#lockwood & co reader | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mazywrites · 5 months ago

Text

‘A FAVOUR’

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem! reader

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

THEMES: slowburn, enemies to lovers

REQUESTED BY: @that-choir-girl

WARNINGS: none, just some dislike between characters

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He saw your gaze shoot up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Damn it. This wasn’t a time to dwell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lockwood scoffed suddenly. “What was that?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“And Dangerous.” You finished.

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

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

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

He grimaced as though he’d said something poisonous.

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

“You’ll draft up a contract then?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh, for Goodness sake!

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

He didn’t reply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll er— give you a call.”

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

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

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

187 notes · View notes

snoopyreadstoday · 1 year ago

Text

i see a pattern, do you see it too?

#james potter #charlie dalton #anthony lockwood #dead poets society #all the young dudes #harry potter #lockwood and co #solar eclipse #aries men #james potter x reader #charlie dalton x reader #anthony lockwood x reader

611 notes · View notes

g1rld1ary · 6 months ago

Note

hope your requests r open! lockwood x reader where lockwood think reader likes george (but she doesnt) and reader thinks lockwood likes lucy (he doesnt). basically just a whole bunch of misunderstandings with angst and a happy ending please <3

miscommunications - anthony lockwood x fem!reader

wc: 6316

cw: swearing, angstish, series typical injuries

i am SO sorry this took so long lovie i had the biggest writers block but i loved loved loved this request so thank u for sending it in i hope i did it justice!!!! love u xoxo

Lockwood and Co was absolutely the weirdest psychical detective agency you’d ever been a part of. Not only were the actual case methods… unusual, but you were a bunch of kids. You didn’t know anything about running a company; the logistics of managing four teenagers and trying to be responsible whilst also experiencing hormones and teen dramas, all while living in the same house with no adult supervision. But it was great, most of the time at least.

However, even teen psychical detectives weren’t immune to the trap of cliques and you often ended up spending much more time with some members than others. For example, it often ended up being Lockwood and Lucy, and you and George.

It wasn’t necessarily a conscious decision or something that happened because you didn’t like the other two members of the agency, it just tended to be the easiest decision. Lockwood and Lucy were undeniably in perfect sync on the field, and you and George worked better in the research department, so it only made sense that those pairs spent more time together.

The only problem? You were totally in love with Lockwood. And you were pretty sure he was basically fucking married to Lucy Carlyle. They were the dream team on and off the field, you were half convinced they could actually read each other's minds. Plus, they were both genuinely amazing people. Lucy was your best friend and roommate at Portland Row, and you loved her with all your heart. And Lockwood? Well, there were a million and one good things to say about Anthony Lockwood. So who could blame you if you spent more time with George? It hurt less than watching the love story unfolding in front of you, and George was good company anyhow.

You couldn’t avoid them though, nor did you really want to, so life was testing your limits as to how much Locklyle you could handle at once.

You and George had been cooped up in the library most of the day looking through archives and research for the agency’s next case, so you’d been glad to get home and have a long warm shower in the evening. Lockwood and Lucy were off on a smaller case together so you’d had the bathroom all to yourself while George was cooking; a small luxury when living with three other teenagers.

Your hair was still wet as you sat down at the dining table in the kitchen, droplets sinking into the paper of the thinking cloth. It was a lovely dinner with George, he’d made your favourite meal upon request, the most glorious dish of butter chicken you thought might’ve ever been made. Everything should have been perfect, except that it was just the two of you. Again. It seemed like you never had family dinners as a four anymore, you and George stuck eating across from each other amongst empty chairs and untouched plates.

“So, anything new?” You made conversation in decent humour, picking at the chicken you weren’t quite as pleased to be eating anymore.

“Anything new in the twenty minutes we’ve been apart all day?” George replied in his characteristic dry tone. You rolled your eyes, trying to stay playful.

“Just checking.”

You took the cleanup after George did all the cooking, switching on the radio as you stood in front of the sink and washing the dishes in peaceful quiet. It was past midnight when the door jingled and creaked open and you could hear Lockwood and Lucy’s tired chatter floating through the old house. Even their damn voices belonged together, making the perfect cadence. You calculated whether you could get away with running up the stairs and pretending to be asleep before they really made it inside, however, agents are known for their speed, and you could hear boots hitting the floor before you could move.

“You’re still up?” Lucy asked as a greeting, stretching out her arms with a sigh. You smiled, shrugging as you began pouring hot water into the mugs you’d prepared earlier, making you all tea how you liked it. Lucy took hers gratefully, adding in the sugar as she pleased, but you were still yet to see Lockwood, taking the initiative to prepare it for him.

He came in a few minutes later, smiling softly as he looked at you.

“You’re a godsend.” He took the mug gratefully, visibly relaxing as the heat penetrated his body. You just smiled, turning back to the dishes.

“Thanks for the tea, I’ll head up to the shower,” Lucy said, patting you gratefully on the arm as she passed. That left you and Lockwood in the kitchen in careful silence.

You talked about nothing for a while, Lockwood filling you in on the tabloids he’d read the night before, and you told him all about the music and news you’d been listening to on the radio.

“How was the research, how’s George?” Lockwood was beside you now, taking a few of the plates you’d finished drying. His tone sounded almost bitter, but you figured it was his exhaustion taking hold.

“It was fine, I think we’re pretty much good to go for this weekend. Oh, you should have seen it! George absolutely stacked it on the steps of the library earlier. He’s fine, of course, but I nearly pissed my pants laughing, it was so funny.” Lockwood managed an unenthused chuckle, turning away to put the cutlery away in the drawer. “How was the case?” Lockwood made a noise of affirmation, coming back next to you, your shoulders brushing lightly.

“As well as cases can go,” He said, smile back on his face. You listened to him tell the bloody details of the case, illustrating his own heroic moves with a full production of actions and impressions, drawing giggles from you as he fought around the room. “And of course, Luce was brilliant as always, saved my arse for the millionth time.”

Fuck. Of course Lockwood was singing Lucy’s praises again, right in front of you! You couldn’t catch a break. You finally got a moment alone with the boy you had a massive embarrassing crush on and he was talking about your best friend! You could feel your smile fading fast, jealousy bubbling in your chest as you imagined them out on a case together, all quick banter and soft touches while you were at home. With George.

You tried to stay obliging, giving him a small smile and finishing up the drying quickly.

“Well, I should be off to bed. Goodnight, Lockwood.”

“You’re not gonna read with me?” You could have sworn that Lockwood had disappeared and been replaced with a kicked puppy the way his eyes were making your insides twist with guilt. You often sat up in the library with Lockwood; he could never sleep and you often made up for the late nights in the mornings, starting your days hours after everyone else. You held eye contact for a moment, willing yourself to be strong.

It didn’t work, and you found yourself back in your familiar spot in front of the fire, digging into your novel as he flipped through a magazine. When your eyes began to strain in the low lamplight you closed it softly, chancing a glance over at Lockwood. He looked almost perfect in the moment, yellow light illuminating the highlights in his face, his eyes glinting as he found humour in the dramatised tabloids.

He looked up suddenly, his senses evidently alerting him to your staring. His head tilted almost imperceptibly, curiosity seeping from his features. You smiled softly, unable to give him any explanation, so you were glad when he returned it in a way that made his whole face light up. You looked away first, studying your hands intently as you heard Lockwood breathe a subtle laugh.

Another case later, you were going crazy. You’d hit an obstacle (of course) and the case had started going awry. A few relicmen interfering with the site threw you all off your game, the original case put aside in favour of your lives. You and Lucy had been together when the ambush happened, both fighting as a team to protect yourselves. Admittedly you weren’t as fluid as her and Lockwood, but you blamed that on the lack of opportunity. You were doing pretty well for yourselves, all things considered. Still, you were grateful for the two boys to come bursting in like heroes, rapiers at the ready. What you didn’t appreciate was the way Lockwood immediately leapt to Lucy’s side, falling into their familiar rhythm. That left George to help you, the both of you sharing the quickest of looks, your eye roll lost to the fight.

You’d all made it out alive but were severely battered and disheartened. You’d all sustained a few cuts and bruises, you knew you were bleeding from somewhere in your midsection, but the adrenaline hadn’t worn off yet so you pushed through.

You also weren’t particularly glad to see Lockwood looking at Lucy like she’d hung all the stars in the sky in the cab on the way back. He hadn’t spared you a glance.

“I know this wasn’t exactly what we planned,” He said, still not making eye contact with you, “But we’re all okay so I think that’s a win. Luce, good job on the defence and keeping the relicmen at bay. George, brilliant catch with the source, mate, you saved us all. And, uh, good work.” He looked over briefly, but you thought he was looking slightly above you still. He didn’t even care enough to look at you on the case! It was absolutely maddening.

Sometimes, like now, you wondered why you even liked him. He was obsessed with another girl, barely paid you attention and had you begging for crumbs of affection. And yet, sometimes you were sure he liked you back. The soft smiles, the time together in the dead of night, the moments he showed you such gentle care. Lockwood was a puzzle you just couldn’t solve, but you were really, really trying.

You weren’t in the best mood when you all arrived home. Your case had been compromised, you were injured, and Lockwood was basically ignoring you. The night was not looking good. And, on top of all that, George called the first shower so it was unlikely there’d be any hot water left by the time you got in. Silently, you peeled off your overcoat, hanging it on your designated hook before discarding your rapier in the umbrella bin. The cut on your side was beginning to sting, the adrenaline having worn off in the cab, but you powered through, figuring you’d take care of it when you had privacy in the bathroom. Instead, you followed Lucy into the kitchen, chatting away as she made some toast.

She’d already left when you got up from the dining table, motivating yourself to make some tea and something to eat. Your body was starting to ache though, and you really didn’t want to be moving much longer. It was all mostly fine, though uncomfortable, until you were reaching up for the sugar for the tea. It was a little out of your reach up on one of the higher cupboards which usually wasn’t so much of an issue — you were a high jumper — but raising your arm above your head was making it feel like your cut was splitting open, pulling a strangled hiss from you.

“What is that?” Lockwood’s voice made you jump, the harshness unfamiliar. You turned slowly, folding your arms across your stomach in vain.

“It’s nothing, I was gonna look after it in a bit.” It was the first time you’d made proper eye contact with Lockwood all night, and he looked pissed.

“Bullshit,” He argued, gaining proximity, “Sit down.” You weren’t typically in the habit of being bossed around by a man, but you could tell Lockwood was serious so took a seat. He stomped around the kitchen rather dramatically, tossing you an ice pack from the freezer. You placed it tentatively over the cut, groaning and throwing your head back when it stung. Your breathing was shallow, erratic as you waited for the icepack to do its job and start numbing the pain.

When you unscrewed your eyes Lockwood was standing at the kitchen bench, aggressively buttering your toast. You watched him put together the meal you’d started, all with deep furrowed eyebrows, ending with him placing it in front of you, looking at you expectantly. You smiled at him despite the pain in your side, pulling the mug of tea closer. He’d made it just as you liked it, too much sugar and a bit of honey. You sipped it pathetically, tension bubbling between you and the boy in front of you.

“What’s new?” You asked in what you hoped was a lighthearted tone. Lockwood wasn’t impressed.

“Eat,” He urged, “You’ll already be weak from blood loss, don’t let yourself get dizzy from hunger too.” You took an exaggerated bite of the toast to appease him, melting into a moan when the food hit your mouth. Somehow, it tasted better than all the millions of times you��d made your own. Lockwood had found the perfect balance of butter and bread, soft in the middle but the crusts were still crunchy and satisfying. The corner of his mouth flicked into the smallest smile seeing you enjoy the food he’d made you, but it was clear he still wasn’t happy with you.

You continued to eat as he got up from his seat, disappearing out into the hallway for a moment. He returned with the first aid kit and you groaned. This was going to suck. Lockwood, ever the gentleman, asked for your permission to start helping you, lifting your already cherry red case shirt up to tuck under your bra, out of his way as he examined the cut. It wasn’t too deep, you didn’t think you’d need stitches or anything, but it was long, wrapping halfway across your stomach.

“This is going to hurt,” He said simply, but you could have sworn there was some gentleness there. Lightly, Lockwood began to clean your wound. Initially, it wasn’t so bad as he cleaned what had already spread and dried away from the cut which lulled you into a false sense of security. You cried out as he touched the wound itself for the first time, grabbing onto Lockwood’s shoulder for stability, though you were already seated.

“It’s okay, I’ll be quick. Promise,” He hushed you, offering his hand for you to grab instead. You clutched onto it for dear life, squeezing until both your fingers were turning white. Lockwood never uttered a complaint, working away at cleaning and treating the wound one-handed until it was done, stopping every so often for breaks when he thought you needed them.

When he was done he looked up at you from his position on his knees and it suddenly felt like the world around you was quiet. Lockwood’s eyes were so pretty. You’d always thought so, but it was particularly relevant when he was only inches away from you, sparkling in the amber light of the kitchen. Neither of you spoke, staring into each other’s eyes. You weren’t sure what to do, you didn’t want to end this moment between you but you didn’t know how to make it last. Well, you did, but that was highly inappropriate given Lockwood was in love with another girl.

“Thanks,” You settled on awkwardly, cringing as Lockwood seemed to realise where he was and what was happening.

“Any time,” He jumped up, backing up towards the sink and busying himself with pouring his own cup of tea.

You left the kitchen shortly after, unwilling to sit in the awkwardness any longer. The first step was to get out of the soiled clothes and clean yourself up a bit, the second was to flop back onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling of the attic.

“I’m going to die alone,” You said to the roof, catching the attention of your roommate.

“Don’t be stupid,” Lucy said simply, “You’re hot, anyone would be lucky to have you.” That pulled a smile from you, tilting your head back to look over at Lucy on her bed.

“Thanks, Luce. You know what I mean though.” Lucy rolled her eyes with a soft smile.

“If Lockwood can’t see all your brilliant, attractive qualities then he’s a prat.”

“I’m sure he sees many of my great qualities — he hired me. The issue is that he’s blinded by your brilliance.” It was a conversation you’d had countless times before; you decreeing Lockwood’s love for Lucy and Lucy being disgusted by it.

“You know that I have zero interest in Lockwood. Like, zero. Honestly, I’d sooner get with you than him.”

“Alright, alright, I get it. I have terrible taste in men,” You laughed, mostly cheered up.

Lucy flicked off the lamp, putting you to sleep with a story from before you’d joined the agency.

Lockwood had a similar conversation with George a few weeks later. It was after another case, all had gone well and the four of you were strewn about the house, tending to various chores that needed to get done. Lucy was mopping the floors, you were organising and putting away the mountain of books that had been used over the case, and Lockwood and George were both in the basement, tidying the store room and going over paperwork.

Lockwood looked at George, hunched over the form he was filling in, and wondered how to broach the subject. He thought you might’ve been avoiding him lately, which wasn’t exactly wrong, and thought it might be because you were trying to make your feelings for George known. In fact, it had nothing to do with George and everything to do with Lockwood. You figured if Lockwood hadn’t noticed by now that you liked him he never would, so you’d started the mountainous task of getting over him. It was unsurprisingly extremely difficult, given you lived and worked with the man. Still, you were doing the best you could.

“So, gone on any, uh, dates recently?” The sentence was awkward and Lockwood cringed. It was so unlike him and George to talk about anything emotional, especially romance.

“What are you on about?” George didn’t even bother looking up, figuring it was just one of Lockwood’s moments that he’d move on from soon enough.

“It’s just, you’ve never really dated anyone, at least while living here, so I was just asking. Um, maybe there’s someone in the house you’d like to take out?” George looked up, turning his wheelie chair to face Lockwood, resigning himself to the conversation he knew would follow.

“Yes, Lockwood. Can’t you hear Lucy and I having loud, passionate sex every night?” Both boys rolled their eyes.

“That’s not what I meant,” Lockwood grumbled.

“Then say what you mean. You’re trying to figure out if I like her because you do and you’re too scared to say anything about it.” Lockwood was silenced, caught out with his true intentions. “Let’s face it, you’re about as subtle as a car horn; you moon over her. She’s the only one who hasn’t noticed.”

“It doesn’t matter anyway,” Lockwood mumbled, “She likes you.” George burst out into uncharacteristic laughter, wheezing and gripping his stomach.

“God, you’re daft!” He laughed, “The two of you are perfect for each other, you’re hopeless.”

Lockwood made an excuse to leave, something about folding his laundry. George watched him go, rolling his eyes before turning back to his paperwork. If the two of you weren’t going to get his exceedingly obvious hints, you were going to have to work it out between yourselves.

Your angst was bleeding into the company. You were trying (and failing) to get over Lockwood which was not only making you generally miserable, but it was impeding your ability to be a good agent.

You were on a relatively easy case, and for some reason you’d been paired with Lockwood, a rarity. Lucy and George were on the second floor of the house scoping out where the source may be whilst you and Lockwood were on the ground floor, preparing your defences and putting on the tea kettle. It was extremely awkward. Lockwood was trying to make conversation and you were trying to keep it as short as possible. If you fell into conversation you’d be reminded of Lockwood’s many wonderful qualities, and it would just get harder to get over him.

“Did you end up finishing that book?” He asked as you pulled the chains out of their duffel bags. You perked up for a moment before forcing yourself to relax. You had finished the novel and absolutely loved it, you wanted nothing more than to talk about it. Still, you controlled yourself, shrugging off the question with a “Yeah, it was pretty good.” Lockwood hesitated, caught off guard by your answer. Usually you were keen to discuss what you’d been reading, especially if you liked it.

“Are you alright?” He asked, softness in his voice and eyes. Your heart clenched for a moment, you didn’t want to worry him.

“I’m fine, Lockwood, promise.” You busied yourself with arranging the salt bombs but you could still feel his eyes on you.

The case progressed, all four of you ending up on the second level of the house to confront the visitor, each splitting up to cover the different rooms. You were in the master bedroom when the en suite bathroom caught your eye. You could have sworn you saw movement near the shower and crept towards it, trying to stay focused and address the urgency on hand.

You were immediately distracted by the similarities between the en suite and the bathroom in Portland Row. Set out almost identically, it was almost scary how similar they were; George’s soap (fancy and way more expensive than the one the rest of you bought) was on the ledge of the shower, and Lucy’s blue hairbrush sat by the basin.

It wasn’t necessarily surprising that either of those items were there, they were both bought for cheap at a grocery store so ought to have been common, but it surprised you nonetheless. You’d been so distracted by the weird similarities that you didn’t notice the figure floating through the shower curtain until its translucent hand was beside your face. You panicked, the only thing you shouldn’t have been doing, and flailed about in the tiny room, rapier knocking bottles off shelves and creating a general racket that was not pleasing the ghost.

You stumbled on the tiles trying to get your footing and get the fuck out but slid on a slippery substance — probably conditioner from the bottle you’d sent flying to the ground. It was a comedy of errors you would have quoted as impossible in an old slapstick comedy, but there you were, and the consequences were infinitely more dire than those faced by Charlie Chaplin.

The proceeding moments vanished from your memory; a violent fall, a sickening crack and an overwhelming darkness. Three more moments of light where you caught visions of the ghost, Lockwood, and aggressive flashing lights.

You woke up in hospital. You wished it was the hazy, unsure innocence that you saw in movies, but the incessant beeping and sanitised smell had you groaning as you gained consciousness. Lockwood was slumped over in the chair next to your bed, breathing uncharacteristically calm as he slept.

You watched him sleep in the least creepy way you could manage, admiring his features when they weren’t scrunched up in worry or stress. He must’ve felt you watching him as his eyes fluttered open, doe eyes overflowing with relief as he saw you awake.

