on the back of my thigh to keep me in place as he moved me to be in between his legs.

I sigh, feeling content to know he's mostly ok, and is here able to hold me. "Alright then Anthony, I promise I will later," I say, running a hand through his hair.

He smiles up at me, "Tonight was...something else and it had me thinking. Life is a bit too short to not say everything you want to, you know," he says.

I nod, "Okay, where are you going with this, did you hit your head too," I joke, a bit nervous.

He shakes his head at me, "No, its just that," he pauses, looking at me like I'm the most precious person in the world, "There's so much I want to tell you. Like how I want to take you on the most amazing dates, or how I want you to be at Portland Row everyday, how I want to wake up to you right next to me, how I want to call you 'my darling' or 'my love' or anyway where your mine or where I'm yours. But, mostly I just want to tell you how much I love you, and want to kiss you right now," he confesses, flushed and breathing quickly.

I don't really know what to do besides following his words. I close the gap between us. My lips crash onto his with a passion that has been built up through our relationship. It takes everything in me to keep going till I have to pull away for air. But when I do I tell him, "I love you too Anthony, and I want to do all those things with you," I confess to him.

He smirks softly, "Then will you be my girlfriend too," he asks, hopeful in my answer.

"Of course," is all I mutter before my lips reconnect with his.

#anthony lockwood x reader #x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #george karim #lucy carlyle

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athenaderiva · 2 years ago

Text

Lockwood & Co Headcanons

Sharing a bed with them

George

- probably isn't a massive cuddler

- but will have one of his limbs flung over you to make sure you're still there

- he probably wakes up first most mornings, gazing at your blurry form until he remembers to put on his glasses

- there are always glasses of water next to the bed and you gotta be careful not to knock them over when getting in or out

- there's generally a couple of books at the end of the bed that George forgot to take back to the library

- before you fall asleep, he kisses the top of your head

- he definitely makes the bed every morning

Lucy

- one hundred percent a little spoon

- she likes to feel you wrapped around her, it helps her feel safe

- you probably end up breathing in her hair but it doesn't matter cos you're close to each other

- there's about a hundred teacups on the bedside table, most of them half full from drinking them before passing out

- she almost curls up like a cat, and when you don't spoon, you often end up with her on top of you, limbs splayed everywhere

- it's a tad warm but neither of you mind. you're close, you're safe, and you're relaxed

Lockwood

- big spoon. likes to know he's protecting you, even at night

- there's a thousand blankets on the bed, most of which get kicked off every night

- he still layers them on there though. just in case you get cold

- he doesn't sleep much but knowing that you're asleep in his arms help him to relax

- on the rare occasion that you wake up and he's fast asleep, you daren't move, not wanting to wake him

- he never makes the bed other than tossing the blankets back on it

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marvelwitchergilmore · 9 months ago

Text

Punch At First Sight

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

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

It was meant to be an easy case.

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

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

But, no.

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

“Do you make a habit of punching ghosts?”

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

“Lockwood?”

“Wait.” he knew that voice. “Y/n?”

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

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

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

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

“We heard a scream.”

“What’s going on?”

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

“Hi, George.”

“What are you doing here?”

“Nice to see you, too.”

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

“Holy crap, are you okay?”

Lockwood nodded. “Just a little stunned.”

“I really am sorry.”

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

Then came a scream.

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

“That wasn’t a human.” Lucy finished.

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

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

“Run?” you offered.

“Run.” Lucy replied.

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

“I’m Lucy, by the way.”

“Y/n. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled sheepishly. “An accidental pattern.”

“Sure about that?”

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

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

“Relax. I’m safe enough.”

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

“Are you?”

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

“Doesn’t mean I won’t.”

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

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

“Move here.”

“What?”

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

“Lockwood, I said I’m fine.”

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

“Lockwood-”

“Please.”

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

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

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

“I don’t hover.”

“You hover.”

“No I don’t.”

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

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

“Because you hover.”

“Okay, maybe I hover a little.”

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

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

You moved in three days later.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do they know? They have to know.”

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

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

George just nodded.

“Seriously?”

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

“Yeah…”

“What?”

“What?” Lucy asked.

“Your face. You have that…look.”

“What look?”

“The “I’m making a plan” face.”

“Maybe because I am.”

“Well then?”

“What if we tried?”

“I already have.”

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

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

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

But it didn’t take too long.

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m not his girlfriend.”

“She’s not my girlfriend.”

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

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

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

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

“And why not?”

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

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

“Fuck you.”

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

“Are you-”

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

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

“I’m sorry about what he said.”

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

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

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

“Maybe.”

“What’s your name?”

“Victor.”

“Nice to meet you,Victor.”

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

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

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

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

“Nothing.”

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

“She made a mistake.”

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

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

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

“Do you like him?”

“Who?”

“The guy you were talking to earlier.”

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

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

You thought back for a moment. “Victor.”

Lockwood nodded.

“Do I like him? What are we? 12?”

“Just answer the question.”

“Why?”

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

You laughed. “Fraternizing?”

But when Lockwood didn’t change, you did.

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

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

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

“Will you just help with the set-up?”

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

“You’re gonna lose her.”

“What?”

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

“What truth?”

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

“Lucy-”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey.”

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

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

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

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

“You’re right. And I’m sorry.”

You looked at him.

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

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

“Okay, guess I can forgive you.”

“I’m still sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

So he did.

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

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

Until you kissed back.

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

“Wow.”

“I’m sorry but I just had to-”

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

“No?”

You couldn’t help but smile. “No.”

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

“Not this time,” you laughed a little.

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

“Like Victor?”

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

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

“You are.”

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

“Good.”

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

Lockwood didn’t need telling twice.

