#anthony lockwood oneshot

[websterss]

LOVING YOU MORE THAN I HAVE BEFORE — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: hello!!! I saw ur inbox was open, so if ur still writing for Lockwood, could I pls request a Lockwood x fem reader where she thinks he loves Lucy but he really loves the reader? and they work together and are best friends?? if not that's totally okay. thanks anyway and have a nice day!!

WARNING(S): mentions of minor injury, angst, fluff at the end, stubborn reader, oblivious Anthony.

WORD COUNT: 4,063

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: I hope you enjoy it love! Feedback is always welcomed! Also, I live and breathe on Alfie Juke's music lmfao. ALFIE JUKES - EYES WIDE

MASTERLIST

You had not meant to stare at them again as you helped George set up the iron chains. Their constant back-and-forth bickering distracted you from your tasks at hand. You had looked back to the pair, Anthony's low chuckle catching your attention. He had a way of distracting you especially in times where he shouldn't have been. A loud thump had broken their banter and before you knew it their eyes were cast onto you. You flinched and then released a hiss when the chain landed on top of your sneaker. Your eyes briefly met George's disapproving ones as you tried to act cool. Your cheeks were burning up from embarrassment, yet the ache running through your foot burned even more. You ducked your head to not meet anyone's stares. You moved slower now as bent down to fix the chain.

"S-Sorry…" You breathed out softly.

"Subtle." George quips quietly to you.

Anthony leaned against the wall eyeing you for a moment seeing the embarrassment written across your features. He took in the slight pout of your lips as you mumbled out an apology. He found it sweet how you shrunk back when you were embarrassed. Though as attentive as he was as a friend, he hadn't missed the way you tucked your right foot behind your left, trying to lay off it.

As though you could somehow sense his stare burn right through you, you quickly looked up. Your eyes wide as you caught him still looking down at you.

Anthony gave you a brief smirk seeing the way your eyes widened as they met his. He continued to study you for a moment, as his smirk shifted into a soft smile. "You alright?" He questioned, his voice quiet as he pushed himself from the wall, taking slow steps toward you.

"Yes." You rushed out as you staggered, trying to stand upright. You swallowed back your nerves as he approached you, a smile alknowing as he noticed you teeter on one foot. You caught where his gaze landed and straightened out. He hadn't missed the scrunch of your brows.

He bit back a laugh seeing you stagger slightly trying not to favor your left foot more. He looked over you again taking note of the way you were standing with such stiffness, as he lifted an eyebrow slightly. He knew you would deny it when he asked if you were okay, as you were stubborn when it came to accepting help. Instead, he looked down at your foot again and motioned his head toward it. "Let me see it." He couldn't help but find it endearing. He reached out to place a hand against your hip, steading you. "You're a horrible liar. Let me see."

"I-I'm fine." You try backing out of his arms but he doesn't let up. He flashes his all so charming grin that you hate and love with a passion.

"Then walk a few paces." He chuckled, gesturing to the bedroom doorway you all occupied. He knew he won when your eyes widened in panic.

"Anthony…" You warned.

He gave your hip a squeeze seeing your stubbornness start to waver. "Just do as I say, darling." He mused, his voice lower. Though he knew your stubbornness would make this difficult, as you hated looking vulnerable.

As reluctant as you were, you inhaled deeply and made your way to the door, with a slight limp. You cursed at yourself for letting your clumsiness get the better of you especially during on a job.

He could clearly see the way you were walking with a limp. He let out a huff of air, almost a tsk. Why were you so stubborn, he thought as he followed after you. He bit his tongue from calling you out for being stubborn, knowing it would only get him a scathing look.

"You're staying with George."

You whipped your head around, your mouth agape as you stared at him like he kicked your dog. Hurt, betrayed, pleadful. "No, I'm fine. I stayed with George on the last job. Anthony please. You just declared me able again, please. This isn't as bad as last time!"

His jaw was set as he saw the look of betrayal and hurt in your eyes. He hated that look, it got him every time. He pressed his lips into a flat line. There it was, the pleading look. It made him waver slightly but he didn't relent, his eyes narrowing. He reached out for you, but you had only moved away from his hand.

"Not different than last time?" He shakes his head. "You're staying with George." He said firmly, his voice low as he eyed you. "You know you've done something to your foot, and I'm not letting you out this room like this. You're not just going to suck it up and deal with it this time. End of discussion!" He ran a ring-clad hand through his messy hair, trying to fight the urge to let you continue. He knew you were tough, he knew you could handle yourself. He also knew you would push yourself to your limits and do something reckless.

"Bloody fucking hell, Lockwood! It's a limp for gods sake!"

A muscle twitched in his jaw as he clenched his teeth. He inhaled deeply as he stared you down. You were pushing his limit. He was trying to keep his cool, but you were testing him. 

"I don't care if it's a bloody limp! You're not going into god-forbid, a potentially dangerous situation! Not like this!" He exclaimed, his voice raising slightly before he caught himself as he saw the look in your eyes. He ran a hand through his hair again, "I'm doing this to keep you safe! Something you're too bloody stupid to do yourself!"

He regretted his words as soon as they left his mouth, seeing the way your eyes widened, filling with water. He had never been so rough with you like that before. He was frustrated, but taking it out on you wasn't right. He didn't want to hurt you, he just wanted you safe.

"I'm sorry..." He exhaled deeply, his expression softening. "I didn't mean that, I just-" He cut himself off when you turned and descended the stairs of the house.

He cursed under his breath as he watched you spin away from him and head towards the stairs. He made a sharp movement to follow you but he stopped himself. He placed his hands on the dresser and leaned against it as he tried to fight down the guilt of his words, and his frustration. He knew he had said the wrong thing. He shouldn't have said that, but sometimes his emotions got the better of him. He knew you were capable, but you sometimes put yourself at risk without a second thought or you tried to hide your injury or pain.

"Lockwood!" Lucy pulled him out of his thoughts. "Anthony!"

"What?" He whipped around angry, angry with himself.

"It's past curfew!" George panicked, reminding him that you just slammed the front door. Lucy only shook her head as she rushed past him, sprinting after you in hopes to catch you.

"No, no, no!" He shouted, panic seeping into his voice as he realised what you had just done. He quickly glanced at the window, looking out, but the darkness limited what he could see. There was no way in hell he was letting you walk back alone at night, especially in your condition.

"I can't stand her sometimes!" He exclaimed as he made quick strides to the front door, practically ripping it open.

"What about the visitor?" George began collecting the equipment in a rush. Calling after Anthony.

"To hell with it, George. We'll come back later!" Is all George heard before another slam of the front door rattled through the house.

"Seriously!" George complained as he rushed down the stairs with the duffle bag. His wide eyes looking around for any signs of the visitor. He shook as he opened the front door and ran after his friends.

-

"I'm telling you, Lockwood. She's probably home already." Lucy was exhausted, it was nearing the 3am mark.

"She has a bloody limp, and it's almost 3 a.m, Luce." He seethed as he followed what little marks you left on the damp ground. He was angry with himself. He shouldn't have let it escalate like that, he should've controlled his emotions, and he just shouldn't have said what he said. Yet he should've known better, the last time he was out of time...your impulsiveness kicked in and you continued a job with a stab wound on your side that you didn't tell him about until you all were passed hthe threshold of the apartment. He almost cried, he did cry when you passed out on the floor. "You know her, she's probably walking around until she can't anymore out of bloody spite." He gritted through his teeth. His jaw was tight again and his tone was low as he kept his gaze locked on the path in front of him. The only thing illuminating their way was the streetlights as they walked down the long, dark street. "I know her. She's too stubborn to go back home. She'll probably end up at some park, and I'm going to throttle her when I find her!" He continued, his voice still cold but the worry was evident.

"You are aware she does it on purpose…?" George chimed in, keeping his head down.

"Of course I do! That's what pisses me off!" He exclaimed, his voice strained. He couldn't deny that you did these kinds of things on purpose just to spite him, and he hated it. He knew you enjoyed getting on his nerves, but it didn't make it any better. It only made it worse, and more frustrating.

"Do you know why though?" George eyed him curiosuly. He had to tell him, you could hate him forever for all he cared, he was tired of you skirting around and avoiding your feelings.

Anthony stopped in his tracks for a moment, turning slowly toward George. A frown tugged at his features as he regarded George with a curious expression, his eyes searching his friends face for something. He knew that look, it was the look of 'I know something that you don't'.

"What are you going on about..?" He questioned slowly, his expression guarded.

"George-" Anthony looked over to Lucy who shook her head at him.

"Ask for forgiveness later, right Luce? She does it to get your attention. Seeing as you'll only give it when you're angry with her."

Anthony froze, he froze right where he stood. He stood dumbfounded for a moment, his mouth slightly agape. "You're joking, right? You're telling me all those nights where I go insane trying to find her, or I yell at her for doing something incredibly reckless, she does it for what? My attention?" His voice was low and strained. He was having trouble processing what he was being told and he wasn't sure he was liking it.

Anthony stood silent for a moment, processing what George had just said to him. It hit him like a ton of bricks as the realization set in. He slowly turned his eyes back onto George once again, and he was at a loss for words.

"That's…" He exhaled, his mind already going into overdrive. "That's ridiculous. Why would she…" He trailed off, his gaze dropping to the ground. He knew you did it to get his attention, he just hadn't put the pieces together the way George had.

"There's more..." Lucy shrinks in on herself. Shying away from his stare.

His eyes slowly shifted to Lucy, watching the way she turned away from him. There was a sinking feeling in his gut as he watched her reaction. He didn't like the way she was acting, and he didn't like what it made him feel. "More..?" He repeated, his voice low and wary, a sense of trepidation creeping over him.

"She thinks you like Lucy." George, peeked up at him. Then turned his head to Lucy.

Anthony's eyes widened slightly as he heard George speak. He slowly turned his head to look at Lucy who avoided his gaze. He let out a scoff of disbelief.

"She thinks…But I don't-" He exclaimed, his words trailed off as a realization dawned upon him. He looked between Lucy and George as a feeling of guilt began to settle in his chest.

"She's not clumsy on purpose Anthony…" George frowns. "She was watching you and Lucy earlier, she wasn't paying much attention to what she was doing…that's why the chain fell on her foot," George admits. "She's more purposely impulsive. Not clumsy."

Anthony's expression softened slightly, as the realization that you were jealous of his relationship with Lucy, no matter how friendly it was, sunk in. It made sense, he thought as he remembered a few times when you seemed off after he was teasing Lucy. He also didn't miss the way you would give him a few extra glances when you saw him with Lucy. He ran a hand through his messy locks as he exhaled deeply, his gaze shifting away from his friends. He didn't know how to begin to fix this.

He could feel his guilt grow as he now understood the reason for your actions. "She's...jealous..." He spoke slowly, it was more of a statement than a question.

"I'd say she's been more hurt than jealous. She likes you, Lockwood." Lucy sighs heavily.

Anthony's shoulders slumped slightly as Lucy spoke, her words confirming his suspicions and causing his guilt to deepen even more. He knew you had a tendency to act impulsively when you were hurt or upset, and your jealous behavior was just another way to cope with those feelings. Hearing it from his friends, though, only made it more real.

He let out a shaky exhale, his gaze still downcast. "I never…I never realized how much it bothered her…" He murmured, his voice thick with regret.

"We all thought you knew." George said.

Anthony let out a scoff that sounded more like a half-hearted laugh as he raised his head to look at them both.

"How could I have known? I thought she just did it to piss me off." He ran a hand through his messy locks, his expression betraying his guilt and regret. "All this time…I didn't realize that she…too much time has been wasted. Feelings unsaid..." He trailed off again, unable to finish his sentences. "Where do I even begin to get her to speak to me? To tell her that I- that I feel the same way!" He huffed out in relief. Feeling a weight leave his shoulder saying how he feels about you out loud and to his friends.

"You could start with an apology first of all. Then admit you're a bloody fool!" You exclaim behind them. You pout as you cross your arms on the bench you sit on.

Anthony's eyes widened and his expression changed as soon as he heard your voice behind him. He swiftly turned around to look at you, a mix of emotions playing across his face – surprise, guilt, relief, and also a hint of irritation.

"You-" He began, taken aback by your presence but also by your pouting. He exhaled deeply as he took a few steps towards you. "How long have you been there…?"

"Not going to throttle me anymore?" You raise a brow at him expectantly.

Anthony let out a sigh that sounded more like a small chuckle. Your words tell him just exactly how long you had been there. He stopped a few feet in front of you, his hands on his hips as he gazed intently at the pout on your face.

"No, I'm not going to throttle you.." He said, his voice softer now. "Though I'd like to, very much." He admitted, his irritation clear in his tone.

"Shame…" You hum, eyeing his disheveled state. Then to Luce, and George standing back.

Antony watched you as you sat there on the bench, your arms crossed stubbornly. Your nonchalant comment causes his irritation to rise again, and he can't help but smirk in response. A hint of blush painted his cheeks as he crossed his arms over his chest.

"Shame, huh? Don't tempt me." He spoke, attempting to sound lighthearted but failing miserably, the irritation still evident in his tone. He could practically hear the sarcasm in your voice. He glances at George and Lucy, watching their reaction before returning to yours. Their looks of concern and curiosity were etched on their faces.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" He inquired, his expression a mix of annoyance and amusement.

The corners of your lips lift. You pinch your forefinger and thumb together in amusement. Your right eye shuts as you mouth 'a little bit'.

The sight of you sitting there, clearly taking great satisfaction in his frustration, only further fueled his mixed emotions. He rolled his eyes once more, a mocking scoff leaving his lips. He had to fight the urge to shake you by the shoulders out of sheer frustration.

"Of course you are…." He muttered under his breath, his eyes narrowing as he took another step closer, now only a mere few feet away. "Let's get you home..."

"That's it…"

Anthony's eyebrow raised at your comment, a small smirk playing at the corners of his lips at your defiant tone. He took another step forward, closing the small distance between the two of you completely. He looked down at you, his eyes studying you.

"That's what..?" He inquired, his tone almost mockingly calm. He could see the stubborn glimmer in your eyes and he knew what was coming next.

"'I'm a fool, I shouldn't have yelled at you my darling, Y/n'-" You feign despair.

Anthony rolled his eyes once again, his smirk growing into a playful yet strained smile. He crossed his arms over his chest once more, his gaze fixed on you as you continued to speak.

"Very funny." He shot back sarcastically, his tone dripping with mock annoyance. "You, want me, to grovel."

"I wouldn't mind you on your knees." You smirk up at him.

Anthony's eyes widened slightly and a flush crept onto his cheeks at your retort. He had a feeling you would say that, but he couldn't help the way his stomach did a little somersault at your words. He quickly composed himself, a mixture of surprise and mild irritation on his face.

"You're testing my patience…" He replied, doing his best to ignore the way his heart quickened at the thought of the image those words put in his head.

"Mine's already gone, Anthony." Your stare grows cold.

Anthony's smirk faded from his face, and a pang of guilt washed over him as you said his name in that cold, detached tone. He suddenly felt terrible for the countless times he yelled and scolded you since you met, for all the times he snapped at you when you teased him, for the times he lost his temper when others gave you attention. He could see the hurt in your expression and hear it in your voice. His gaze softened somewhat as the realization hit him and he sighed heavily. It doesn't take him long before he's knelt before you.

"I know… and I'm sorry-" He began, his voice quieter now, less snarky. "I shouldn't have raised my voice at you. I shouldn't have called you stupid because you're not. You're incredibly smart, and I'm a fool…one who loves you." He meets your eyes as your breath hitches. "It appears I wasn't exactly obvious with my feelings towards you. It was my mistake thinking you knew of them." Anthony sighs as he confesses. He ran a hand through his messy locks as he exhaled deeply, his heart feeling like a weight in his chest. His voice was quiet, almost a whisper. "I didn't…realize how deeply you felt about me. And I'm sorry for not seeing it sooner. For not giving you the attention you deserve. For all the times I've yelled at you, and called you stubborn, and-" He trailed off, his voice getting caught in his throat. "For not telling you sooner...I'd understand if you never want to forgive me."

"Fool…" You breathe out a laugh as you reach forward to caress his face.

Anthony's lips twitch into a faint smile as he watches you reach up to touch his face. He leans into your hand slightly, the feeling of your touch calming him. He closes his eyes momentarily, letting your touch soothe him.

"Does that mean you accept my apology..?" Anthony inquired quietly, opening his eyes once more to meet your gaze, a hint of hope in his expression.

"Depends..." Your eyes shift with something mischievous behind them.

Anthony's eyebrows raise slightly as he notices the hint of mischief in your eyes. He knows that look, and it instantly makes him slightly wary. But at the same time, he can't help being curious about what you're planning.

"On what?" He prompts a hint of playfulness in his tone. He tries to keep his expression neutral, but he can't hide the hint of a smile that threatens to form at the corners of his lips.

Your arms immediately shoot up, as though you want to be...

Anthony's eyes widen in surprise at how suddenly your arms shoot up in the air. It takes him a moment to realize what you might be hinting at, and his face flushes with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

"You want me to carry you, of course you do!" He replies with a small chuckle.

"Please…"

Anthony rolls his eyes with a playful grin on his face. Despite his feigned irritation, he can't deny the fact that he kind of enjoys you asking him to carry you. He lets out a mock sigh, pretending to be reluctant.

"Alright, if I must…" He teases, his voice dripping with mock annoyance. He turns around and bends down enough for you to jump onto his back. He grabs onto your legs securing your weight against his.

Anthony glanced in Lucy and George's direction as they chuckled. He couldn't help but smile sheepishly at their reactions. He could practically feel the smugness radiating off of them as he carried you piggyback-style.

"Stop laughing, both of you." He muttered under his breath, a hint of embarrassment in his tone. He shifted his grip on you, making sure you were settled on his back.

"I shall commute home like this more often." You hum.

Anthony scoffed playfully as he began walking with you on his back. He couldn't help but smile at your statement, though he attempted to maintain a neutral expression.

"Oh, is that so?" He teased, his tone lighthearted. "And what makes you think I'm going to carry you home like this every time?"

"You're love for me."

Anthony's cheeks flush at your words, and he rolls his eyes. But secretly, deep down, he can't deny the truth in them. Hearing you say it out loud, coupled with the way you were currently clinging to his back, made his heart skip. He tried to respond in a snarky manner, but his voice betrayed him, coming out softer than he intended.