“You’re up, thank god,” He said, pulling his chair up even closer to you.

“Why am I here?” You asked, examining the various wires and machines you were plugged into.

“What aren’t you here for?” Lockwood joked and you tried for a smile. He straightened himself out and continued, “Linear skull fracture, concussion, scary-looking cut on your forehead. We think you slipped and bashed your head on the countertop.” You grimaced, the pain of the fall manifesting in your head.

“That would be right,” You agreed sheepishly, shifting uncomfortably in your hospital gown, “And the hand?” Your left hand was bandaged up so thick it looked more like an oven mitt than a hand.

“Ghost touch.” Lockwood didn’t sound so happy and casual now.

“Oh.”

“What happened? It’s not like you to put yourself in danger like that; it was stupid and reckless.” You didn’t understand why Lockwood was getting so angry. Clearly, you didn’t intend to get injured, it was an unfortunate accident that you would have avoided if you could.

“As opposed to you, who never gets injured and always sticks to the plan?” You couldn’t help the venom seeping into your voice but you detested being criticised by Lockwood when he was just as bad, usually worse.

“This isn’t about me,” He said through gritted teeth, clearly trying to keep his cool while you were vulnerable. You were angry though and didn’t want to back down.

“Of course this is about you, Lockwood! You wouldn’t blink an eye if it was you who’d ended up here, or George or Lucy. It was an honest mistake, why are you being such a dick about it?” You were raising your voice but you couldn’t bring yourself to care, the tension that had been bubbling for weeks coming to the surface.

“Because you could have died —”

“So could any of us, that’s the job! I still see you jumping head-first into danger.”

Lockwood groaned your name, hands in his hair and pulling in frustration. “You’re misunderstanding me, I just don’t want to watch you get hurt—”

“Then close your fucking eyes, Lockwood. I fell and I got injured. It happens and I resent having you treat me differently than the others. Fuck this, I want Lucy here instead, or George.”

“Of course you want George here, why wouldn’t you?”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” If you could stand you would be shoving past him and out the door, but you were at a significant disadvantage being hooked up to so many machines, stuck in your place.

“You know what I mean, you and George are such a close pair, aren’t you? Always working together and laughing about your own inside jokes,” He spat and the burning anger only got hotter.

“Are you fucking crazy right now? Or are you forgetting that you’re the head of this company and therefore you’re the one pairing us together in every case? Or are you so fucking busy making heart eyes at Lucy that you don’t even notice that we’re actually getting work done? Forgive us for trying to make ten hours of research bearable!”

“Heart eyes at Luce? You’re the crazy one, she and I are just friends, I swear. But you and George will make a great couple, I’m sure.”

“George and I couldn’t be less interested in each other! And if you could see past your own nose for once maybe you’d see why!” You all but yelled, surely alerting the whole floor of your argument, “Leave me alone, Lockwood, I don’t want you here anymore.”

Lockwood looked as if he was going to dispute that statement as well but a nurse came to your rescue, clearly hearing the disagreement from outside. She ushered him out, claiming it wasn’t good for your vitals to be getting angry and that you could continue the fight when you were discharged in a few day's time.

Alone in the sterile hospital room, you felt yourself beginning to cry, fat tears rolling down your cheeks and landing on your embarrassing patterned hospital gown. In a perfect world, that conversation would have gone completely differently. In a perfect world, Lockwood’s eyes would have softened when he saw you were awake. He would have confessed how worried he was about you and how much he truly cared for you. He would have brushed his lips across your hand that he was holding, then pressed them again against your own as he admitted how he’d always been in love with you. You didn’t know that it was your own defensive nature that had stopped that from happening.

But it wasn’t a perfect world and you were alone, overwhelmed by the various noises and movements going on around you. You did eventually fall back asleep, a fitful, unsatisfying nap that had you groaning and exhausted when you woke up. You weren’t alone though, which did make you feel better. George and Lucy were sitting next to your bed, deep in a whispered conversation.

“Hey,” You said, shimmying up to a sitting position. They both stopped talking immediately, turning to face you with small smiles on both their faces.

“How are you feeling?” Lucy asked, pulling her chair up to be right next to your bed.

“I’m alright now, just tired and worn down.”

“You scared us,” George added, characteristically stiff but clearly trying to be sensitive.

“I’m sorry,” You admitted, “I really didn’t mean to. And believe me, Lockwood’s already yelled at me enough for it, please just forgive me.” They looked at each other, communicating non-verbally.

“We heard,” George said, “He basically punched a hole in the wall trying to recount it.” He let out a clipped laugh before Lucy shoved him, signature glare working its magic.

“You should really apologise, he’s cut up about it.” Your mouth dropped open as you stared at Lucy. How was this your fault?

“I’m not apologising, he was the one who got angry. Right, George?” You pleaded with him, praying he wouldn’t let you down now.

“I… I don’t think it has to be right now, but you two should get over it after you’ve cooled down a bit.” Ok, it wasn’t exactly what you’d hoped he’d say, but it was better than nothing. And better than the moral lesson you knew Lucy would try and impose — what a hypocrite.

“But he was so mean!” You whined, “I seriously just had an unfortunate fall, I didn’t die.”

“But you could have,” George quipped and you rolled your eyes.

“You know it’s because he really cares about you, right? He’d never forgive himself if something happened to you and he couldn’t save you.” You couldn’t tell if Lucy’s statement was making you feel better or worse.

“Yeah, really felt like it when he was yelling at me,” You grumbled, fidgeting with the hem of the scratchy blanket.

“Well, you know Lockwood is emotionally constipated,” George added and you couldn’t help but burst into laughter — what a statement to come from George.

“OK,” You agreed finally, “I’ll apologise when we get home. As long as he stops being a massive prick.”

You were discharged a few days later, healing nicely. It would have been sooner, but the head injury worried your nurses and kept you there, not trusting you would stay on bed rest. Lucy came to your rescue, posing as a very concerned caretaker who would ensure your safety.

In fact, it wasn’t Lucy who was enforcing your bedrest. It was George who was cooking every meal and Lockwood doing all the other motherly fussing. You hadn’t discussed your fight yet, both too exhausted and too awkward to broach the subject. You hoped your six-to-eight-week recovery time wouldn’t consist of the same heavy tiredness, but you figured it would improve once the concussion had faded.

The rest of the company had started doing two-man cases so that someone was always home to supervise you. It was a little stifling but you appreciated the effort. It also shook up the status quo of the company, Lockwood and Lucy’s perfect partnership being disrupted by no one wanting to be left at home each time, which was both a blessing and a curse.

In your first few days of being back home at Portland Row, Lockwood was home with you, helping wash your hair. You’d whined so much about how gross it felt, still blood-stained where you cracked your skull open that Lockwood gave up and told you he’d wash it for you. Of course, you’d protested, saying it went way beyond what you could expect of a friend or coworker, but Lockwood would not take no for an answer, justifying that it would be more dangerous to let you do it yourself since you could mess with the stitches since you couldn’t see the back of your own head.

You sat awkwardly in the bath, dressed in an old t-shirt and bikini bottoms to preserve what dignity you could. Lockwood stood outside the bath behind you, preparing the bottles of shampoo and conditioner to his side. The anticipation was destroying you, becoming fidgety and uncomfortable even in the perfectly warm water. The second Lockwood’s slender fingers threaded through your greasy hair you felt your body soften, relaxing into the feeling with no opposition. The feeling was heavenly, the careful but thorough massaging of your scalp could have sent you to sleep in three seconds if you weren’t simultaneously on edge at the proximity.

You sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, your head lolling back subconsciously against Lockwood’s forearms, drawing a small chuckle from him.

“I’m sorry for arguing with you the other day,” You said out of the blue, your voice cutting through the radio that was sitting next to the basin.

“It’s no worries, just forget about it,” Lockwood replied instantly, continuing his labours.

“No, I want to take this seriously. I said some terrible things I didn’t mean and I want you to know that I’m sorry for it. And, as I understand it you think I have some big crush on George which I would just like to disprove. I don’t. Like him like that, I mean.” Lockwood paused for a moment, hands going still in your hair.

“Oh,” He said after some time, “Well thank you for the apology but it is completely unnecessary. I started the argument and I was way out of line, I didn’t mean a word of it. What I meant to convey was that I was worried about you getting hurt because I… care about you. A lot.” You knew that was hard for Lockwood to say, vulnerability never coming easy to him. You turned to face him in the tub, knees pulled up to your chest as your just-rinsed hair dripped down onto your t-shirt.

“I care about you a lot too, Lockwood,” You smiled sweetly, glad you were finally getting over the weird tension that had been between you. Lockwood didn’t look as satisfied.

“No, it’s, fuck. I care about you in a different way than the others. I really like you, like, romantically.”

“Shut up,” You said quickly, not wanting to wake up from a sick dream. There was no way that Anthony Lockwood, after all these years, was telling you that he liked you. Lockwood looked lost for words. Obviously it wasn’t the impassioned reciprocation he hoped for, but it also wasn’t exactly a rejection. What was he supposed to do?

“I, uh, understand if you don’t—”

“Shut up,” You affirmed again. “I have been madly, foolishly in love with you since I started here, and you’re telling me this now? After we’ve screamed at each other and been moping around?” After a moment of him processing your statement, he began to laugh, mouth breaking into one of his light-up-the-room smiles.

“I guess so.” You joined in his laughter, admiring the way his eyes crinkled and his nose scrunched as he did it.

“So what now?” You asked once your giggles had died down, leaving you two looking at each other across the edge of the bath.

“Well,” Lockwood inched closer, “We could try this?” He leant in for a soft kiss, pressing his mouth against yours lightly. You subconsciously followed his mouth as he pulled away, unwilling to open your eyes just yet.

“Mmh, maybe we could try that one again?” Lockwood laughed at your daze and happily obliged, swooping back in for a longer, deeper kiss that set your nerves on fire.

And if Lucy and George returned from their case to find the two of you still in the bath fully clothed, that was none of your business — and neither was the ten pounds that George reluctantly handed Lucy.

254 notes · View notes

websterss · 9 months ago

Text

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.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood oneshot #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co #writings by juls #my gif #writings by juls: anthony lockwood

270 notes · View notes

tigerf00d · 4 months ago

Text

Stack It

Pairing: Spike x Reader

Other Characters: Giles, Buffy (only mentioned)

Tags: No use of Y/N, gender neutral reader (afab body, one use of the word ‘princess’), slight injury, hurt/comfort. Mentions of Spike's past.

Word Count: 3k

Summary:

“Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.”

After Buffy arranges herself a rare night off, reader is determined to patrol when things go wrong.

A/N: Posted this a while ago on my Ao3, but since I just finished the second part, I figured I would finally transfer it here!

UGHHHH. Sometimes Spike can just be… such a pain in the ass. He was a stupid vamp with the stupid instant noodles hair and, his stupid voice and stupid cluelessness.

God, and he’s just so head over heels for Buffy and I hate the jealousy, but I’m right there. I know I’m not the slayer, but I like to think being her shadow has its perks! Well, perks besides always being around the slayer to see her get doted on by Spike and his stupid, pretty smile.

Whatever, D.D. I have to go. I will update you tomorrow.

You sighed, closing the notebook, holding your innermost thoughts and feelings before tucking it securely into its hiding spot. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust your friends not to go through it; it was just that a certain vamp that held your affections had the tendency to peruse whatever handwritten book was at his disposal. Which, as annoying as it was, reminded you of the first time you felt feelings for him. While reminiscing sounded mighty appealing when the alternative was the cold, dark night just outside your window, you couldn’t hesitate. Tonight was all hands on deck for patrolling so Buffy could have a full night’s sleep for once, an idea you were fully behind. Sleep was so so nice, and she rarely got very much of it.

Looking once more at the area where your diary was, you turned back to the window and exited, but not before tripping on the ledge that you only seem to trip on when you absolutely do not need to trip on it (not that you ever do), landing not so gracefully into a bush… and maybe one of your neighbour’s garden sculptures, which to its credit, looks fine, if a little completely broken in half. You, on the other hand? That’s gonna leave a mark. Maybe. It should be fine.

Ok, so when you wrote “Slayer’s shadow”, there was an emphasis on the shadow. You didn’t have any of that mystical, cool and not-at-all painful landing juice in your veins. Fuck that hurt. Was your side wet, or were you just imagining things in your new dazed state?

“Did you just… fall out of that window?”

Just your luck, the one person you didn’t want seeing your epic landing that you swear you could have brushed off and been a-ok in time to join the others to patrol.

Before you could respond, you heard Spike call out to you, and the ground swirled around your feet. the little green blades of grass dancing and coming closer before a sudden stop as Spike caught you just before you fully collapsed.

“I’m fine.” Wow, did your knees hurt.

“I may be old, but I’m not senile pet.” He raised an eyebrow at you, and you rolled your eyes in response.

“Ok, well, maybe I’m not fine. So what?” You stood up, pushing yourself off of him and brushing stray grass off of you.

“I was going to come tell you that I spotted some folks of the unsavoury sort near my crypt, but I think we should get you patched up first.”

“Sounds good, but before that, I think I should have a lie-down.”

“You humans and your tenacity to cause yourselves bodily harm will never cease to amaz—”

Your body went limp in his arms, or so you were told. All you remembered was the surroundings disappearing as you suddenly felt it was simply Too Much to deal with and passing out.

Coming to was… not the best you’ve ever felt. Your head swam, and the light felt like someone was rubbing your eyes harshly, as though they were trying to stop you from being able to see the person above your face.

“Giles? She’s waking up now.”

“Huh? Wha time’sit?” Whose bathroom are you in right now? Why does it smell so familiar?

“Shhh, you seem to have done a number on yourself. This next part won’t be pleasant. I’ve managed to do most of the patching up already, certainly nothing I couldn’t handle, but there seems to be one spot that is uh, well. We figured you might want to choose who did it. Within reason, of course.” The older man spoke, without the adrenaline in your system, the dull ache on your ribs, hands and legs blossomed into a throbbing pain, which only rose as you listened.

“Hurts, Giles.”

“I know, I'm uh, sorry about that. The sooner you pick the sooner I can give you a good painkiller, alright?”

Tears threatened to roll down your cheek. Great. What was supposed to be the first time on the job, and you manage to fall out of your own window so badly that your clothes are probably ruined and you don’t even remember if the baddies you were supposed to stake were dust or if the others were totally mad at you or something.

“So, who should I call for?” Giles prompted gently. You groaned as you shifted your weight before answering,

“Uh. Spike. Send in Spike.” Despite your better judgement, he was the one you were most comfortable around out of everyone, Giles was great and all but his sordid youth was a memory to him, Spike seemed to understand what being your version of outcast was like.

“Right. Very well then. Spike? If you're not still eavesdropping by the door, they’ve requested you.”

“I was not eavesdropping.” Spike muttered as he entered.

You propped yourself up on your elbows, head lolling slightly as you saw the bleached blond peer his head in the doorway.

“So, what needs to happen Giles?” You asked with false confidence.

“Well, You have to lift your shirt a considerable amount, hence the waiting for you to wake up and what not, then Spike will clean the wound, do any stitches if he has to, and help you bandage.”

“All that and you haven’t even bought me dinner first,” Spike tsked, “it’s unbecoming.”

Giles fixed an unamused expression to the vampire, “Do you want me here for this?” he added, his soft gaze focusing on you, despite Spike's teasing.

“Uh, no, thank you, Giles. Just uh, just Spike.”

“I’ll be just outside if you need me.”

You nodded feebly in response, watching as he exited, the door closing behind him with a soft click.

“Right. Well. Take your top off.”

“Giles said I would just need to lift it.”

“Giles lied.” Spike emphasised.

You leaned back on the cold floor for a moment, thinking as he hovered above you.

“Help me?” You slowly sat up, attempting not to jostle yourself and lifting your arms so the black fabric could be pulled over them. The air was cool on your exposed skin, and the sports bra you had bought so that fighting was more manageable pulled the skin around the wound painfully taut. You must have landed on a particularly pointy gnome or something for your side to be so… open. Or maybe the fence post?

Good thing you weren’t of the blood-sucking persuasion like the man before you otherwise, Poof.

The vamp nodded, “That will have to come off too, I think, love. It’s pulling the skin, and we don't want it to stuff any possible stitches, now do we?”

Nodding distractedly, your heart skipped a beat. Both at the thrill of being called love (and admittedly, of being naked in front of Spike) and also the whole being naked in front of Spike thing was daunting, and the situation wasn’t exactly what you’d imagined.

Teeth worrying your lip for a moment before you looked at him in silent question before once more lifting your arms, it was clear he understood your desire for help.

“Now I’m taking off your clothes? If I didn’t know any better, I would think this was all an elaborate plan to get me to touch you.” Spike removed his duster, which you knew was just so he didn’t get any blood or chemicals on it, but it was nice to imagine he was doing it in solidarity.

“Shut up, Spike. Just fix me up so we can go. Please.” You averted your eyes, face heating up as you crossed your arms over in your chest in an attempt for body heat and dignity.

Spike raised his palms in surrender. “You’re the one that picked me, Princess.”

You stood carefully, before moving so that you were sitting next to the sink and spike moved to in between your legs, the height difference making it as though you were straddling him. Spike lifted a wipe that you knew was going to sting the tender flesh on your side, but you would rather a short moment of ouchy rather than running the risk of an infection.

“C- can you talk? Please?”

Spike glanced up from where he was focusing before looking back down and touching the wipe to your skin gentler than you thought he was capable of.

“Mmm? What about?”

You gasped from the mix of the cold wetness and the feeling of the sterilisation working, “Uhm. You? Just, ow, fuck, careful with that— just talk about you?” You paused before smiling weakly. “You seem to be good at that.”

Spike glanced up at you once again, unimpressed.

“Well… I suppose I could tell you of before I was sired.”

“Gross.” You made a face.

“Not in that way, idiot.”

“I knowwww, it’s called a joke. You should try it sometime.”

Spike paused his scrutiny of your injury for a moment to roll his eyes.

“Maybe I won’t tell you then.”

He began to clean the area closer to the wound, removing the albeit small amount of blood that had dried along your side.

“No! I’ll be good, I promise.” Readjusting slightly to give him better access as a demonstration.

“Hm. Ok. Well, as much of a surprise as I'm certain it is, I wasn’t always such a hit with the ladies.”

You stifled a giggle.

“There was one girl I was really into. Back in my human days, I wrote her a poem.”

“Oh, Spike, how sweet!”

“Yeah, well, you’d be the first to think so. My alias back in the day was ‘William the Bloody’, which sounds somewhat prophetic, I suppose.”

“But it wasn’t meant to be, was it?” You ask, disheartened.

You knew the answer. It had haunted you on the rare nights when restlessness crept in.

“No. It wasn’t.” He responded quietly. The sanitisation was done, and after deciding stitches probably weren’t necessary, he began preparing the dressing.

A solemn silence hung around the both of you, making the desire to fidget in discomfort increasingly strong.

“Spike?”

“Mm?”

“Can I be honest?”

The vamp stilled, looking up.

“I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to.”

“I… thought what you wrote for her was nice.”

“Oh? And how would you know what I wrote for her?”

Your eyes widened as you averted your eyes, warm cheeks sure to be obvious to the man who could probably hear your heart stuttering.

“I may have.” You glanced at him, bracing yourself against the cold surface you sat on. You couldn’t meet his eyes for more than a few seconds as you realised what you were about to reveal.

“I may have done some research. On you.”

Spike crooned, “Now, I stopped trying to kill the slayer a decent while before you came along. Why on earth did you do your homework?”

You still weren’t looking at him, and he gently pushed your jaw so that your eyes stared into his own.

“Come on, pet, you wanted to be honest.”