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

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bella-rose29 · 10 months ago

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lockwood and co head cannons - playing with hair

(some/a lot of this was influenced by the multiverse of george so thank you 😊)

Lockwood:

let's face it, he's got the hands for this

I imagine he's just really good at it

lazy evenings in the library or living room, sat curled up on a chair together while he strokes his fingers through your hair

super gentle but just the right amount of pressure

definitely puts you to sleep

while he has no idea how to braid hair, he definitely would learn how to if you wanted/had the right hair for it

he'd spend ages trying to do it properly too

probably stick his tongue out in concentration while he tried managing all the different sections of hair

maybe after a case, if it was particularly tough or tiring, he would just help you go to sleep even faster by sitting and playing with your hair

then there's the absent-minded touches

just brief moments where he reaches out to grab a bit/touch his fingers to your hair

just to know that you're still there

Lucy:

she has the perfect hair for running your fingers through

she'll do it for you as well

but more often than not you'll find yourselves sat in such a way that you can bury your fingers in her hair

either her head will be on your chest/stomach while you cuddle on the sofa

or you'll be sat on one of the chairs in the library and Lucy will come and sit between your legs, leaning back against you

and you start absentmindedly running your hands through her hair

if either one of you can't sleep at night for whatever reason then you can bet that whoever needs sleep more will have their hair played with until they fall asleep again

George:

while I don't think George would be a massive fan of playing with hair I do think that he would learn how to braid and other stuff if you wanted him to

but he'd much rather play with your hands than your hair

looking at how your fingers interlock with each other like puzzle pieces that he needs to figure out

feeling every callous and scar on your hands while you do the same for him

he'd be hesitant at first, unsure about initiating the contact

once you'd assured him that it was fine (and also that you thoroughly enjoyed it) he would do it a lot more

sometimes deliberate, nudging your hand with his until you realise what it is he's after and you gladly let him

other times he'll do it subconsciously, like when you're researching together and he'll suddenly start reaching for you and brushing his fingers over yours

or you'll be walking to/from the Archives together and his hand will knock against yours and seconds later he'll be holding your hand and playing with your fingers

tagging @bobbys-not-that-small, @oblivious-idiot, @neewtmas, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco because this is just a collected document of conversations we've had and I feel like you would appreciate

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle x reader #george karim #george karim x reader

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transparentdetectivetale · 5 months ago

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I do not know if this was intentional by the hair and makeup team but has anyone noticed that how lockwood's hair is styled always changes? It's a physical mention of how reckless he can be but when he meets Lucy his hair is perfect but slowly as time goes on it gets more messy and spiky showing their friendship.

(hopefully) good examples.🌹

Quick side note: I know some people may have trouble reading certain fonts so I apologize if it's harder to read-merle

#lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #anthony bloody lockwood #lockwood x reader

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gwqine · 2 months ago

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‘A FAVOUR’

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem! reader

SYNOPSIS: you’ve never got along with the infamous Anthony Lockwood, and to your displeasure, he turns up needing a ‘favour’

THEMES: slowburn, enemies to lovers

REQUESTED BY: @that-choir-girl

WARNINGS: none, just some dislike between characters

NOTES: part one to a series (my masterlist) not proofread yet || leave a comment below to join my taglist! requests are currently open but it may take a while for me to get around to them

My work is not to be reposted, copied, translated or used in any form without explicit permission from myself.

IT WAS RELATIVELY QUIET THAT AFTERNOON, the sun dipping finally and the cafe’s usual racket reduced to a gentle hum. Teaspoons clicked, chairs screeched lightly against the beige floorboards. Towering shadows were cast across the walls, and waiters were now beginning to sweep up beneath empty tables.

Perhaps you should have called it a day, at this point. Should have packed up the leather-bound notebook in front of you, paid your due and left. Perhaps that would have saved you from the encounter itself. But you didn’t.

Instead, you remained hunched over in your chair, pen in hand, scribbling away, drink forgotten. Your shoulders were angled, brows furrowed up in concentration.

That was precisely why you drowned out the sound of the bell above the cafe’s door, as well as the light, confident footsteps that followed.

It was common knowledge across London that Anthony Lockwood hated the idea of failure. If anything, he liked to think he had a reputation of being unbelievably successful in situations where anyone else wouldn’t be so. But with that came a sense of pride. His chest was knotted in frustration simply because he was within twenty meters of you, and he knew this was only going to get worse. He hated this. You. Having to come to you of everyone it could have been.

He had stood by the door for a moment, scanning the room with a look that would suggest there was a disgusting scent in the air. There was nothing such, of course, but it didn’t stop his fingers from twitching in discomfort at the sight of you in the far corner alone. Typical. Always thought you were above socialising.

He lingered there for a moment, debating whether this was worth it. Worth approaching you. Would you refuse? Embarrass him?

You’d certainly be thrilled at doing so. The pair of you hadn’t ever gotten along, and he doubted you ever would. You simply had nothing in common. He couldn’t remember a time when there hadn’t been disliked between you both. You’d been the closest Agent to Quill Kipps, practically his shadow, for long enough to become familiar with Anthony Lockwood before the rest of London had.

More times than he could count on his fingers, Lockwood had crossed swords with Kipps. It didn’t take much provocation, in all honestly. There were moments when Lockwood liked to think that his quick mouth and disturbingly tragic humour left Kipps speechless- yet unfortunately, they were never long lived, because Kipp’s rather sharp-tongued colleague didn’t seem to back down as easily as he did.

Lockwood hadn’t thought much of it, when he had heard of you leaving Fittes and turning to freelancing. If anything, he had been thrilled at the idea. But he was with few options now, with a huge case hanging in the balance, but not enough hands.