"Touché." He admitted, a hint of fondness in his voice. 

"I love you too..." You mutter low enough for his ears only.

Anthony's heart skipped a beat when you whispered those three simple words to him. His grip on your legs tightened slightly, and he felt his cheeks flush even more. Your words had the ability to both fluster and comfort him at the same time. The way you said it, low and quiet, for his ears only, made his chest feel warm and his heart swell with affection.

He took a shaky breath and responded in a hushed tone, his voice barely above a whisper. "I know...and I love you more." His head turned to meet your eyes, widened and crinkled with hints of joy and surprise. It makes his heart swell with mixtures of emotions and relief, knowing that he's made you happy after all the tension that had built up between you two. He continues walking, and a small smile tugs at the corners of his lips as he glances back at you. Your head resting against his shoulder, feeling safe and secure in his hold.

[downbadf0rficppl]

love you

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: Part 2 of let me - Your nights are plagued with nightmares that feel all too real. It's all connected to the Bowers' manor. You need to solve this mystery before it drives you crazy. What will you find?

Word Count: 3.9K

Warnings: umm a lot of gore - it's inspired that one episode of guillermo del toro's cabinet of curiosities, so yeah. also they kiss. and it's slightly sad at the end. lmk if there's anything else.

You twisted in your bed- sheets soaked with sweat, hair sticking to your forehead. Vivid images flew across your mind, confusing you with their content.

There was a woman - tall and beautiful, but angry. She was so, so angry. She gripped your hand tightly, pulling you across the floor and locking you in a room. There was a little boy in there, curled in the corner, clutching a teddy bear. 

The teddy bear was familiar - there was a picture of your mother holding an identical one somewhere in the attic of your family home. The boy was covering the teddy bear’s ears. There was screaming outside the door - two voices creating a cacophony, so disruptive that you cowered under its weight. 

In the distance, you could hear the lullaby again - the one from the manor. The little boy stood up and ran to the corner of the room, glancing back before disappearing into a secret door behind the wardrobe.

The scene changed - light streamed through the window now, casting shadows of the window pane on the wooden floor. The angry woman was now stood at the base of the stairs, her coat wrapped around her and a hat in her hands.

“Elizabeth!” she called, “Elizabeth, hurry, we can’t be late again!” 

A young girl ran down the stairs, her fingers dancing over the railing as she ran. You looked at her closely. She almost looked like you. Same hair, same eyes, same face shape. It was peculiar. A floorboard creaked behind you. You turned back to face the stairs - the little boy was sat there again, hands grasping his teddy bear. He looked woefully at his sister, who was already out the door, chattering away to their mother. You could hear her muffled voice through the shut door. You shivered.

A draft blew through the house. Loud sobbing echoed through the halls and you ran upstairs, following the sound. You turned open the door to the boy’s room, before scrambling back hand clamped over your mouth to stifle your scream.

There, lying in a pool of her own blood, was the sister. The whole family crowded around her - the father cradled her in his arms while the mother cried into her hands nearby. Their clothes were soaked with blood as they sat wailing. A constable ran up the stairs with the maid, and he stumbled back as the scene came into view. You watched as he muttered a prayer to the Lord.

“Come, Timothy.” The maid held out her hand to you. You gasped. She was the same. She was the maid from the Bowers house. What if she had followed you into your dream? Was that even possible? How could that even happen?

The sound of gentle footsteps behind you broke you out of your spiralling. Behind you was the little boy. His eyes were closed, hands tightly gripping the teddy bear. He was covered in blood. From head to toe.

You step aside as he took the maid’s hand. She led him down the stairs towards the maid’s quarters where he sat patiently on the bed waiting for her to return with a wet cloth. She came back with a tub and a pair of clean clothes for him to change into. Slowly and carefully, she wiped away all of the blood, humming her song all the while. Little Timothy cried as she cleaned him, wailing that it was all his fault. 

Confusion mounted as he cried - how could it be his fault, you thought, it’s not as if he killed his sister? The maid soothed him, whispering that it wasn’t his fault, there’s no way he could have known. 

You felt yourself slipping out of the dream, someone’s hand on your arm, shaking you awake, calling your name. You threw yourself awake, pulling yourself out of bed, and putting distance between whoever was in your room. You stumbled, your legs not ready for the sudden movement. A familiar pair of arms caught you, pulling you back into bed. Lockwood. 

“Are you alright?” He asked, once you were settled back into bed, “I heard you screaming from across the hall.”

“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.”

Lockwood didn’t look convinced. “Was it about the last case? The one at the manor?”

“No,” you lied, looking away from his inquiring eyes, “it’s one of those ones where nothing makes sense but it’s just scary.”

“Okay. Try and get back to sleep,” Lockwood pressed a chaste kiss to your forehead, “if you can’t, you can always come and be an insomniac with me.”

You smiled at him as he left before bringing a hand up to brush your hairline. He kissed you? Lockwood wasn’t one to show physical affection, even to Ruby and George. Since moving in here, you’d only seen him be affectionate once, hugging Ruby when he was exceptionally tired. You smiled internally, lying back down and turning over. Maybe there’s a slight possibility that he feels the same.

It had been 3 days and the nightmare was still replaying itself in your head. You and Lucy were getting ready to go into central London for a case - suited up and ready to scope out quite an old townhouse. The owners had been complaining that there was an apparition causing a disturbance in the attic.

The two of you hopped in a cab, exchanging notes on George’s research as you pulled up to 16 Cherry Tree Lane. It was a tall townhouse in a very affluent part of London. The area had a rich history and Lucy knocked on the door just as the sun started setting. 

Your footsteps echoed as you entered the empty townhouse - clearly the owners were still in the process of moving in as the home was barren. The case should be easy - one ghost that they could hear in the attic, likely a Type 1. Easy. In and out.

“Let’s just get this over with, then we can get pizza,” Lucy said, harking back to Lockwood’s promise to pick up pizza on his way back from DEPRAC.

The two of you headed up the stairs, both of you using your listening skills to try and locate the ghost. Lucy stayed on the first floor, exploring the bedrooms, while you headed up to the second floor to see if you had any luck there. You could hear faint humming - a man’s voice but still, for a moment you stood, paralysed by fear. There was no way she could have followed you here. You heard footsteps come from behind you, and someone calling your name. Lucy. You tried calling out to her but found yourself unable to yell or run to her. You were stuck.

Lucy comes upstairs to find you standing by the top of the stairs, tears streaming down your face. The ghost wasn’t near you - he seemed oblivious to either of you being there (you were right when you said he was a Type 1). Lucy blocks him from your view, placing her hands on the side of your head, bringing your focus back to her. You soon relaxed, your body releasing its tension and movement returned to your body. Your hands came up to cover hers, reassuring her that you were okay. She didn’t seem convinced.

As you pulled up to 35 Portland Row, you were still shaking from the icy grip of the ghost. The chill seemed to linger in your bones and your body felt heavy as you walked up the steps to the house. Lucy’s worried gaze lingered on you as she opened the door, her arm steady around your shoulders, but she said nothing as you trudged into the house.

"You should rest," Lucy suggested gently, closing the door behind you. "I'll make you some tea."

You nodded gratefully, already feeling the exhaustion creep in. As you settled onto the couch, Lucy disappeared into the kitchen, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

As you dozed off on the couch, you heard the door open and Lockwood announce that he had pizza. Somewhere deep in the back of your mind, you celebrated - it had been months since you guys had been able to treat yourselves to a full pizza meal, so you were excited. But the case had really taken it out of you, so you just remained curled up on the couch.

You vaguely heard Lockwood call your name and walk into the room, but you were too tired to lift your head. You feel his hand brush over your head and a shiver runs down your spine. You hear him ask Lucy what happened, and - with a slight hesitation - she tells him. You can't be mad at her - Lockwood deserved to know the whole truth.

Eventually, he and Lucy slipped away, leaving you to the silence of the room. The scent of pizza wafted from the kitchen and your stomach growled. Mustering up the last ounces of your energy, you rose from the couch and walked over to the kitchen, where the three of them were sat. You gingerly sat in your chair, reaching out for some pepperoni pizza.

The four of you sat in a silence as Lucy and George rushed to finish their pizza and slip away. They knew what was coming.

"You should be resting," Lockwood finally said, as Lucy shut the door behind her. The worry on his face morphed into anger as you took another bite of pizza, "See this is what I mean when I say you're too reckless."

His words stung a little and you felt a flare of defiance. "I'm not a child, Anthony, I can take care of myself."

"Clearly not well enough." He retorted, pushing his plate away. He may be the big boss of Lockwood and Co, but he still left his crusts on the plate. Lockwood's voice kept rising, "You know what, you're benched until I say otherwise. If I can't trust you to keep yourself safe, I'll do it for you."

The finality in his tone makes your blood boil. "You can't just bench me!" You shouted back, standing up to match Lockwood's stance. "I'm also a part of this team, and I deserve to be treated like it."

Lockwood stepped back, his expression a mix of anger and hurt. "I'm doing this because I care about you. Can't you see that?"

But you were too angry to listen. Without another word, you stormed out of the kitchen and off to your room, slamming the door behind you - the picture frames on the wall rattled with force. The silence that followed was deafening, your heart pounding in your ears.

As you sat on the edge of your bed, the anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by a crushing sense of guilt. You knew that Lockwood wasn't doing it to be malicious, but his overprotectiveness felt suffocating. Curling up on your bed, you tried to drift off to sleep but it felt impossible. You were benched off the team and at odds with Lockwood. You didn't need to add another nightmare to that mix.

The next day, Anthony and Lucy disappeared on another mission, while George took a trip to the British Library to put together some information for a case next week. You were supposed to stay behind at the house to clean up and take care of some artifacts, but you had other plans. 

While George got a taxi from the house, you slipped out and caught the next bus in that direction. The British Library was a familiar sanctuary, rows of dusty tomes lining the shelves, each one holding secrets waiting to be uncovered. Years before you had worked for Lockwood and Co., you did what George did - extensive research.

You settled at a computer in the far corner of the library, brow furrowed in concentration, as you flicked through some old local newspapers that mentioned the old Bower's Manor.

The pages were filled with tales of hauntings and tragedy, the ghostly echoes of past inhabitants lingering in the crumbling halls, stuff that George had already pulled out in his last case file. You traced your finger along faded photographs of the manor, trying to figure out why you felt so drawn to it. 

"There's something here," you murmured to yourself, "There must be."

You slide a worn parchment under the magnifier beside you. The photo caught your eye. It was the little boy you saw. You shifted it towards the text. 

May 26th, 1947

News from the Bowers Manor: Ms. Elizabeth Bowers, eldest daughter of Lord and Mrs. Timothy Bowers, has unfortunately passed on at the age of 15, two months after Lord Bower’s brother, Lt. Charles M. Bowers. The passing has been reported as the result of a chronic and fatal condition, but some within the house believe some other forces to be at play. 

Constable M. Myers reported the case to be unlike any he had seen before after he was called to the Manor early Saturday morning. He reportedly returned to the station covered in blood and shaking, before retiring home for the weekend. He has not been able to give any other statement.

You stopped reading. This was it. The story from your memory. Vision? Whatever it was. You scanned the rest of the text, looking for the name of the brother, but there was no mention of him. 

You took the next newspaper in the pile and placed it under the magnifier. Nothing. And the next. And the next. Still nothing. Finally you find one from 1957. Ten years after the original. In the corner of one of the middle pages is a small photo and an article titled, ‘The Last Bowers’. This could be it. 

October 2nd, 1957

Sgt. Timothy Bowers II, son of the late Lord and Mrs. Timothy Bowers, closed the doors to the Bower’s Manor for the last time as the keys pass on to one Mr. Khalil. The 19-year-old made the decision after the passing of his cousin, the late Ms. Sanders. The Sergeant confirmed his decision to sell at last week’s monthly town meeting, and was met with uproar. Nonetheless, it seems whatever bad luck has haunted the house and the Bowers family has finally driven the young Sergeant away.

You examined the photo and your heart dropped to your stomach. You’d seen that photo before. Framed. In your mother’s house. The revelation hit you like a thunderbolt, sending a shiver down your spine as you stared at the crumbling pages before you again. The old Bowers Manor was owned by your ancestors, and the boy from the photo - and your nightmares - was none other than your grandfather.

Images flashed through your mind, fragments of memories long buried resurfacing in vivid detail. You remembered the stories your mother told you as a child, tales of a troubled past and a family history shrouded in darkness. But you never imagined that those secrets lay within the walls of the very manor you had been investigating.

As the realization sank in, you felt your mind race with possibilities. The discovery added a new layer of complexity to the mission, one that you couldn't ignore. But it made sense. Even at Fitte’s, you weren’t supposed to work cases that were close to you - no family relations or people that you were close to. Despite Anthony's orders to stay away, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something you had to do.You may have been benched, but that didn't mean you were out of the game. And if that meant you had to defy Anthony’s instructions, so be it. 

You printed a copy of the two newspapers and tucked them carefully into your bag. You then ran to catch the bus home before anyone made it back. 

As you stepped through the door of 35 Portland Row, carrying the weight of the newfound revelations about your family's history, you were met with the stern gaze of Anthony Lockwood. His expression was a mix of frustration and concern, his normally calm demeanor replaced by a crackling intensity that sends a chill down your spine.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, his voice sharp with reproach. "I thought we agreed that you were going to stay here.”

“If by agreed, you mean you told me to stay here and just expected me to agree.”

His expression didn’t change. Instead, his eyes caught one of the photocopies that was clenched in your hand. He grabbed while you were distracted and looked over it. His face hardened more if that was possible. “I thought I specifically told you to stay away from that case."

You swallowed hard, knowing that you were about to face the full force of Anthony's wrath. "I know, but I had to—"

"You had to, what?" he interrupted, his tone laced with exasperation. "Risk your life chasing after a ghost that we don’t need to? You almost got ghost-touched! Do you have any idea how dangerous that was?"

You met his gaze head-on, refusing to back down. "I had to find out the truth," you replied, your voice steady despite the turmoil brewing inside you. "About my family, about the manor—about everything."

“Your family?” Anthony's features soften slightly, a flicker of concern crossing his face. “What do you mean?”

You explained the truth. Everything you’d found out in the Library. You watched as Anthony’s shoulder slumped with every word. You knew why you got ghost-locked now, so things should be back to normal.

Anthony didn’t share the sentiment. "You can't keep doing this," he said, his voice gentler now, tinged with worry. "You're important to me, to all of us. I can't stand the thought of you putting yourself in harm's way like this."

His words caught you off guard, a pang of emotion tugging at your heart. You'd always known that Anthony cared about you, but hearing him express it so openly sent a rush of warmth flooding through you.

"Anthony," you began, reaching out to touch his arm, "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to worry you."

He met your gaze, his eyes softening as he took in your sincerity. "I know you didn't," he said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. "But please, promise me you'll be more careful. Promise me you'll take care of yourself."

A tense silence envelops the room, broken only by the sound of your racing heart. You can feel the weight of his concern pressing down on you, mingling with your own sense of guilt and determination.

He’d stepped closer to you at some point in your conversation, to the point where his face was inches away from yours. His hand came up to caress the side of your face as he stared into your eyes. “Please take care of yourself. I don’t think I’d survive it if you got hurt. I know…-”

In a moment of impulsive clarity, you leaned forward, closing the distance between you and Anthony in one swift motion. Your lips met his in a tender, desperate kiss, cutting off his tirade mid-sentence.

For a heartbeat, the world fell away, leaving only the sensation of Anthony's lips against yours, the warmth of his embrace pulling you closer. In that fleeting instant, everything else faded into insignificance, overshadowed by the intensity of your connection.

When you finally pulled away, breathless and trembling, you were met with Anthony's wide-eyed gaze, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. For a heartbeat, neither of you spoke, the weight of the unspoken hanging heavy in the air.

Then, slowly, tentatively, Anthony reached out to cup your cheek, his touch gentle against your skin. "What was that?" he whispered, his voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart.

You met his gaze, your own eyes filled with a mixture of uncertainty and longing. "I... I don't know," you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. "But I couldn't stand to see you upset, and... and I needed you to know."

Anthony's expression softened, a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I understand," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "And... and I think I needed to know too."

The tension in the room dissipated, as you met Anthony’s gaze with sincerity shining in your eyes. 

"I promise," you said softly, "I'll take better care of myself. And I won't put myself in unnecessary danger again."

Anthony nodded, his expression softening with relief. "And I promise to trust you more," he said, his voice filled with sincerity. "I know I can be too controlling at times, but I'll work on letting go and giving you the space you need."

He pulled you back into his arms and you relaxed into them. You rested your cheek on his shoulder as he held you, content to just be.

You and Anthony stood outside the Bowers manor. The building wasn’t any less imposing the second time, and Anthony squeezed your hand in reassurance. We can do this, it said. You took a deep breath. 

You pushed open the heavy door and stepped into the decrepit hallway, the air thick and stagnant. This time, the feeling of discomfort didn’t weigh as heavily on your chest as you and Anthony made your way to the maid’s quarters.

Finally, you reached the quarters and you came face-to-face with the ghost that had been haunting your dreams for the past week. It was the maid, her spectral form flickering in and out of existence as she clung to the shadows, her eyes filled with longing and sorrow.

You and Anthony searched the room for anything that could be the source. Eventually, Lockwood found a loose floorboard hiding a silver hair comb and a few photos. He called you over, yelling at you to get a silver box, or some net. Anything that would subdue the maid. 

But as you grabbed the net, a voice cut through the silence—a voice you recognised all too well. It was your grandfather, his eyes covered by special goggles that you’d seen somewhere before. They were the same as the one’s Fairfax was wearing before Annabelle killed him. You shuddered at the thought. 

Your grandfather’s form materialised beside the maid, his face etched with pain and regret. "Please," he begged, his voice thick with emotion. "Don't do this. She's all I have left."

You hesitated, torn between the desire to end your haunting and listening to your grandfather’s plea. But deep down, you know what needs to be done. With a heavy heart, you threw the net over the source, the energy crackling through the air as the maid's form begins to fade.

In a sudden burst of anger and despair, your grandfather lunged forward, his arms reaching out as he tried to stop you. But before he could reach you, Anthony stepped in, shielding you from the blow.