“I have all this time on my hands, so I… reviewed their old notes. And you're just… interesting.”

“Interesting? Hm? And this has nothing to do with the way your heart quickens and your blood thrums when you notice me, does it?”

Well, that confirms that. WHAT? Wait, where did that come from? Hello? HE DOESN’T KNOW, DOES HE? Is… was that real? Is this some gnome-induced blood loss or delirium? DOES HE KNOW WHAT HE’S TALKING ABOUT?

“What are you talking about?” You hesitate to ask.

“Oh, surely you knew I could tell?” He was teasing you again. He had to be.

“Tell… what?”

“Don’t act obtuse. I’m a vampire. I can tell when a heartbeat changes and most other things involving blood. It’s kind of what we do. But you already know that.” Spike’s face was nearly stern looking, but you could tell from the way his eyes were fixed upon your face it was a mask for his curiousity, and possibly something else.

Sighing, defeated, you at him and begin to explain.

“I— ok. Yes. It had— has something to do with that. Ok? You’re right. I wanted to know more about you, but it’s not like you have a police record that counts, anyway. Except maybe a deranged missing persons list.” You paused, catching a breath and correcting your line of thought. “I don’t know… I just. I wanted to know what you were like when you were human.”

He let you stew in your thoughts for a moment as he dressed the wound, pressing the material down softly, which caused you to let out a quiet hiss.

“And were you surprised? That the man you see today was once so… pathetic.”

Your eyes snapped back to his, gaze intense.

“William Pratt was not pathetic.” You were surprised to see shock colour his features, this was evidently not what he was used to hearing.

Had no one told him that he wasn’t an unwilling outcast in all his long years of life? Surely, at least Drusilla had let him know he was wanted in a way that wasn’t asking him to do things? Beyond… manipulating him in return.

“He was… naive and kind-hearted, and he wasn’t ashamed of it. At least not initially. And I think that’s brave, to share your affections so publicly, even though she rejected you. She didn’t deserve you. So no. I don’t think ‘William the bloody’ was pathetic, or a lonely loser, or any of that, and neither are you, Spike.”

The vamp was quiet, still processing your sudden liveliness and what you had revealed.

“You better believe it, Spike. I may have terrible common sense when it comes to self-preservation. At least in this instance. But I have pretty high standards for myself.”

“I never finished that poem. How did you find it?”

Oh. well, that was harder to explain. And you grew more awkward despite all that you had been previously vulnerable about.

“There are excerpts in the Watcher bo–”

“Lie.”

You rolled your eyes. “You aren’t the only one with… sticky fingers.”

Spike blinked before a mischievous grin crept upon his face.

“You stole it. From me?”

Cautiously, you nodded, uncertain if this mischief was going to be at your expense;

“You're the one who kept it.” You added defensively.

“My, what a strange one you are, pet. You can’t even successfully exit a window without needing to be patched up, and somehow, you manage to steal from a vampire? I’m almost proud. If you hadn’t stolen from me, maybe I would be.”

“Listen, Spike, uh. I’ll explain my grand heist the second I have some clothes on, ok. I need to move.”

Spike looked at you cheekily. “And what if I wanted to keep you like this? I rather fancy the view.”

You squeaked in response, face undoubtedly growing redder by the second as the man laughed at you.

“I’m only playing, about the keeping you this way bit, at least.”

“Spike!”

He tossed a smirk your way and then wordlessly looked down at the clothes you had been wearing. “Ah.”

Your sports crop? Pretty much fine, but you would rather be comfortable right now, so that wasn’t exactly an option. The shirt you had elected to wear was ruined, the fabric torn and with a patch of dried blood where that stupid statue elected to attack you.

He picked up the article of clothing and offered it to you with a raised brow. You didn’t want to wear it, but it wasn’t like you had any other options right now. Sensing your hesitation, Spike put it next to you rather than in the hand that was reaching for it.

“I’m about to make your night, poppet.”

“Huh?”

Spike ignored your question, electing to begin pulling off the black tee he was wearing instead.

“You ass.” you grumble, accepting the shirt and putting it on as you ignore your face heating up.

The fabric was soft in a way that can only be achieved by being worn in. Who knew how long he had had this shirt in particular, though.

You looked up from fiddling with the hem. The threads were loosening there, and saw hunger in Spike’s eyes. Typically, hunger would be concerning, considering you could be his next meal after all, but this hunger was… different. It was flattering, even,

“Spike?”

The man blinked and made an aborted shake of the head, clearing away the thoughts that evidently lingered. Covering this behaviour with his signature sly grin, he boxed you in between his arms, and if Giles were to walk in at this moment, he would view it as strikingly indecent.

“Nothing, love, just like seeing you in my clothes does something to a man.” He tilted his head to the side, examining you as you realised just how close you were to his now semi-nude frame.

You made sure to not be caught lingering on his torso despite him having confirmation that you liked him. Spike licked his lips, eyes glittering with mirth.

He leaned forward, and you sucked in a breath, your own eyes widening slightly in anticipation, and you watched his mouth twitch upwards.

He leaned closer, eyes boring into yours,

“You know… if I were alive, I’m sure we would share symptoms.”

“Pardon?”

His lips twitched again. He was trying not to grin. Spike was definitely enjoying playing with your mind but trying to keep it serious.

“I find you interesting too.” he parroted your words back, but you were still loading this information, he. He. Spike? He liked you, too? Oh good. Good. WHAT? Yes, that’s excellent. That really works out nicely for you. I'm sorry he what, now? He does what?

“Just to uh, double back.”

“Mmm?” he glanced at the door, listening to the others outside.

“You mean you like me, right? Like. Like like?”

The vamp looked back at you tiredly.

“Yes, pet. I like like you.” he hesitated momentarily, glancing at the door once more, before kissing your cheek and laughing breathlessly at your tiny squeak.

Spike withdrew, beginning to look around at what had to be cleaned up.

As Giles returned, your fingers grazed his cheek where he had just kissed you.

“Is everything alright, in there? I thought I heard somet—”

Giles frowned, blinking twice and looking between you and Spike.

“Spike, where’s your shirt?”

Spike waved a hand in your direction, picking up your tops and presenting them to the man, plainly answering, “Theirs was bad.”

#buffy the vampire slayer #btvs #Spike x Reader #Spike BtVS x Reader #Spike x You #Spike BtVS x You #crossposted on ao3 #sorry all who are following me for lockwood and co stuff but Spike came way before George. ha

116 notes · View notes

bella-rose29 · 1 year ago

Text

paper rings

Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

Word count: 10.2k words

Warnings: mild spoilers for the later books (this is set after TEG and they're all 18+), a LOT of mildly explicit innuendoes and sexual references, swearing

this is my Valentine's Day surprise that I've been talking about, so happy Valentine's Day to you all! <3

based on the Taylor Swift song of the same name

Anthony Lockwood masterlist

It was nearly 2 in the morning, and Y/n L/n was exhausted.

She had been on a case for the last seven hours and everything hurt and ached - including places in her body she didn't even know she had - and she just wanted her bed and an incredibly large cup of tea.

So why was she having to babysit three other agents who really should have been old enough to look after themselves?

Two of them seemed to be high on flare fumes, giggling about absolutely nothing and making weird sounds every few seconds. The third was smiling fondly at his friends and coworkers, but wasn't doing anything to stop them from getting closer and closer to the edge of their sanity.

Y/n sighed for the millionth time in the last ten minutes, and the third agent (the one who wasn't as insane as the other two - she'd nicknamed him Beanpole) looked over from where he was leaning back against the DEPRAC van with his arms crossed. Somehow he looked effortlessly cool and relaxed, despite the plasma stains and dirt covering his entire body.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“I'm fine, just want to go home and stop looking after three other agents.”

“Ah, that’s fair. Wait, 'looking after’?”

“Yeah, Barnes told me to keep an eye on you three 'cause you were in trouble or something.”

“Oh, we're not in trouble,” he grinned, and although she rolled her eyes she couldn't deny the way her heart skipped a beat at his smile. “Barnes just likes being dramatic. We didn't do anything.” Somehow she didn't believe him, but the sheer amount of charm that was pouring out of him was making her disregard any concerns she had about how truthful he was being.

“So what is it that you aren't in trouble for then?” His grin only grew wider, and Y/n found herself smiling back.

“Minor property damage. But in our defence our client didn't warn us about the malignant smoke that she'd seen creeping out of the basement or even the intense waves of nausea she felt when walking past her under stairs cupboard. So we really can't take any of the blame for completely decimating her bannisters and front hall. Plus, we're insured.”

“No you're not,” Barnes interrupted, joining the conversation and holding a manilla folder. “You didn't have your DEPRAC standardised iron chains, Lockwood. Not according to this report.” That made Beanpole (Lockwood? Although that didn't sound much like a name) stand up, uncrossing his arms as a frown decorated his pretty face.

“What? But we did, I made sure after Mrs Hope's house.” Y/n didn't know what had happened at Mrs Hope's house, but from the way Barnes was frowning even more than usual and somehow looking even more unimpressed with Beanpole she figured she didn't want to know. “You can go in and check if you like, they're still in the hall.”

“Fine. L/n, you go in and check.”

“What?”

“Just check the chains are there, then come back. They managed to at least get rid of the ghosts.”

“Alright,” she grumbled, hoisting her belt up a little and trudging off in the direction of the building Barnes had pointed her to. She shouldn't even be here, since she was meant to have been at home around half an hour ago, but now she was making her way into some random woman's house to carry out a job that any random DEPRAC officer could have done (if what Barnes had said about the other agents removing the Visitors was true). She pushed open the door, glad for her gloves at the chill in the air, and scoffed when she immediately laid eyes on the thick iron chains that had been kicked to the side in the fight. Y/n picked them up, huffing under the added weight, and was about to turn and leave when her eyes caught on the state of the front hall. “What the actual fuck…” she whispered, then shook her head and closed the door behind her, choosing to ignore the mess inside.

“Well?” Barnes demanded when she'd made her way back. She dropped the chains at his feet.

“Yep. I don't know why I had to do that though, anyone could have looked.” She was being irritable, she knew, but she thought she was perfectly justified in feeling that way.

“Alright.” Barnes looked unhappy about the whole situation too, but that wasn't Y/n's fault. “Then just sign these papers and you three can go.” Beanpole was smiling smugly, and he nodded and took the papers that Barnes handed him.

“Thank you, Inspector. Luce, George, here.” They were both still laughing at something only they knew about, clutching their sides as they took the sheets of paper that Beanpole handed them.

“Can I go home too?” Y/n asked Barnes while the others signed the forms.

“Yeah. Maybe catch a ride with these three, they're your way.”

“Fine.”

A few minutes later the four of them were piled into a taxi and heading off down the road in the direction of Marylebone.

“So,” Beanpole started. The moon was shining bright on his face through the taxi window, making him look like a Visitor himself when combined with his already pale skin and the dark shadows under his eyes. He still looked effortlessly gorgeous though, and Y/n found herself wondering if he was single. “You're an agent then. Solo?”

“Oh, yeah. Never liked working for the big companies. They never really cared about the people, you know? Shit,” her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said. “Are you a company?”

“Yes, but don't worry. We have a grand total of four people at our agency. Sometimes five or six if we get extra help from others.”

“That's... very small. Is the fourth your supervisor?”

“No, our secretary actually. Holly doesn't much like being in the field anymore though, but that works out alright for us. She still gets paid a good amount.”

“So if you don't have a supervisor…”

“I'm the agency head,” he smiled, but now instead of appearing chipper and light, he looked tired and weighed down by the responsibility of running a company and looking after his coworkers. “Anthony Lockwood, Lockwood and Co.”

“Y/n L/n, formerly of Fittes.” They shook hands awkwardly in the limited space they had in the back of the taxi.

“And you left because they don't care about the people?”

“That's right. I always wanted to connect more, but I guess that's because of my Touch. Fittes were much more businesslike about it all, just going in and getting the job done and not caring about anything other than having another successful case under their belt. It just didn't sit right with me.”

“Well if you ever feel like working for a company again, you could always come and work with us,” Anthony Lockwood said. “I'm sure we could do with someone like you helping us out. Besides, we do care about the people; it's pretty much the only thing going for us other than our skill in the field.”

“First stop?” the driver called out, slowing the vehicle.

“Oh, that's me,” Y/n stated, grabbing the door handle and getting out. “Thanks for letting me ride with you.” She moved to the boot of the taxi to take her kit bag and rapier, and was surprised when Anthony Lockwood followed her, helping her to balance all the bags inside and making sure that nothing fell out. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem. And I mean it, if you ever feel like joining us on a case then just come and find us.”

“That's... that's actually nice of you, thank you.” He nodded with a smile, then clambered back into the taxi (which looked difficult with how long and thin his limbs were). She stood on the pavement for a few moments, waiting for the taxi to start moving again and waving at the three agents left in the cab as they drove off down the road.

As soon as she was inside her shared house, door firmly shut and locked and kettle boiling on the stove, she pulled up the chair at her desk and switched on her computer, typing in her password and logging in. Ten minutes later she had a mug of tea brewing on her desk while she furiously tapped at the keyboard for any information on Lockwood and Co, and was pleasantly surprised by what she found. There wasn't much, since she couldn't access a lot of the full reports of cases, but there was a decent number of newspaper articles that had been uploaded for her to read. One detailed the £60,000 fine that the company had been given for setting fire to a certain Mrs Hope's home a few years prior, and from the blurry black and white photo the blaze looked like it hadn't left much behind.

Further research provided an address for their agency at 35 Portland Row, not far away from where she currently lived. One or two articles were about the parade incident from the Black Winter and Lockwood and Co's success in protecting the people present, but other than that there wasn't much more.

She sat back in her chair, sipping the last of her tea. Bedtime for now, but when she finally woke up she'd head to the nearest corner store and pick up some food. The fridge had been nearly empty when she'd looked earlier, and she knew that Portland Row was on the way back.

She wanted to say thank you again (and totally not spy on their house), and everybody loved a doughnut.

~~~

Y/n had knocked on the door roughly two minutes ago, and nobody had answered.

She knew that they were all at home, because she could hear them arguing about who was going to answer the door, but nobody had done it yet.

Knocking once more while balancing the box of doughnuts in her other hand she sighed, waited another thirty seconds, and just as she turned to leave she heard the locks click behind her. The door swung open to reveal Anthony Lockwood, once more dressed in a suit (a lot cleaner than the one he'd been wearing in the early hours of that morning), and a wide smile on his face.

“It's you! Miss L/n, was it?”

“Uh, yeah. Just Y/n is fine though. Um, I just wanted to say thanks again for the lift last night, and for being nice and shit when you didn't have to be, and I bought some doughnuts if you guys wanted them.” She tried to surreptitiously peer around him to take a look at his front hall, but the interior was quite dark and cluttered and it was difficult to pretend to not be inspecting somebody's home when they were stood in front of you.

“Oh, you really didn't have to, Y/n.” He took the box out of her hands anyway. “Did you want to come in?”

“No, thank you. I should get back. I've got a lot of paperwork to get through and I think one of my housemates is cleaning today and wanted everyone's help, so…” she trailed off, rocking slightly on her heels while Anthony Lockwood watched her.

“Right, well, thanks for stopping by! And for the doughnuts, that was very generous of you.”

She shrugged. “I've had taxi rides with people I was actually working with and they were complete arseholes to me, so I really appreciated you not being like that when you didn't even know me.”

“Anytime.” He paused for a moment, then frowned at her. “How did you find us? I know I said that you could always drop by but I don't remember actually telling you where we live. There's not a problem with it, by the way, just curious.”

“Oh, I looked it up. Figured you meant to tell me and never got round to it. Besides, I needed to go shopping anyway and I live nearby, so it wasn't too difficult for me.”

“Ah, that makes sense. Well it was lovely seeing you again, Y/n. I look forward to our next meeting.” His smile was infectious, and she still had a grin on her face at the thought of him when she went to bed that night.

~~~

For the next few months, both Y/n and Lockwood and Co were busy with their own cases, but regularly passed each other in the street. Anthony Lockwood had taken to sending her a wink or flirty quite early on, and because Y/n believed it impossible that someone like him was single and therefore able to chase after someone like her, she ignored him. Every now and then she would indulge him, of course, flirting back to see how he would react (he was always pleasantly surprised and kept their little game going for as long as he could before he was needed), but for the most part she would walk right past him.

It wasn't entirely her fault, since many of the times they bumped into each other she was on a time schedule, and didn't have the extra minute or so to flirt with the pretty boy.

The last time had been different, though.

~~~

“Hello again, darling,” a voice said from her left, and Y/n smiled when she recognised it right away as Lockwood's. They knew each other better now, from the few times that they had been able to talk for longer and ask how the other was doing, and when he had found out that she was calling him Anthony Lockwood in her head he gave her a look of barely contained amusement and told her she could pick one.

Anthony had felt too personal, since everyone else that spoke to him seemed to call him Lockwood, and she didn't think they knew each other that well for her to use his first name.

“Come here often?” he asked, appearing in her field of view and leaning on the table she was sat at in the small night café.

“Only when I know that you're going to be here,” Y/n responded, and delighted in the faint pink tinge that came onto his cheeks.

“May I?” He gestured to the chair opposite her, and she nodded.

“Not with your friends tonight?”

“No, they're probably at home already, lucky bastards. My case ran on a bit longer than I expected, and I couldn't wait for a cup of tea. Plus, when I saw you in here I couldn't not come and see you.”

They sat there for a while, making their way through two cups of tea each before deciding to leave, and Lockwood offered to take the taxi home with her.

When they were nearly back to Y/n's house, he spoke up.

“I'll pay, if you like. I'll be paying for this stretch of the journey anyway so it doesn't make much of a difference to me.”

“Oh, Lockwood, I can pay you for my part at least, it's not a big deal to me.”

“Nonsense.” He seemed to hesitate for a moment, just as they drove around the corner onto her street. “Or… you could come back to Portland Row with me?” Their flirting had never gone as far as properly inviting the other back to their place (although there had always been the comments of 'why don't we finish this somewhere else?' or 'wanna come home with me and prove it?'), and it took Y/n a moment to realise that he was being serious.

“I mean... if you're sure? I don't want to impose or anything.”

“No, you won't be imposing, darling. George and Lucy will be asleep, I'm sure. I think there's half a bottle of wine that needs finishing off if you wanted to share? No pressure though.”

“That sounds great, actually.”

“So are you two both going to Portland Row then?” the driver called, and Lockwood nodded.

“Yes please.” He turned back to Y/n, worry starting to creep into his expression. “You did agree, right?”

“Yes, Lockwood, I did. I think I need something that's not tea to be honest.”

“You can stay the night, too. If you need to. I'll sleep on the sofa and you can have my bed.”

“I'm not kicking you out of your own bed, Lockwood. How big is it?”

“Darling, I'm scandalised that you would ask me that question. You know that size doesn't mat-” He was cut off by Y/n smacking him in the chest, and he chuckled when she glared at him.

“The bed, Lockwood, how big is the bed? If I wanted to know the size of your dick I'd ask you to strip.” She ignored the weird look that the driver cast them in his rear view mirror and focused on Lockwood's answer instead.

“Steady, darling. We're not back yet.” He yelped when she whacked him again, and caught her wrists and held them so that she couldn't attack him anymore. “It's a double.”

“Well then we can both fit, can't we?”

“Asking me to strip, getting me into bed with you? If I didn't know any better, darling, I'd say that you were trying to seduce me,” he smirked, leaning in close.

“Oh, Lockwood. I think we both know I did that a long time ago, don't we.” They were dangerously close to kissing, their lips only a couple of centimetres away from each other while their noses brushed with every jolt in the road, and then the taxi was slowing and pulling up to the curb outside 35 Portland Row.

“Alright you two, out. And use protection please, you're too young to be havin' kids.” Y/n flushed and opened the door, moving around to the boot to take out her kit bag and rapier, and when Lockwood followed a moment later after paying the driver his face was red too.