He needed help. And as much as he loathed to admit it, you were the best for the job. And he didn’t have much of a choice, for DEPRAC were hardly on the best terms with him courtesy of a mishap on his end a few days prior. All he could do now was seek for a freelancer.

That was how he had ended up here to begin with.

He took a deep breath, straightened his collar and headed over, his heavy boots clicking with his every step. He stopped at your table, but you didn’t even look up. He cleared his throat.

Lockwood saw your gaze lift suddenly, brows raised in mild surprise. It was a look he hadn’t even thought you to be capable of, void of the usual look of distaste and instead curious, gentle even. It didn’t last. Your brows narrowed, and lips closed into a thin line.

“Lockwood,” you acknowledged, tone lacking any form of interest. You looked back down at your book, spinning the pen in your grasp in an attempt to look unbothered. “What do you want?”

A scowl crossed the boy’s face. Of course you weren’t going to let this be easy.

“I just need a word,” he told you, glancing around for a seat. You were grateful that you’d picked a table with no other chairs, but this didn’t seem to bother Lockwood at all; he dragged over a an empty one from a nearby table and dropped into it before you could even protest. He crossed his arms, leaning forward with his elbows propped up on the table. “It’s about a case.” You didn’t react, he noted, and continued with what you were doing carelessly. Lockwood swallowed back his pride, bracing himself for the inevitable. “I need a favour.”

He saw your gaze shoot up.

You paused for a moment, debating internally whether this was legit. You had worked with him in the past, under Fittes, and the only times he had willingly contacted your team was when he needed some background information that the public Archives wouldn’t provide him with. You assumed he just wasn’t aware you weren’t in a position to be of use.

“I’m freelancing now,” you informed him dismissively, focusing on your book again. “I don’t have access to the Fittes database.”

Lockwood muttered something incoherently under his breath, but the word ‘attitude’ wasn’t too hard to miss. You scowled up at him, but his face wasn’t surprised at all. He was already aware, it seemed, that you weren’t going to be of any help with his research. But then what did he want? And how on Earth did he even know where to find you?

He seemed to spot you piecing this together, because he started again hurriedly.

“Look, i’m not exactly spoilt for choices,” he began, voice measured. “Believe me, I wouldn’t be anywhere near you if I had any other options.”

This made you pause for a moment. Lockwood watched you reach for the teacup at your side, movements painfully slow. There was a flicker of smugness in your eyes for a moment, as a wide smile came over your face. He bit back all the curses that came to mind.

“I thought your little group was finally getting somewhere!” you exclaimed, in a tone so mockingly gentle. You took a sip of your warm drink. “Did DEPRAC realise you’re not worth the trouble?”

A muscle in his jaw clenched visibly, his hands curling up into fists in irritation. He loathed this about you, the way you always knew how to throw salt into his wounds, twist the knife that had already been stabbed so far into him, poke him repeatedly with a stick until he would burst. You’d done it the first day he had met you, looked at him with a condescending smirk that made his mind spiral. It was the influence of Kipps, no doubt, but that didn’t make it bearable.

Damn it. This wasn’t a time to dwell.

“It’s nothing to do with DEPRAC. I need you on a case.”

Your eyebrows arched up again at this. Lockwood watched you rock forward onto your elbows like him, with a fleeting look of curiosity.

“And why on Earth would I do that?” You asked coldly. The smile had disappeared. “Correct me if I’m mistaken but you spent the entirety of my time at Fittes making my job much more difficult than it should have been.”

This seemed to outrage him. “Difficult?” He demanded loudly, and a few heads turned in your direction. “It’s not my fault you like to turn up in places you aren’t needed!”

You scoffed, crossing your arms across your chest and leaning back. This just wasn’t true. “Just get lost, Lockwood. I can’t even sit and have a drink without you rocking up to piss me off.”

Lockwood clicked his tongue, glancing about. “Bring it down a notch, love. I’d rather deal with a type two with no chains than be anywhere near your arrogant ass.”

A sound of rage left your lips at this, both the insult and the stupid little term he had used. You slammed the book infront of you shut with a bang. Lockwood bit back a grin, leaning back as you tossed your belongings into your tote bag, tea now forgotten. “If anyone’s arrogant,” you told him, standing up with a flourish of your sleeves and swinging the bag over a shoulder. “It’s you, you insufferable prick!”

Oh, but he knew exactly how to get to you. Lockwood ignored the insult entirely, instead shooting you a smile and motioning towards the drink you were leaving behind. “Not gonna have that tea?”

That did it for you. Within seconds, you had taken the cup in hand and tossed the contents onto the arrogant prat before you. Lockwood barely had a moment to react; he spluttered as it hit him, eyes clenched shut as it sunk into the collar of his shirt and slid down his face. When he pried open his eyes, you looked just as shocked as he felt. His neck was burning, colour rising awkwardly in his cheeks. He didn’t even want to look around; the silence that had fallen told him enough.

“Goodness!” cried a voice over from the till, filled with disbelief. “I’ve just cleaned in here!”

Lockwood arose from his seat, wiping at his face with a hand as he turned. A middle-aged woman was storming over, her face scrunched up in scandal.

“I’m so sorry—“ he began, pushing back his chair as he glanced at you, brows raised as menacingly as he could muster. Your face was still, expressionless.

The woman didn’t want to hear it. “Out!” she ordered, her nostrils flared. “Now!”

The pair of you didn’t need telling twice. The cafe was silent during your walk of shame heading outside onto the street. As rhetorical door swung shut, you paused, still in disbelief. Lockwood seemed taken aback too, because he did the same. The air between you wasn’t tense, nor one of annoyance; it was simply incredulity.

Lockwood scoffed suddenly. “What was that?”

You felt your face redden as you shifted your weight onto one leg, arms crossed defensively. “It’s your fault.”