As the maid's form faded into nothingness, you reached out to your grandfather, pulling him close as he sobbed in your arms. For a moment, there were no words, only the sound of his tears mingling with the echoes of the past.

But then, as the last remnants of the maid faded away, your grandfather lifted his head, his eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the fading echoes of the manor. "For giving me the chance to say goodbye."

fin.

[saltwaterburns]

Lockwood and reader slow dancing in the kitchen and the reader doesnt have any abilities so shes just ":(( locky pls be safe"

Your face is smushed against his chest, your lungs burning with the smell of him. His shirt is soft, slightly worn down from all the times it's been washed, but your eyes are shut in domestic bliss nevertheless. His lips are pressed against the top of your head, the corners of his mouth curled. Your hands are clasped together as you sway alongside him to the music, trying to grasp the last before his inevitable departure.

Your eyes prickle and your throat starts to close up, so you only press yourself closer to him, desperate to (hopefully) drown yourself and your thoughts. He senses your surfacing emotions and only holds onto you tighter, his own eyes tearing up too.

"Promise me you'll be careful. And that you'll come back. I can't be alone during Christmas. Don't you dare leave me here all alone." You whisper, your voice breaking. You turn your head so this time it's your ear that's atop his chest, his steady heartbeat rhythmically echoing inside you.

He chuckles softly, and nods. "I promise," he whispers into your hair, pressing another kiss there.

[d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n]

Let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

[shadowbriar]

Anthony Lockwood - I Love You So

Pairing : (F/M) || Anthony Lockwood x TouchGifted!Reader Word Count : 5.7k. Damn I’m on fire this time. Warning : Mention of blood and injury. Angst. Possible OOC as I haven’t read the books. Not proofread. Synopsis : The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues. Notes : Inspired by The Walters - I Love You So. This song is very Lockwood coded for me, I recommend listening to it while reading. Please help and try to save Lockwood & co by using the hashtag #SaveLockwoodAndCo on social medias and don’t forget to vote for them on National Film Award 2023. You can check my friend Paulina’s tweet to see how. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Her fingers trace the writings on the thinking cloth, lips unintentionally curved into a smile whenever George's silly comment or Lucy's mocking remarks were visible. Their early bicker about their planning process replays in her head. She's always been one to easily record information in her head, no further recall or revising needed for her to proceed with their plans, but given her troublesome nights lately, supposed a late night go over with a cup of tea would be a brilliant idea.

“Trouble sleeping?”

She looks up, welcomed by smiling Lockwood who's leaning by the kitchen door, “Something like that.”

“Why didn't you come to the library?”

“Wasn't in the mood for a late night quarrel with you.”

She shot him a playful smile, earning a light chuckle that didn't sound like it was heartfelt. Just enough to let her know that he understood her sarcasm.

Lockwood steps in, pouring himself a cup of tea and sitting across her. She could feel his eyes trained on her, taking in every detail and admiring it as he wouldn't do it during the day. For whatever reason that might be, she wasn't sure. But it wasn't like he ever professed any feelings for her. For all she knows he might just be spacing out and planning something in his head completely unrelated to her.

He calls her name.

Not looking up to meet his eyes, she hums, “Hm?”

“We're good.. Aren't we?”

No, no we aren't, she thought. He might not notice it but the distance growing between them has been eating her alive. She wasn't sure when it started nor what exactly is the cause for her invisible wound, but something's changed between them. He would be there in the morning when they eat breakfast, would be there when they watch their late night show on the telly, but Lockwood has been anything but a friend to her. He's turned into a stranger she hardly recognise. There was a wall between them, one she couldn't climb nor break through, and it's maddening that she couldn't fix it or talk about it.

Because what exactly changed? She doesn't know.

“Of course.” She faked a smile, feigning her most believable tender tone “What makes you think we're not?”

Lockwood opens his mouth before closing it again, sealing it with a smile as if he thinks it would be better to entertain her lies, “Nothing. Just wanted to be sure.”

She nods, looking back down to the thinking cloth.

“Will you join me tonight?” He asks again, nervousness bleeds through his tone. This wouldn't be the first time he asks her to sleep with him, just to hold each other until the sun rises, but for some reason it feels much more nerve racking than the countless previous. Perhaps because for the first time, her answer might not be pleasant to his ear “We can discuss further about the plan. Maybe my rambling can help you drift to slumber.”

“Not tonight, Anthony.”

It's taken her every willpower to not look up and take her words back. She can imagine the disappointment in his eyes when she hears him let out a sigh. She's avoiding him now. Perhaps scared to actually feel the distance between them when she lays on his bed, no longer feeling the safety of his embrace.

“Alright,” He mutters as he stands and pushes his chair “Don't stay up too late, we need you sharp and alert for tomorrow's job.”

Again, she only replies with a nod.

When the doorknob lightly clicks, she lets out a breath she wasn't even aware she was holding. Her eyes now avert to the door, where he was standing just a few minutes ago with that proud smile and tired eyes. He looks the same, the very same Anthony John Lockwood who'd caused them numerous troubles on the field, the very same Anthony who's ego seems to inflate whenever a rapier is at hand, the very same boy she's been madly in love with for years.

There were moments when she thought that the water flows both ways. When he would hug her first after winning a fencing tournament, or when he would hold her after a terrible nightmare, or simply when he would give her freshly cut toasts for breakfast. The little things one would not notice as something sentimental after years of growing up together. But she does. She notices.

Perhaps had even taken things too seriously when it might just mean nothing for him.

She lets out a sigh, running her fingers through her hair and rubbing her temples gently. It might just be nothing, she tries to convince herself, it might just be the stress of work for both of us. With the agency's growing popularity and demands of clients that never seem to end, perhaps all her troubles were just caused by it. That nothing is wrong between her and Lockwood, that there is no distance, no space between them.

—-

“Another massive win for us, I might say.” Lockwood says as the squad enters 35 Portland Row. His arm was around her shoulder as support, dried blood littering his left cheek from the early action of the mission, but neither the ache nor wound on his temple seem to wither his satisfied-self “The papers are going to have to write about us this time.”

Lucy groans as she tidies their rapier to the stand, “Keep me out from them, please.”

“Oh, but you're the star of this agency, Luce!”

Lucy dismisses Anthony's remark as she proceeds to ascend the stairs, visibly in desperate need of a warm shower.

“I wouldn't want to be involved too, thanks for asking.” George sarcastically commented with eyes still studying the locket they retrieved from the site. An ancient relic that would be his source of research for the weeks to come “You two would be enough of a punching bag for them to pick on.”

Lockwood turns to her as George retreats to his room, a happy grin still etched on his face, “Looks like it's gonna be us two again.”

“We can worry about the press later. You have a wound to treat first.” She replies as they begin to walk deeper into the house “And don't keep your hopes too high, Anthony. DEPRAC has a tendency to stomp on our dreams.”

Wincing slightly as he rests himself on the sofa, Lockwood watches her leave the room to get their med kit and a basin full of water. He could never get tired of this. Walking home after a successful mission, her tending his wounds that wouldn't be there if he would just suppress his impulsive-self, and listening to her scolds about how he acts like he's got nine lives on his sleeves.

But when she returned with her kit, the nagging that he's braced himself to face never came. She remained quiet, eyes locked on his wound. Not even a second spared to look into his eyes.

The cleaning process felt like a blink of an eye. Before he knew it she was already fixing the bandages back to the aid bag. His wound was cleaned, a thin layer of healing ointment lacing it. All done in silence, no lectures.

“Try to keep the wound dry when you shower, alright?”

Lockwood blinks. Nodding at her words as he tries to digest the silence they're in.

“Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“I don't think so.” He answers.

She flashes a smile, standing from her seat. Without another word she exits the room, carrying the basin that is now slightly red from his blood and the aid bag. She spared no other glance at him. Silently returning the medical kit to the cabinet before entering her room and locking it shut.

Perhaps today isn't a big win after all.

—-

Having Lucy in the company has exponentially boosted their success. Such brilliant talent has brought them more accomplishment that it was getting troublesome for them to finish one mission to another. Lucy was truly Heaven sent, in short. The saviour to their dying agency and she could never thank her enough to revive Lockwood's dream back to life.

She understands the importance of Lucy's gift for their team and how the company is at it’s golden moment right now. Sure she and Lockwood are two of the most gifted agents there are, but with Lucy in the crew, the quartet was unbeatable. And it is obvious that Lockwood is determined to reap as much advantage as possible.

“I'm going to the grocery shop, anyone needs anything?”

It was a lazy Sunday morning. George making notes on the thinking cloth, Lucy trying to listen to their newest source, and Lockwood leaning on the kitchen set with his brows furrowed, clearly in a deep thought.

“I'll come with you.” Lockwood says as he picks up his coat “George, you said we need more teabags, right? Anything for you, Luce?”

The girl shakes her head, looking rather annoyed to have her focus broken from his question.

“I can go alone, it's not going to be a huge shopping trip.” She says as Lockwood comes to her “Really, Anthony, you can just stay and help brainstorm the plan.”

“I'm coming,” He insists with a light chuckle “What is it with you? Are you avoiding me or something?”

Yes, she wanted to say, I'm going out to have a breath away from you.

Lockwood opens the door, gesturing to her to come and ignoring her lack of answer, “Come on then.”

With a last smile and wave of goodbye to George and Lucy, she follows Lockwood's step outside of the house. The wind was blowing gently, sky clear and blue, the very perfect weather for her to take a stroll yet her mind couldn't help but to overlook such perfection and worry about the body walking next to her instead.

Lockwood's hands were buried deep inside his pockets. He was looking down to the cobblestone, as if there was some invisible stepping for him to step on. The creases on his forehead are a clear indication that his mind is occupied elsewhere. Almost as if he was mirroring her.

“So, uh,” He begins, trying to break the ice between them “What do you need from the shop?”

“Just some snacks and sweets.” She answers “You?”

He shrugs, “Maybe just a pack of gum.”

“Right.”

Lockwood nods, turning his gaze back to the road.

For someone who loves to brood in silence, Lockwood has always had her as an exception. She's the only person he could let his chatter-self loose, expressing all the most trivial thoughts he has, knowing that she would indulge them with a welcoming commentary or simply a warm laughter. The kind of laughter that makes you feel seen and heard. Her kind of laughter.

But after all her evident effort to turn him down, asking to be paired with George on their missions, declining his invitations to spend the night in his room or the library, and the most recent no-scolding-moment when she tended his wound, Lockwood couldn't help but to feel pressured on finding a topic to talk about.

“So what do you think about our last job?” He asks, forcing a happy smile as she turns to see him “A rather brilliant achievement, don't you think? With Lucy in our team, I'm certain our agency can be big in no time. Hell, we might have to start rejecting clients soon, can you believe it? We're lucky to have found such gifted talent-”

“Lockwood,” She cuts in, making him wince at the use of his last name instead of his first “Can I ask you a favour?”

He blinks, “Anything.”

“Let's not talk about work until we get back home, okay? Can I ask that of you?”

“Sure,” He nods “Of course, no talking about work for the rest of our shopping trip.”

She flashes a smile in gratitude, locking their arms together as a means of apology for stomping on his light. He smiles at her, a genuine one, before patting the back of her hand and continuing their walk to the grocery shop.

—-

The trolley wheels through the aisle as she scans for the particular brand of chocolate. She would certainly need a big bar of it along with a pint of ice cream tonight. For once after what seems to be forever, she finally cracked the code. The cause of space that has been growing between her and Lockwood has been found. What is left now is to find a way to solve it and to tell him about how they need to separate their lives with the job.

When he first told her about his dream of having his own agency, she was ever the most supportive and kind. Dropping her brilliant achievements at the academy, she was the first or perhaps second agent of Lockwood & co. Their talents were more than enough to ever become the elite team if they were in another agency, but since the company was still on its baby roots, finding clients was rather challenging. Things were getting better when George joined and even more brilliant now that Lucy is part of the team. She would have never expected his dream to be in the way of their personal lives.

Everything is just work, work, and work now.

“Fancy seeing you here, stranger.”

She turns to see the man, a wide smile plastered on his face. Almost as radiant as his yellow leather uniform, “Quill, hi!”

“Oh, it's been forever.” He says as they share a hug “Are you here alone?”

“Lockwood,” She replies “He's wandering around but with you here, I'm sure he'll pop up in no time.”

The two chuckles at her commentary. Lockwood and Kipps were always the cause of her nightmares back in the academy. The two boys could never seem to act civil, always bickering and hostile to one another, but when she's alone with either of them, they would act the most gentle as if she was someone they love dearly for.

A different kind of love from each of the boys, of course.

“How are you?” She asks, her expression turns to slight worry “Is it getting any better?”

Kipps smiles painfully, “Barely holding on. We've got to make most of what we have, don't we?”

If there were no bad blood between the two she would have offered Kipps to join the agency years ago. Having known him for years and to see just how brilliant he was, the way his techniques were always showcased whenever they have a fencing duel, it is no wonder that people hold a big expectation on his shoulders. He was promoted as supervisor in no time due to his proficient skills but with his talent slowly weakening, he needed someone to help patch this rather embarrassing fragility.

“Have you given it a thought?” Kipps asks with a gentle tone “I heard that Lucy girl is of great help for your team. Do you think you could finally help mine instead?”

“Quill–,”

“Kipps,” Lockwood says as he circles his arm around her shoulder, showing a rather possessive manner at the sight of them “What are you doing here? You're not stalking us, are you?”

Kipps snorts, making a disgusted face at him, “This is a public space, Lockwood. Don't flatter yourself.”

Understanding that their time has come to an end, Kipps flashes her a smile and walks away. He knows that Lockwood wouldn't give them another second to talk so unless he'd want him to know about his persisting issue, it was best for Kipps to find himself out of the scene.

“What did he want?”

“Nothing, we just had a chat.” She lied, pushing Lockwood's arm off of her shoulder and continued to wheel the trolley.

“About what?”

“About nothing of your concern.” She replies “You might never see him as one but Quill's a friend of mine, Anthony. We were just having a friendly conversation.”

Lockwood frowns at her dissatisfying answer. She's keeping something from him but whatever it is, he knew that poking about it now would be the recipe for a nightmare. Her sour mood hasn't watered and it would be wise for him to just let her be.

Besides, it wasn't like she'd leave him. Not for Kipps of all people.

“Can I ask you something?”

Lockwood turns to her, a loving smile decorating his face, “Anything.”

“How are you, Anthony?”

He frowns, “Splendid, how are you?”

“No, I mean, how are you?” She repeats, sighing in frustration to convey her true meaning “I don’t know anything about you outside of work anymore. What music do you listen to now? What book do you read? Do you even read still?”

Lockwood remains quiet, waiting for her to continue with her words so he would understand better.

“I live under your roof, see you almost 24/7. You’re the first person I see in the morning and the last I would bid goodnight to, yet I feel like I don’t know anything about you anymore.”

“That’s not true.” He argues, still not understanding the severity of their discussion “You know everything about me.”

“Do I?”

“Don’t you?”

“Stop turning my questions to me, Anthony. You know I don’t like it when you do it.”

His chuckle breaks, now pulling her for a tight hug, “Is that what you’ve been worrying about? That you don’t know me anymore?”

She remains quiet.

“If there is anyone that knows me down to my fibre, it would be you.” He continues, patting her head gently to soothe her “I mean, I suppose I have been too occupied with work but that doesn’t mean that you don’t know me anymore. We still share our meals together, watch our favourite shows and spend most of our time together. You’re still the one friend that knows me best.”

“I suppose,” She gives in “I’m just worried that this whole ghost hunting thing is burying our reality because I genuinely can’t draw the line between work and our lives anymore.”

“Well, our life is the agency, is it not?”

She shrugs.

“Hey,” Lockwood calls, breaking the hug and cupping her face to look into her eyes “You know me. I’m not a stranger to you, alright? You know what my current favourite jam is, what kind of tea I enjoy at the moment, and what colour of socks I wear the most. We’re still the same people as we were five, ten years ago.”

She smiles, nodding as she melts into his sweet words, “Alright.”

—-

"Anthony, I don't like this."

The group puts down their bags as they arrive at the mansion. Examining the place from the outside, she can already tell that whatever is waiting for them inside isn’t anything close to what they’ve encountered before.

“It’s still a couple hours till sunset but the energy is already this strong.” She told him, her senses heightened in fear “We’re not equipped to fight such a visitor, Anthony. Best we go back, rethink our plan, and maybe ask for assistance.”

“From who? Kipps you mean?” Lockwood asks with a bitter expression. He rubs his nose, a habit he does whenever he’s trying to tone down a brewing exasperation “Look, we’ve been through this a hundred times. The plan is foul proof, I can assure you. By this time tomorrow we’ll be crowding the sitting room, watching whatever unknown movie George picks to enjoy.”

“This isn’t about your ego or old feud with Quill, Anthony. There’s nothing wrong in understanding your limit and drawing the line. No shame in dropping a job we’re not capable of.” She tries to reason “Think about our safety.”

“You’re safe,” He insists, placing his hands on her shoulders for assurance “Nothing bad will happen to any of us. I’ll keep an eye for you, I promise.”

Not giving her another second to argue, Lockwood walks away and begins to help Lucy fixing the metal chain. The inside of her stomach flips when the wind blows. She knows that even for people who aren’t gifted, the atmosphere the mansion offers is nowhere close to the word homey. There’s something dark and cold, peeking through the windows and she could feel it in her bones that none of them four is strong enough to battle such power.

She walks to George and begins unloading their equipment. Her brows furrow at the sight of a strange item. A circular ball that looks like their salt bomb, only that it is heavier and bigger in size.

“Careful,” George says as he takes it from her hand with care.

“What is that?”

“A new bomb.” He answers “It has salt, lavender, and some other chemical thing inside that would explode from sudden force. Throw it to the floor and whatever visitor we meet would evaporate to thin air.”

“That doesn’t sound very safe.” She mutters, turning her eyes back to the mansion “I hope we don’t have to use that tonight.”

She looks back at Lockwood’s direction, trying to ease her worry by repeating his words in her head. Lockwood knows what he’s doing. They’ve been through the plan a hundred times, just like he said. Nothing will go wrong tonight. Everything is collected and under control.