~~~

“Here,” Lockwood said, handing over a tea mug filled with wine.

“Thanks. You're sure the others won't mind us drinking this?”

“They've had plenty of time to drink it, and I own the house and therefore the kitchen and the contents of the fridge are mine too, so I say it's fair game.” His smile was slightly blinding, but Y/n had learned to see past the glare and look at his eyes instead, finding the pure joy behind the façade he put up for the world to see.

They didn't know each other that well, when everything was considered, but Y/n did call him her friend when describing their relationship, and she did feel that if asked, Lockwood would say the same.

Around thirty minutes later Y/n was nearly doubled over with laughter at some stupid thing that Lockwood had said (the wine had gone straight to her head and she had no recollection of what exactly he had said), clutching her sides as they sat in the cluttered library with the bottle of wine between them.

“You, Anthony Lockwood, are ridiculous!”

“I am! In fact, have I shown you my hat collection?”

“Is that some sort of weird euphemism? Or are you genuinely more deranged than I thought you were?”

“Not a euphemism, love,” he grinned, and Y/n in her wine-addled state thought about how he was starting to look like the deranged young man she'd just accused him of being.

“So... you actually have a hat collection? Why?” Lockwood shrugged.

“It's good for disguises when I need to do a little bit of extra research for a case. I can do accents too!”

“No offence, Lockwood, but I've heard some of your accents, and I'm very surprised that you haven't been hunted down and killed yet.”

“Believe me, people have tried!” Somehow he didn't look concerned about that, still smiling just as widely as before, and Y/n thought he looked rather nice like that.

~~~

When she woke up in the morning, Y/n realised she had never taken the painkillers Lockwood had left on the bedside table for her to use.

“Shit,” she whispered, grabbing the packet and the glass of water and swallowing the pills the best she could in an attempt to stave off the headache that had formed. After finishing off the wine, Lockwood had managed to find some more alcohol hidden away in a cupboard in the library ("It's my personal stash, so don't worry about feeling guilty about drinking this") and they had stayed up until it was nearly sunrise talking about everything and nothing. She was regretting not drinking the water before sleeping, and when she flopped back onto the bed and under the covers she realised that there was someone else in the bed with her.

Lockwood looked peaceful asleep.

While she didn't mind waking up next to him in the morning (the view was actually rather nice), not being able to remember what had happened the night before was a little disturbing, especially since she was in her underwear and, as far as she could tell, Lockwood wasn't wearing any clothes.

The bedsheets had been partially kicked off in the night, most likely because the heating was apparently on full from the very warm temperature of the room, and the duvet had bunched up around Lockwood's waist. She didn't want to wake him by trying to find out if anything had happened last night, since he probably never slept with the sheer size of the shadows under his eyes, so instead she carefully got out of bed and picked up her clothes.

Finding all of her things was difficult, since they'd been flung all around the room in what she hoped was drunkenness and not desperation, but after nearly ten minutes she was dressed and reaching for the door handle. She didn't make it that far though, because before she could leave the sounds of somebody waking up started coming from the bed, and Lockwood was asking her where she was going.

“Oh, I just... I just figured you wouldn't want me to stick around-”

“Why would you think that?” He was rubbing his eyes and sitting up, and she had to force her gaze away from where the sheets were dangerously close to revealing whether or not they had slept together.

“I don't know.” There was silence for a minute or so while Lockwood tried to wake up enough to work out what was going on, and Y/n stood by the door feeling very awkward. “Did we... did anything happen? Last night?”

“Don't think so. I feel like I would remember that, darling,” he winked, and she felt her face heat up.

“Oh, right. Yeah.”

“You don't seem convinced.”

“No, I am,” she said, very unconvincingly. There was another silence while she hesitated. “Are you naked?” she blurted out, immediately covering her face with her hands to block out Lockwood's shocked reaction. His laughter didn't help, only serving to make her feel more embarrassed than she already was, and she stayed safely behind her hands while she waited for it all to be over.

“No, darling, I'm not naked. But if you wanted me to be then I'm sure we could figure something out.” She could hear the amusement in his voice and groaned in frustration, knowing that he wouldn't ever let her live this moment down.

“I'm good, thanks.” She didn't really mean it, but it was nice to have a friend like Lockwood, and she figured that having sex with him probably wouldn't help to keep that friendship at all.

“Alright. Well if you don't want to see me in my pants then keep your hands there, I'm getting out of bed.” For the most part she obeyed, but she would be lying if she said that she didn't peek through her fingers briefly while he was getting dressed.

~~~

Luckily the other members of Lockwood and Co were not at home when Y/n left that morning, having said no to Lockwood's offer of breakfast (she would pick up something from Arif's, even if it was out of her way a little), and within half an hour she was back in her own house with a very large cup of tea and a plate of food in her favourite armchair in the living room.

When one of her housemates asked her where she had been all night, a suggestive tone to her question, Y/n simply shrugged, and replied “What's it to you?”

~~~

One week later she was running for her life.

It wasn't that this sort of thing didn't happen often, since her job required a lot of running a lot of the time, but normally she wasn't this exhausted from it. She wasn't even working on a case, either. Y/n had just been walking home from her actual case for that night when she'd accidentally taken a wrong turn in her fatigued state and had come face to face with a bunch of Type Twos.

At least she had her rapier and a few flares and salt bombs left, and her boots were solid enough that despite how much running she had already done that night, she couldn't feel the ground beneath her feet when normally her soles would be protesting in pain.

“Fuck's sake,” she grumbled, heading for the nearest iron fence she could find. Unfortunately she still had to cross a road that was surprisingly busy at this time of night (or morning? she wasn't sure where the line between the two was drawn) and then vault over the fence into the park, which was probably also infested with Visitors. Going against every action movie she had ever seen she looked back (which was precisely what she shouted at the characters for), then immediately stumbled since she couldn't see where she was going. Her brief pause in her flight allowed the Visitors to catch up a little, and within a few seconds she was seeing her life flash before her eyes and throwing up her rapier in a last ditch attempt to not die.

Then something else was flashing before her eyes, and the ghosts were being driven off.

Y/n realised with a start that the flash had been Lockwood and his stupid grin, dressed in his stupid long coat that was stupidly attractive on him, waving his rapier around in stupidly perfect motions.

“Did you miss me, darling?” She didn't even have time to respond, already ducking to not be hit by the bicycle a Poltergeist had sent flying their way, and Lockwood pushed her to the ground to dodge the railing that followed. They landed with a thump, and Y/n winced when her back hit the concrete of the pavement and then again a very brief moment later when Lockwood landed on her.

“I did, Lockwood. I really did miss you.” She hoped that he could see how sincere she was, and he looked as though he was about to say something. Unfortunately he was cut off when a badly-aimed salt bomb exploded right above their heads, and a small “Sorry!” was called out from somewhere nearby.

“Not to worry, George!” Lockwood yelled back as he got off the floor. He offered out a hand and Y/n let him pull her up, holding her breath when he pulled with more force than was needed and she fell into his chest. “Woah,” he said, voice quiet. “You alright?” His free hand had come up to steady her by the arm, and now he was gently stroking up and down. She wondered if he knew he was doing it.

“Yeah. Can we maybe run away from the death bikes?”

“I think that would be a good idea. You going home?” Y/n shook her head.

“One of my housemates has their partner over, and I'd really rather not be there. I was gonna put up with it but if you're offering your bed again I won't say no,” she teased. Lockwood's face went pink, but not from the cold or the running.

“I'm always offering my bed, darling, you should know that by now.” His smile was as blinding as the flash he had appeared in, and then he was tugging her hand and leading her away from the ghosts (which wouldn't be able to follow after a while, since she'd already run quite far from their Sources), and instead heading for 35 Portland Row.

When they made it inside (Lucy was already in bed, but Lockwood and George had been coming back from a case like Y/n), George bade the two of them goodnight, then tiredly climbed the stairs, leaving Lockwood and Y/n in the front hall. It was dimly lit, only the lamp on the hall cupboard providing any reprise from the darkness, and the yellow glow of it made Lockwood look ethereal.

He had dust and dirt all over him, staining his usually perfect white shirt and tie, and his hair was a mess from the slight wind outside, but he still wore his confidence and his charm like a second skin, and he had never looked more like Anthony Lockwood in all the time Y/n had known him.

“What were you even doing out there?” he asked.

“I was coming back from a job, took a wrong turn somewhere, and came face to face with those fuckers. I'm just really glad that you were there in time because I probably would've ended up in hospital otherwise. Or a furnace.”

“I'm glad I was there too,” Lockwood said, stepping forward. He made to move his hand, as though he might reach out and touch hers, but then his fist was clenching at his side again, fingers flexing every few seconds. “I thought you would be alright, really. Then I saw you trip - why the hell did you look back? You always get annoyed when they do that in movies. I was scared, Y/n, that you might not get back up again.” She could tell that he meant it too, from the way he was looking at her. It was almost too much, his gaze, since it was heavy with so much emotion that they hadn't even properly addressed between them, and that was probably why he kissed her.

She both had and hadn't been expecting it.

It made sense when she thought about it, because beneath all the teasing and flirting there was attraction and a real desire, and she had always figured that being with someone was easier if you knew and trusted them. But she had never thought that either of them would act on it, since both of them seemed happy to let the friendship cover up the truth because at least that meant they weren't without the other. Bringing the truth to light could ruin that, and then they might not see each other at all.

Now, though, she wondered why they hadn't kissed before.

It had been brief, a few seconds at most, but it was enough to make her realise that they had been incredibly stupid in not doing it earlier. She had had such a long night - they both had - and when he pressed his lips to hers for the second time she knew that despite the fatigue and near death experiences involving bicycles, they would be alright. Her hands had moved without her fully knowing, and when they pulled away after the second kiss she realised that they were in his hair and clutching his coat that he hadn't taken off yet. His were nestled around her waist, holding her close to him while he searched her eyes for any sign to stop.

The third kiss was the longest yet, and it took them a long time to move from the front hall to his bedroom.

~~~

Y/n had always been a fan of anything that shone, and had been called a magpie by nearly everyone that knew her.

It didn't matter if it was expensive or not, if it was shiny, then she would have it. Growing up she hadn't been used to expense, and finding trinkets on the street was her speciality, but every now and then someone would buy her something a little less on the cheap side, and she would be overjoyed.

Then of course there were the things she bought herself.

The Fittes Ball that she was on her way to had invited agents of all kinds (a rarity for solo agents who usually went forgotten), and her outfit was one of the most expensive things that she had bought yet (other than her shared house). It was worth it, though, for the look on Lockwood's face when he first saw her.

“You look incredible, Y/n/n!” Lucy gushed, immediately wrapping her new friend in a hug. George and Holly agreed, and while their fussing was nice it was Lockwood's opinion she really wanted. They hadn't spoken after the night they spent together two weeks ago, and now he had an unreadable expression on his face while he looked at her. It was ridiculous, really, how nervous she was to know what he was thinking, since she had never usually cared about what any man thought of her.

“Thank you, I love your dress, Luce! And George, are you actually in a suit? No, no, no, you look very nice! Holly, you look incredible as always,” she said, returning the compliments her friends had given her. Her gaze kept darting back to Lockwood though, and after the others had moved away to talk to someone else, he cleared his throat.

“Y/n.”

“Lockwood.” He took a step towards her.

“You know I told you you could call me Anthony.” He had, not long after he'd taken her to his bed.

“Oh, right. I didn't know if that was just... for then.” She was struggling to look at him now, so she missed the way his expression softened.

“It's for whenever, darling.”

“Okay,” she said, and the small smile he gave her made her heart beat a little faster in her chest.

“You look stunning, darling. Truly.”

“So do you, Anthony,” she replied, and this time she took a step forward to close the distance. A frown came onto her face, and when he asked her why she paused for a moment before answering. “What are we? Because we haven't spoken since... since that night, and now we're acting like we did before and I'm just quite confused.”

Instead of responding with words, he dug into his suit jacket pocket and pulled out a folded paper, handing it to her a second later. She tried not to focus too much on his hands (the memories of two weeks ago were coming back to the front of her mind now) and took it with confusion, starting to unfold it.

“Oh, I'll be back in a minute, George is calling me over.” He flashed her one of his winning smiles and was off, moving in what she assumed was the direction of George. She finally unfolded the paper and was surprised to see that it was mostly blank, just one question and two little points below it. A pen had been folded into it, and she bit back a smile when she'd read the words.

Would you go on a date with me? Please circle one answer

yes

He was ridiculous, she had decided, but then again she couldn't deny how ridiculously cute it was that he'd written out this mini questionnaire and put it in his pocket, despite not knowing whether she would actually be here or not to take it from him. Why he'd left immediately she didn't know, but maybe he was just too nervous to find out her reaction right away. She clicked the pen and circled 'yes' the best she could with no hard surface to lean on, and winced when the paper punctured. He knew where to find her, but she wrote her address anyway and the house phone number, and refolded the paper. Looking around she couldn't immediately see him, but then she caught a flash of a smile that could only have belonged to one Mr Anthony Lockwood, and she made for where he stood. He blushed slightly when he caught sight of her, then his cheeks burned brighter when she tucked the piece of paper and the pen in the pocket just inside his jacket (standing much closer to him than she needed to), and walked away without a word.

~~~

Two hours later they had snuck into the Fittes building's public library, giggling about something stupid one of the stuck-up snobs who was far too old to still be alive had said while they sipped the fancy champagne that was being served.

“Do you think they get many kids in here? Like, actual kids who would need entertaining?” she asked, making Anthony look round from where he'd been perusing the shelves.

“I doubt it. Why?”

“They've got origami. Look,” she pointed, putting her champagne flute down on a sideboard and picking up a sheet. “I used to be able to make loads of things, but I reckon if I tried making a rabbit or something now it'd look like someone folded a bit of paper a bunch of times and then sat on it.”

“I used to make those snowflakes where you fold it into quarters and cut bits out. Got quite good in the end; I could make chains of them eventually.”

“Of course you're good at making paper snowflakes,” she muttered, no hint of malice behind it. “You're good at everything, I swear.”

“Oh, that's not true.”

“Really? Name one thing that you can't do.” He paused, and she could practically see the cogs turning in his head. “See? You can't do it!”

“Well, I don't think that was very fair, actually, because you didn't give me long enough to actually think about it!” She moved to sit down, picking out various colours of paper squares before settling on one she liked. Anthony sat down next to her, his thigh close enough to hers that she could feel his body heat through his suit. He chose his own square of paper, immediately starting to fold it in different ways.

“What are you gonna make?” she asked him, not looking up from where she was attempting to make an origami butterfly.

“That's a secret.”

“Alright then,” she snorted, “be mysterious. Is that because you're bad at origami and you're trying to hide it by making me guess?”

“Sure, that's what's happening.”

They sat in comfortable silence while they worked, and when Y/n crossed her legs she made contact with Anthony's knee and drew in a breath. She refocused and looked at the paper in her hands, frowning when she realised that she had no idea how to make a butterfly out of it anymore, and sat back with a huff.

“You alright?”

“Yeah, just bored, I suppose. What are you making?” He had folded his piece of paper into a thin strip, and now he was pulling the ends together, somehow making them link.

“May I?” he asked, gesturing to her right hand. She didn't answer for a moment, too busy watching the way his fingers moved. “Y/n?”

“Oh, right.” She let him take her left hand in his, holding her breath for the millionth time around him both at the tenderness of it all and at the way his hands were so cold compared to her warm ones. He lifted the origami up and slid it onto her fourth finger, tightening it by pushing the ends together further.

“You can take it off, if you want.”

She wasn't sure she was breathing. “Are you proposing?”

“What? No, if I was proposing you'd know about it, darling. I just… I don’t know.” He looked nervous, and although he hadn’t let go of her hand, she could see that he was fidgeting.

“I love it, Anthony. Thank you.” He smiled then, small and as under as the way he was holding her hand, and she couldn’t help but ask what she’d been wondering for the last two hours.

“Did you read my response?” Somehow he softened even more, and his grip tightened ever so slightly before he nodded.

“Yes, I did.” Had he moved closer? She thought the distance between them was no longer as frustratingly large as it had been, but he was still too far away.

“Well?”

“Are you free on Saturday? There’s a great place for lunch I’ve been dying to show you for a while now.” He was definitely closer, and she could make out the small scar on his lip in perfect detail.

“Midday work for you?”

“Absolutely.” He was still holding her hand when he kissed her gently, like he thought she might leave at any moment, and when he pulled back after a couple of seconds she dragged him right back to her lips, shifting somehow even closer to him on the seat. The gift he had made that now sat on her finger felt as heavy as a gold one, filled with the promise of what could be and happy endings, and she found herself thinking that if the two of them did ever marry, she would be happy to do so with a paper ring.

They were sat there kissing for a while, not stopping until someone shouted outside the door in drunken laughter, making Anthony and Y/n jump back in surprise. Then they were laughing too, like they were teenagers sneaking off (which, she supposed, they almost were, if you ignored the fact they were legally adults now), and he pressed one last quick kiss to her mouth before he stood up. “We should head out. I’m sure the others will be wondering where we are.” Y/n stood up too, still holding his hand, and moved to straighten his tie. She had pulled on it when they were kissing, and now it was all crooked around his neck.

“I think they probably know that we’re together, though. I doubt that they’re too worried about us.” She finished fiddling with his tie and draped her arms around his neck, and flushed when he wrapped his own arms around her waist and pulled her tight against his body. They stayed that way for a while, just trading small kisses and swaying gently back and forth.

“I’m glad,” Anthony said suddenly, breaking the silence. “That we… you know.”

“Nearly died and then slept together?”

“That’s one way of putting it. I just - I’m glad.”

“I’m glad too, Anthony.” Normally accidents like having sex with her friends was something she hated, but given it was Anthony Lockwood that it had happened with, she was happy to make an exception.

~~~

That night, while Anthony finally managed to sleep next to her, Y/n stayed awake. The glow of the ghost lamp outside had woken her a few minutes ago while she had been surfacing, and now she couldn’t get back to sleep. Her dress hung on the back of his desk chair, and various parts of his suit were slung around the room in piles from where they had thrown them earlier in their haste to be as close as possible to each other.

The ring now sat on Anthony’s bedside table, and although it wasn’t light enough in the room for her to make out its shape, she still knew exactly where it was. Before the two of them got too caught up in each other she had slipped it off, saying that she didn’t want it damaged (as it likely would have been), and when she placed it to the side her eyes had caught on the photo in the frame.

“Is that us?” she had asked, grabbing the frame with both hands.

“Oh… yes. Sorry, it was just a really nice photo and we don’t get to see each other that much, and-”

“Anthony,” she interrupted, warmth flooding her face at her next words. “I’ve got cut-outs from papers that wrote about you framed, so this is perfectly okay.”

She flushed again just thinking about it, and how softly he had smiled at her, and then how softly he had kissed her afterwards. She had been dreaming about him, about both of them, and what would have happened if they had stayed in the library at Fittes for a little longer (a lot of hushed moans and whispered words, and his hair completely dishevelled).