He shook his head. “And now my coat’s ruined.”

This got a smirk out of you. You turned, ready to leave. “I guess I have good aim.”

Lockwood snorted, falling into step beside you, much to your annoyance. “There was hardly much of a window to miss.”

“Well now that you’ve had me kicked out, you can leave me alone, Lockwood.” You said pointedly, picking up your speed slightly.

He followed closely. “I said I’ll leave you alone! Just shut it for a second and listen! It’s a big case, and I need an extra pair of hands. Two times your usual rate!”

There had to be a hidden agenda. There always was with Anthony Lockwood, and no one ever realised until it was too late. Your steps faltered and you stared at him in search of it.

But his gaze didn’t waver. It was almost…reassuring.

You bit your lip, and his gaze followed the movement. He paused for a second, then seemed to gather himself, clearing his throat. “Three times it then. But that’s the best I can do.”

You raised a hand subconsciously to your face and sighed. “What’s the case?”

Triumph flicked through his brown eyes, and he suddenly seemed to have a spring in his step as he began to move. You followed in pursuit to your own surprise, maintaining a distance.

“It’s simple,” he told you, but you had dealt with him too many times in the past to believe this instantly. “But it’s a well-known client. Huge house, lots of cash…” he trailed off.

“And Dangerous.” You finished.

He scratched the back of his neck. “Look, I don’t have all the details yet but going in there with just three of us is a suicide mission.”

“And so you thought you’d take me along.”

Lockwood narrowed his brows. “God, you’re so negative all the time. I just thought you’d be good for the job, but go believe whatever you like.”

He grimaced as though he’d said something poisonous.

You tapped a foot on the pavement, but ceased immediately. The last thing you were going to do was look worried infront of him. Was this some sort of hoax? It felt it. But something about the desperation in his eyes had said otherwise. Yet you didn’t want to take any chances.

“You’ll draft up a contract then?”

Lockwood shoved a hand into his pocket. “I will.”

You nodded. His face scrunched up as he fished around in the pocket, but it seemed that whatever he was looking for wasn’t there.

“What?” You asked suspiciously. The movement made you recall a tale Kipps had told you not too long ago, where the two boys had argued and Lockwood had dug a flare from his pocket and lobbed it at your former teammate.

Lockwood looked up at you. “Had a business card.” He muttered, now emptying out the pockets of his trousers. “Hold on.”

You watched incredulously as he searched for what felt like an hour, shaking out his coat over and over again.

You sighed, reaching into your own bag. “Just give me the number.”

He paused mid motion. You looked at him. Why on Earth was he turning red?

Oh, for Goodness sake!

“Don’t tell me you don’t even know the telephone number for your own company.”

He didn’t reply.

You let out a huff. “Write mine down then.”

You dug into your bag and pulled out a ballpoint pen, before holding it out to him. Lockwood went to grab it rather irritably, but you pulled it away, face contorted in disgust as you studied his hands, squinting. “Have you got tea on your hands?”

Lockwood let out a grumble. “Need I remind you that you threw it on me?”

You weren’t letting those tacky hands anywhere near your belongings, and the idea made his insides shrivel up in aggravation all over again.

The pair of you stared at eachother with an air of displeasure yet again. Lockwood let out a sharp exhale and tugged back slightly at one of his sleeves. He held out the back of his hand, waiting expectantly.

You sucked at your teeth, clicking the back of the pen without making eye contact. It was awkward, trying to scribble your contact without touching him at all, but it was of course impossible. Instead, you gave in, taking it firmly, sure to dig your nails into his hand as casually as you could manage. He tensed as you wrote, pressing so harshly that there were dents on the back of his hand for a few seconds.

The moment it was done, you let go as if his hand was hot coal.

Lockwood stepped away too, his face burning as he looked around.

“I’ll er— give you a call.”

You merely nodded in response. Lockwood turned away without another word.

Thank you so much for reading! As usual, any comments or thoughts left are much appreciated! Comment to join my taglist!

#anthony lockwood #bring back lockwood and co #cameron chapman #george karim #lucy carlyle #ruby stokes #anthony lockwood x reader angst #lockwood and co #netflix #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co.#locklyle #lockwoodsbane

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eatmycodbetty · 6 days ago

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{You again?}

part one! . . . two. . three

pairing: anthony lockwood x gn!reader

word count: 5.3k

summary: As a former Fittes agent, you have honed your craft well on your own. You would never expect an old friend to call you, nor would you ever expect to be so curious about this so-called agency he’s in.

notes: it has been a longggg time since i’ve written ff and i understand that this is a dying fandom, but here are the goodies. shout out to my two weird friends for pushing me to do this. tell me any critiques!! i wanna get better :)

One . . .

4:23am. The North Bank, London.

Silence.

Then…ringing?

The void of noise, of air. It swirls around you and suffocates.

You feel nothing other than your heart beating, the wind knocked out of your lungs. The pounding in your ears only resurfacing once the ringing stops. You are running. You can’t remember from what, all that matters is that you get out.

As the pounding starts to subside and the air comes back to you, the shouts from fellow agents bite at your senses. Nothing but “Run!”...and that is what you are doing, so the voices blur back out to focus on your feet. You have a gnawing pain growing there as you keep going, almost numb from your shitty stiff soled shoes.

This has to end soon. You have to stop at some point...right?

Suddenly, a door appears in your rushed view, slightly ajar at the end of a hallway you've hastily turned down. Finally, you think, an end to this bad dream.

As you near the small wooden door, you let your hand fall on the edge of the opening, being able to catch some oxygen and breathe it once more. However, the door turns almost to ice- you freeze.

Just being able to lift your hand off the door, a horrible gelatinous face appears through the handle, pushing you backward in a cold force. You hit the ground with a thud, and the air is yet again gone from your lungs.