—-

“Make it stop!” Lucy wails, closing her ears tight with her hands “Please, make it stop!”

“George, give us the chains!” Anthony yells as he tries to calm Lucy.

George quickly runs to their aid as she tries her best to fight the ghost with her rapier. She might not be the best there is, but she’s neck to neck as good as Lockwood and that should give her friends enough time to cast more protection for Lucy.

It hasn’t even been two hours since they entered the mansion and already the plans they came up with burned to ashes. This is more than just a case of an old abandoned house. The amount of type two occupying the building is enough to tell them that their client hasn’t been truthful. This place must have witnessed a mass murder, perhaps a cult sacrifice, to hoard this much energy.

“We need to find the source.” She says as she battles the ghosts “I can’t use my talent while fighting these ghosts.”

As if on cue, Lockwood came and began to fight the ghosts. He turns to her for a brief moment, “Go. I’ll protect you.”

With a nod, she walks away from her spot, running to the other side of the room. She places her hands to the walls, trying to get a clearer picture of what they’re dealing with.

The sound of screams and crying begin to fill her ears. There was so much pain and sorrow. This mansion has seen the worst of human acts, inflicting as much agony as possible to innocent lives. Her consciousness was slipping away, drowning in the torment that she is sensing and if it wasn’t for Lucy’s scream of cry acting as her tether to reality, she would have sunk in a ghost-lock condition.

“The blade,” She says as she finally gets the idea of their source “The source is a blade. An old one with a gold handle and Latin engraving.”

“Great work,” Lockwood praises her, his prideful smirk tugging on his face “George, prepare the chain net. Be ready to cover it.”

“How exactly are we going to find it? It’s pitch black here.”

Lockwood chuckles, “Well, use your flashlight, why don’t you?”

The three of them now begin to scour the place whilst fighting the ghosts coming in their direction. The screaming in her head gets louder as they come closer to the source, almost deafening her physically. Her stepping was getting unstable. Energy and focus drained out of her with every bead of sweat layering her skin.

“Stop!” She yells, dropping her rapier as the cries become unbearable “It hurts, please stop!”

“Oh, no,” George, who was closest to her, now kneels down and tries to bring her back to consciousness as he lightly taps on her cheeks.

“George!” Lockwood calls, panic seems to finally sink in as he watches her wail in pain “The source must be close, try to find it. I’ll protect her.”

Nodding, George begins to crawl away and look for the damned blade. His hands found what seems to be an old cabinet and began to rummage through. With very limited lighting and no idea of what the blade looks like, searching for a piece of steel through a locker full of metal items feels fruitless.

Scanning from one drawer to the other, George lets out a satisfied chuckle as he finally finds what they’re looking for. But before he could take it out and cover it with their chain net, a handful of ghosts headed his way.

“George, watch out!”

In the heat of the moment, George throws the chain net to the drawer, hoping that it would land and cover the blade, before throwing the new bomb to the ghosts.

To their luck, the chain net did fall on top of the source but due to the close proximity and the lack of understanding of just how big the explosion the bomb would produce, George was thrown out of the wall from the impact. Bits of broken wood scratch his skin and there was a big gash on his forehead. 

George was unconscious.

—-

Opening the keys to 35 Portland Row with a tired yawn, she put down her scarf and hung her coat by the rack. She’s been staying at the hospital for days, only returning home to take a shower and bring a new set of fresh clothes for George. Her body was aching. The scars on her skin from the previous mission are still fresh and hurting but none of it compares to the fatigue of worrying for George’s being.

The terror from that night still haunts her. How her head was filled with wails one moment to complete silence and darkness as George successfully covers the source. She remembers scanning the floor with her hands to find her flashlight, trying to get some light to understand their situation better, only to be completely frightened by the sight of George, lying unconscious with blood pooling around him.

“You’re home,” Lockwood greets, a relieved expression evident on his face.

She nods, not giving him an answer as she walks past him.

“How is he?” He asks as she gets to the stairs.

“Still unconscious but his vitals are stabilising.” She answers  “You'd know if you visit him yourself.”

“I want to, but I need to finish the report and paperworks.” Lockwood reasoned, following her behind like a lost puppy “Lucy's out at the library to do some research about our next mission. With George at the hospital I think we'd need more time to make our plans.”

She rolls her eyes, fist balling as she tries to hold in her anger.

“I was wondering if you could go to the DEPRAC office on your way back to the hospital and drop the locket? Inspector Barnes called and-”

“Anthony!” She yells, finally turning to face the boy who's now pale from her sudden outburst “Are you even hearing yourself right now? Sending Lucy to work on our next job, asking me to stop by the DEPRAC office, you being busy in your little library, do you not even care in the slightest for George? He's lying unconscious at the hospital for a work I've told you to drop about!”

Lockwood remained silent. His expression is hard and unreadable.

“I've told you that we didn't have the equipment nor skills to do the job. I've told you that the visitors are much more powerful than the ones we've faced before. I've told you to at least ask for help for the task and yet you've dismissed it all and look what it's brought us, Anthony!”

“Yes, but we did it, didn't we? We secured the source.” Lockwood answers with feigned optimism, giving her his unsure smile as he steps closer “We took a hit, sure, but it's not like George didn't know what he was getting himself into.”

She blinks at his words. Now taking a step back away from him as she tries to digest his answer, “Is that what you're going to say when each of us falls?”

His expression softens, “You know I would never let anything hurt you.”

“Yet here I am.” She argues, her poison laced smile evident “Hurt and wounded.”

Lockwood was at a loss of words. He remained silent, staring at her with his pleading eyes that silently screams for her to drop this and forgive his faulty words. But his silence served as nothing but a mere slap to reality for her that Lockwood was just a boy with a naive dream and no understanding of the risks he's committing the team to.

“I thought this was all I wanted.” She says with a volume just above a whisper, a pitiful smile plastered on her face as she tries to keep her tone steady. The cracks of her breaking heart is visible through her expression “You're everything I want, Anthony.. But I can't deal with your ambitions anymore.”

Giving him no chance to explain, she retreats to her room and slams the door, leaving him defeated in the hallway. The house feels colder now somehow. As if the silence wasn't enough to weigh his guilt even more. Lockwood knew that he messed up but never had he imagined that he'd ruin things this far. Especially not with her.

—-

Days have been slightly better now that George's discharged from the hospital. The kitchen is once again filled with their chatter but not nearly half as much laughter as before. The nightmare of wounded George still haunts her days and torments her at night. She would never be able to work with the squad as she did before. Something has changed in her and there's no turning back now.

Lockwood on the other hand has tried every possible way to talk to her but with every chance he makes to pursue her, she just has a hundred more ways to turn it down and avoid him. Her silent treatment was driving him nuts and it would be an understatement to say that he's desperate to fix it.

Now sitting in his study room, Lockwood turns to the door as he hears a light knock. She peeks inside with a slight smile, the most he's gotten after their fight a couple weeks ago.

“Can I come in?”

“Have I ever said no?”

She nods, stepping inside the room timidly. A piece of paper in her hand.

“What is it?” He asks with a warm smile, hoping that this would be the start of their reconciliation “What can I help you with?”

She looks down to the letter in her hand, sighing before handing it to him, “I wanted to give you my resignation letter.”

Lockwood stares at her blankly, not moving from his chair.

Gently, she reaches for his hand and hands him the paper. Lockwood's eyes were glued on her, trying to catch any trace of jest from the words she uttered. He prays for all gods out there to let this be a joke. Some cruel prank she's pulling on him as payback for his dickhead move for the past months. But as the ticking of the clock in the room grew louder, her playful smile never appeared.

“Why?”

“Anthony–”

“I promise to do better, I swear it.” He begs, standing from his seat and carelessly putting the letter away “I'll make better plans, I'll calculate each and every possibility there is and I'll listen to you better. Any input you have, I'll highlight it and make it work. Please, just– Don't leave. Don't leave me.”

She had to look away from his eyes before her fortress crumbled. Lockwood knows just when to put those big puppy eyes out and win her heart. But there's just so many times she could spare herself for him. There's just so many chances she could give and no matter how much she wishes and prays that this time would be different than the last, she knew that the damage done would still leave scars on them. An invisible one that could only be healed with time and space.

“Please,” Lockwood begs, seeming on the verge of tears “Name your price. Anything, please, just say it.”

“What I want you cannot give, Anthony.” She answers with a bitter smile “Because if you could, I know you would have given it to me years ago.”

“Just name it, please. Do you want a rise? Do you want to switch rooms? Do you want your name to be the agency's name? Because I can do that. We can just change the company's name to yours.”

A tear escapes her eyes. She knows that he was being genuine, that he was willing to give up anything to make her stay. But even with all he offers to give, Lockwood still couldn't see the one thing she desires of him.

And it's crystal clear to her now that he could never give the one thing she needs of him.

Placing her hands to his cheeks, she cups him gently and smiles, “You're going to be a brilliant agent, Anthony. Lockwood & co will be the best agency there is, I know it. I believe it.”

“Then why are you leaving?” He asks with a defeated tone “Why won't you be here with me?”

Because you won't love me the way I love you, she thought.

“Please,” Lockwood pleads “I can't lose you too.”

Pulling him for a hug, his dam finally breaks as sobs begin to echo in the room. He holds her tight, afraid that she would disappear if he loosens his embrace just a little. He would miss the sweet scent of her shampoo, the warmth of her body when he needed some comfort after a terrible nightmare, and her joyful laughter that always seemed to drunken him in bliss.

If only he would tell her exactly how he feels.

“You'll never lose me, Anthony.” She whispers to his chest, listening to his heartbeat before they part “I'm yours, always.”

↠ If You’re Going to Break My Heart

[lewkwoodnco]

Timeless (Lockwood x reader)

A/N: inspired by Timeless by Taylor Swift! A mix of angst and fluff, and the ending is a little awkward but I just haddd to end that way

She had had an exhausting couple of weeks - there was so much she didn’t understand about Lockwood, or what she felt about him or why. It was becoming more and more difficult to go on cases, even the simpler ones, because of how dangerous Lockwood made it for himself, no matter how cut-and-dry the case was. She’d feel this wave of nausea wash over her every time she saw him absent-mindedly step out of their salt circles or leave the iron chains in a corner.

It was that same nausea that was beginning to creep up on her now. They were about to go on a case and it had sickened her to hear George go on and on about the murderous ghost they would be meeting. Lately it had begun to feel as though a Lurker lived in the floorboards of the house, filling her stomach with leaden dread. Her nerves pushed her feet out of the house, screaming for an escape from the doubt that hung in the still air of the house.

She didn’t want to wander far; her friends would worry, but there was this cosy shop just a few doors down from Arif’s. It seemed completely unassuming, a little dull even, but there was something beckoning her from the shelves cluttered with antique vases and memorabilia of years past. It was a dusty little box with a smudged label, and there were photos inside them. Some blurry, some with a faint, barely-there tinge of colour, but there was one photo that made her breath catch in her throat.

There was a black-and-white photo of her and Lockwood sitting on a too-soft love seat on the porch of an old house. She blinked, and now it was just a normal photo of some random couple again, like the rest of them. But for a minute she was sure that, for some reason, it was Lockwood’s twinkle in that man’s eye and her smile lines around the woman’s lips. The longer she stared at it, the more differences she found: the man’s knees weren’t as knobbly as Lockwood and the woman’s feet were definitely smaller than hers, but this sense of warmth and familiarity grew. She had never seen this couple before, and she would probably never again, but at the same time she had this feeling that she knew everything about their lives, or the important part anyways. She could feel the warmth enveloped between their hands, the kind of warmth she got from Lockwood’s hands. The crease in the man’s eyes, the tilt of the woman’s head, the way their limbs slotted in place like two perfect puzzle pieces made for each other…it seemed so natural, so ordinary that she would have been inclined to reserve her awe, if it weren’t for the magnetic love radiating from the picture. The photo just barely captured the love the couple shared, like how there was precious little left in her life not consumed by Lockwood.

There was another photograph, much more formal, of a woman standing in a shirtwaist dress reminiscent of the 1940s, gazing into her lover’s eyes. The way they looked at each other, like they had the kind of love that needed no answers from unanswerable questions. It didn’t matter whether or not “The One” existed, or even if they’d live long enough to find out, but they had a quiet, resolute kind of love, and that was all they needed. It ached the way they made it look so simple, so natural, to love and to hold the way she never dared to, even in secret. They weren’t fearless, but they were brave enough to love now, while they still had time, and it was enough. She, on the other hand, was only brave enough to love from afar. She read every one of his newspaper clippings on the wall, like watching him grow up through a scrapbook, traced the words he wrote on their thinking cloth, and prayed to gods she didn’t believe in that he would somehow turn out alright. In a way, nothing had changed since then- the world was still so full of terror and the looming threat of decay; but for every heart that stops, another beats on.

She pulled herself out of the photos, looking around at the other antiques polished within an inch of their life, which held a sense of age that couldn’t be polished away. But it wasn’t weariness she felt as much as the contentment of a life lived well and lived fully. Her gaze shifted and she spied the shopkeeper - though, of course, he appeared as an apparition of a greying Lockwood, his weathered face alight with the same spirit today. And for once, she was able to feel something other than fear. Hope. Courage. The resolve to see him like that herself, but only decades down the road. Then, it will be their photos collecting dust in a flimsy cardboard box hidden away in the life they had the courage to build together.

A shadow glimmered against the frosted glass of the shop and the real Lockwood stepped into the shop with a soft jingle of the door, faintly smiling.

“I didn’t know you liked antiques?”

“I don’t, not particularly, but…something in my head said ‘stop’… so I walked in.”

[cameronspecial]

A Glowing Reminder of Her

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Genre: Angst

Warnings: Mentions of Death, Blood and Home Invasions.

Pronouns: She/Her

Word Count: 2.1K

Summary: Y/N Y/L/N has been by Lockwood’s side for as long as he can remember. She was there when his parents died, when Jessica died and when he started Lockwood and Co. But who will be there for him when he loses the last part of his old life?

Y/N’s day starts off like any other day. She wakes up cuddled into Lockwood’s arms with his soft breath tickling her face and her head somewhat buried into her neck. She slowly untangles herself from him as to not wake him up and makes her way downstairs. She flicks on the kettle and begins toasting bread for everyone. Eventually, George arrives in the kitchen to make the rest of the components for a full English because it is always a mess when Y/N is left in charge of anything but toast. One by one the other members of the family enter the kitchen lazily. Before Lockwood sits down beside Y/N, he places a soft kiss on her lips then foreheads like he does every morning. Breakfast goes smoothly with the sound of laughter reverberating throughout the house. 

The cleaning of the dished goes relatively fast and Y/N gently takes one of Lockwood’s hands to lead him upstairs to their shared room. Once the door closes, a big smile appears on the girl’s face and she gently leans up towards Lockwood to give him a kiss. He is quick to respond, kissing her back slowly while bringing his hands to her hair to pull her in closer. The pair continue to kiss for a few minutes until they hear banging coming from the door. “Stop kissing you too. Lockwood, you need to get ready before we are late to meet our client. Also, Y/N, Lucy is going out for groceries so tell her if you need anything,” George yells from the other side of the door. Lockwood pulls away from Y/N with a chuckle, but not before giving her one quick peck on the lips. “Okay, George. I’m getting ready,” Lockwood announces, knowing that George won’t leave until he responds. 

Lockwood is almost ready when he stops in front of Y/N for her to tie the tie she chose for him today. She smiles at him, showing him the purple tie in her hand. Lockwood looks confused as he has never seen that before, “When did you get that one?” “I got it yesterday when I was shopping for more supplies for the agency,” she informs him whilst tying it for him. “Ahh, that explains it. I like it. What are you planning on doing on your day off, my little sapphire?” “I’m probably just going to get some laundry done then read my book. I just want a lazy day today,” she tells him, giving him one final kiss on the lips. She walks downstairs with him to the front door to see everyone off. Y/N closes the door after Lucy, Lockwood and George are out of her sight. 

——

Y/N is putting away laundry in her room; lost with her head in the clouds. Maybe Lockwood and her can go bowling for a date this weekend. This causes her to not hear the glass shatter downstairs or the creeping of feet up the stairs. By the time she hears the creak of the floor behind her, it is too late. The intruder is shocked to see Y/N and in a panic shoots her then flees the scene of the crime. A cold feeling trenches the girl and a surprised look is found on her face. The only thought going through her mind is to apply pressure on the wound and the worry that Lockwood had returned home without her knowledge, which would also make him in danger. A sudden feeling of tiredness washes over her so she lies down in bed. Blood stains her finger a shade of red. Unfortunately, Y/N didn’t think about calling for help and by the time she thought about it, she is already unconscious. I’m sorry I couldn’t stay with you longer, Lockwood. She thinks while drifting off to the never waking sleeping. 

——

Lucy returns home after a few hours with the groceries; however, she is immediately alarmed upon seeing the kitchen door open, surrounded by broken glass. She drops the bags to run upstairs for Y/N. Seeing the girl on the bed instantly causes Lucy’s face to go pale. She goes to check Y/N pulses and feels sick when she feels nothing. How is she supposed to tell Lockwood the person he loves is no longer with them? How will she manage to live alone with the boys? Lucy snaps out of her thoughts as she realizes she needs to call DEPRAC to help with the tragic scene. 

——

The first thing Lockwood and George notice is the multitude of DEPRAC vehicles outside 35 Portland Row. Panic sweeps into Lockwood once he remembers Y/N was home alone and he quickly runs into the house without a care for the DEPRAC agents trying to stop him. He is almost to his shared room, but Lucy grabs him before he can go the rest of the way. “Lockwood, you don’t want to go in there,” she warns as she pulls him into a tight hug. The sight of the blood on her hands confirms what he does not want to admit is true. If Y/N had only been hurt, then DEPRAC wouldn’t be here and she would’ve insisted on seeing him to provide him reassurance. “No, I have to see. Lucy, I have to see her. Please,” the boy pleads to the girl, struggling to get out of her arms. 

“I promise, you don’t. We should go wait in the front room while DEPRAC cleans the room.” 

“What happened? Tell me it didn’t hurt her. Tell me it was an accident.” 

“Why don’t we sit down first?” 