He was the one that she wanted, she was sure of it. There had been others, but none of them had featured in her thoughts about the future like Anthony Lockwood did.

~~~

Months later, when the seasons had gone from wonderfully warm and sunny (or as sunny as England could get) to cold and biting air, Anthony and Y/n were on a case together.

She had officially become a member of the agency not too long after they started dating, and while Lucy and George had originally been worried about the logistics of living space, they quickly realised that their new hire would be sharing a bed with their boss. Y/n had settled in quickly, getting used to how her friends lived within a few weeks, and the company had settled into a nice rhythm.

“A hotel? That’s a pretty big location, shouldn’t we have Lucy and George with us?” she asked as the taxi pulled up to their destination.

“It seems to be contained to one area, from reports, and since they had a couple of actual children give statements I’m going to trust them. Just the outdoor space around the back, apparently someone - a worker, it says here - died while manning a barbecue near the large pool.”

“How do you die manning a barbecue?”

“He fell face-first into the coals, this says,” Anthony replied, waving the paper report around. They clambered out the taxi, thanking and paying the driver, and once the kit had been collected out the boot and the driver was heading back down the road, they were alone.

“Well that’s an awful way to go. Type One? Or manifesting as something stronger?”

“Everything points to Type Two, but that’s nothing we can’t handle.”

~~~

He was right, as he so often was, but unfortunately the way in which they handled the Type Two ghost of the Barbecue Man meant they ended up jumping in a pool.

The Source had apparently been one of the tiles on the ledge, where the Barbecue Man had tripped after falling face first into the coals and cracked his skull open on the edge of the pool. A delightful scene, Y/n was sure, but they hadn’t figured out what the Source was until much later. While she had been scouring the barbecue for any sign of a trigger for the Visitor, Anthony had been drawing it closer to the pool. He seemed to be having a wonderful time taunting the poor dead man, and she couldn’t help but curse him out a little under her breath. “There’s nothing here!”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Anthony, I’m pretty sure!” She was just about to tell him off for questioning her when he stepped back on his right foot and made the Visitor shriek an ungodly noise. “Wait! Draw it away from where you currently are!” She wasn’t sure if he’d actually been paying attention to her words since he didn’t give any indication that he had heard her, but a moment later he started moving away, the ghost following him, and she was able to dive for the tile. The second her hands came into contact with it she felt the pain and torment that Barbecue Man had been in in the brief minutes before his death, and at the same time that she managed to dislodge the tile (it had been knocked lose, most likely from his head after he hit it) and wrap it in a silver net, Anthony jumped in the pool. When he surfaced, hair plastered to his forehead and coat and suit completely soaked, he shouted at her to jump in too, leaving the Source on dry land. She just stared at him, but then a rush of cold air hit her and she didn’t think twice. Anthony was waving his arms around, making the water move about enough to fend off the second ghost that had appeared.

Unfortunately that meant that when Y/n attempted to come up for air, she got a face-full of water.

“Anthony!”

“Whoops. Sorry, darling. Here,” he said, offering out his hand. She took it gladly, still spluttering slightly, and they hauled themselves to the opposite side of the swimming pool. The water was freezing, but it was better than being ghost-touched, and besides, Anthony hadn’t let go of her hand yet.

~~~

Her hands were turning a little blue from the temperature of the pool.

It reminded her of when they had been redecorating one of the rooms in Portland Row about two months ago. George had complained that the room was lacking something, and all inhabitants (and Kipps, although Anthony didn’t pay him much attention) agreed that they needed to update it. They had painted it blue, not too dissimilar to the colour of Y/n’s fingers in the present day, and while it had been a wonderful day it had also been the day of her and Anthony’s first fight.

She couldn’t even remember what it had been about now, something stupid and fuelled by external factors such as job stress and fatigue, but Y/n had slept in Lucy’s bed that night.

It had been a while before either girl went to sleep, instead spending the hours attempting to stop Y/n’s crying and watching the old tapes of movies and television shows from before the Problem that Lucy had stashed away on her bookcase. When the morning had come, Lucy had offered to go downstairs and sort out breakfast for them both, so that Y/n wouldn’t have to run into Lockwood, but Y/n had shaken her head, saying that the two of them needed to figure something out.

The moment she had set foot in the kitchen, seeing the back of Anthony’s white dress shirt while he stood at the counter making teas (he had made one for her too, in her favourite mug), she had started tearing up again. He’d heard her sniffling and whipped his head around to see her hovering just inside the doorway, and immediately he had crumbled and rushed over to her, wrapping her in his arms and mumbling “I’m sorry” into her hair.

Now, back from their case with Barbecue Man, they were sat in the library, Anthony pushing a cup of freshly made tea into her hands in an attempt to get them back to their normal colour. “Feeling any better?” he asked, sitting down in the chair next to hers and picking up his magazine.

“Yeah, a bit. I can actually feel things again now, so that’s good.”

“Good. Well, I’ll keep you under surveillance for a while, just until I know you’re better.” She snorted, lifting the mug to her mouth.

“Thanks, Doc. Much appreciated.” His responding smile was enough to warm her up entirely.

~~~

A few hours later she woke up feeling disorientated, most likely because she never remembered falling asleep in the first place. Anthony was still in his chair on her left, but he had fallen asleep too, magazine splayed across his chest. Y/n stretched, yawned, and checked her watch, then started at the time. It was nearly half six in the morning, and they had come back from their case at around midnight. She wasn’t sure how long Anthony had stayed awake watching over her, but she knew that the moment he did finally regain consciousness she would be sending him straight up to bed for another few hours of sleep.

She heard somebody moving around in the kitchen and went to investigate, finding George in an oversized t-shirt and no trousers putting the kettle on to boil. “Morning,” she said, shuffling further into the room and stuffing some bread into the toaster.

“Ah, morning. Lockwood still asleep?”

“Yep. He’s in the library. Did you need him for something?”

“Oh, not really. I woke up at about four and was shockingly hungry, and when I came down he was sat reading his magazine. I was just wondering how long it would be before he was up again.” It made sense for her boyfriend to have stayed awake until he literally passed out from exhaustion, given how little Anthony normally slept anyway, and she frowned when she heard the stairs creak. A few moments later Anthony Lockwood himself appeared in the kitchen, bleary-eyed and smiling like there wasn’t a thing wrong with him only getting about two and a half hours of sleep. “I need the toilet,” George suddenly said. “If you could move out the doorway, Lockwood, that would be great. Thanks. The kettle should be boiled soon, if you two wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all, George,” Anthony replied, already taking mugs out of the cupboard. “Who’s toast is this? I think it’s burning.”

“Oh, shit, that’s mine! Fuck that’s hot!”

“Not hotter than me though, right?”

“Shut up, Anthony. My fingers are burning.” He reached over and took her hand in his, not caring for the piece of blackened toast that sat on her plate on the counter, and pressed a gentle kiss to each fingertip. She had flashbacks to the last time her hands had been near his mouth in a far less family-friendly setting, and tried to stop her knees from giving out.

“Better?”

“Um… I guess. Yeah.” If anything she was worse, since now her whole body was on fire at how sweet that one gesture was. He hadn’t even thought about it, since there was less than a second between her saying her hand hurt and him kissing the first fingertip, and that had her knees weakening all over again. She took a step towards him, threading her burning fingers with his and placing the other one on his chest to grab at his collar and pull him in for a kiss. He’d had a long night, she was sure of it, and the more-prominent-than-usual bags under his eyes were giving her a solid argument. The kiss was short and sweet, and when she pulled back he followed her for a moment before realising that it was over. He pouted, his eyes practically begging for her to kiss him again, and she let out a small laugh before obliging. That kiss was sweet too, but lasted a little longer, and the third one would have gone on for longer still had George not come back from the toilet and pretended to gag.

~~~

“Anthony?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you ever think about just… leaving for a bit? Not completely, I don’t think I could stay away from London forever, but just running off on holiday for a while. Getting a break from the ghost hunting and constant threat of death.”

“That’s… really? You want to ask that now? Darling, my mind is not in the right place for an actual conversation right now.” His hand trailed over her bare side and his eyes were looking at everything but her face, proving that he really wasn’t in the right mental place for a conversation like this, but she tried again anyway.

“Okay, but do you?” He sighed, reluctantly dragging his gaze up to meet hers.

“I suppose I’ve never really thought about it before.” He paused, shifting his weight to get comfortable. His legs knocked against hers and his hand hadn’t stopped tracing the skin of her body, and he had never taken off the ring he always wore. It had been a pleasant chill against her earlier when she thought she was going to combust from his touch. “I think because of the company I wouldn’t take a break. And I’d have a lot of guilt about leaving when there are people who might be in danger and I could have helped them.”

“But if you could drive away, would you? None of the guilt, or people getting hurt. Just… going off on your own for a bit.”

“I don’t know about alone. I think I would want you with me, darling.” He punctuated his statement by lowering his voice and pulling her closer by her hips, flush against his body, and although she was tired she couldn’t help but feel warm again.

“I’d be happy to drive away with you, Ant. Anywhere you go, I’m going too.”

“You mean it?” he breathed, eyes looking almost golden in the glow of his bedside lamp. He looked desperate for her answer, like he needed to know that she would truly always be with him because he couldn’t stand being left alone again.

“Of course I mean it, Ant. I want it all with you; everything. The complications and fights and of course all the good things too. The horrible Mondays where we get clients who don’t realise that what we do is a full-time job and we don’t really get weekends, the times we do get days off, and we can just be… together.” She ran her fingertips over his arms, marvelling at the hidden muscles she felt. Given how skinny and beanpole-like he appeared, the first time she had realised how toned he was she had been pleasantly surprised. It made sense, she supposed, since he was incredibly proficient with a rapier and had been from a young age, and being that good meant he had to at least be somewhat physically fit and capable (he was very physically capable in other ways, too, something else she had learned early on). She didn’t think she would ever get over how much she loved his arms, or his hands, or how they looked when he rolled his dress shirt sleeves up and folded his arms against his chest, and from the look he was giving her right now he apparently knew that she felt that way.

“You alright, darling?” Good lord, had his voice gone even lower? His eyes had gone from being a honey-golden to a dark syrupy brown, and if what she could feel against her lower half was any indication she could tell that his mind was back to being somewhere other than their conversation. She sounded out of breath when she spoke.

“I’m alright. Do me a favour?”

“Anything.”

“Wrap me in your arms?”

“Absolutely.”

She definitely shouldn’t have this much of an obsession with his arms, but the moment his arms tightened around her torso and her thigh, bringing her on top of him fully while he sat up with her in his lap and kissed her deeply, she couldn’t find it in her to care.

~~~

On their one-year anniversary, Y/n woke up early.

She didn’t want to, but the moon was shining brightly through the bedroom window, and there was a gap in the curtains that let the light through. It was landing on the books that had been stacked up on the bedside table, titles just about visible and all of them ones that she had read before. The moonlight was also resting on Anthony’s face while he slept, and he looked like he had in the taxi on that night when they had first met, ethereal and effortlessly gorgeous (but not quite so tired and weighed down by responsibility), and she found herself falling in love with him all over again.

It was probably all forms of creepy to just lie and watch him breathe while she tried to go back to sleep, but there was something oddly soothing about it: the rise and fall of his chest and the peaceful expression on his face. It was rare she got to see him so relaxed, the only other times were when he had a day off and was sat in the library with a cup of tea, Y/n sat nearby, or when they had spent time exploring each others’ bodies, hands roaming over skin and through hair while they made love.

The paper ring that he had made her just over a year ago, not long before they started officially dating, was sat on the bedside table next to the stack of books. He’d made her new ones at random points throughout their time together, but the original one that he’d folded from that piece of paper in the Fittes public library had remained in pride of place in her jewellery dish in their now shared bedroom at 35 Portland Row.

Looking at it now she was absolutely certain that he was the one that she wanted, taking him in marriage with a paper ring, putting their pictures in frames to decorate their home, and he was the one she wanted in all of her daydreams.

Anthony Lockwood was her future, and her future was looking wonderfully bright.

lockwood tag list: @anathemaloren, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @augustisintheair, @avdiobliss (hopefully you get this notification, ik it's been weird recently), @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @informedimagining (hopefully this works for you too my lovely), @karensirkobabes, @locknco, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @novelizt, @ran23sblog, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @no-morning-glories, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @zoom1374, @light-23, @ahead-fullofdreams

and then I'm tagging @neewtmas, @oblivious-idiot, @bobbys-not-that-small, @maraschinomerry, @uku-lelevillain, and @lewkwoodnco because I've been promising you this for a while and you just didn't know it :D

if there is anybody who wants to be added to my lockwood tag list, then please go here! I am aware that it has been a while, but from now on I will be checking this post every time I write a new fic to see who is there, so head on over to give a comment or a like and I'll pop you on for next time! <3

#lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader

405 notes · View notes

sciroccoorion35 · 6 months ago

Text

kiss the girl

inspired by the “Lockwood & Co. but make it Disney” prompts from last spring.

#lockwood and co #fan art #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #the skull in the background singing shalalalala #my fanart #disneyfied #reader they still don’t get to kiss

158 notes · View notes

awriterinthenight · 4 months ago

Text

"You Look Cute Flustered"-Anthony Lockwood

requested: anonymous

words: 1221

warnings: not much, the word suicidal maybe (idk if that counts), also implied that reader was shorter than Lockwood, but in my defense I usually use myself as reference when needed and I'm 4'11, but not much just cute fluff

summary: Lockwood was always charming and witty around everyone else, except for you. Around you Lockwood's mind would always draw a blank and he would become even more flustered. And it only got worse when you started to date.

Everyone knew one thing about Lockwood and it was that he was incredibly witty. Wherever he went, whoever he talked to, he could charm his way out of any situation. Anyone, and everyone would easily fall for whatever smile, or smirk Lockwood would put on, just to get out of any situation. Even if he was just talking to someone he could capture their full attention in a matter of moments with the softest of smiles.

Lockwood was like that around everyone, except for you. When it came to you Lockwood couldn't seem to even get out a proper sentence without his brain almost short circuiting as he stumbled over all his words. This would always result in you smiling, or sometimes even teasing him by saying, "You look cute flustered."

One time you and Lockwood were in the kitchen preparing breakfast. You were making tea, while Lockwood was trying to finally make toast that didn't burn in the toaster. You were just trying to grab the sugar that George decided to put on the top shelf when he reorganised the entire kitchen during one of his maniac cleanings.

You could just barely reach when you felt a hand wrap around your waist, as a hand went up to grab the sugar for you, "Thanks, Anthony," you said, referring to him by his first name, something he only allowed you to do.

Lockwood didn't know if it was the way his hand rested on your waist, or the smile you gave him, or the way you said his name, making him feel like his entire self was made of butterflies. All poor Lockwood could manage out was a simple, "N-no problem," while turning back towards the one burnt toast, trying to hide the massive blush on his face.

After that interaction, whenever you said something to him he would immediately blush, then proceed to stumble over almost every word before getting the fragments of a sentence out.

Many more of these a occasions occurred, and they only got worse when the two of you started dating. Lockwood somehow got even worse. Every sentence took him a second to say after trying to get over his initial fluster.

Complimenting him, he was flustered. Making him tea, flustered, unable to express how thankful he was. Saving him during a job, even more flustered and takes him a moment to thank you and assure you that he was okay. Even just standing next to him, and that man turned as red as a tomato.

One of the most notable times this happened was while giving a report to Inspector Barnes. Lockwood and Co. had just escaped a suicidal job after showing up with almost no research. You managed to somehow cut yourself on your rapier when you were distracted. Now you were getting your hand patched up while Lockwood was waiting for Barnes to come back with the paperwork.

You had just finished getting your hand bandaged up, and started to head towards Lockwood. For once he wasn't flustered by your mere presence, more filled with concern for how you were doing.

The moment you were near him his arms wrapped around you, "How bad is your hand?" he asked, concerned for you since you would most likely be off the job for a week or two.

You shrugged, "Not horrible, but not good. I have to keep it bandaged for a week, and I can't do anything too straining, that way I don't break my stitches. I'll be out of operation for a week or two," You said, a bit sullen looking since you would be letting George, Lucy, and Lockwood work without you for a couple of weeks.

"It's okay, love," he said, placing a small kiss on your forehead, "Just do as the doctor said. No working till your hands fully healed and you'll be all better soon. When we get home I'll make you some tea and you can get some well deserved sleep, and you won't have to lift a finger for weeks, so that your hand can heal," Lockwood assured him. He would probably die from how much he cares about the people he loves. It was really just a small injury, an inconvenience as you thought of it, but Lockwood saw it as a reason to now take care of you more than he already did.

"That does sound nice, but I feel bad not being able to help you guys on jobs. It's just frustrating to me. It makes me feel useless" you told him, looking at the ground filled with your own pity for yourself.

Lockwood lifted up your chin so that you could look at him, "You're not useless, love. You can still help with research, but you're anything but useless, you know that?

You let out a breath, "Yeah, I know, I just hate it," you told him, relaxing further into his touch for comfort.

Lockwood lent down to plant a small kiss on your lips, "I'm just glad your okay," he said, leaning down for another kiss, this time a lot longer than the first one.

You stayed like that for a moment before you were interrupted, "Alright, I have all the paperwork, just sign here, here, and-" Barnes cut himself off when he noticed you two, and how you jumped apart.

In a moment like this Lockwood would usually say something witty like 'Your timing is impeccable', but once again Lockwood could no longer form words in his flustered state.

Instead it was you with the witty response, "You've clearly mastered the art of comedic timing, haven't you," you joked, looking at Barnes' shocked face. You and Inspector Barnes had a weird relationship. You'd known Barnes since you started out, and he even pointed you in the direction of Lockwood and Co., not purposefully since his words were more like, 'Whatever you do, do not join Lockwood and Co. and stay away from them', yet here you were. So Barnes was more than surprised to see his least favourite (his favourite) troublemaker kissing the girl he tried so hard to mentor to become a good person.

"I-I," he stumbled, confused to what was happening, "Since when have you been a thing?" Once again Lockwood tried to speak, but was unable to find any sort of words.

"A month, two I think next week," you told Barnes, thinking back to when Lockwood finally asked you out. Barnes decided to ask questions later, and for now hand you all the necessary paperwork.

Once you finished, Barnes collected it and turned to leave, but not before he told Lockwood, "Don't hurt her, I already am not your biggest fan, so don't screw whatever this is up to."

Lockwood probably would've made some sort of joke, but all he did was nod, smile, and try to stumble out some sort of 'understood' while trying to not blush too much. Barnes could tell Lockwood would never do anything to hurt you, just by how he was acting. No one made Anthony Lockwood flustered and unable to use his charm and wit, except for you. While looking over the paperwork Inspector Barnes thought about how one day he wouldn't be surprised if (or more like when) he saw your name have the last name Lockwood behind it.

Current Taglist (ask to be added)

@almost-gabrielle @scarlett-8 @atashiboba @that1deerpersondownstairs

#x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood netflix #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co

117 notes · View notes

ukulelevillainwrites · 1 month ago

Text

we're not gonna be friends

one shot

Warnings: none

Content: not ennemies, more like annoyed at each other, to lovers, f!reader x George

Word count: 6.8k

Summary: George and y/n can't stand each other, but Lucy can see through their annoyance. Maybe she should help them out a little bit.

Comment: it took me an embarrassingly long time to write this but i'm so happy it's finally here! It was inspired by the song We're not gonna be friends by PJ Frantz which is attached to this

@neewtmas ; @maraschinomerry ; @oblivious-idiot ; @bella-rose29 ; @bobbys-not-that-small ; @lewkwoodnco ; @clarabowmp3 ; @demigoddess-of-ghosts

The kitchen was silent like it often was before breakfast. Or was it lunchtime already? Despite the number of clocks in the house, y/n couldn’t keep track of the day. Unlike Tendy’s where every agent had to keep a tight schedule, Lockwood&Co taught her to be more spontaneous with her day. She’d been there three months already, but she still wasn’t used to the hours kept by her colleagues. They could eat breakfast at 3am or 11, sometimes had breakfast for dinner or the other way around. The only thing she knew by heart was the quietness before a shared meal. The only noises came from George’s cooking. They would soon be replaced by uninterrupted chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor and the kettle that was kept on most of the time.