Right. Now you remember. You were sent to investigate an old and dilapidated flat by the Thames. Something strange considering the location, the water should have warded off anything too strong.

You were wrong, the whole lot of you were. Something much more sinister resided deep within the floorboards of this rank building.

Your team is dispersed, and you have no knowledge of how they are faring. All you remember right now is that you turned a corner and had to run, nothing else to aid your cause as a Type Two spirit had you in its vicious sights.

Malaise setting in, you found yourself running with anything you had left, being drained as you try and fight your way out of this bloody shitshow.

But...now you’re locked. You can’t move, you can’t look away. The figure melts through the door, like thick, murky water. There appears an apparition of a man, jaw stretched so far down you can't bear to look- but you're forced to. His sunken eyes have you gripped in some horrifying way. It seems that even if you weren't being ghost-locked, you would freeze under the sheer terror that is inflicted upon his gaze.

How idiotic, you think in this moment, assuming you could outrun a Type Two with all of your supplies, everything, out of your reach. Now you are here, laying back on the ground as a Visitor forces you into a ghost-lock. You feel a stone on your chest, like the dreadful ghost itself is standing on your body, forcing your consciousness into submission.

Then...a kind of peace wavers over you. Although, the air leaving your lungs leaves a part of your active brain scrambling to get away from something impossible. Wavering dangerously close to calm, your body is giving up. Weak, you finally quiet the active part of your brain as the lock is settling in nicely- a solemn goodbye. . .

. . . then, a snap.

A flash appears before you.

You feel a hard tug on your body- then you're suddenly sitting up, feeling so dizzy you could faint. Your vision blurs as you get a hard punch of air back in your lungs and start to feel the cold of the hallway. You’re being pulled up on your feet now, being able to hear the familiar ringing in your ears again, followed by the pounding.

As your focus finally settles, you are face to face with Kat, one of your teammates. She gives you a hard smack across the cheek as she's trying to talk to you, but you can only hear mumbling. You wipe your face and as you look at her again, your hearing starts to seep back in.

But, before you have the chance to fully regain your senses, she pulls you away from the hallway. Feeling your feet, you stop stumbling after a few seconds as another wind hits you, and you’re back.

You two eventually find a window, the frame broken and glass crumbling. This has to do. Before Kat can get something to bust it out, you're kicking it out. You do it rather messily, however, as your pantleg is torn up by the glass and new scars are made along your right leg. You can't feel much of the bleeding, but you can see its residual on the moldy window frame through your hasty kicks.

When it is broken enough for you two to slip through it, you gauge what floor you're on- the second. It isn't that far down, and you see a large, open rubbish bin with various bits of bags and a half termite-eaten mattress. You two look at each other, then you jump.

A loud metal pumph sound, then pain. You can feel better now, the air from the outside making you regain more of yourself. Despite that, you landed bad, and you can't be sure that you didn't break something from that fall. You look over, and Kat is starting to leap over the side of the bin, hand clutching her ribcage as she falls over the other side. You find some abominable strength from inside you to push up on a rotting box and climb over the bin, falling on the other side soon after Kat does.

Sitting up in some dingy patch of grass, you find yourself towards the back of the flat, facing the Thames. The sun is starting to rise, but only enough to disturb the deep black of the night sky. You two are on the ground, but by helping each other up you eventually stand. You feel a twinge of pain in your torn up leg as you put your weight on it finally. Something worse must have happened to it in the fall, but you can't focus on that now.

You both rush (hobble) to the front of the flat, and as you turn the corner you see only one other agent back. As your vision settles and you call out, you see it's Bobby, your researcher. You are almost relieved, but by the look on his face at you two and the nervous looks he gives the building, something is desperately wrong. As you catch up to him, you quickly realize that the two other agents in your team are missing.

You take a deep breath in, mostly cognizant again as the malaise seeps out of your body. Instantaneously you take a shaky stride towards the front of the house, ignoring the shouts to stop from the two behind you. As you reach the cracked front step, a tottering figure suddenly stumbles out of the doors, holding something.

You ready yourself, not prepared to go out without a fight. But, this isn't a ghost...you then suddenly relax your fighting stance at seeing your leader, Quill Kipps.

Kipps is holding one of the new recruits, sent with your group by your supervisor, on his shoulder. There's a pause as he takes what seems to be his first breath, and you all realize the event unfolding in front of you.

He then suddenly staggers down the steps and sets the kid down a good ways from the front door in front of the three of you. He stands back up and runs a shaky hand over his neck. He is bleeding, bruised, and looks like he also went through the same kind of hell. The kid, however, is still. His eyes pasty and spread open, staring at the fleeting stars. Kipps finally speaks, but almost in a hush.

“He’s locked.”

Silence fills the night air once again, and you all hang your heads and rush to help the two boys. Whispering curses as you quickly realize the young boy is too far gone. Then, away from the madness, you and Kipps lock eyes. He is terrified.

Placing hands on each other's shoulders as the other two call aid, you stumble to the ground. Whilst the numbness from the adrenaline starts to drain away, the pain in your leg, in your body, and in your mind, is all too much to bear to keep standing. He seems to feel the same, and you two just lie there on the pavement. As the sirens whirl, you both watch the sunrise light up the stars, observing how they fade with the coming light.

Then, exhaustion finally takes you over and all that’s left

is darkness.

2 Years Later. Saturday morning. Your flat.

Working by yourself has its perks. Sure, it could be better with some help, but you don’t ever peck above your grade. Besides, a lot of normal, everyday people have issues with spirits that don’t have the means or time to go through a real agency.