Lucy guides Lockwood to sit on the couch and again takes him into her arms. “She was shot, Lockwood. I’m sorry, but by the time I got home, she was already gone.” “Oh god, no,” Lockwood cries. He couldn’t believe this is happening. He would rather be dealing with countless nightmares that he could wake up from in her arms than have to continue this horror show. George has made his way into his house quietly as well and sadly sits beside his heartbroken friend. He isn’t sure what to do; however, he tries to comfort his friend by awkwardly patting Lockwood’s back. 

——

*A Few Days Later*

The usual quartet, now forever turned trio, has just returned from Y/N’s funeral. Lockwood really wanted to read a speech during the eulogy, but he couldn’t bring himself to talk about his little sapphire as if she isn’t there anymore. He feels as though he disappointed her by not saying anything, even though he knows it is not true. “I’m going to go change into something more comfortable,” he mumbles sadly. “Okay, I’ll make us some tea,” Lucy says, she worriedly watches him ascend the stairs.

Lockwood removes his suit jacket and belt while staring out the window. His hand reaches to try to remove his dress shirt; however, his tie is blocking the way to the top button. He forgot that Y/N is no longer here to undo his tie. She used to love helping him with such domestic acts like that because she felt bad for not being able to cook for him. He always insisted it was okay that she couldn’t. The purple tie in his hand reminds him of the last blissful morning he got to spend with her. He wish he knew it was going to be the last one or else he would’ve sent Lucy with George to meet the client and spent the day with her. At least, he could’ve been there to protect her. He goes to put away the tie in the drawer and a twinkle of blue on the dress catches his eye. It is the sapphire necklace that first belonged to his mother and then to Y/N. It is a reminder of the time he gave it to Y/N.

——

Y/N and Lockwood had been dating for a couple of months now. After years of pining, George had finally had enough and confessed the pair's feelings to each other for them. Lockwood knew she was who he would spend the rest of his life with, even though they had only been dating for a few months. Y/N was taking photos in the garden when Lockwood approached her with his hands behind his back. Y/N smiled and took a candid picture of her boyfriend. “What do you have behind your back?” she questioned, lowering the camera away from her eye. “A gift for you. You have to close your eyes first,” he teased, moving behind her while she did as instructed. 

He placed the necklace around her neck before he clasped it in place. Y/N opened her eyes when she felt the tap of his fingers on her shoulders. She saw the necklace and squealed in delight at the beautiful sight, “Lockwood, I love it! Thank you so much!” She wrapped her arms around his neck and pecked his lips. “You’re welcome, my little sapphire. My dad gave it to my mom and now it is yours because I love you.” Y/N blushed at the words, “I love you too.”

——

It had been the first time either of them said those three words. Being faced with the memory causes his eyes to tear up. Further looking at the blue shine of the necklace brings another memory to mind that makes more tears start to slowly roll down his cheeks.

——

The soft sound of the music coming from his room is what first caught Lockwood’s attention. He nudged the door open to see Y/N was dancing without a care in the room. Lockwood smirked and leaned against the door frame to watch the performance. A slow song started playing and this was Lockwood’s queue to step in. He grabbed both of Y/N’s hands and gently brought her closer to his chest. She smiled up at him and kissed him. “Hello my little sapphire,” he whispered in her ear, swaying with her in his arms. He continued to hold her hands as she stepped to the side and spun around. Her back is placed against his chest and he brought the held hands onto the sides of her hips.

“Lockwood,” he hmmed in acknowledgement, “why do you call me your little sapphire?” He beamed down at the girl and brought a hand up to the necklace sitting on her collarbone, “Because, sapphire symbolizes heaven and you are my little slice of heaven on Earth.” This caused Y/N to smile gently and continued to sway him with her. 

——

Lockwood is now full-on crying and he decides that it is better to just go to sleep because a headache is starting to form in his brain. He finished getting ready so he can lie down in his bed. However, before he can close his eyes to sleep, he notices the Y/N-shaped glow found on her side of the bed. This causes him to sob even worse. This reminds him of when they both shared a bed for the first time together. 

——

Y/N stood awkwardly at the door as she watched Lockwood fluff the pillow, looking a little lost. “So should I just come in?” she asked, walking closer to him. “Uh, yeah. You can sleep on the inside, so I’m closer to the door,” he said. Y/N climbed into bed, wearing one of his sweaters, then he scooted in so that they are facing each other. Their noses were almost touching and she could feel his breath on her face. “Well, this isn’t awkward at all,” she joked after a few minutes of just staring at each other. 

Lockwood laughed, “No, totally not. But it’s nice being this close to you.”

“It really is. How was your day?”

“It was pretty boring. George and I spent most of it in the archives and he was very insistent that I stop helping him after the third time I made a dirty joke about something I read. How about you, my little sapphire?” 

“That sounds like something you would do. It was good. I baked some muffins, but I hid them so you animals wouldn’t eat them before breakfast tomorrow. It’s blueberry, your favourite,” she giggled. The night was spent in whispered conversations and laughter rather than actual sleep. 

——

Lockwood shakes himself out of the memory and tries to turn his brain off so he could get some rest like Y/N would want. However, how could he do that while he tries to cuddle into the side of Y/N’s death glow? Lockwood realizes that no matter how many times he changes his sheets or cleans the house in an attempt to remove any trace of Y/N, everything will be a glowing reminder of her. 

[vi-trying-to-survive]

Undoubtedly

Anthony Lockwood x f!Reader

Warnings: Some fluff and angst ;) 💖💖💖 Also mentions of death :’)

Summary: After leaving Lockwood and Co, Y/N comes back for one last mission at his request. That doesn’t exactly work out the way she intended when he comes running to save her, like always.

A/N: Hi guys !! 💖💖💖 Part 2 is here !! :D 💖💖💖 I’m sorry it took longer than expected :’) 💖💖💖 Pls forgive me :’) 💖💖💖 I just started classes :’) 💖💖💖 Also I hope you like it !! 💖💖💖

P1: Anyone But You

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The door to the basement swung open with a shrill creak. He held a lantern to the steps going down, bending to his knees. She peered over his shoulder. They were worn with cracks and splinters covering their expanse, some even had bluish-black patches on them. Her nose wrinkled at the musty scent. She grimaced at the thought of going in there, but they do say it’s bad to linger at the doorway. Shrugging her shoulder, she made to move past him, but he grabbed her wrist, holding her back, "Careful, those steps look old".

She glared at him, wrenching herself from his grip, "I can walk up a flight of stairs myself".

"Plus I'm sure they're fine", she placed a foot cautiously on the plank. It squeaked under her weight, but held up. She gave him a pointed look, before putting her other foot down. It groaned awfully, and a crack began to form at the edge growing larger in seconds, and soon the whole piece was caving in on her. She yelped, grasping desperately around her, but shut her eyes feeling a pull at her waist.

She opened them, finding herself wrapped in his arms. He smirked at her, "You were saying ?".

A heat rose to her face, she turned away. He looked so smug, she hated when this happened. "I-", she was at a loss for words. Yet another moment to boost his ego, which was definitely unnecessary.

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"So, how have things been ?", he crossed his arms behind his back. They had wandered into something that they assumed was the old family room, though it’s carpet held a rather suspicious looking stain, that made her wonder otherwise.

She bit her lip, continuing to inspect the peeling, yellowed wallpaper, "It- It's good".

"Really ?", he raised a brow.

She frowned at his sarcastic tone, "I mean I haven't almost died in 3 months". Yes, she was safe but that also meant life had become mundane. Still, his tone made her grip on her rapier handle tighten.

"Yes, well-", he rubbed his brows.

She spun around, a fist clenched at her side, "What ?". Who was he to question her decision ? She had tried to explain it to him, but he never wanted to listen, so why would she do it now.

"Are you happy?", he sighed, bringing his hands to her face.

She found it hard to concentrate, mainly because he made it almost impossible to avoid his gaze. She swallowed painfully, "I- Yes, yes I- Of course". It’s not that she was unhappy, she was in an odd place, an in between of sorts. A part of her always longed to return to Portland Row, return to him, but it was not as simple as it was drawn out to be, or maybe it was. It didn’t matter though, she wouldn’t be the cause of his death.

"Yes, but-", his expression was so soft, like he was searching for something.She yearned to lean into his touch, to pull him closer and whisper apologies, promising to come back.

She pulled herself away from his touch, "No, don't go there, I told you why I had to leave". Her eyes burned with tears threatening to roll over, and her heart pounded so hard that it almost burst from her chest. She blinked them back, it would only make everything worse.

"And I told you its ridiculous", he sighed, running a hand down his face.

She scowled, "See this is exactly why I didn't want to come back".

“What do you mean ?”, he winced.

She took a step towards him, crossing her arms, practically glowering, "You're not listening to me".

"Because you never listened to me, you just left in the night", he moved closer to her, the vein in his neck pulsed. They were just centimetres apart, his dark eyes fixed on her. Why did he have to make it so hard to focus ? With his scent flooding her sense and that stupidly handsome face.

She glared back at him, "That was so hard for me to do".

"And it was hard for me too", he grimaced. The room was suddenly quiet, the echoes of their voices across the walls no longer audible. The disdain spread through her, draining all her energy, she was cold and her muscles ached. She chanced a glimpse at him, he looked just as awful as her. All she wanted to do was curl up into a ball, but she pressed her lips together and pushed past him into the hallway.

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"This room is clear", she held her rapier steady, tilting her head back to the open door that lead to the hallway. The room remained silent, not even an okay or a grunt of acknowledgement. They weren't exactly on talking terms but this was a bit much. She knew she had to apologise, but so did he, and this wasn't exactly helping the situation.

She groaned and made her way into the hallway, peering around, "Lockwood ? Hey ? Oh that's really mature".

There was a glow on the ground, just outside the door of one of the rooms. She bit her lip, "Lockwood ?". There was an edge to her voice, the malaise was already setting in, a hand ghosted the salt-bombs in her belt. Her eyes trained the inside of the room cautiously, as she stood by the rails of the banister. The sight made her bring a hand to her lips, the shape looked enough like him, but it couldn't be. It wasn't right. How had it happened ? No, no, no, she was careful this time.

She moved closer, just skirting the edge of the doorway. The figure shuddered and turned as the floor squeaked under her movement. Her throat went dry, it was him. He was still in his coat, with his hair messy, but it hung limply on his shoulders, his skin was pale, shiny with sweat and his dark eyes were hollow. As her eyes moved lower, she felt as though she had been stabbed through the heart. His white shirt was stained, a deep red patch spreading at his stomach. She thought they had stopped the bleeding, the wound had healed he told her.

He reached an arm to her, palms dripping the same crimson colour. Her vision began to blur as tears fell, making her lips taste salty. She rubbed at them carelessly, leaving streaks of eyeliner across her face. As he moved closer to her, the room began to crumble away. All she could see was him, and he was all she wanted to see. "Come here", he almost whispered, with his velvety voice. Who was she to deny him that ? He smiled, the fear flowed away from her shoulders, and she took her first step. Though she didn't get very far, before someone roughly grabbed her arm.

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"Why do you always have to be so stupid and reckless", she scowled, throwing her bags on the street haphazardly.

He shoved a finger at her chest, "I saved your life". She wondered how they had ended up here, but she very well knew. It was her fault, she could admit that. What infuriated her was that once again, she had let him risk his life for hers. It probably wasn't fair that she was yelling at him, he was the reason she wasn't cold and dead, but ironically enough she could live with that, as long as he was safe.

She smacked him across his chest, "And almost lost yours in the process". It was only then that she realised how close they were. She had to tilt her head up to glare at him properly. He remained silent, his dark eyes staring hers down, but she refused to relent. Still, it didn’t stop her breath for catching in her throat and she cursed herself for it.

"You are so persistent", he rolled his eyes, before connecting his lips to hers. His calloused hands, wrapped around her waist, pressing her against him. He held her roughly, backing her up till her back hit the ghost-lamp. The bright light only highlighted the sharp edges of his features, as he moved so fervently like he was gasping for air. The sudden heat from his skin against hers surprised her, but she soon melted into him, kissing back with the same desperation, threading her fingers through his silky hair. The taste of honey and toast on her tongue was addictive, she grew breathless, but couldn’t wrench herself away from him. She chased his lips for more, he gladly obliged.

Breaking the kiss, he tucked his head into her neck, placing soft kisses along her jaw. "So I take it this means you're coming back", he grinned.

She laughed, "Undoubtedly".

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Tags: @galactidiot

[drewstarky]

Detecting the Haunted Masterlist 

Chapter One

Non Request / Request

@hufflepuff1619​ ​: Hello!! Can I please get a request for Lockwood & Co. The reader is a detective (I been reading lots of mystery books lately lol) and one day, she stumbles into Lockwood while she is trying to solve a crime and his charm doesn’t work on her and one day, he saves her from a ghost. Thank you! Have a good day.

Word Count: 1.9k

Pairing(s): Anthony Lockwood x Detective!Reader

Warnings: a bit of Swearing, Talk of Gore, Blood, Mentions of Death, Mentions of a past M*rder/S*icide (not a lot of detail but still there), and a bit of Angst towards the end.

A/n: AHHH it’s my first Lockwood and co writing! I have plenty more coming too!!! I apologize I kind of rushed the ending but I was too excited to get this out lol. I hope you like this! This is now also going to be a series.

You hated him. You absolutely loathed his smug self who thought he could charm his way out of being in the way of a DEPRAC investigation. Your investigation. He had gone on a tangent of giving you nicknames like you were his significant other and trying to flirt his way out of trouble for the past twenty minutes, wasting your time. 

“So you mean to say that you just stumbled your way into a murder scene, which I might add is trespassing at the minimum, and that was a crime scene with literal yellow tape all over.”

“Yes, That’s exactly what I'm saying. And The death glow in there is brighter than the golden radiance you give off, Love.” 

Your face was hot from fuming over the idiot that was Anthony bloody Lockwood. 

“You do know, Mr. Lockwood, that although hired from an independent source, this is a DEPRAC case. And it is my case. And in this case, you’ve probably contaminated all the evidence now for us. Now you need to tell me who hired you?” 

“Unfortunately I can’t say. Client privilege with our agency. I can tell you they're afraid of whoever was out there trying to get them and by the looks of it’s not only the body here, there’s definitely a haunting. Yes, the body may be a part of your investigation, but my Team was hired for the other problem in this house.” he says as smoothly as a snake. 

“Well then perhaps you should be arrested for withholding information.”

He thinks for a moment, “Let's strike a deal. If we get to clear the house and make it safe, I’ll give you a name.”

“And why should I strike a deal with you? I last heard of your agency when you burned down Mrs. Hope’s house.”

“Well, you need a discreet agency, especially in what I’m assuming is a high-profile case like this, plus, I’ll even let you come in with us to make sure we don't burn it down.”

You couldn't think of a reason to say no. Especially if there was a haunting, your team wouldn't be safe.

“Fine. but if there isn't anything I’ll know.”

You both start walking towards the house with his associate Lucy in tow. 

“Curious, how would you know? Some sort high tech of DEPRAC equipment, darling?” he inquires.

“No, I have talents.”

He looks almost slightly shocked that you said it.

“I have Touch and Sight mainly. Sights more of my strong suit.”

He nods smiling, “Same here. Guess it was meant to be.”

You roll your eyes at that.

“How’d you even get into detective work then? I'm assuming you never did agency work, as the only time I’ve heard of you was for your exemplary detective work, and you don't look older than myself,” he asks.

“Cut the charm, Lockwood.” you pause to take a deep breath before telling them, “Long story short, My father was a detective, and before he went undercover, He made me promise I wouldn't sign up for an agency. He knew the work all too well, having worked as one himself long ago. So I didn't. I still had the itch to do something with my talents, so I signed myself up to work for DEPRAC.”

“How’d he take it?” 

“Not sure.” you stop at the door not wanting to dwell on his death, “What’s in your kit? I’m hoping for no Greek fire.”

You try to not snort when he slowly opens his long jacket proving he had some. 

“If you use that, just know, I will have to arrest you.”

“No shit, Sherlock,” he mutters under his breath, before opening the duffle bag. You see what he has and give an approving nod. 

The sun was starting to go down and it was nearing curfew.  

“James, tell everyone to clear out. But everyone needs to come back at dawn, sharp.” You order your colleague. 

He nods, looking skeptical, before getting everyone to pack up their things and leave.

You three enter the house, the draft was definitely there. And Lockwood was right, the death glow on the body was there, but fading as your team neutralized the body in the entryway, to make sure it wouldn't come back. 

“I swear to god if you touch this body and ruin the evidence, I’ll make sure you never work again,” you say to the both of them. 

“Don’t worry, I wouldn’t dream of touching it.” Lucy grimaces looking at it. 

“Right, Lucy, see if you can hear anything near, Y/n, you stay close to me and I’ll get you up to speed on the information we have on this case.”

You nod, as he starts filling you in about how the person who was living with the man here, was in an abusive relationship with him, and eventually, the woman sliced her significant other, before turning on herself with the blade. The home used to be an in-home business, a barber shop the man used to run. The house was renovated before the problem started, to be a glamorous home, until something started stirring.

You shudder only imagining what could’ve been lurking. 

“Care to share about that death?” He asks, pointing to the body. 

“The body you see is fresh. The neighbors called it in after hearing a gunshot this late afternoon, so it definitely isn't from the manifestation, and we still don’t have all the facts as to what happened, but we do know he’s a relic man.” You inform him.

“Gunshots overall are unheard of, and in this neighborhood? Very Odd.” he ponders, inquisitively looking you directly in your eyes. It caught 

“Yeah, yeah, 'cause the only guns you think of are your non-exist ones.” you joke, trying to divert the burning in your cheeks, as it felt like his eyes were looking into your soul.

he put a hand over his heart, saying Ouch, but your focus was up the huge stairway. It was marbled tiled, all the way up, with a substantial curved staircase against the wall, with an old, detailed metal railing, that looked once to be gold. 

You were now assuming they were getting paid a pretty penny for this job, whoever this was paying them. Something felt off up there. You couldn't pinpoint it, but it made your stomach churn.

“Shall we?” he points to the stairs.

“Shouldn’t we wait for-” 

“Lucy? Trust me if something happens Lucy will hear it. She is the best listener or eavesdropper in London.”

“Heard that!” she yells across the room, “I’ll be right behind you, I just want to check that last room to see if the temperature drops, which I doubt it will” she reassures you.