She tried to appreciate the peace before the storm but it was tainted with the heavy stillness of the room. With his back turned to her, George couldn’t see her disappointment at the lack of conversation between them. Despite her best efforts, she hadn’t managed to find any sort of anchor with him. She had tried her best to be friendly, helpful, grateful for everything he did around the house but nothing had worked. Even the best conversation starters she could find about the Problem would get shut down in two sentences or less. Once, she mentioned the conversation she had overheard between two of her ex-colleagues, theories on the best ways to stop the Problem. His eyes had lit up, eager to respond and keep the debate going. He had only taken part of the conversation to contradict whatever the agents had said, but she was glad of the progress she made. However, she had made the mistake of smiling at him which instantly turned him mute once again before exiting the room without finishing whatever thought he had started.

She had grown frustrated of the situation. Frankly, if it hadn’t been for Lockwood and Lucy, she would have given up entirely. But they kept insisting that they could be the best of friends and if she was honest with herself she felt insecure about wrecking the harmony between the three roommates. She already felt guilty enough for making Lucy share her room, no matter how much she insisted that she liked having her here. So, she attempted a new approach: instead of talking to him, she would try to help him out, be of service.

She waited patiently for him to finish whatever step he was on in his recipe to get the plates from behind him. When he rested the spoon he had in hand on the side of the pan, she stood up and went for the plates. He got there first and turned around carrying the four plates. Instead of handing them to her, he avoided her eyes and set them down himself, practically walking through her. She didn’t let his rudeness stop her from helping and opened the cupboard where sat the glasses. He was faster once more and slid his fingers inside the glasses to grab two with each hand. Refusing to back down, she took the forks and knives out and set one of each next to the plates. She went next for the napkins but was stopped in her tracks by the sound of metal hitting plates. She turned around to see George rearranging her table setting, visibly sighing as he placed attentively the forks on the left face up and the knives on the right blades in. He once again avoided her gaze and went back to his dish still cooking on the stove.

“Should I bring the napkins or do you have preferences for that too?” She tried to say on a light tone but her annoyance bled through.

“However you want is fine.”

“Apparently not…” she mumbled.

“They’re just napkins, y/n.”

“They were just forks.”

“That’s differ-“

She slammed the door behind her before he could finish. She wasn’t sure if she was hungry anymore. The front door opened and she came face to face with Lockwood who was coming back from whatever errand he and Lucy had run in the morning.

“Hey,” he said as she passed by him. “Aren’t we about to eat?” he asked, but she was already climbing up the stairs.

He and Lucy exchanged a look before the girl decided to go after her. Even though y/n hadn’t said anything, Lucy was pretty sure George had to be involved. She couldn’t really blame her. She and George had had a difficult start too. But it hadn’t taken this long for the researcher to warm up to her. And y/n was much more polite than she had been. Something was off and he had some explaining to do. She would ask him about it after she made sure y/n was okay. She climbed the stairs up to the attic and found y/n angrily fluffing the pillows on her bed. She didn’t have to ask to know whose face she was picturing while violently adjusting the stuffing of a forest green throw pillow.

“So…” she started carefully, “how was your morning?”

“He is the most obnoxious and condescending jerk I’ve ever met.”

“What happened now?” she asked cautiously, but she couldn’t help the smile pulling at the corner of her mouth.

“I have tried so hard to be pleasant and helpful. I talk about subjects he is interested in, I help out on chores he does, I do everything to be nice and a good roommate and he still won’t talk to me for more than thirty seconds and he won’t under any circumstances let me help out.”

She threw the innocent pillow on her bed to punctuate her annoyance.

Lucy felt torn by the situation. On the one hand she felt bad for her. Getting used to living with George hadn’t been easy for her either, but compared to how he was treating y/n, she had had it easy. He had been irritable lately and he snapped at the slightest inconvenience. On the other hand, she might have an idea of what was really going on.

“Why don’t we go back downstairs and eat something, it’ll make you feel better.”

“And deal with him? No thanks.”

She resolutely sat on her bed, crossing her arms to mark her words.

“I’ll bring up a plate for you.” Lucy said as she made her way back down the stairs.

“What the hell is wrong with you?” Lucy said as soon as she entered the kitchen.

“Where should I start?” The skull countered in that invasive way he had of barging in on her conversations.

She ignored him and tapped George on the shoulder, making him look away from his cooking.

“Please, Lucy, we’re about to eat.”

“Yeah, well y/n’s not coming down because of you.”

“She’s not?” Lockwood chimed in.

“Our dear friend George annoyed her away.”

Lockwood smiled somewhat fondly. This was classic George.

“I didn’t do anything.” He said flatly.

“You didn’t let her help, you keep leaving her out!”

George took a deep breath before affirming decidedly

“I don’t like the way she sets the forks and knives.”

She and Lockwood exchanged a look. He couldn’t be serious.

“George, please,” Lockwood started, sensing Lucy’s annoyance.

“She doesn’t check if they match and she sets them haphazardly because she can’t be bothered to place them on each side of the plate, it drives me nuts!”

She looked across the table to see Lockwood smiling at her, silently acknowledging his friend’s quirks.

“George,” he started, “I can’t have two team members unable to work together over forks and knives. I’m gonna need you to make an effort, try and be friends.” He punctuated his words with one of his charming smiles.

George stood up and grabbed his plate.

“I can’t be friends with her.” He declared before going in his room.

Lockwood sighed in defeat.

“Don’t worry about it too much.” Lucy told him.

“How can I not? They’re this close to being at each other’s throat.”

Oh I don’t know about throats but something else surely. She didn’t want to say anything yet, but she had a hunch. George was rude, more so than he had ever been to her. He claimed he couldn’t stand y/n, yet he somehow always managed to be in the same room as her. If he truly couldn’t spend a minute in her company, why did she find him researching a case in the library on several occasions with y/n reading nearby instead of going in his room? And why would he spend twice as much time cleaning if not maybe to see her coming in? He may have his preferences when it came to cleaning, but her instincts told her there was something else at play here.

“Maybe we could make them collaborate more…” She told Lockwood with a grin.

They shared a complicit look.

George was halfway through an article when Lockwood called him down. He wondered what could be more important than being prepared for a case but with Lockwood it could be anything. Without looking up from the newspaper he was reading he went downstairs, only to be greeted with Lucy’s insistent stare. She had that look on her face. It instantly filled him with dread. Whatever they did, it obviously meant more work for him.

“What did you do?” he asked.

“Nothing!” Lucy answered too quickly. “We just…”

He left the article on the nearest table to cross his arms. He looked back at Lockwood.

“We knocked over a few boxes while training.”

“So? Just clean it up.”

“They’re yours. It’s your records and research on the Problem…”

George stormed downstairs. Dealing with Lockwood’s recklessness in the field was already a lot, but carelessness in the house they all lived in, that’s where he drew the line.

“I’m sorry George,” Lockwood chased after him, “I want to help but I don’t know your system.”

“You’d mess it up anyway. It’s fine, I’ll take care of it.” He sighed.

“At least let me get you some help,” Lucy said, already halfway back into the hall.

Before he could protest, she called “y/n! We need your help!”

The girl arrived shortly after, visibly unhappy about the situation.

“We have errands to run, but have fun you two!” Lucy said cheerfully, quickly exiting through the front door before anyone of them could protest.

George stared at the closed door with round eyes. He wasn��t mad about the files anymore. This was worse. So much worse. How was he supposed to get anything done while she was around?

“What do you need help with?” y/n asked flatly.

Without sparing her another glance he rushed back downstairs to evaluate how much damage had been done. He didn’t want to try and explain his system. Frankly, he wasn’t sure he could. He was aware of his quirks and weird habits, and he was aware that it didn’t make sense to most people. Lockwood had made that clear. And even though Lucy made efforts, his filing system was where she drew the line. He didn’t want to hear the same thing from y/n.

Papers were scattered across the office floor. The filing box labelled ‘Problem’ was upside down, balanced between two chairs and on the verge of joining its content below it. The tabs he had placed inside to keep everything organized hadn’t survived the attack. This would take hours.

“So, you’re not even going to talk to me now?” y/n’s voice resonated from the kitchen.

His heart started to beat faster. With wild eyes, he started to pick up the papers mechanically while his mind reeled. What was he supposed to say? Her footsteps resonated louder as she stepped further down into the basement. The air grew thicker with tension as she did so. He wished he would break through the window and run away from this awkward situation.

“George?” she started, crossing her arms as she reached the last step.

Reluctantly, he lifted his eyes towards her, silently cursing himself for screwing up their relationship this badly. He blinked, unable to form a coherent sentence.

“Fine.” she let out, slightly louder.

The look on her face made him ache. She looked terrifying when she was angry. He froze halfway through collecting the papers at his feet. She frowned at him, probably wondering what was wrong with him. She bent down and picked the papers up for him, organizing them in neat piles on the one desk that Lockwood and Lucy had spared.

“You know,” she started, “you’re probably the most confusing person I’ve ever met.”

He still stood in the middle of the room, paralyzed by the coldness of her voice. He stared blankly as she angrily collected the papers and forcefully sorted them, creasing some of them in the process.

“I tried to help around the house, but you never let me. I clean, you clean again after me. I initiate conversation and you find any excuse to leave the room.”

She looked down at the last papers she picked up. They were newspaper cuttings about the most relevant outbreaks of the Problem. She smiled as she read the titles and it sent a chill down his spine. Whatever was coming next was not going to be good.

“I spent hours reading all I could find about the origin of the Problem. Lucy said that was how she got you to open up. I thought we could finally have something to talk about. Instead, you walked out after two minutes.”

George looked back at her, a knot forming in his stomach. Having all his mistakes lined up this way made him realize how badly he had handled the situation.

“Am I really that hard to live with?” she asked. There was a crack in her voice.

He couldn’t stay silent. Not this time. But no matter how much he wanted to find the right thing to say, he came up short.

“I’m sorry!” he blurted out.

She looked up, surprised.

“What was that?” she said, eager to make him apologize again.

“You heard me…” he mumbled.

“No, I don’t think I did,” she smiled. “George Karim apologizing? That’s more unlikely than seeing a ghost hula hooping.”

He smiled back. They stared at each other for a few seconds, long enough to make the air feel warmer in the basement. The first crumb of complicity gave him enough courage to try to make up for his rudeness. He added the papers in his hand to the pile on the desk in front of him before continuing.

“I never wanted to make you feel unwelcome.” He looked down, ashamed to admit he had badly misread the situation. “I’m just used to Lucy pushing back and when you didn’t, I thought… that maybe you were faking it? That you were talking about the Problem just to make fun, and you helped out just to annoy me and slow me down-”

“Oh, being nice is annoying now?”

“I don’t know! I’m a jerk, I see that now.”

“At least we can agree on that.”

He looked back up expecting to see her frowning.

“Why are you smiling?”

“You’re finally honest with me. I take that as a victory,” she said decidedly as she reached for the upturned cardboard box.

“So I’m guessing you have a system to organize your files?”

The question caught him off-guard. Was she really moving on from three months of feud that easily? It felt like a trick. She stared at him expectantly.

“Just… chronological.” He said cautiously.

“I don’t think you’d use that many tabs if it was just chronological. You must have subcategories, right? Like at least geographical and then maybe by source…”

Whatever trick this might be, it was working. He couldn’t resist correcting anyone about his filing system.

“I always start with the chronological order and then I file everything according to geography. For each year, I like to organize the records by city then order them by region and finally-”

“Alphabetically?”

“No,” he said with a smile. “I take the region most located South then move back up East, then North and finish West.”

“Why?”

“It’s easier to visualize on a map.”

She laughed. “I wouldn’t expect any less from you.”

When she and Lockwood came back from their errand, which really consisted of going to the coffeeshop closest to the house to let George and y/n have it out, Lucy was shocked to discover that her plan had actually worked. Well, not that shocked. She knew there was something there. They just needed a little push.

They had to climb down the stairs to the basement to finally find them because none of them answered their calls from the hallway. They were deep in conversation about the Problem. The files and boxes had been entirely cleaned up, everything was back on the shelves and… Wait, did George just laugh at something y/n said? How long had they been gone?

Lockwood had a confused look on her face, matching hers. It didn’t leave him the entire way to the client’s house that evening. There was no more tense silence, awkward avoidance or strange atmosphere in the group. The change was radical. Had she known it would have been this effective, she would have locked them up in the basement three months ago. She had been worried they would have ripped each other’s eyes out in such close quarters. In this moment though, they stared intently at each other more than they looked murderous. She smiled to herself, only making Lockwood more confused. She threw him a look. They are so gone for each other. He looked at her sideways, seemingly in disbelief. She raised her eyebrows. I swear! You’ll see. He seemed unconvinced, but she knew. “I can’t be friends with her” George had said. Yes, quite literally, she thought.

The cab came to a halt in front of their workplace for the night. 11 Hall Road. Lucy would have loved to have an exciting new case that she could add to her journal, but the truth was that most cases were plain. An old person dies, the inheritors need to clear the house before living there or selling it. Those who had become apathetical to the Problem said it was just another expense to plan alongside the funeral. She wasn’t in the mood for apathetical. Not when she had two idiotic friends practically holding hands after being at each other’s throat for the past three months. It comforted her to see them remain focused on their tasks without breaking conversation, and she almost didn’t want to tell them to stop to allow her to use her talent. A job was still a job though.

When silence hit them, so did the cold realization of all the sorrow surrounding them. Wailing filled Lucy’s ears and soon the faint outline of the phantasm haunting the place appeared in the corner of her eye. She couldn’t perceive it very well, but its screams made it hard for her to think. Lockwood stepped in front of her, rapier drawn and ready for a fight, while George tried to yell over the disembodied screams what the source could be. y/n was running through the house following his directions but to no avail. His last idea was a miniature car in the bedroom at the end of the hall.

“Found it!” y/n called from upstairs.

But Lucy was the one with the silver nets. She drew her own rapier, aiming for the stairs. The phantasm was faster. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the figure floating upstairs, so fast she doubted her mind for a second. y/n’s scream confirmed she hadn’t been dreaming. Lucy saw the girl running past her in the opposite direction, only stopped by the chest of drawers stationed on the landing. She hit her side with a definite thump, bringing her down and leaving her paralyzed on the floor of the corridor. Lucy hurried up the stairs and came to stand between y/n and the ghost, drawing intricate patterns she had practiced with Lockwood. When she heard the boys climbing the stairs, she used her other hand to take the silver nets out of her pocket. They got caught in her belt and the second she looked away was enough for the visitor to float closer to y/n, still lying a few feet behind her. Using her remaining strength, y/n threw a salt bomb, winning enough time for Lockwood to join Lucy’s side, covering George while he took care of the source.

None of them really spoke on their way back, still shaken from the close call they avoided. Y/n didn’t suffer major injuries, just a few bad bruises, which was a relief. It was enough for Lockwood to tell her to stay home for the next few days. She hadn’t protested, probably because she was exhausted from the night and the drive had rocked her to sleep. When they arrived in front of Portland Row, George didn’t let Lucy wake her up. Instead he carried her inside and despite the night they’d had, she smiled.

The rays of light shining on her face hurt her closed eyes, but not as much as the bruises in her side that decided to wake up as soon as she emerged from her heavy sleep. She was sore, thirsty and only managed to groan when trying to move in what was definitely not her bed. She reached over, eyes still closed, and encountered something cold. Her reflexes kicked in, knocking the glass over and effectively pouring its content on her. She jerked up and immediately screamed at the pain stabbing her side.

“Are you okay?” George asked, worried, as he crashed back into his room.

Desperately trying to get away from the cold wet blanket, she pulled herself up, only managing to hurt herself more.

“No, no, no, slow down. You’re only going to hurt yourself more if you do that.”

He gently nudged her back down, elevating her head with a pillow and removing the blanket to toss it on the floor. She shivered.

“How did you sleep?” he asked as he casually laid something else on her.

“Terrible,” she simply said as she managed to open an eye.

“Do you remember last night?” he continued while helping her sit.

“Yes… I think.” She looked around with half-opened eyes. “Why am I in your room?”

“Lockwood almost passed out after the first flight of stairs.”

She opened her second eye and stared at him dubitatively.

“Fine I wasn’t doing great either.”

She laughed lightly but it only triggered her injury again.

“Here, drink this,” he handed her a cup of tea, “and today you’re on bed rest. No work, no chores, nothing. Not even laughing.”

“I should keep you around then,” she said, before taking a sip.

He threw her a look, but even with eyes half open she could see the shadow of a smile on his face.

He went back downstairs, leaving her to savor her tea, its warmth welcome after having been awakened in such a brutal way. She looked back down and noticed what George had draped over her. His own sweater, the one he wore in October when the days started getting colder, sat gently on her shoulders, smelling faintly of cedarwood. She hadn’t realized how soft it was, having only touched it with her eyes. The night after the case was a blur, but she could have sworn that only one person had carried her upstairs. She smiled to herself as she looked around his room. Papers were left scattered on his desk, some fallen on the floor. Trinkets were gathered on every shelf that wasn’t already full of books. It was messy, disorganized, but comforting in its own way. She wondered how someone who kept such meticulous files on the Problem could live in a room like this. If she tried to make sense of it, she would probably spend the day here, and she simply refused that. Staying still was out of the question. She carefully sat back up before she tried to get onto her feet. The whole ordeal took about ten minutes. This might not be the brightest idea, she thought to herself, but she was finally making progress with George, they had a semblance of connection and she certainly wouldn’t let one wound stand in the way of her friendship with him.

One painful shower and a whole hour later, y/n made her way downstairs and joined George in the kitchen. She hadn’t even made it through the door that she could already hear him telling her off for getting out of bed. He chastised her about the dangers of disregarding health and how irresponsible it was of her to push her body to its limit. She just took a seat at the kitchen table and smiled at him. He had been talking to her for five uninterrupted minutes with eye contact and everything. Technically it was to yell at her, but still. progress was progress. He gave up when noticing her smile wouldn’t budge.

“Why did you come down anyway?”

“I was hungry,” she said while grabbing an orange from the fruit bowl in front of her.

“You could’ve just told me I would have brought something for you.”

“Actually, since I’m on house arrest and you’re finally speaking to me, why don’t you let me help you out today? You know like cleaning, cooking… everything you do all the time for everyone and never let me help with?”

“No. You’re injured. You shouldn’t move that much.”

“How about research then? That’s just reading.”

“No,” he said decisively, punctuating his rejection with a pointed look.

“Stubborn idiot.”

“Well, I am not the idiot who tripped and almost shattered my hip on a dresser.”

She scoffed and threw the orange in her hand, aiming for his head. He caught it just in time before it made contact with his cheek. He stared back at her with round eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he asked with an edge in his voice. Did she just imagine his voice getting deeper? The slightest grin formed at the corner of his mouth, giving her chills. “You’re insufferable.”

“You’re just jealous because even injured I have better aim than you.” She blurted out, hoping the redness of her face wasn’t obvious.

When he didn’t respond, an idea popped into her head.

“And you probably don’t want me to help because you’re scared I’ll be better at research than you are too.”

He smiled, set the orange down on the table and turned back to the dishes he had started before she got there.

“You really think I’d fall for that? Who do you think I am? Lockwood?”

She took back the fruit and slumped into her chair.