You enjoy these smaller cases anyways, it feels more relevant and actually helpful than the expensive cases you pursued at Fittes. You have also grown your connections by a substantial margin. You know all of London better in these two years than you ever did during your almost 8 years at that blasted organization.

Growing a kind of reputation for closing a plethora of ghost cases by yourself, you are rivaling even Fittes and Rotwell in numbers. Agents like to jeer at you when you make your presence at certain events for higher agents. It could be from jealousy or intimidation, yet either way you don’t tend to care because you suit your occupation just fine. They would be less inclined to detest you if they could get out of their own pretentious skulls and use their Talent to the fullest whilst they still have time. Or at least, that's what you tell yourself.

Your flat could be better, but for someone who doesn’t need much or occupy much space, a one bedroom works out just fine. It is much better than living around snobby arseholes like every other agent. You would rather move the country than have to do that ever again, to have to go back to that place.

As you're thinking about this, you start to stir in your bed. Waking up has always been a bit hard, but you've found a good routine. Before you can even open your eyes, you feel the sunlight from between the curtain shades peeking out and dazzling your bedsheets.

You finally open your eyes, taking in the same room you've seen for the past two years. It is kind of comforting, or claustrophobic, either way- it's home. It's decorated with bits and bobs from your travels and time spent over your almost 17 years of life. You see old family portraits and pictures with old friends- stuff that makes you a bit teary if you think about it for too long.

Which is great, because you are immediately distracted and tuned into a certain buzzing on the other side of the room. As you wake up a bit more quickly, you sit up and find that it's your telephone ringing.

Oh no...what time is it? You quickly check the clock beside your bed, only 10:38am.

You sigh and start to get up, chasing the phone before it hangs up. You cannot miss a call from any potential clients, it's been a bit slow recently as other agencies have caught onto your tactic for gaining clients. Pricks.

You pick up the phone, barely being able to utter a "Hello, this i-" before a boy begins to yell at you on the other side of the line.

“Y/N!! I saw you in a small clipping in the back of the paper, I can’t believe it! A solo agent?? Oh wait.. sorry for the intrusion...and the yelling. It's George by the way.”

You pause for a moment, confused as to which George in your life might know you and nevertheless YELL at you after not speaking for so long. You think for two seconds until it hits you.

It's George Karim, a smart boy you knew from Fitts who got fired on biased and unfair grounds, you were one of the only people to defend him. You two were kind of inseparable at some point, so you reply with haste in a similar overly-friendly manner.

“GEORGE KARIM!! It’s been so long...you startled me.” You tiredly laugh. “Also don’t apologize, you are always welcome to call me whenever. What’s up mate? How have the years been to you?”

You rub your crusty eyes and smile lightly as it settles in that you still do have one friend from Fittes. It’s easy to get lost in everything bad that came from there. On the other end, you hear some yelling and...things being thrown? He gives a small sigh, then a hesitation before continuing.

“I’ll get straight to the point. You should come over for tea. Today, preferably. I’ve been working with a smaller agency that I think you would work well with. I’ll let you know why when you get here, I’m afraid I must go. Does half past one sound alright?”

You snicker a little, missing his awkward tangents, but also a bit uncomfortable with what chaos you hear on the other line. Wait.. “What agency? And tea sounds just fine then, but what cafe should we go to? The same one next to that fountain on Clermont?” You find yourself reminiscing on your younger exploits, you two certainly shared some fond memories before he left.

He pipes back up, now more hurriedly, “No, no. You should come here. Lockwood & Co on 35 Portland Ro-”

You are so surprised you cut the poor boy off in an almost shout, “LOCKWOOD?? George I-”

He cuts you off with a quick, “OKAY BYE SEE YOU THEN!”.

You’re left with the sound of a dead line as he hangs up. Sighing, you put your phone back on the wall and lean against the wall, still weak from waking up so suddenly and pondering the new day that has been spread for you.

There is no way that George left to work for Anthony Lockwood of all people. You didn’t actually know the guy personally, only heard rumors and quips from Kipps.

From what you’ve gathered over the years, he’s an egotistical geezer that fits right in with the rest of those types at Fittes. Yet...his one thing is that he hates them just the same as you. And they hate him, or rather they did when you were there.

As much as you have a kind of disdain for those kinds of men, you trust George. And you also were going to spend this Saturday doing absolutely nothing, so you technically have no excuse.

You check the time. Quarter past 10. You push back on your feet and make your way to your dresser to get ready for the day. He said it was 35 Portland Row right? That's just a little ways down a few blocks.

“...It can’t hurt” you mutter as you pick up a comfortable and clean sweater. You get dressed and make sure you have your errands list ready. Grabbing your rapier as you head out the door, you stop for a second and ponder on the situation. Why did George Karim of all people call you? This can't just be to hang out, he's too weird to be so forward like that normally.

Whatever, you think. You lock up the flat and start to head out for whatever this day may bring. One final thought crosses your mind as you shift out of the building,

"I can't believe I am visiting another fucking agency."

1:25pm. 35 Portland Row. Still Saturday.

You've been staring at this house for about a minute now. It's nicer than expected, but also smaller than you might have thought. For as much as you have heard about Lockwood & Co, you would expect a headquarters that's kind of...well...greater.

You finally give a hearty knock on the door.

...Nothing.

You think for a second, you don't want to disturb a neighbor so you check to make sure you're at the right place- and you are. You take a quick sigh and go to knock on the door again, but your hand hesitates. Is that...yelling?

You hear things being knocked over, running, people shouting. Your heart tenses as you think of the possibilities of either an intruder or some insane ghost mishap occurring on the other side, and you quickly reach for your rapier.

But then suddenly, the door opens with a gust of wind and you welcome the sight of a seemingly safe, slightly older, George Karim. He looks kind of swept up, it seems whatever made him hang up this morning is still going on. Your sigh of relief is met with his welcome.