Lockwood hands you a torch and your hands brush, giving you goosebumps, before you both start heading up, with him behind you slightly. 

“Just remember to turn off the torch so it’s easier to see death glows, and if you see anything, don’t panic, just let me know since I have the rapier.” he winks, with his sly smirk. You couldn’t think of a good response to that, so you kept walking up, feeling colder by the minute. 

Your breathing became heavier, due to the freezing nature of the stairway as you walked up, looking around for signs of anything.

As soon as you hit the landing, you touched the railing, feeling a sharp sensation on your palm. 

You looked at your hand and nothing was wrong with it.

“Alright, love, turn off your torch,  I see something at the end of the hall, you stay close to these first few rooms.”

You nod, agreeing but feeling weary of the idea of splitting up. You sigh turning off your torch. 

He wanders closer to the death glow at the end of the huge hall before you look into a room near you, you feel something take over you, as you wander into the room. As you stepped into the room you start walking on broken glass and tears started coming out of your eyes as you felt sorrow run through you, like when your dad had died. But you couldn't control yourself at all. 

You pick up a piece of glass, squeezing it so tight, your hand had started bleeding. You turned around, raising the glass up to yourself, but before anything could happen, you felt yourself being grabbed and tumbled into the wall where you could see Lockwood, holding your wrists, and you dropped the glass. 

You look directly at him, shaken up a bit. 

“Was I?”

“Yeah, you were ghost locked,” he says looking into your eyes, before wiping the tears from your face the proximity of his face was so close to yours as he examined you. That alone gave you goosebumps.

 He notices the blood from your hand, moving his head and reaching up, and before he could do or say anything, you peered over his shoulder, to see the ghost of a woman coming straight for you.

“Look out!” you yell as you quickly shove yourself and Lockwood away from the wall, tumbling you both to the ground, out of her way and you fall on top of him. You're almost breathless as you quickly roll off of him, grabbing a salt bomb from his belt, before throwing it directly at her as she screams and disappears for the moment. 

Lockwood grabs his rapier and unsheathes it, before quickly getting to his feet, as a precautionary

he helps you get up to your feet. 

“Thanks for you know, saving me,” you say, as gently grabs your hand to examine it.

“Same to you. I think I’d be ghost touched if it wasn't for you.” he pauses before saying, “I think you should go home.” he says looking away, almost avoiding your gaze as if you could read his soul if you looked. 

“Why? We do have an agreement, so where is this coming from?” You ask before he pulls out a handkerchief wrapping it around your hand.

Before he could say anything, Lucy interrupts, “Lockwood, I think I found the source’s area-” 

she pauses almost looking like she was a deer caught in headlights, like just trespassed into a private moment. 

“Do you two need a moment?”

“No, I was apparently going home,” you say harsher than you thought it would come out.

“Y/n I-”

“Just do your Job, and Report back to James tomorrow.”

“I'll Walk you out,” Lucy says, before following you down the stairs.

“I know Lockwood can seem harsh, but I think you should know it has more to do with himself than you. I think he likes you, a lot, and when he cares for someone, he wants them to be safe. Just try to remember that.” she tries to console you before giving you a hug as you leave. 

You see James waiting in his car outside, and you roll your eyes, before getting in.

“You seriously couldn't leave?” you laugh.

“C’mon like I could. I can’t leave you in the company I don't know. Plus I did technically leave for a bit, to get this,” he gives you a brown bag with all your favourite goodies in it. 

“Thanks, James, you’re the best.”

As you drive away, you couldn't help but worry about the boy that saved you. Not just physically but he brought back the spark in you that you thought was gone. The one that you thought had died with your father. 

“Hey, James, maybe it’s time I looked at my Dad’s file.”

“You don’t mean?”

“I do. I need to know how he died undercover.”

You say, before looking down at the handkerchief on your hand that Anthony Lockwood gave you.

Taglist:  @waitingforthesunrise​​

[lockwood-fic-recs]

Blue Christmas

by human_dreamer_etcetera on ao3

Rating: G | Category: F/M | Relationship: Lockwood/Lucy

Lockwood used to dislike the color blue. Mysteriously, his opinion starts to change around the same time Lucy Carlyle moves into Portland Row. From grief to something new, as told over five Christmases.

[websterss]

NEVER ANGRY — ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

REQUEST: Hi could I request an Anthony Lockwood x reader where after a particularly hard case reader gets hurt protecting Lucy Lockwood fumes and they both argue for a while because the reader insists she did the right thing and Lockwood just yells out “I can’t lose you! Don’t you get it? I love you.” And the reader just stops yelling pulls him into a hug tells him she loves him too and they just spend the night in each other's arms

WARNING(S): angst and fluff

WORD COUNT: 2,881

PAIRING: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

A/N: Hope you enjoy it! Feedback is always welcomed!

MASTERLIST

You didn’t know what brought you more discomfort. The aching burn of your open wound or the eery silence that fell over the car ride back to the apartment. Your eyes fell upon each individual member, trying to grasp what each was feeling at that moment. Lucy was slumped against the seat, eyes watching the buildings and road flood past as the car moved. You assumed she was neutral, perhaps thankful as one being saved could get. You turned your head to watch as George fiddled with the zipper of his jacket. He too avoided the deafening lack of noise within the car but visibly seeing his shoulders tensed up had you assuming he didn’t want to disrupt the peace, wanting it to last a little longer. Though you didn’t mind it that much. You were grateful for the silence. Taking advantage of it because once the car stopped moving you’d all be graced with the burning rage that was radiating off of Anthony.

Now as for Lockwood. The rapid tapping of his foot and the very obvious vein popping against his forehead were enough to display his lack of impatience. He’d bolt the second he saw the steps of the apartment. You assumed as much since you were the cause of such smoke practically fuming out of his ears. The dreaded scolding and berating was something you weren’t at all looking forward too, but you very much expected it to happen. You of all people tonight did not hesitate to put your life on the line for the sake of the others. Preferably in Lucy’s case. Almost on the verge of being pummeled had it not been for the shove your gave her. She graciously thanked you with tears spilling past her waterline, scolding you for such rash behavior, all within the time span that you felt something pierce your abdomen. The visitor having thrown sharp objects your way. It hardly hurt the more you thought about it. Though you feared that that wasn’t entirely a good sign especially since blood seeped through your not so white shirt. At least you came out heroic! That had to count for something right? Right?!

You flinch as you, Lucy, and George walk in after Lockwood who had burst in. The swing of the door collided harshly with the wall creating a dent. You could hear as more doors slammed against their thresholds, causing a series of flashbacks to flood your mind. None worth remembering. None you wanted to flee your mind instantaneously.

“Maybe I should go talk-“ Lucy begins.

“No, he’s mad at me…I think it’d be wiser for me to face him.” You shake your head at Lucy.

“You sure?” You can see traces of worry within her.

“Yeah. I’m sure…I’ll be fine.” You force a smile hoping it’d look convincing. The last thing you wanted to do was worry her. You're aware of the fact she doesn't believe you, neither do you believe yourself since your own eyes were locked on the staircases that lead up to his bedroom. You can only imagine the amount of damage that he's caused in there.

You take a deep breath and climb up the stairs. You clutch at your side, trying not to gather more attention on yourself.

The closer you approach the doorway to his room, the louder the faint sounds of his voice and muffled smashing of objects grow. Anthony’s room was located across from the first landing. Thankfully the door itself remains closed. You can feel bits of tension and anger radiating from within the room to the point it’s almost palpable. You almost don't feel like knocking.

But you do knock, knowing the faster you got his confrontation created from your stupidity out the way, the quicker you could dress the wound. You raise your knuckles to his door, knocking three separate times. The noises from within the room cease and only silence lingers. The sounds of Anthony’s footsteps can now be heard, growing louder and louder.

It’s almost surreal how fast your mind goes from racing a thousand words a minute to an eerie and almost deafening silence. As his steps get louder so does your pounding heartbeat in your ears, a strange sinking feeling rising up your throat. You try your best to hold in the urge to feel like you’re about to throw up and instead stand your ground outside of his closed door. The doorknob jiggles.

The door hinges scream as the door opens. Anthony’s face appears in the doorway. You instantly notice how flushed and red his cheeks are. His brown eyes glare at you intensely. A vein pops in the middle of his forehead, anger radiating off of him like waves of heat.

"You going to let me in, or am I going to remain bleeding out here all night?"

“Don’t start with me.” He growls, his hands balling into fists before he steps aside and allows you to come in.

He opens the door wider, allowing you to enter the mess of a room. The walls are peppered with dents, along with the mirror by the front of the room as well as an antique clock. His nightstand has been flipped over and shattered onto the floor. The sheets of his bed are rumpled, and blankets are scattered around the room, you were surprised it wasn't worse off.

"Redecorating I see?" You breathe out. He glares at you before he turns around, and walks over to his dresser. He opens his drawers and grabs a medical kit.

“Shut it.” Anthony mutters as he sits down on the edge of his mattress.

He gestures for you to sit down, though you feel like doing so would only escalate the situation as you can already feel him glaring daggers in your direction. You feel yourself grow more weary by the second, you were pretty sure the adrenaline high from earlier was wearing off.

"I think you could do with a new lampshade. Maybe even a new color for the walls. I was thinking forest green but if you-" You ramble off, only pissing him off further on purpose.

“You’re infuriating. You know that?” The young man’s gaze narrows, his eyes boring straight into yours. "Never do as you're told..." He leans closer to inspect the wound, his brows furrowing into a scolding frown.

"I've had great influence." You muster a teasing smirk.

“Just for that, I should leave you here to bleed out.” Anthony mutters a dry remark before he leans in a little too close for your liking and gently begins lifting the hem of your shirt.

"You'd never gather the courage. You'd hate yourself for it. Don't worry your gorgeous head Tony a little wound like this can't get rid of me that easily." Your laugh turns into a groan as he presses a wet cloth with disinfectant pray on it.

A string of curses come out of your mouth before you can halt them. The smell of the disinfectant burns the inside of your nostrils, causing your face to screw up involuntarily. He presses a little harder with the cloth, not seeming phased by your reactions.

You can feel your cheeks heat up as you grit your teeth and try to hold back the pain and not squirm around.

"Well…that didn't cheer you up." You wince.

“It’s not really a happy occasion,” Anthony mutters as he continues to press the cloth against your wound.

The pain was still there, but you felt like it was diminishing a little. Or maybe you were just growing accustomed to it. All you could smell was the antiseptic burning into the wound.

"I'd have expected a smile of some sort at least." You shrug as you fall back on the bed.

He raises an eyebrow at you as he finishes cleaning out the wound and begins to sew it. “How could you be reckless?” You hear him ask with an exasperated tone.

It took every ounce of willpower for you not to flinch or make any sudden movements, the pain from your wound made it difficult to stay still, but if you moved around too much, he might apply more pressure than necessary.

"I prefer the term heroic…God!" You groan as the needle pierces through your skin.

“Heroism is being reckless, and you almost got yourself killed because of it.” He finishes stitching up the wound. You can see the slight relief on his face as he leans back on his heels.

He then places your right hand over his so he can press down onto the wound. You almost let out a moan when he does this, the sharp pain sending a jolt through you all over again. You try your best not to react to it.

"A-Alright, next time, it's Lucy's turn." You roll your eyes.

“There shouldn’t be a next time.” He snaps back, but the pain he sees in your eyes makes him pause. His eyes quickly soften a little and he removes his hand from where he previously pressed it down. “How’s it feeling?” His eyes search yours for any sign of discomfort.

"Like I've been stabbed." You deadpan.

He can’t help but let out a dry scoff before he lets out a tired sigh. “That tends to happen when you throw yourself in front of someone.” His eyes shift back to your wound just to make sure it’s fully closed up. "Seriously, do you need anything from me, and don’t give me a sarcastic remark.” He adds as an afterthought.

"I-I need you not to be angry with me…" You struggle to sit up. His face falls as he goes to stand up. "Anthony please!"

He pauses for a moment as he watches you try to sit up. His face is still lined with frustration. The anger within his eyes lingers.

“You nearly gave me a heart attack.” He asks as he helps you gently sit up. "I heard Lucy scream, and it felt like the world stopped. How could you be so stupid!"

"Stupid? I was saving our friend!" You snap.

“By recklessly jumping in front of a visitor!” Anthony shouts. “You could’ve died if it managed to get the drop on you. You could’ve been possessed if it had turned out to be a Poltergeist. And don’t even get me started about what would’ve happened if it were to ghost-lock you. You’d have been gone before we even managed to reach you.”

"I'm fine though, nothing happened!"

“Nothing happened?” Anthony asks incredulously. He repeats louder as he looks down at you. “You got stabbed! You lost a fair amount of blood. “Nothing happened?!” He throws his hands up, trying not to show the intense worry he is feeling. Nothing happened?!” He snaps, his voice cracking. “And the fact that you’ll just say so, so calmly?!”

"Yes nothing more- God what do you want from me? I was only trying to save her-"

“I can’t lose you! Do you not understand that? I love you.” Anthony pauses, staring at you as the anger fades from his eyes, his gaze shifting to the ground. He’s now at a complete loss, not knowing what to say. He wants to be angry at you for being foolish and reckless, but seeing the way you’re looking down as if you feel regretful, makes it difficult.

"You love me?" Your voice cracks.

“I love you. The thought of losing you is unimaginable.” Anthony whispers. It’s the first time he’s ever uttered those three words directly to you. As if this whole argument were simply a ploy for him to finally admit it. "Is that okay?"

You can't muster your laughter. You close your eyes in disbelief at his silly question. "Just as long as it's okay for me to love you too?"

“You’ve always been so annoyingly good at getting under my skin and turning my questions around, but this one time…I’m okay with it.” He replies. It’s a strange sensation. To feel the weight of the words slip off his tongue. To finally admit all those stupid little arguments you always have meant something. "More than okay with it." He breathes out.

"Good. I'd have been very upset if you didn't think so." A smile grows on your lips.

Anthony stares at you, his eyes searching yours. He wants to get closer to you, to kiss you, to pull you onto his bed, to never let go. All the things his stupid heart and brain are telling him to do, and yet there’s this immense feeling of hesitation.

He knows what this means for both of you. He knows what happens next. But he can’t seem to bring himself to do it, to take the first step. The fear of rejection is making him feel foolish by this one moment of hesitation, and he knows he’s got to get rid of this insecurity.

“Stop it.” He mutters as he reaches down to caress your cheek with his hand. “I’m supposed to be the one angry with you.”

"I don't think you're capable of remaining angry for so long…" You lean into his hands.

He lets out a small breath. “No, I don’t think I am,” Anthony whispers. He’s got to be close enough that you could feel the warmth of his breath as he leans in closer.

Anthony’s heart starts to speed up at the idea that this one single motion could change everything between them. He lets his fingers trace from your cheek down to your jawline, trailing softly along your skin. His body leans forward ever so slightly until his nose almost touches yours. He wants this moment to last forever. To freeze time and have you right here with him.

But instead, all he can do is whisper a soft, hopeful, “Please.”

You spare him the wait and tug him closer by his locks.

His eyes widen when you finally take the initiative. He brings his other hand to your other cheek and cups it as you pull him in. Before he knows it, your lips are pressed together in a heated kiss. Your bodies mold together as you both press close against each other. The kiss becomes intense, and all he can think about is the heat in his stomach, and how the moment feels too good to be true.

You're too lost in the kiss, you forget the reason why he was angry to begin with. Yet when your stomach brushes against his own and before you know it, you wince, pulling back gently from his lips.

Anthony notices the sudden change in your demeanor. He pulls back with a concerned expression on his face. Your pained reaction is enough to pull him out of the passion-filled moment.

"Slow." He breathes out and rests his head against yours. He raises a hand to touch the outskirts of your wound as if he needed a reminder. "We need to go slow about this until you're all better."

"I don't think I can wait that long." You shook your head.

"You'll have to." He replies. He knows it's not fair, that you have to wait for something that he so desperately wants too. "I don't want to risk the wound opening back up." He adds, hoping you'll understand.

"I know…" You look back up at him.

He stares at you for a moment more, his eyes scanning your face as if he wants to remember every single detail before he pulls away from you. He gives a gentle smile before brushing his thumb against your face, and letting his fingers brush through your hair. He leans in to place a kiss on your forehead, the softest kiss he’s given you yet. "How about we exchange kisses for some much-needed sleep?" He smirks.

You hadn't even fully registered the toll and lack of energy you were experiencing. That was evident. The adrenaline high from earlier was wearing off, and you were now experiencing the aftereffects.

“Sleep will do us both some good.” He breathes in deeply, closing his eyes and allowing his hand to drift down to your neck which he rubs softly with his thumb. You can already feel your body start to relax, but you can’t fight the tiredness building up inside you anymore. “After the whole fiasco, nearly losing you, I'd like to simply hold you.” Is all he mutters.

"I'd like that…" You sigh as he wraps his arms around your shoulders, pulling you closer to his chest. It’s not long till you pull away.

You toe off your shoes and jacket, then allow him to lead you onto his bed.

Anthony pulls the blanket over him and you both, making sure you're warm. His arm wraps firmly around you as he holds you close so that you are completely cradled in his embrace. All the tension from the fight having faded away by now, replaced with a deep sense of security and peace.

You feel your body relax into his as your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. You feel yourself start to slip, slowly drifting off into oblivion as Anthony pulls you even closer, the warm breath of sleep drifting between you both. The last thing you feel is a sweet kiss pressed against your temple.

[downbadf0rficppl]

let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

Summary: You got hurt. It was his fault. And he feels absolutely awful.

Word Count: 3.4K

Warnings: Angst, Claustrophobia, Near-death situations, Some lightly mentioned family issues, Arguing, Couples? Quarrels, ANGST.

AN: The summary is awful - I feel like I say this every time. Idk if Reader and Lockwood are a couple, they don't have to be, but they can be if you want to. Love you all! (BTW I have not read the books in years so creative liberties were taken - I'm sorry for any and all book inaccuracies.)

Repost

The body of one 'Sergeant M. Bowers' floated precariously towards Lockwood. He backed up against the door of the bedroom, eyes darting between you and Bowers, rapier extended in front of him. You rifled through the bedroom, looking for anything precious or valuable. You had to find the source for Lockwood.