“Can you at least let me help? I can’t stay still for so long, I’ll go mad”

She fidgeted with the orange in her hands, planting her short nails into its skin the best she could. She only managed to pull off small pieces each time.

“You’ll slow me down, and I can’t allow myself to miss a single element. I don’t want last night to happen again.”

She looked up to find him already staring.

“I managed to keep up with your files on the Problem, why would that be any different?”

He didn’t have anything to say back. She smiled triumphantly.

“You have no more arguments, I win the argument! Where should I start?”

He sighed, dried the glass he was holding and sat next to her.

“By learning how to peel an orange properly.” He retorted, snatching the fruit from her hand.

Methodically, he sunk his finger under the peel, tearing it confidently. The fruit’s sweet perfume filled the air as George dropped the peel on the table in one piece. While she studied his hands attentively, he proceeded to tear the orange apart, setting its pieces on the table in front of her.

“I can do that myself you know.”

“Can you?”

“Jerk.” She laughed. Being friends with him wasn’t exactly what she had thought it would be, but she had to admit that she liked it.

He got up and snatched a piece from her hand.

“Hey, what was that for?”

“Compensation for my efforts.” He smirked.

He disappeared into the living room and came back with piles of materials in his arms. He did a second trip to bring books and case files, then a third to get notebooks from his room. When he got back into the kitchen, he sat next to her and wrote the name of the client on the thinking cloth. He pushed back his glasses on the bridge of his nose.

“Let’s get to work.”

George knew that y/n was too stubborn to rest despite her injury, and she was too clever to be tricked into it. To be fair, he hadn’t tried that hard. He really was glad of the company. He gave her some context for their upcoming case and described his usual research methods. He realized he might have been explaining things too fast when he noticed her staring at him with round eyes.

“I lost you, didn’t I?”

“Sort of…” she answered, embarrassed. “Am I wasting your time?”

“Like spending time with you could ever be wasted time” he wanted to say. Instead, he simply shook his head and started his explanation over, shaking off the thought.

He was right, though. Not only was he greatly enjoying himself, she was also a quick learner. By the second hour spent gathering material, they had already uncovered crucial elements about the history of the place and they had started narrowing in on the type of object that could be a potential source. They made a good team.

The day had gone by without any of them leaving the kitchen. They were enthralled in their work with a comfortable silence between them. They sat side by side, sharing documents and exchanging notes on the Thinking Cloth with an appeasing familiarity. Deep down, George felt guilty that they missed out on moments like these in the past because he was too focused on keeping his new colleague at arm’s length. Their knees bumped every once in a while, each moment making his heart skip a beat. Out of surprise, that is, not that he paid it any mind.

In just a day he had learned to read her smile. The soft polite one was how she asked if he wanted more tea. The shy one meant she needed his help but didn’t want to ask. His favorite one was her triumphant smile when she finally figured out what the source must be. He held his hand out high for her to high five him back. She did, her touch electric against his. She didn’t let go and wrapped her fingers around his, lingering there for another second. He stared at their tangled fingers, oddly captivated. His eyes traveled down her arm and up her face to find her already staring. His breath caught. Suddenly he couldn’t care less about the case they had been working on. Nothing mattered except for the way the warm light of the kitchen lit up her eyes. Her lips parted, catching his eye before he could stop it.

“It’s late, I should probably get some sleep,” she quickly said when their eyes met.

“Yeah,” he let go of her hand, “good idea.”

She used his shoulder to stand up and flinched. He didn’t know if it was from the contact or the effort.

“Good night,” he said gently, trying to shake off some of the awkwardness he was feeling.

“Good night. Don’t stay up too late.”

“I can’t promise anything,” he mumbled as he watched her close the door behind her.

He found it ironic that she was giving him advice when she had been blatantly ignoring everything he said about her health all day long. He returned to the newspaper he was reading, every word on the page escaping his attention. What smile had she used when she left the room? He took a pen to keep his eyes from skipping five words at a time. She had touched his shoulder on purpose earlier, hadn’t she? This was useless. He gathered up the rest of the papers he hadn’t read yet and headed back to his room, conceding defeat to the butterflies settling in his stomach.

y/n woke up around 2 am, her aching body forcing her awake demanding a glass of water. Everything was dark around her, but she could hear Lucy’s steady breathing on the opposite side of the room. She did her best to get to her feet silently, ignoring the pain still twisting her side. The steps creaked lightly underneath her bare feet, the sound resonating loudly in the silent house. She reached the first landing discreetly with the hope that she wouldn’t wake anyone up. Instead, she was surprised to see a ray of light coming from under George’s door. It was ajar, so she pushed it lightly to see him hunched over his desk, still reading the newspapers she had left on the table a few hours earlier.

“You’re really stubborn you know?”

He didn’t seem surprised to hear her behind him.

“You’re one to talk,” he retorted.

She knew there was no point in arguing, especially at this hour.

“I’m getting some water, do you want anything?”

“Tea would be fine, thanks.” He turned around. His hair was visibly disheveled. Even though he didn’t put that much effort into it at regular hours, it was obvious that he was tired.

When she came back a few moments later, he was still absorbed by whatever article he was reading. He hardly paid attention when she set the steaming cup next to him. She didn’t really expect him to, so it really came as a surprise when he reached for her hand without taking his eyes off his notes. The contact of his hand on the bare skin of her arm almost made her spill her water.

“Take a look,” he simply said. He pointed at an annotation he had written in the margin of a newspaper article he was reading.

She sat on the stool next to him to inspect his findings. His scribbling was already hard to read in the daylight, but in the dead hours of the night it was almost impossible. He saw her squint and read aloud. The words evaded her. She blamed the lack of sleep and not the fact that his hand was still resting on her arm, gently swaying back and forth. She stared at it, its slow movements calming her down. It made her feel peaceful, appeased. She wondered however why her heart was beating faster if she was feeling so calm.

“y/n?”

“Hmm?” She looked up and was caught off guard by the gentleness in his eyes.

“You should go back to bed.”

“No, no, tell me. I’m listening.”

She could see the cogs turning in his head, weighing his options, whether forcing her to rest would be worth the effort or pointless from the start. He sighed.

“I found another death related to the client’s house. I’m trying to see if the haunting is caused by what we found earlier or if it’s something else entirely.”

“That’s way too much work to do by yourself in one night.”

“Someone has to do it. You should rest, I’ll tell you what I found in the morning.”

She got up, but she knew fully well she wasn’t letting him work all night alone. She took all the papers she could gather in her arms, ignoring his hushed protests, and made herself comfortable in his bed. He looked at her incredulously. She tapped the spot next to her, a large smile lighting up her face.

He sounded defeated when he said “why are you like this?”

“You look out for me, I look out for you.”

It shut him up on the spot. She got under the covers and organized the documents in piles around her while he stared silently, his mouth slightly agape.

“What? If we’re here all night we might as well get comfortable.”

His eyes were so round she thought it must hurt him. “We?”

She tapped the spot next to her again.

“Come on. You can’t tell me to rest if you’re not doing it either.”

Reluctantly, he joined her, looking like he was intruding in the sheets of a total stranger. At first, he pushed the cover aside. It was as if he was allergic to comfort. He kept his distance and even hesitated to reach over to grab a newspaper. They read in silence, the only sound coming occasionally from the turning of pages. He seemed to quickly forget about his awkwardness though, as he leaned in whenever he found something. He got closer each time and she took each opportunity to raise the blanket higher over him. He needed to sleep and he would, even if she had to sneak up on him. By the time he finished his mug, they were shoulder to shoulder, speaking in low voices in each other’s ear. Even in hushed tones, she could sense how enthusiastic he was about what he discovered one newspaper after the other. She could have listened to him talk for hours… if she wasn’t so exhausted. No matter how hard she tried to keep her eyes open, her head was drawing impossibly close to George’s shoulder. She was too comfortable to resist. When he noticed her dosing off, he spoke lower and lower before pressing a kiss to the top of her head.

She sunk into a deeper slumber, George’s even breathing rocking her to sleep, until the turning of pages disturbed her ears. He wasn’t going to sleep unless she made him. With her eyes still closed, she traced her fingers up his torso to find his neck, his chin, and finally his glasses. She took them off before turning her back on him.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Forcing you to get some sleep,” she mumbled.

“Give me back my glasses.”

“Come get them yourself.”

She was certain he would concede defeat after this. What she hadn’t expected was George laying down closer against her with his arms draped around her waist. She froze. His hands traced their way down her arms and his hands locked around hers, gently trying to nudge his glasses out of her hands. She held them tighter, unable to keep herself from smiling. He had his head in the crook of her neck and she felt a smile forming on his lips too.

“You’re impossible. You’re stubborn, insufferable-”

“You used that one earlier already.”

He laughed. “You’re just proving my point.”

A light laugh escaped her too, only it made her bruises act up again. She flinched.

George let go of her hand, his fingers traveling lightly over her side.

“Does it still hurt?”

“A little bit.”

He sighed in her neck, making her shiver.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t figure out sooner what the source was. I could have saved you the injury.”

Something clicked in her mind, clearing all desire to sleep for a moment.

“Is that why you’re staying up so late?”

He didn’t say anything back. She rolled back to face him, his hands now resting on her lower back.

“George, you’re not the reason why I couldn’t avoid running into a dresser.”

He laughed, but he avoided her eyes.

“It wasn’t your fault. Now please get some sleep.”

He looked back at her with intensity. His eyes looked dark in the dim light, almost black.

“On one condition.”

Before she could ask what he needed from her, he took it. His lips crashed against hers with a hunger she didn’t know he had. She was still in shock when he drew back, looking back at her hesitantly. He didn’t seem to know that she loved this unsuspected bold side of him. She tangled her fingers in his hair to pull him back in. He seemed surprised at first, but his hands quickly ran up her back to draw her nearer. She could have expected to feel anything from kissing George. Awkwardness, shyness, a few days ago she would have completely rejected the idea. She certainly wouldn’t have expected it to feel so right. His hands seemed to fit the small of her back like puzzle pieces locking perfectly in place. She was surprised at how quickly she had come to wanting more. She needed him, all of him, impossibly closer. She circled his hips with her leg while her hands roamed down his back. He smiled into each kiss, leaving her lips every now and then to trail her cheeks and down her neck. She looked back at him with sparkling eyes.

“So, one condition?”

“Don’t leave. Please.”

Her smile grew bigger.

“I’m not going anywhere.”

#lockwood and co fic #george karim x reader #george karim #george cubbins #lockwood and co

72 notes · View notes

tiredofthehumanlife · 8 months ago

Text

less haunted more hookup

part one

barbie dolls: gn!reader x anthony lockwood

word: 4.6k ish

summary: you and Lockwood are just fuckin around with your little almost realtionship and its just shennaigans

warnings: lots of talk of sex, i didn’t write like an actual sex scene bc im tired but its talked about a lot, mentions of Lockwood’s dick, hes being an ass, also mentions of Lockwood eating you but its not mentioned if it’s pussy or ass so we’re chill, its not that cray cray its just you guys being kinda goofy, mentions of eating (food), you love pancakes, adventure time reference, George is just scandalized by everything really, that's pretty much it I think

Within a couple of hours, you and your team were able to find the source and contain it. You were helping Lucy pack up in the downstairs library. George was fixing the knocked-over table in the kitchen. Lockwood was upstairs, fixing the mess he caused with his fancy sword movements. You helped Lucy shove the heavy iron chains back into her bag.

“So, what exactly took you two so long to search upstairs?” She asked with a grin slowly creeping onto her face. You grimaced and shrugged. You kept your eyes on the chains, knowing you couldn’t possibly look her in the eye.

“Lockwood trapped himself in the bathroom.” You said. It was a reasonable lie in your eyes. He once somehow ended up locking himself out in the backyard. He had to climb over the fence to get to the front door from the neighbor’s yard. Lucy hummed with a sarcastic tone.

“Sure he did. I’m completely positive you two weren’t getting handsy up there at all.” Lucy said, dragging out her sarcastic claims. You felt your lips twist up at the fresh memory of Lockwood staring up at you from the ground. You shrugged, zipping up the bag.

“I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Lucy’s shock had a five-second delay where she added up your grin, avoidant eyes, and obvious lie. She let out a quiet gasp, her hand flying up to her mouth. She leaned forward to whisper.

“Are you being serious?” You pressed your lips together, throwing out a one shouldered shrug. She gasped again, only this time louder. You gave her a small smile, pretending like you had no idea what was going on.

“What are you gasping about in here?” You turned around to see George standing in the doorway. You shrugged, Walking out the Libaray to drop the bag by the door.

“Can’t tell you, it’s a secret.” you heard Lucy say in the library. You had a light smile, happy your secret was safe with her.

You’d tell Lucy every small detail of your conversations with Lockwood. She’d lay on her stomach over her bedspread, kicking her feet in the air. The air between you and Lockwood had always been different than with your other roommates. When you first moved in it was more awkward. You just didn’t click like you did with Lucy and George, there was something weird stopping you both from being able to converse properly. Eventually, the awkwardness settled and then you were touchier. Lockwood rubbed your shoulders, you’d walk with your elbows hooked together, and you leave totally platonic kisses on each other's foreheads.

As time went by, Lucy asked you for more details in private. You kept it short and sweet, not wanting to give away too much of Lockwood’s personal life. Lucy loved the sweet gossip. Two of her friends were getting hot and heavy on the job? Not to mention, the obvious crushes you both had for each other. It was juicy and terribly annoying. You both were so ditsy. You avoided the idea of the other liking you back like a deadly plague. Lockwood would stare over the edge of his mug at you, making you suppress a grin hiding behind your toast. Every time you two were in a room together the tension was so thick Lucy couldn’t breathe.

Then it was the problem of Lockwood’s unspoken lust that quickly changed into the secret you three two shared. How could you two possibly slip back into your regular touchyness when Lockwood’s fingertips just had to brush your palm while handing you the salt and all you were thinking about was that haunted house again? Now it was just, a heavy waiting period. It was certain you both were itching to get back to taking off each other’s clothes, but you just didn’t want to say that because what if Lockwood thought you were weird?

You could still gaze at the other though.

Lockwood would stare at you over his breakfast. He always paired you two up on missions. You’d rest your hand on his shoulder when you set his food in front of him, and his hand would find the back of your knee. Lockwood smiled up at you while he thanked you. He’d dry off the dishes while you washed them, his foot pressed to your ankle. He was thinking about you at night again. Only now he had real material, real memories to lull himself to sleep. He knew exactly what your moans sounded like, and exactly what you tasted like. With time passing, your flavor started to slip away from his tongue, leaving him wanting all over again.

You missed his eyes staring up at you. You missed the light making his eyes look even more warm and inviting. You just wanted to feel his hands running over you again. It kept you awake, staring up at the ceiling with all the unspoken wishes running through your head.

You weren’t sure what broke the camel’s back. It could’ve been a compliment on your good work on the thinking cloth. It could’ve been the look of his hands as he stirred his tea. It could’ve been after you returned from hours researching in the library you found your bed made, a small box of chocolates, and a note hidden under the box with his signature. It could’ve been his hand brushing your back when he had to squeeze between you and George. Whatever it was, after everyone had settled into bed and you could hear Lucy’s snores you were flinging yourself out of bed.

You tiptoed down the stairs, avoiding the squeaky ones. You were 85% sure Lockwood would be staying up in the library, and you were 76.5% sure he wouldn’t mind kissing you silly. Sure enough, the light was peeking under the library door. You steeled yourself, taking a deep breath, before pushing open the door.

Lockwood looked up from his magazine, the corner of his mouth tipping up just slightly when he saw you. You made some joke but it didn’t really matter what you said; he’d invite you in anyway. You slipped through the small talk quickly, you were on a mission to get his tongue down your throat. You were pretty sure he saw through you. Lockwood tilted his head and had a particular shine in his eyes that reminded you of the dark house. Eventually, you were leaning over the edge of the couch, getting closer and closer to Lockwood’s personal bubble. He must’ve caught on to what you wanted, knocking his nose against yours.

You got what you wanted, his tongue down your throat and eventually he was settling down onto his knees in front of the couch and tugging your pajamas down. Even though everyone was asleep, you stayed quiet. And eventually, after your chest was heaving and Lockwood was pulling away, you begged Lockwood to let you return the favor. He was definitely more interested in giving than receiving but with your pretty hands rubbing circles on his hips, he wanted more. You were swapping places in no time. Lockwood was obviously nervous, rubbing his hands down the sides of his thighs.

He relaxed greatly once your warm mouth wrapped around him. He was smothering his face with a throw pillow to stifle his moans within a few seconds you were on your knees in front of him.

Once you were both redressed, you slipped right back into your extremely friendly ways. You said goodnight as Lockwood settled back into his chair. His cheeks were still bright red but he ignored it as he reopened his magazine to where he left off. You muttered something about seeing him in the morning. You stayed true to your word, you did find him in the morning. He was passed out in his armchair, magazine left open to the page you saw him open last night in his lap. You threw a blanket over him before going to find Lucy.

She was just as excited as you, gasping when you explained the shenanigans you two found yourselves in last night. The second time seemed better than the first and it sparked an even stronger flame within Lockwood. He was getting more brazen and desperate. The first hookup seemed to satiate him enough to realize secrecy with most of your friends was important. The second seemed to drag him to the edge of insanity, he was itching for another moan out of you and another taste of you.

The second George and Lucy would leave, he was pushing you towards the closest room. George would leave the kitchen in the early morning with Lucy still asleep and he was lunging over the table to pull you into a kiss, dropping back in his chair the second he heard George’s footsteps. It was like he just needed to feel you touching him to get through his day.

Once George left to go read a newspaper for research in the Library as Lucy was training downstairs. Lockwood wasted barely a second before he was pressing you against the kitchen counter to slip his tongue past your lips. You pulled him closer by his button-up, enjoying the feeling of his hand on the back of your neck. He knocked his hips against yours, making you sigh into his lips. You heard the Library door squeak down the hall. Lockwood pulled away from you, swirling around in a fancy motion to lean against the fridge and pick up his tea off the table. He grabbed the front of your shirt, yanking you towards him. Lockwood pressed his lips to yours over and over again, cutting it quite close to George seeing you two before he gently shoved you away. You slid on the floor because of your socks, bumping into the table. Your hit to the table made the glasses tink. You quickly settled into the nearest chair, resting your chin in your palm to seem natural of course.

“You guys are not going to bel-“ George glanced up from his newspaper, looking between you and Lockwood. He raised an eyebrow. “Why do you two look like that?” You glanced back at Lockwood to see him quirking up an eyebrow as he sipped his tea. You looked back around at George, shrugging. The door to the basement opened, and a very sweaty Lucy appeared. Her bangs were sticking to her forehead. She swiped away at them, letting her forehead breathe a little. Lucy looked between the three of you. George turned to her.

“Why do they look like that?” George asked. Lockwood let out a scoff.

“What on earth are you talking about George? Are you coming down with something?” Lockwood asked. Lucy’s eyes flicked to yours. You suppressed your grin, giving a small shrug. A small smile grew on her lips, looking back at George.

“They look normal to me George. Come here let me feel your forehead.” Lucy stuck her arm out to George. he narrowly avoided it, swinging his arms around to swat her hand away.

“Don’t touch me with your sweaty hands.” Lucy dropped her arm letting George stand up straight again. She looked over at you to raise her eyebrows. In the kitchen? You gave her a shrug, pressing both your hands to your cheeks, feeling your face warm. You both looked back to George to find him pointing between you two.

“You know something.” George declared, pointing at Lucy. She held her hands up in surrender.

“what exactly would I know?” Lucy said. George shrugged swinging his finger between the two of you again. You and Lucy shared a glance.