“Y/N! You’re early.” He smiles meekly and steps aside in the doorway. “Please ignore the mess, we’re not always living in a barn...it’s been a rough day.” Wearing an orange hoodie and some joggers, he really hasn’t changed that much.

He shies away from your curious gaze, which he seems to read as more judgmental. You smile at the boy and take your hand off the rapier to put it on his arm, giving it a soft squeeze. “George, I’ve known you for most of my short life. I could care less about the state of your house.” You stifle a laugh, “I’ve seen your room before, nothing scares me.”

He looks back and meets your eyes now, a smile creeping back onto his face. “I’m glad you’re here, y/n..”, he gestures into the hectic house, “..but please come inside and watch your step, it’s a circus in this place.”

He moves a bit more as you shuffle inside, moving quickly to shut and lock the door behind you. Before he's done, you take in the sight of the house for a few seconds. You spot a shorter girl with medium length brown hair and a blue sweater running down the stairs and into a distant room, yelling about something you can barely make out. Just as she leaves and George comes to lead you away from it, a taller, slender boy in a suit makes the opposite strides from a far room up the stairs, also yelling?

George is on your right now, patting your arm to follow him. "I told you to ignore the circus, y/n, come on through here."

You shudder your head to focus on George, now leading you into a sunny kitchenette, somehow untouched by the storm in the other rooms. It's a quaint area, like people live here quite comfortably. It's nice. Sunlight stretches across the windows and reaches just to the back edge of a small dining table.

You notice the sharpie sketches on the table cloth. Three distinct figures...maybe more...are depicted. You can see the one that is meant to be George, a figure with glasses and notes about being nerdy and complaining. Yup, has to be him. Along with the George stick figure is a boy in a suit, a girl with short hair- maybe the two you just saw?- and then two other names mentioned here and there- Holly and Flo. Must be associates, their names aren't much mentioned.

As you analyze the table cloth, George comes back with two cups. "Please actually sit, y/n, you don't have to stand like you don't know me- do I have to remind you of our preteens? I could blackmail you into anything at this point."

You laugh and act offended, sitting at the table. "I can't believe you would ever use my childlike wonder against me, G." You put a dramatic hand to your forehead, peeking to see him roll his eyes as you two share a chuckle. As you put your hand down you remind him, "Besides...who would you even share it with. You're like my only friend now you tart."

He nods in thinking, setting the two cups down. "I mean you're in my home with my agency sooooo~" You try to grab him as he laughs and narrowly evades a fake punch, "I'm kidding! Just kidding." He laughs and grabs a small pot. "Before you kill me you want only one sugar right."

You sit back in the chair and respond, "Yes! Wait how did you remember that?"

He sits down across from you and dips a cube into your cup. "You really haven't changed that much...I was worried you'd be a bit more annoyingly stoic after you left and started to work on your own." As he sets the sugar back down, you take the tea, starting to stir with growing curiosity to his thinking. "George. Karim. You've known me since I was like 9 years old. Who could ever make you think I'd be that different, huh?" you quip. You inhale the tea and blow just a small bit before taking a sip, perfect.

He takes his own teaspoon and stirs around the cup, thinking, before he looks back up to you with the cup in his hand. "People tend to do that. It happens- I don't know. I mean right now I can think of a person or two that can be rather...neurotic." You snort, "More than you??"

His face drops to his usual sarcastic sneer, jaw kind of dropped to feign shock with a scoff. "As a matter of fact yes, y/n. Oh I am sure you and Lockwood would get along great." He sneers at you, his voice laced with a hidden joke.

That damned guy again. Why does George give the same impression of Lockwood that others have in the past? Isn't that his literal boss? You respond, more withdrawn than the previous jests, "...Well then. Until that happens I am sure you're fine company- with all of your neuroticism." You start to snort but stop, opting to pick up your cup again. You stop for a second as you do this, taking a breath and continuing, "Why did you call me here, George. What's really going on."

As you take your sip he stares, only a small bit hesitant to begin this conversation. “So this is my new agency. I don’t know what you’ve heard about Lockwood & Co. from arseholes at Fittes but I can guarantee I wouldn’t be here if any of those were true.” He takes a short breath, sipping on his tea as if he couldn't wait to get that statement out.

You respond, picking up on his nerves. He really does care, not just about your potential judgement but his team. “I would mind more if Lockwood was someone I knew…but to be very honest I have only heard rumors. I trust your judgement George, you’re one of the few left with a good head on their shoulders- including me of course.”

You go to take a sip. He brightens at this response and goes to speak, but you cut him off. “But! I can still exercise caution. You of anyone should understand the issue with trusting other agents these days. Especially in their expertise.” You take the sip.

He sighs, but an understanding look softens his features. “I get it y/n, but this is why I called you. You told me yourself to get in contact if I ever needed a hand whenever I was thrown out, and now we need a hand more than ever” You nod, and he continues, picking up his face as he explains.

“It’s only a few of us. I do research. Holly Munro is our new assistant, but she’s in and out. Right now she’s out because we don’t have too much to deal with, so it's only 3 of us in the house.” One of the lesser mentioned names on the table cloth. You turn to look at her little stick figure portrait before responding.

Turning your brow, “Right...because not too much still entails turning the house over…” you prod.

He ignores you and continues, “Lucy Carlyle has an incredible Talent for Listening, and she’s strong in the field. You two would get along.” He has a smile attached to the end of this statement.

You turn your nose up inquisitively, “I’d like to meet her,” and just as you finish speaking, the same girl in the blue sweatshirt from earlier comes busting through the other door.

“GEORGE!” She shouts as she almost slips on the way to the table.