Lockwood had taken the case of this particular house out of pure greed. Mrs. Miller was willing to pay a pretty price to take care of her 'little problem' as she called it. You had warned him against it - the Bowers' manor was about a mile outside of the town you grew up in and you'd heard almost every story there was to hear about the house. About the family that inhabited the house. Lockwood hadn't listened.

He'd convinced you to come, saying the stories were 'probably just stories told to children to scare them away.' He assured you they weren't true. After George had done his research, you were more confident - apparently, reports of apparitions of children predated the problem and were therefore hoaxes.

The Bowers were an affluential aristocratic family before the war - the First World War, that is. "They were known for hosting Gatsby-esque parties to celebrate the most menial of affairs - like their dog turning one." George had rolled his eyes at that pushing the picture of the newspaper your way. April 6th, 1912. A week before the Titanic sank.

The sinking of the Titanic began a series of unfortunate events for the Bowers family, starting with the death of the youngest son, James. James and his to-be wife, Miranda, died aboard the ship, thrusting the family into a long period of mourning. In the following two years, 6 of the 12 members who lived in the house had passed away, forcing the rest to flee the countryside manor, claiming it had been cursed - which brought about the misfortune of the family.

The last of the family to inherit the manor was Sergeant Michael James Bowers, who was the youngest nephew of James. He had lost his life in the second World War; after being shot in the arm and leg, he had been honourably discharged and sent home. He succumbed to sepsis not long after, surrounded by empty halls and unhappy memories. Apparently, he had never left.

You shook your head in discomfort - dispelling the dark feeling that had crept over you since reading about the family's terrible fate. Something seemed off about this case - something seemed to have been omitted from all the research you and George had done.

At first, you disregarded it as nerves. The Bowers manor was big - bigger than any other case you had taken. Plus, it was close to home, which was full of unpleasant memories. Maybe the added pressure was playing on your mind. You tried to explain yourself to Lockwood, who dismissed you. Apparently, Lucy had to help Kipps with some research, and George was working on another case. There was no point in arguing with Lockwood when he had made up his mind, and he was not going to budge on this case.

Which led you to your current predicament.

There were many ghosts haunting the halls of the Bowers manor. It seemed that everyone who had died here didn't want to leave. You had rid the house of most of the ghosts - sealing almost ten sources in different iron boxes. Lockwood had danced his way through the Type Ones that he was dealing with - he was evidently the better agent out of the two of you. You had lucked out - you came face to face with a Type Two. The small girl kept repeating about her teddy which you had found in an upstairs bedroom covered in filth and cobwebs. You threw an iron net over it before leaning against a wall to catch your breath. You were exhausted - and you hadn't even dealt with the real problem.

Sergeant Bowers.

Sergeant M. Bowers was a lot more tortured than you had initially thought. His wife left him when he left for the war, leaving to follow her true love into the country - countless correspondences scattered across the rooms told you as much.

Then came the matter of a child - Timothy. Pictures of him were littered through the halls - toys left to rot in the hallways. Clearly, no one had cleaned it until Mrs. Miller bought it at that country house auction. Except the trace of him ended there. There was nothing in your research to tell you about him, nor any sign of him outside the walls of this home.

It was peculiar.

You had tried to tell Lockwood, but he brushed you off. "The kid must have died - explains the tortured relationship between his parents."

It seemed odd to you. What kind of mother would run off without her child?

A glint caught your eye. A small jewellery box lay on the vanity, dust laid over it as if it hadn't been touched in decades. You dashed towards it, opening it quickly to find a simple silver band inside. A wedding band. A source.

You placed the ring in a small iron box - one of your many engineering feats that made your job safer and easier to do. Bowers disappeared from over Lockwood and you ran over to help him up.

"See? Not too bad, was it?" Lockwood joked, taking the box from your hand and putting it in his bag with the rest of them.

"The only reason I'm glad we don't work with Fittes is the paperwork. We'd be drowning in it after tonight. Can you imagine? With all those Type Ones and the two Type Twos. I'd be crying into my pillow for weeks." You grabbed the rest of your equipment and headed towards the stairs. Lockwood's fingers wrapped around your arm, pulling you back sharply.

He pulled out his rapier and pointed it toward the woman - an apparition of a young woman, dressed in a maid's uniform and carrying a basket, seemingly full of laundry.

"Another Type Two. Great." Lockwood sighed, "You check downstairs and I'll check upstairs. She's a maid. Look for... maid things? I don't know." You nodded before hopping downstairs, armed with your rapier.

You went down to the servants' quarters, which you had seen on the blueprints of the house. The room was small, just off the side of the kitchen - and was perhaps the cleanest room in the house. The maids had been let go long before Sergeant Bowers had inherited the house. Clearly, they had taken the cleanliness with them.

You looked around for anything that could be a source. Why would staff die here, you thought, when the Bowers were known for treating staff well? And why would she choose to stay? You walked around the room, running your fingers over the sparse wooden furniture around the room, leaving trails in the dust in your wake. You tripped by the door to the bathroom, cutting your hand on a small loose nail by the door - probably used for hanging coats or aprons. You winced as you stretched your hand, closing your fist to stop the blood from dripping all over the floor.

You heard footsteps coming down the stairs. "Did you find anything, Lockwood?" No response. "Lockwood?" The door to the servants' quarters slammed shut. You pressed up against the door, trying to force it open. "LOCKWOOD? LOCKWOOD, HELP!" You screamed, trying to push the door hard. "LOCKWOOD, PLEASE! I NEED YOU!"

Lockwood called to you from the landing, telling you he's found something interesting. You tried screaming for him again, but he was too far away to hear you, just like you were too far away to help. Ghostly yelling startled you as you turned around. The maid was here, clearly oblivious to you in the room. She was humming softly as the ghostly yelling continued.

You watched her from a distance as she folded some invisible clothes, her humming still ringing out around the room. She laughed at nothing, before turning towards the door, expectantly. You turned towards the door, expecting to see some other apparition in the doorway but there was nothing. She seemed to get frantically worried by the lack of whatever presence she is expecting, her humming becoming erratic and eerier by the second.

Her eyes grazed over you, and she seemed to relax. She spoke to you gently, reaching her hand out to you, "Come, Elizabeth. There's no need to be scared." You felt the effects of Ghost-lock wash over you, as lethargy numbs your senses. You saw her drifting toward you, but you had no energy to run or even to poise your rapier in front of you. And she seems so nice.

You heard the door fly open and felt someone grab your arm, tightly. You were pulled out of the room and back into the kitchen. "Thanks, Anthony." You whispered, resting on the kitchen counters.

"Anthony? Who's Anthony?" You looked up, unamused by Lockwood's attempt at a joke.

Your jaw dropped. In front of you was a man that you thought you may never see again, "Grandpa? What the hell are you doing here?"

"I heard you screaming. Just wanted to make sure you're okay?" He said, eyes looking you over, searching for injuries. You hid your arm further behind your back, not wanting to worry him more.

He brought his hand up to brush your cheek, staring down at you lovingly. "I'm sorry about this, kiddo."

You felt hands pulling you up off the floor, and a strangely familiar voice whispering soothing words in your ear. You struggled in the grasp of this strange person, trying - unsuccessfully - to flee. They held you firmly, arms tucked neatly beneath you.

Tired from your busy night, you gave up, resting your head against the person's chest. You knew this cologne. It was Anthony's - you teased him for putting on too much and the scent lingers in the hallways some mornings. You settled, seeking his warmth and his comfort.

"Nice to have you back. You worried me for a minute back there."

"Lockwood? Worried? God, are there pigs in the sky?" You bantered back, your voice weak with exhaustion. He laid you down on the stairs, running back to grab your rapier and your flares. You must have dropped them when your Grandpa showed up. Grandpa?

Where did he go? You stood up trying to walk back to the kitchen. Grandpa couldn't see any apparitions - if one came for him, he'd be as good as dead.

"Whoa, slow down, Usain Bolt." Lockwood caught you as your legs folded beneath you. "You took a nasty hit to the head, plus you might have had a bit of ghost-lock as well."

"Lockwood, my grandpa," You said, looking past him, and back at the kitchen door, "He can't see them. We have to help him."

"Your grandpa? Honey, there's no one here." The nickname fell on deaf ears. You tried to scramble back towards the room, but Lockwood held you tightly.

He walked with you back to the kitchen - to prove there was no one there. There was no sign of anyone being there - nothing at all.

"Look - there's no one else here. You must have hit your head while getting away from the maid. Just," He huffed, pulling you closer to him, "let me get you home. Let me check you over - make sure you're alright."

You let Lockwood drag you towards the taxi and push you inside. You let him maneuver your body so that your head is resting on his chest and your legs dangle over his. You let him carry you like a rag doll into the house and set you down in the kitchen.

You shivered slightly - involuntarily - but Lockwood noticed. He draped a large blanket over you, boiling some water for hot tea. He grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and sat down in front of you.

He held out his hand for yours, "Let me clean it for you." So you do.

He spent the better part of the next hour meticulously cleaning every scratch and scrape he can find - only slowing down when you wince, or to pour you more tea. He makes it how you like it - a spoonful of sugar and a dash of milk

Once he's done, he lifts you again and carries you to bed, tucking you in like a mother would their child. He turns out the lights with a soft goodnight and crosses the landing to his own bedroom. The first floor is plunged into darkness, but you stare up at the ceiling.

Sleep doesn't come to you easily. When you close your eyes, the maid's face is above yours - her hand reaching out to you, beckoning you. You want to take it. You see her holding Elizabeth, cradling her as she cries. Your grandpa's face comes up next to the maid and you see your grandpa die. How he screams for you to help him as the plasm burns through his skin. Your mother blames you - tells you that she should never have let you go to Fittes. The maid shields Elizabeth from the loud arguing coming from upstairs. No, not from upstairs. The arguing is happening below you. You shake yourself awake from your restless night, wincing as you contort your bruised body. You slip on your Fittes hoodie and creep downstairs.

Lucy and Lockwood are facing off in the kitchen. Again. You sit on the step, listening in.

"She told you she didn't want to go! And now, there's a chance she won't be able to go into the field."

"She'll be fine. She's tough, she'll get through it."

"You don't know that, Lockwood! You can't just assume that everything will be fine just because you want it to be." You could hear Lucy's voice breaking as she fought back tears.

"Maybe, she won't want to go on missions anymore," George piped up. Clearly, he'd been forced to sit there through breakfast and listen to the argument, "After all, you didn't listen to her doubts when she said she was scared."

"No, she didn't. She just had nerves."

"No, Lockwood. I was terrified. And you didn't hear me out."

"You're awake!" Lucy threw her arms around you, hugging you tightly. "God, I'm so happy you're okay!" You smiled at her warmly, hugging her back. She moved past you, saying something about needing to meet Kipps to finish their case.

"I'd hug you too, but you should probably shower first. Who knows what kind of bacteria fester in hundred-year-old manors? I'll see you after lunch - heading to the archives." George walked out quickly, almost as if he was being chased out by rats.

Lockwood stood in front of you, straight as a board, "You look like you've been electrocuted. Sit down. I'm not going to bite." Lockwood sent a weak smile in your direction.

You poured yourself a mug of tea and put some bread in the toaster. You made a mental note to send George a shopping list before he came back.

"So..." Lockwood started, and you wanted to laugh. In the almost three years you'd lived with him, you'd never seen him so nervous.

"So?"

"We should probably talk about what happened back there." Ah. He wanted to do this now.

"Yeah. We probably should."

"What happened? I mean, one minute you were fine, the next you were unconscious in the kitchen?" Lockwood said, leaning back in his chair slightly.

You grabbed your mug and sat in the chair opposite him, "Was I, though?" Lockwood raised his eyebrows, "Was I really fine, Lockwood, or did you just want me to be fine?"

"I don't understand?"

"Lockwood, I voiced my doubts to you! I told you to let it go! That this was a case we didn't have to take! That we'd find something better." You were standing now, leaning over the table, staring Lockwood down.

"Worth more than 90 grand? Do you have any concept of how much money that is?"

"YES! YES, LOCKWOOD, I DO! IT'S NOT NEARLY ENOUGH MONEY! We fought how many ghosts? 10? 12? Do you even consider that?"

"14, actually."

"YOU ARE NOT HELPING YOURSELF. YOU MAY BE THE LITTLE PRODIGY OF FITTES, BUT SOME OF US ARE NORMAL. SOME OF US ARE AVERAGE." You sat back down, your legs shaking. You were still too weak to force this argument. Your voice trembled, "I can't keep up with you, Lockwood, none of us can. Lucy, maybe, but even she needs a break. Hell, even you need a break sometimes."

"We're fine, aren't we? We're all alive and kicking, still fighting ghosts another day?"

"Yeah, but for how long? How long do we keep getting to cheat death?" How long until one of us gets buried for the unnecessary risks we keep taking? You didn't say it but the question took root in the back of your mind.

Lockwood sighed, "I don't know where this is even coming from. We survived. We did the job. We got our money. Aren't you happy-"

"HAPPY! HOW CAN I BE HAPPY, LOCKWOOD? I DON'T KNOW WHAT HAPPENED IN THAT HOUSE YESTERDAY! One minute, we were sealing up a source, the next I was being lured in by a Type Two, ghost-locked and bleeding. Somehow, my GRANDPA WAS THERE, AND THEN I'M UNCONCIOUS ON THE FLOOR. NONE OF IT MAKES SENSE, nothing - nothing makes sense. I feel - I feel like my brain's been scrambled. It just - I can't - I don't-" Lockwood kneeled next to you, his palm gently cradling your face, and let you cry. You stayed there for a few seconds before you looked up into his face, eyes brimming with tears, "You know what the - what the worst part was?"

"What was the worst part, honey?" There it was again, the nickname. Your heart skipped slightly at the sound of it.

"That you couldn't hear me." Lockwood looked at you, pain sweeping over his expression. "I called for you. In the servants' quarters. I needed you, but you couldn't hear me. I screamed and I cried and I begged and I- I needed you, Lockwood."

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into his lap, before stroking your hair. You cried into his shirt, the white fabric turning translucent in the dampness.

"I will always come." He whispered to you, eyes bright with determination. "I may not have always been there before, but I will be now. I promise. No matter where or when, if you call, I will come to you." He cradled your face in his hands again, thumbs gently rubbing away your tears, "I will listen to you - and George, and Lucy. If you tell me you're scared, I'll hear you. I won't take jobs out of greed, we'll make decisions together. We're a team. I'm sorry I haven't been acting like it."

You wrapped your arms around his neck, tucking yourself into his neck, "I like the sound of that."

You felt Lockwood smile against your neck. "I'll take care of you. If you'll let me."

You pulled back, "Taking care of each other goes both ways. You have to let me take care of you too." He scoffed lightly, but you knew that he had agreed. He couldn't ever say no to you. Not even at Fittes.

"As much as I hate to ruin the moment, George was right. I don't want to think about how much bacteria was probably growing in that house." Lockwood helped you up, "You should probably shower." You nodded your head, chuckling lightly. You grabbed Lockwood's phone from the table and before he could steal it back, you sent a text on the group chat.

"We need food. PLS. WE HAVE NOTHING." You threw him his phone as you ran up the stairs. Lockwood laughed at the text.

"They'll know it's you." He said waving his phone as you grabbed your towel.

"Or they'll have a heart attack knowing that Frosty can change his mind."

fin.

buy me a coffee

[saltwaterburns]

Hey! If it’s alright, may I request Lockwood and co x reader (platonic) where they comfort reader after finding out their partner cheated on them with a close friend?

intertwined, sewn together - lockwood & co.

This is so extremely late and I'm so sorry but this whole thing just, clicked today. I also included Holly from the books, I hope that's okay!! You can switch her and Lucy's places, though, it's not relevant to the plot. This one is short, but hopefully enough 🤍

Small sobs are wrecking your body as you hurry down the road, the soft pitter patter sound of raindrops falling down around you echoing throughout the entire street. The weather is gloomy, the entire sky painted almost black with the hues of dark blue clouds, the rumble of oncoming thunder heard in the distance. You suppose it's slightly funny that mother nature is keen upon showing off your inner turmoil to other people like this, because it's almost a picture perfect copy of how you feel.

How could you have been so stupid? You knew it was a bad idea to date someone, taking your current occupation into consideration. It was even worse of an idea when that someone was a bloody Fittes agent. But you decided to make an exception, to finally cave and try something new, something exhilarating. You really thought you could make it work with him, oblivious to the little white lies his mouth was spewing the whole time you were together about how he'd treat you like you were the loveliest girl on the planet. Yet here you are, tears shining on your red and blotchy cheeks after seeing him with his tongue stuck down another agents throat. Its not her fault, of course. At least you hope. You're praying that he hadnt told that girl anything, that she had no idea about your existence. You really dont want to hate her. You've seen her around the archives sometimes when you're tagging along with George to work on some research. She was always the only one to send a kind smile your way, often times making the tips of George's ears turn pink.

You turn around the corner and as Portland Row comes into your line of sight, the tight grip on your heart starts loosening. Home. You quicken your step and just when you reach the threshold to the house, it starts pouring down behind you. The streets quickly become flooded and you smile weakly in victory for making it there before getting soaked, messing around with the doorknob a bit before managing to somehow get it to open.

You let the door slam shut behind you and the gut wrenching feelings return now that you managed to arrive at home. Soft glow is emitting from the kitchen alongside gentle muffled laughter you manage to pick up and the melancholy feeling makes your eyes well up again.

"Y/N? Are you back already?" Someone asks. It snaps you out of your thoughts and you look up, quickly wiping your eyes with the backs of your hands. Holly is standing before you, her head tilted to the side in confusion, then worry. "Have you been crying?"

You shake your head frantically, not trusting yourself with the task of speaking. You're pretty sure nothing but a sob would leave your mouth right now. But Holly knows, Holly always knows. She opens her arms and pulls you into her warm embrace and for a moment you feel like a kid who has scraped her knee and is now crying silently in the arms of her mother. She sits down with her back leant against the wall and pulls you down alongside her, her hands not once leaving yours. You sit beside her and your head rests on her shoulder, her arm wrapped around you. Not a word is spoken, but her presence feels like a snug, homemade blanket smelling of cinnamon buns. Even if they're low carb.

Two presences join you. Its one for all and all for one, after all. George and Lockwood situate themselves down on either side of you and Holly. A moment of silence passes, and then Lockwood breaks. "I knew it. I knew he would end up being a slimy git. What else can you expect from Fittes agents these days. I'll hunt him down, I swear. He will regret the day he messed with an asset of Lockwood & Co."

The sudden outburst makes a small flame of joy spark in your chest and before you know it, you giggle. You cover your mouth in embarrassment, but then Holly also giggles and before you know it, you're a heap of laughing mess on the floor with George and Lockwood snickering beside you as well.

"I could steal something from Fittes again and blame it on him?" George offers, brushing it off as a mere joke when Holly looks up at him bewilderedly. You laugh again, your stomach cramping at the action and thank him, whispering that you'll think about it when Holly is distracted by noticing that Lucy is approaching, waving her over. Lucy sits down in front of you, offering you a doughnut from a big plate. You grab one (chocolate filling, your favourite) and thank her with a little smile. She smiles back and takes your hand in hers, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"I'm here for you, babe, always. We all are. That prick wouldn't recognise a good thing even if it hit him in the face," she says, rolling her eyes. Everyone is keen to agree, starting to list things wrong with the man. You're glad that they haven't forced you talk about what went down, the ache of it still very real inside your heart. You would tell them, eventually. For the safety of the bloke. He should've thought about having bloodthirsty agents after him before sticking his tongue down her throat.

You lean back into Holly's side, her arm sneaking around you. All of them are laughing and excitedly conversing with each other but you're glad to stay out of it for now, doing your best to memorise this moment so you can revisit it when the feelings become too much. Your friends are the things you hold closest to your heart, you're sure of it now.

[gaintsnowflake]

𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐋𝐘 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄

PARING - anthony lockwood x gn!reader

ONESHOT - in which you stay up waiting for lucy and lockwood to get back from a job only to find them soaked and mad at each other.

TRIGGERS - mentions of death

A/N - angst and fluff | please mind any typos or grammar errors, i am my own editor and I may not be able be able to get everything | I really don’t know how I feel about this one, i hate it but i also like it, Lockwood may be a bit OOC, so I do apologize

WORD COUNT - 3.0k

masterlist

I WAITED for them to stumble through the door, regretting my life choices.

George and I were forced to stay home since George got caught pulling two all-nighters in a row for research and I was still on lockdown from a recent injury. The worst thing about it was, they were going against a type two, alone, in the middle of nowhere. I should be there with them, at least I would be able to provide some help. It would be much better than sitting here at three am awaiting their return.

Finally, I heard the door open, followed by a slam and another reopen. Within a few seconds, I hear Lockwood yelling after Lucy. Quickly, I run from my seat in the kitchen to the main hall, trying to see what all of the ruckus was, just when I went to look at them I was met with two soaked teenagers screaming at each other. Well, Lucy screaming at Lockwood. I paused for a quick second before all my body filled with rage, the idiot fucked up again, I know it.

"Anthony, what the fuck did you do?" I yelled, drawing their attention toward me.

Lucy just looked at me, her mascara running and her eyes watering before she gave me a slight smile. Lockwood on the other hand gave me his best guilty smile knowing that I would not spare him.

"He decided to push us into a quite disgusting lake trying to get away from our dear friend Mr. Sanders, isn't that right Lockwood," Lucy's voice was laced with anger as she turned between the two of us. "Not only did I have it handled, he made me lose the source I was trying to cover, only delaying the whole thing more. Also, the lake contains really big fish that we don't even know what they were. We could have gotten eaten."

"It was smarter than you getting ghost touched, you wouldn't have been able to cover it in time, I was trying to save you, Luce.  Besides we weren't eaten."

They looked towards me as I stepped towards Lucy. I endearingly rubbed her shoulder to let her know that I was there for her and turned away from Anthony, our faces not far from one another.

"Go shower, Lucy," I spoke softly, "I will handle Lockwood and once you get I'll make sure he apologizes and I will make sure he makes your favorite teas, how does that sound?" I waited for her to nod, which took her a second, she was probably sending death glares to Lockwood. Once she did I moved my hand and turned back to Anthony. "How about we go talk in the library, yeah? Wouldn't want to wake up George."

He responded with a quick nod before moving towards the library, Lucy stood still for a second. I slowly start to follow before I felt Lucy grab my arm, forcing me to turn toward her.

"I know you like to go easy on him, but give him hell for me, please? He deserves it this time."

I smiled and nodded before turning around to go do what I do best, solve the fights and make sure everyone is happy.

I turned towards her and gave her a big smile before continuing to meet Lockwood in the library. I closed the door to see him sitting in his chair, face in his hands, shaking his head. I could see the guilt through him.

"Do you wanna tell me what happened and then I lecture you or do you wanna split up the lecture tonight?" I asked quietly, walking towards him; Pausing in front of him, I ruffled his already messy hair and took one of his hands. 

"Can we split up the lecture, please?" His voice was shaky, he felt guilty. He looked me in the eyes briefly, just slow enough I can see that they were tear lined, before turning away. 

"You know what you did was stupid. You aren't fighting me on anything. I want you to know why it is stupid though," I started, sitting down across from him, keeping his hand in mine, I slowly played with his fingers, spinning the ring over and over. "You could have gotten yourself or Lucy more hurt. You don't know what was in that lake Anthony, and I know sometimes it's hard to believe but the living can be scarier than the dead, whether it was a fish or not. It could have injured you- don't even try to argue yet, let me finish. I know that there is probably a reason for your thinking but whatever it is doesn't mean you should disregard the fact that you could have gotten more hurt. Especially if what Lucy said was true about her nearly having the source.

"I know that you care about us, but I want you to think for a second, how would you feel if Lucy never was able to walk through that door again because you made the mistake of making her swim with the fishes, metaphorically and literary. You wouldn't have lost just her, but you would have hurt George and me in unbearable ways. Why? Because you didn't think? You rushed into it like you always do. I know that sounds selfish, but you know that everything you do is to save us three. To keep us safe. Now think about it again, you were able to save Lucy but not you? What if you died? I know that you think that isn't the worst option in the world, but it is truly terrible. Those thoughts aren't true and never will be true. We would have to live, hoping that maybe you just would walk through that door one more time with that stupid little grin you do after you get us a job that is way too difficult. We love you, Lockwood, and I love you Anthony, they don't want to lose you, or Lucy. Just how you wouldn't want to lose them. I can't lose you, you are my everything, Anthony, my everything."

His eyes met mine, finally, but a few of those tears escaped. I quickly slid from my seat and kneeled on the ground, I used my free hand to whip away the tears and caress his cheek and muttered a few soft, "I'm sorry." I know it hurts him for me to see him like this, so open and vulnerable, but at the same time, he knows I would never judge him for it and that I would always be there.

"You need to start thinking more. Not just move first, questions later. You need to think, even if it was for just a second. Sometimes that may not be the best option, but in some situations it is. But before I decide if this was one of these situations, can you tell me everything that happened?" I finally asked, giving him the ability to talk openly.

He waited for a moment, causing me to fear that maybe I was a little too hard on him. Nonetheless, he started talking, slowly making sure he didn't miss a single detail.

"The job wasn't difficult at first, just the average haunting. The mansion was large but we had been able to figure out that he died on the steps into the backyard, thanks to my amazing sight. We had heard that he was haunting some of the inside but also the backyard. Just as we were trying to figure out where his source may be, it was this fishing rod thing. He was huge into catching fish. The thing was there were about twenty of them. Fifteen inside, right beside the door, and the rest outside. After we had the ones inside covered, we stayed for a bit to make sure we had the right ones. We kind of assumed we did given that they were his expensive ones. But eventually, he turned up and boy was he mad. Lucy took the silver net and ran with it outside to make sure that she covered them and after I hit him with enough salt bombs I followed her. All of a sudden, while we were on his deck he came up behind us and I was out of salt bombs, Lucy was nearly done covering the source but I thought we wouldn't have enough time so I ran into her, pushing us both off the dock and into the lake."

After he finished he looked at me with a blank stare, his eyes widening, immediately realizing what he forgot to do, try using his rapier. This was surprising given that he nearly always remembers to use it and uses it when even not needed. 

"There it is, the reason why Lucy is mad. You didn't fucking use your rapier."

"Maybe you are right, maybe I didn't have to push us in. Oh god, I am such an idiot. I have to go apologize," He scrambled to apologize, running past me as I rose to stop him. 

"Lockwood," I called after him, trying to make him realize that she was still showering. "She is still in the shower!"

Before I could reach him, I realized the water wasn't running. I looked to see that Lucy was just staring confused at Lockwood who was frantically telling her that it was his fault and he sees that now, promising to be less reckless in the future. He was also giving her his best, "Please don't leave me because I just cried about this" smile. 

"It's okay Lockwood, I realized I was overreacting a bit. You were just trying to protect us. Which wasn't the smartest of ways, but you still saved my life at the end of the day. Now can we please just admit that we aren't mad at each other so we can go to bed?" She cut him off mid-apology, her voice getting more and more quiet till she yawned at the end. "

Yeah, yeah, I am not mad at you. Goodnight, Luce," He then turned towards me, "Thank you as always, I am going to shower and then head to bed, meet me in there."

"Yeah, yeah, I'm gonna talk to Lucy for a bit in the kitchen so if I am not in bed you know where to find me," I said as he gave me a quick peck on the cheek before walking away. Turning to Lucy I smiled, "How about we go talk for a few minutes and then you can head off to bed?"

"Okay," she muttered with a smile before heading to the Kitchen.

As we reached the kitchen, Lucy went to go sit in her chair as I reached up in the cabinets to grab four hidden donuts from Arifs. The others don't know but I also keep hidden ones for my private conversations with them after long cases or me scolding them to no ends. Georges and my first were missing as we had a long conversation as soon as the other two left about his sleeping habits, I kept it short but I still managed to get in everything I wanted to say over donuts and some tea.

I put her favorite donut lightly on the plate and mine on another before smiling and turning toward her. I closed the box and left it on the counter to make sure it seemed like it was empty and I would just throw it away after, that way she didn't go to check that spot and figure out my secret, given that as of now, she thinks that I run out and get them when I think they will be needed and not that I always have them, just in case.

"Want me to put on some tea?" I placed the plate down in front of her as I questioned, she shook her head no, allowing me to sit down across from her. "Are you not mad at him or did you just say that?"

"I am not mad at him, I know he was just trying to protect us, but there were just so many ways he could have, I don't know, just he didn't have to leave us soaking in the middle of the night."

"I get it and don't worry I lectured him on that," I paused as she took a bite of her donut, taking a bite out of mine as well, "He is sorry, truly, so I am glad that you can forgive him."

We sat there for a little, finishing our donuts in silence, once she was done she had gotten up to go put her dish away but before she got the chance I told her I had it. I quickly stood up and took our plates and went to go wash them off. I smiled at her and bid her goodnight as she said it back.

I was now alone, I had time to breathe, Anthony shouldn't be out of the shower for a few more minutes so I can just breathe. 

I began to wash the plates off lightly with water and a tad bit of soap before drying them off only to fill them with more donuts, this time it was Anthony's favorite and my favorite. I put them down in front of our normal seats, his at the head of the table and mine the next closest chair, brought as close to the age as it could.

I smiled and sat down, staring at the wall. Tonight was something and it may take me a few hours to recover from all the worry, but they are safe now at home. Everyone is safe inside of 35 Portland Row and my worries can subside for a bit.

"I should've checked here first," a voice whispered, his voice.

I turned to see him in a plain white T-shirt, quite similar to the stolen one I am wearing now, and some sweats. His wet hair is laying across his forehead and little drops of water were all across his body. 

He gave me his world-famous grin before I motioned for him to sit, which he did very quickly. Once he was sitting he started eating the donut, no shock, as he refused to eat before the job, against my wishes, stating he wasn't hungry. With his other hand, he rubbed my knee up to my thigh trying to find my loose hand. When he eventually laced our fingers together and started rubbing mine in a comforting way. He could tell I was stressed and worried, always seeing right through me.

"You know, you should become a therapist or something," he started a light friendly conversation, "since you always act like ours, why not do it for others and get paid."

"I can't know, I can't continue my education, I choose to be an agent, so that is what I am now," my smile faltered for a second as I wondered if I made the right choice all those years ago when I decided to become an agent.

"Well, then maybe you will just be the agency's therapist then, I mean, you already are, but that could be like your official role other than agent," He offered, in an attempt to raise my bad mood. 

"Yeah, that sounds good, I guess," I truly did make the right choice. Because if I didn't I wouldn't be sitting here with Anthony Lockwood, eating donuts at now four in the morning about to head to bed.

We finished our donuts with a few words exchanged. I stood up and collected our plates, I wasn't going to fully wash them, I would do that in the morning, well afternoon, when I woke up. So for now the plates will sit in our kitchen sink waiting to be washed.

Before I turned around I heard light scribbles coming from Anthony. I looked and rested my elbows on his chair standing above him as he wrote a short note to George explaining that they got home late so everyone won't wake up till afternoon. 

I smiled at him once again before taking his arm and dragging him from his chair. He followed me up to his room, slowly behind me as we were both exhausted and were probably going to fall asleep as soon as we reach the bed.

I opened the door to the dark room, not even wanting to turn on a light. I let go of Anthony's arm and navigated the familiar room, and crawled into bed. He slowly got in right after me.

He laid flat on his back and put up his arms, wanting me to lay on top of him. I happily obliged. My head rested on his shoulder titled to the side as he rested his head on mine lightly. One arm fell off him and the other wrapped around and began playing with his hair. One leg was in between his and the other was laying flat on the bed. His arms were tightly wrapped around me.

He slowly kissed my head before beginning to talk, slurring his words. His voice got quieter and quieter within minutes as his breath got slower. Eventually, he just stopped talking. The word felt as if it had stopped in this peaceful moment. I know I made the right choice when I choose to become an agent, he was the best thing to come out of this. As we lay here together, finding peace in one another.

His breath lingered on my ear as I lay across his body, the smell of his body wash and shampoo filled my nose. A smile played on my lips as I played with his wet hair, twirling a few strands over and over. His arms were wrapped around me, lighter than before as by now he has completely fallen asleep. His worries drifted away as his breaths became slower and slower. My worries were now gone as he was FINALLY HOME.

[shadowbriar]

Anthony John Lockwood Masterlist

♤ Angst - ♡ Fluff - ✮ AU - ♛ Popular

Series

♤ I Love You So — If You’re Going to Break My Heart [On-going]: The ambition they’ve nurtured for years finally start to create a space between them, straining their relationship that turns what once were friends into colleagues.

Headcanon

Anthony Lockwood - Vulnerable Headcanon

[cameronspecial]

Hello! If it’s not too much to request, could you please write an Anthony x Reader piece wherein the reader (she/her or she/they) is rather motherly and bubbly; who’s his childhood friend and has a (requited, but not yet admitted) crush on him? The reader often stays home because of a sickly disposition and so has taken to lightening up the place for the others (i.e. helping George with research by going on errands for him, cleaning when they’re gone, organizing their equipment, bookmarking books they leave open when they fall asleep, comforting Lucy on the days she gets overwhelmed, leaving encouraging notes where they might need it, etc.)

The Mother of 35 Portland Row (Anthony Lockwood x Reader)

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x Reader

Genre: Fluff

Warnings: None

Pronouns: She/Her

Y/N Y/L/N has always been motherly, even from the ripe age of 5. But instead of tending to fake babies, she was taking care of baby Lockwood. Even though she was a year younger than him, she could still be seen running after him to get him to put on his jumper or scolding him when he tried a reckless stunt. As they grew, multiple things grew with them. Their family, their skills and their romantic feelings. Lockwood always thought that Y/N had a crush on him as he does for her because of how she takes care of him, but when she started to care for George in the same way, it caused him to question himself. However, he couldn’t be more wrong. 

———

George had been at the kitchen table all day doing research for their latest case. Y/N knew he had not eaten all day because when she came back from her errands, the table was covered in books and not a single used plate could be seen on the surface. She also knew he must have stayed up late: he had fallen asleep with his head on a book. Y/N flicks in the kettle on and starts to assemble George’s favourite sandwich. Once the water finishes, she pours water into George’s mug with a tea bag. She places both dishes in front of the boy before taking the book gently out from under him and placing a bookmark on the open page. She gently shakes the boy awake and points towards the food. “Please eat. You need the nutrients,” she urges in a whisper. He gently stirs and obeys her order. 

———

Lucy bursts through the front door, in a hurry to get to the art class she volunteers to teach. She had forgotten to get her stuff ready and knowing herself, it would take her forever to find everything. Her movement towards the stairs is paused by Y/N walking out of the family room with Lucy’s art bag in hand. “I also put some snacks in there in case you get hungry. And I already sent the cassette for Norrie through the post,” she informs the overwhelmed girl. Lucy’s shoulders drop in relief and goes to give the other girl a hug. “Thank you tons! You are a lifesaver, Y/N/N,” Lucy praises before giving Y/N a quick kiss on the cheek and leaving. 

———

Y/N noticed Lockwood’s sour mood the past few days. She knew he had been stressed about the paperwork he needed to do for the business. Lockwood sits down to start his work when he notices most of it was done already and it was just waiting for his signature. He gets to the last page and notices a sticky note that says ‘Thought I would help you out a little. Now, go read one of the new magazines I got for you, Handsome.’ Lockwood cheeks redden at the nickname. 

Y/N sits in her favourite armchair in the library, reading a book. She looks up at him and smiles. “Y/N/N, thank you. But why do you always help us out?” Lockwood questions as he sits down. “I like being helpful and I guess I just got used to it since we were little,” she responds. Lockwood smiles at the memory of that, “Yeah, I always thought that you liked me because of that.” “Are you kidding? Lockwood, I love you. Why do you think I’d chase after you with your jumper? My mom was always doing that for my dad and I thought that’s what you do for the people you love,” Y/N confesses, bookmarking her book. Lockwood couldn’t believe his ears. He is overjoyed by the news. He approaches the girl and sits beside the girl. He cups her cheek and looks into Y/N’s eyes. She nods her head, understanding what he is asking. He leans in and their lips meet in the middle. The kissing last for a few seconds until Lockwood pulls away. The two stare into each other’s eyes with grins on their faces. 

“I love you.” 

“I love you too."