He sighs and turns, telling you ‘one sec’ with a roll of his eyes. “What, Luce.”

“We still can’t find th-”

She stops for a second once she reaches the table, realizing the stranger in the room. She straightens her sweater and quickly holds out her hand for you, her movements fastened with hesitance. “Hi. I’m Lucy. George’s friend.” You take it as she leans to George, “…is this the old colleague you-”

He cuts her off with a hushed and agitated, “YES.” This new girl, Lucy, seems to be a bit standoffish or shy. She talks like she's trying to keep you at a distance, but you can notice the fact that she is actively trying to be polite and welcoming for George's sake. They must have spoken about you beforehand, you shy away at the thought.

She smiles out of formality as she waits for your response. “Nice to meet you Ms. Carlyle, my name is Y/n L/n. I've just heard great things from George. What can’t you find..?”

She thinks for less than a second before she’s back in her hurry, turning to George again. “OH! We still can’t find it, we’re going out tonight to see if one of us dropped it.”

He withholds a panic, simply nodding, “Fine, but…do I have to go..” he complains. You notice a new cut on his eyebrow, and a patch on his hand- something you didn't have time to notice beforehand. Remnants from recent battle, you assume from the conversation.

“If you think for a second we’re leaving behind our eyes then you’re better off working the Tesco down the road.” He scoffs and agrees as she is whisked back out the door, yelling a hurried “Nice to meet you Mx. l/n!”. Then with a shaky thud she exits back to the flurry in the other part of the house.

“Sorry about that, we’re all a little stressed right now...obviously." He huffs in annoyance as he ends the sentence, thinking on something distant.

You speak up, “yeah..is this why you called me?” You glance out towards where the girl had left, wanting to know what is happening behind those doors.

He takes his tea again, “Yeah.. I couldn’t think of a more qualified person to help us. We have been getting stronger and stronger cases, and without some sort of saving grace we barely make it out alive each time. I just want us to have the reassurance of a trusted and skilled agent when we go on these higher risk contracts.”

You nod and take a large sip, seemingly startling the boy who ended up staring at his cup. “I’m in. Not in the company or anything, but I could use the money and being hired help isn’t too bad- I'll even stake out if you need it.”

He gleams, standing up and extending his hand, “We only need you on call for certain nights. If you keep those nights free so that I can contact you if anything goes to shite, that would mean the world.”

You shake his hand, “It’s a deal then, do I need to meet your boss or-”

He shuts you off, “oh no, Lockwood doesn’t really know that we’re hiring some peace of mind. He kind of insists that we don’t because of his pompous thick skull, but Luce and I agreed that it would be safer. He knows you’re over and-” then doing his best posh impression, “-a friend of George’s is a friend of mine.”

You both chuckle into the table, something tells you that Lockwood is a real treat of a person. A fanciful trio, from what you can gather. You pipe back, “Well it isn’t the first time we’ve done some undercover work. When do you need me first?”

He sinks back into the chair, delighted, “Well, apparently we might need you tonight…if that’s okay. We lost a potential source at a hotspot in the middle of a park. There was a nasty cluster and I guess it just sort of slipped when we were escaping. If you can’t that's okay I-”

You cut the boy off excitedly, “That’s fine! I have nothing to do for the rest of the week. Somehow, I think the higher agencies are trying to steal my cases. They're appealing to lower classes in ways I have never seen, and I get less and less calls as the days drone on. I can never escape those dicks, huh.” You scoff and sit back down, setting a reminder on your phone as you two discuss the details of the reconnaissance mission.

He stops the planning to reply, “If it makes you feel any better, you are still considered a saint for the locals right now. We’ve heard you mentioned a few times in our own contracts. Fittes’ pedestal might be crumbling from your work over the past year or so. Keep making them scared. You've got our support.”

You smile at each other warmly as you set down your teacups in the sink and both go back to the front door. The house seems quieter, and you secretly hope you could have some more time to meet his new colleagues. They don't seem horrible, just interesting characters. You can handle that.

As you are saying your goodbyes, smiles and laughs abound between the old friendly pair, you catch a figure in the staircase. For a moment you smile lightly at the slender boy out of formality, and you seem to think he starts to smile back.

But, just as quickly you’re now out the door and heading back to your own flat. You find one standout emotion whilst walking out the door and back to your place. Excitement.

11:28pm. Your Flat.

Tying the final knot around the stalks, you stand on the edge of your bed to hang a fresh bundle of lavender on your window. You climb back down to check your phone, still no call.

The silver blade from your aunt lies next to your go-bag, and you sit in your room in comfortable underclothes, your work outfit folded next to the supplies and ready for a quick leave.

You do worry for George, whether you would like to admit it or not, but you’ve always been like that. He was one of the only people there for you as a person, not just as an agent.

You used to have shared bracelets, labeled as the “Ghost Siblings”, a snide remark from a former teammate turned point of pride. Somewhere between the two of you leaving you lost touch, but it was nice to see the sentiment never left.

RING RING RING

You almost jump out of your skin as your telephone rings, disrupting your thoughts. You answer it immediately, putting it on a kind of speaker as you hurry away from it, starting to button up your shirt.

George sounds sort of breathless, but hushed on the other end. “Hey y/n, I was right. Be quick!-"

He hangs up, or rather something happens to make him hang up. Your heart starts to race, it doesn’t matter if it is down the block- what if you don’t make it?

You’re out the door as soon as you get your shirt on, barely grabbing your supplies as you lock your door.

What did they get themselves into?

~fin~

I hope you all enjoyed this!! There is MUCH MORE coming, hopefully soon,,, thank u for reading <3

EDIT: This chapter has been edited to clear it of any stupid mistakes and lulls that appeared bc I made this at 3am. toodles! - ives :p

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