“That. See you guys have a secret.” George said, jumping when you and Lucy saw each other. You shook your head. Lucy crossed her arms over her chest as she shrugged.

“No, I don’t think so. We don’t have secrets, it is disrespectful to leave your roommates out of something.” You said, tilting your head back to look at Lockwood upside down. “Right, Lockwood?” He smiled at you before looking up at George.

“Yes, incredibly disrespectful. Which is exactly why I told you guys about that rash.” Three groans met his comment. You sat up straight, grimacing at the memory.

“You’re disgusting, truly. You’re a terrible pain to be around.” You muttered, trying to get the nasty taste out of your mouth. You heard Lockwood hum behind you.

”I know, baby.” He whispered it into his mug, the petname came as an afterthought, but George still jumped at it. His arm flying out to point at Lockwood. George looked over at Lucy for reassurance.

“See? Baby, he said baby. When has he ever called anyone in this house that? They’re being weird.” Lucy shook her head.

“Nah he uses pet names all the time,” Lucy said, sitting down at the table with you.

“Oh yeah, he called you darling a thousand times, George.” You added. George scoffed. He huffed before throwing the newspaper on the table and storming out. You and Lucy both turned to face Lockwood. He looked between the two of you before taking the hint and leaving. Your secret was able to slip past George and, under Lockwood’s knowledge, Lucy for weeks. You started to wonder what exactly you two were doing. You never clarified if this was all a friends-with-benefits thing or if you were just dating secretly. You really needed to talk to him about it but every time you were alone he was kissing until you couldn’t see to Tuesday. You told Lucy all about your feelings and Lucy decided she was going to get you two an empty house if it was the last thing she’d do.

One morning George declared to the breakfast table he was going grocery shopping. You and Lucy shared a look before she jumped up out of her seat to volunteer her services. George was confused but decided he didn’t care enough to ask more questions. Within a few minutes, you went from being surrounded by three roommates to just one. You glanced up from your plate to smile at Lockwood. You both sat in silence while you picked at your food. You heard the gate close, Lucy and George were officially gone. Lockwood hummed before his fork clattered onto his plate.

“Livingroom?” Lockwood asked. You looked up, gently setting your fork down next to your plate.

“Livingroom.” Lockwood shot up from his chair, letting it stick out. You stood up, snorting at him scrambling out of the kitchen. You leaned over the table, snagging a sausage off his plate before moving towards the living room. He was standing next to the door, he stuck his hand out towards you. You placed your hand in his. Lockwood tugged you forward, letting you press your body against his. You smiled up at him as he leaned down to meet your lips. He turned around. Your back was towards the living room as he pushed you inside.

Lockwood led you to the couches, letting your legs hit the edge. You finally pulled apart so you could lay down across the cushions. He settled on top of you, pulling you into a kiss again. Even with Lockwood's weight on top of you, all you could think about was where you stand. You thought about Lucy giving you the blessing of an empty house for way more than just another hookup. You gently shoved his shoulders. Lockwood pulled back, tilting his head to the side.

“What’s the weight of this?” You whispered, feeling like the decorations were staring at you as much as Lockwood was.

“What like the couch? Um I don’t know probably like-“

“No, what we’re doing. The sex and the kissing, what is our relationship right now?” Lockwood pressed his lips together. You let your hands settle on his shoulders, tracing the stitches of his button-up. He pulled himself up more, using his arms to hold himself up.

“You know, I actually didn’t plan on having this conversation with a hard-on.” He avoided your eyes, looking around the living room. You hummed, it wasn’t exactly news to you at the moment. You traced a circle around the top button on his shirt.

“It’s okay take your time.” Lockwood sighed at you. He dropped his head, making his face out of view. You rubbed the back of his head in support.

“You’re so hot. Just give me a little okay?” You hummed again, giving him his moment. You tried to be supportive by rubbing his back, reassuring him.

“It’d actually be a great help if you stopped touching me,” Lockwood muttered, his face still out of view. You dropped your hands away, letting them dangle over the edge of the couch. After a few minutes, Lockwood looked up to meet your eyes again. You smiled at him.

“We can be whatever what you want.” You grimaced at Lockwood’s response.

“You had like an extra five minutes and all you come up with is ‘whatever you want’? That’s embarrassing.”You said ignoring the awkward position with your arms dangling off the edge of the couch.

“I was a little focused on something else,” Lockwood said, squinting at you. You rolled your eyes.

“You can’t double-task?” Lockwood shook his head.

“Don’t be mean to me otherwise you’ll have to wait another five minutes.” Lockwood said, a teasing grin showing a peak of his teeth. You glared at Lockwood.

“I’d smack you if I still had access to my hands.”You muttered. Lockwood grinned at you.

“If you want to date, we can date. If you just want to be boss-employee with benefits, I'm okay with that.” Lockwood said, smiling down at you. You frowned.

“But what do you want?” You asked. You would’ve tucked his hair back behind his ear because it was dangling in front of his face making it hard to see his eyes. Lockwood shook his head.

“I want to be married with four cats right now, but I’d settle for a date or two,” Lockwood said. You pressed your lips together to stifle your grin.

“Right, well, since you feel so strongly about this I suppose we could get donuts or something sometime.” Lockwood’s smile quadrupled at your sentence.

“Yeah?” You shrugged in response. He leaned down and quickly pecked your lips before pulling back. “You can touch me now.” You smiled brightly, quickly throwing your arms around his shoulders. You pulled him back down, meeting his lips fully. Lockwood was quick to meet your tongue, already missing the taste of your mouth from being just a few minutes apart. When you felt your lungs screaming for air you pushed him off towards your neck. He dipped down leaving soft kisses on your clavicle. Lockwood pulled back.

“We should probably tell our friends huh?” You grimaced at him.

“Lucy knows.” His jaw dropped open. He thought he was the sneakiest person on the entire planet.

“for how long?” Lockwood asked. You grimaced even more.

“Day 1.” Lockwood looked at you even more shocked.

“How?”

“She put it together but after that, we’d gossip about it.” Lockwood sighed. He shrugged.

“We should tell George then.” You nodded. He met your lips again, his hands traveling down to the waistband of your pants. Just as his hand was slipping past the elastic of your underwear, you heard the front door open. Lucy yelled something about being home. You both shot apart. Lockwood landed in his armchair, leaving a magazine over his lap. You laid on your stomach, picking up the closest book. You held it up to your face, tuning the page like you knew what you were reading about. Lucy and George’s head poked in, the both of them joining you. George raised an eyebrow at you.

“Since when do you read about beekeeping?” George asked. You glanced down at the cover of your book, sure enough, it had a tiny bee on the front. You shrugged.

“I wanted to branch out my knowledge. Is that okay with you?” You said, glaring at him. He sighed and rolled his eyes. George left the room and headed to put away groceries. Lucy looked between you two. She readjusted the bags on her arms the handles cutting into her skin.

“how’d things go?” Lucy asked. You smiled.

“Good.” You said, closing the book about bees. You tossed it back onto the coffee table, you weren’t branching out your knowledge.

“Could’ve been better,” Lockwood muttered. Lucy’s head shot towards him, thinking he was insulting you. “Kinda cut short.” He added, turning the magazine page still settled in his lap. You rolled your eyes.

“Don’t listen to him, it went well.” Lucy settled, giving you a short nod before hobbling out of the room with the weight of all the grocery bags on her arms. After George scolded you and Lockwood for leaving your dirty plates on the table, the day passed quickly. You helped Lucy put away groceries. She told you all about how she wanted to rearrange her room, needing a change of scenery. You helped move her furniture all around the room, hanging up new pictures and curtains. It took so long by the time you were done you both just wanted to eat dinner and go to bed.

With the exhaustion of the day’s heavy lifting pushing your body down into your mattress, you conked the fuck out. You slept like you cuddled up in a fluffy cloud. You had beautiful dreams of ponies and cupcakes it was lovely. Waking up was slightly less enjoyable. You were halfway off your bed, head dangling over the side. Most of your blankets were thrown on the floor, one singular corner draped over your ankle. You didn’t even know where to look for your pillows. While you were sitting up, looking around the room, and trying to calculate how on earth your pillow ended up across the room, you caught a whiff of George’s best breakfast.

He’d cut cooked bacon into small bite sizes and add them to pancake batter. It was your favorite breakfast of his. You kicked off your last bit of blanket and dashed down the stairs. Lucy was parked in one of the chairs at the table. Her eyes were closed and she was holding on to a cup of tea like it was the last bit of life source she had access to. George was standing by the stove with a pan and a bowl of batter sitting next to him. You rushed over to him, tightly wrapping him in your arms. He groaned muttering about the hot stove. You held onto his chin, smacking a kiss to his temple.

“I love you, George.” George grimaced. George turned his head to glance at you. He pulled his hand away from the handle of the pan, shooing you away.

“You’re going to get burned, go away,” George grumbled, turning back to face the stove to hide the smile you knew he had. You hummed sitting down at the table next to Lucy. She gave you a half grin, more focused on her drink. You looked around the table, noticing a lack of Lockwood and furthermore a lack of his cup. You knocked Lucy with your elbow and pointed at his unofficial official seat.

“Asleep, in his bed no less.” You gave her an impressed look. He didn’t sleep much and if he did it was mostly in his armchair. You hummed. There was a silent agreement between you three that if Lockwood was asleep you didn’t wake him up unless it was certain you were all going to die. You would’ve come down the stairs quieter if you knew he was asleep. You cringed at the memory of you running down the stairs. A herd of unicorns would’ve been quieter than your excitement.

Eventually, George’s stack of two pancakes grew and grew until he was out of batter. The last bit of it was made into a mini pancake, which he gave to you once it was done. You heard movement upstairs. You waited patiently. You helped George set the table. You set out the syrup and butter, before straightening the forks next to each plate. You settled back into your chair just as George was setting the pan in the sink.

Lockwood entered the room, in his comfy clothes. He glanced around the room.

“Good Morning.” You muttered, biting into your mini pancake. Lockwood’s eyes settled on you. He smiled and made a beeline for you. His hand ducked under your chin, gently pushing it up. Lockwood greeted you with a soft kiss before moving to the other side of the table and settling into his chair. You looked over at George when the pancakes didn’t join the table. He should’ve set them down by now. George’s jaw was hanging open, his eyes unwavering on you. He was holding the plate of pancakes, about to set them down on the table. Lockwood’s hands slowly reached towards the plate, gripping onto the sides.

“What the fuck?” George said, astonished you two kissed so casually this early in the morning. Lockwood slowly pulled the stack of pancakes away from George’s hands, setting them on the center of the table. Lucy’s fork lunged forward, pulling two pancakes onto her plate. George kept his eyes on you while his hands fell limply to his sides.

“What what the fuck?” You asked, handing Lucy your plate. She added a few pancakes to your plate as George pressed his lips together in annoyance.

“Since when were you two a thing?” George asked, turning towards Lockwood. Lockwood glanced up from his plate, his cheeks full of pancake. He swallowed at a speed that made you worried about him choking.

“Well officially, less than a day. Unofficially, a couple of weeks.” Lockwood answered as you thanked Lucy for filling your plate. George scoffed.

“And you didn’t bother telling me?” George asked, obviously scandalized by this news. You shrugged.

“Well technically speaking, it was supposed to be a secret but Lucy figured it out before we even put a name on it.” You muttered, taking a bite of bacon pancake. George scoffed at you.

“It was a secret from me, basically is what you’re saying?” George asked. Lockwood let out a sad sound, his hand shooting out to hold onto George’s wrist.

“We weren’t dating or anything, we were just hooking up. I assumed you wouldn’t want to hear about that, so I didn’t tell you.” George grimaced, wiping his hand on his pant leg.

“Alright gross, you’re right. But next time something big happens you guys need to tell me.” George muttered, scooting his chair further away from Lockwood’s. You nodded.

“I don't know if I’d call it big, huge might be more accurate,” Lockwood whispered, giving you a cocky grin across the table. Lucy’s fork clattered against her plate.

”Shut up.” You said, grimacing and looking down at your plate. “Dickhead.” you added, wishing he would’ve slept longer. You looked at Lucy to her pressing her hand to her mouth like she felt nauseous.

“I’m eating, Lockwood,” Lucy said. She glared at him.

“So was I,” Lockwood muttered, taking a sip of his tea. You groaned at him, flicking water drops at him.

“Bad Lockwood.” You said, flicking more water at him. George hid his face behind his hands.

“I miss when this was a secret,” George muttered. Lockwood shook his head, patting George’s shoulder.

“I don’t,” Lockwood said, winking at you across the table. You shook your head at him.

“Get your harlot hands off me.” George shrugged Lockwood’s hand away. Lockwood hummed, returning to his pancakes. You looked back at your plate.

George grew accustomed to your new relationship, and Lockwood learned to stop sharing private details at the breakfast table. You started to enjoy the small shows of affection Lockwood added to your routine. He’d say hello with a kiss. He’d flop down next to you on the couch to lean against you. Lockwood started to sleep more with you dragging him up the stairs. Apparently, a boss-employee relationship wasn’t as scandalous as you thought it was.

#lockwood & co #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x you #lockwood netflix

160 notes · View notes

mazywrites · 7 months ago

Text

‘ADDITIONS AND DONUTS’

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem! reader

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

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

WARNINGS: none

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

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

"And this is the kitchen!"

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah— would you like me to…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Haven’t scared her off, have you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“No, go on!” urged Lockwood. “Ask!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

George turned a page. “Define something.”

Lucy hesitated. “You know… romantically?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Doesn't seem it.” grumbled George.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Give me a donut.”

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

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

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

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

“Try again, Lockwood.”

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

Your grin said it was not.

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

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

“The white one, right? Coloured sprinkles?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

322 notes · View notes

initialchains · 1 year ago

Text

10 things i hate about you | anthony lockwood.

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem!reader

summary: george karim falls in love with your sister, and the only thing standing between him and the love of his life is the fact that she isn’t allowed to date unless you do, too. luckily for him, anthony lockwood would do anything for a bit of publicity.

wc: 5.8k (part one)

a/n: hii i felt so bad for leaving you all hanging, but finals week left me extremely burnt out and tired. luckily, the lockwood brainrot is neverending, so as a way of saying sorry here’s the first part of this silly ol’ fic. (including the first five things to hate about lockwood.) i’m also super sorry for the next part because it will be 90% angst lol ++ this is inspired by the movie but not completely based on it bc it’s my all time favorite film and i was scared of not doing it justice.

Lucy swore she was going to quit the agency again if George didn’t stop pacing around the kitchen like an idiot. She kept thinking of things to say to get him to stop, but a part of her also wanted to see how long this pathetic situation in front of her would take, she knew it wouldn’t be long until their researcher got tired of walking back and forth. And that’s where she is now. Sitting in the kitchen, an empty mug staring back at her, while George kept pacing in front of her and Lockwood.

“Hey, George! I have an idea. Why don’t you sit down and tell us what’s going on like a normal person, instead of just muttering I’m so fucked over and over?”

George finally stopped and looked up at her. He stood still for a few seconds before taking a seat next to Lockwood.

“Well, I’m fucked.”

“Yeah, I think we heard that part.”

“Luce, stop,” Lockwood said in the softest voice he could muster, before turning to George. “Do you want to talk about it? Maybe we can help.”

George took a deep breath before starting. “So, you know how I’ve been telling you both and Holly about that one girl from the archives?”

Lockwood smiled at that. The thought of George crushing on a girl after bonding with her about their love for research is still one of the cutest things he has ever heard.

“Oh, right. How are things going with her? Is everything alright?”

“Well, sort of. I mean, everything is alright, but just when I thought of finally making a move on her, she kind of, um… dropped a bomb on me?”

“A bomb? But you already knew she’s a Fittes agent, that’s not new.” Lucy stated.

“Yes, I know. And trust me, there’s nothing wrong with that.” George continued, “She is the sweetest, most intelligent, beautiful human being to have ever lived. I mean it.”

Lucy and Lockwood shared a knowing look. George was totally a goner for this girl.

“Then.. just ask her out?” Lockwood suggested, watching carefully as George fidgeted with the thinking cloth, now too shy to look at his friends.

“That’s the problem, I can’t,” George explained, before pulling his glasses away and rubbing his eyes. The stress of the situation clearly getting the best of him.

“Okay, this will probably be a stupid question, but.. why?” Lucy asked, genuinely confused by the problem her friend was going through. Sure, asking someone out is frightening, but it’s not like George was about to fight a type two without any kind of protection.

George took a deep breath before finally explaining. “She can’t go out with me unless her sister gets a date, too.”

Lucy almost laughed at how stupid the so-called bomb was. “Well, ask one of her colleagues to woo her or something. She’s a Fittes agent too, right?” She suggested, remembering the only fact they knew about said sister. “She must know a bunch of people willing to date her.”

George found the strength to look up, making eye contact with Lockwood and then turning to Lucy, before finally dropping the bomb on them. “I can’t, everyone at Fittes despises her.”

Shit.

Lockwood and Lucy didn’t even have to think twice about who the sister in question was. There’s only one person who is loathed by every single Fittes agent, and surprisingly it isn’t Quill Kipps. George was talking about Fittes’ very own heinous bitch. (Obviously, the nickname was granted by the one and only Bobby Vernon. But to be fair, it’s not like he is the most reliable of people. Lockwood took note of that.)

Portland Row was silent for a few moments until Lucy finally spoke up. “Well, George. The world is wide, there will always be other people for you to fall for.”

“Luce.” Lockwood warned her.

“I’m trying to help!”

“I know you are, but George really likes this girl.” He explained

“I think I might be in love with her. No, scratch that. I am in love with her.” George confessed in a small whisper.

“Oh, fuck.”

“Luce.”

“Sorry!”

“I told you we would try to help, and that’s exactly what we’re going to do. Right, Lucy?” Lockwood looked at her, an unspoken beg passing between them.

“Fine, yeah, we will. What do you know about her sister? Maybe we can find someone with the same interests as her. Like umm.. Holly? or the guy who sweeps the floor at Arif’s?” Lucy almost winced at how stupid their repertoire of options was, the three of them were friends with a limited number of people, and by limited she meant Holly and a guy who always greets them when they get something from Arif’s

George thought for a few moments about everything he knew about her. “I know she’s a team leader–” He couldn’t even finish his list, let alone his sentence, because before he could even continue, Lockwood stood up.

“I’ll do it.” He said with a small shrug, almost as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

A chorus of “I’m sorry?” and “What the fuck?” were heard at the same time, but Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to care. He wanted to do this.

“What? You said you wanted someone to woo her. Right, Luce?” He explained as he took Lucy’s empty mug away from her and moved to the sink.

Lockwood’s back faced them while he washed their used dishes. “Yes, but.. why do you want to do it?”

“It’s a win-win situation. If I go out with her, George will get to date her sister, and we will get publicity.” The way Lockwood explained the situation with such ease had Lucy thinking he had planned this beforehand.

“Publicity?” George finally spoke up.

“Yes. You said she’s a team leader, which means she is important, and we also know she’s disliked by every single one of her peers, which means the press will be surprised to see her hanging out with someone. So, if we get photographed together, everyone will want to know what’s so special about the agents of Lockwood and Co. Which means–”

“More cases.” George finished the sentence for him.

“See? It’s easy.” Lockwood, finally done with the dishes, turned around.

“No, it’s not. I think it’s a stupid idea. You won’t be using someone to get this agency more clients, are you insane?” Lucy stated, indignation lacing her words.

“Hey, George. You said you were taking her sister out for breakfast tomorrow, how about we make it a double date?” He said with a bright smile, ignoring Lucy’s words.

“Oh, um.. Okay.”

George was right, Lucy thought. They are so fucked.

1- I hate the way you talk to me and the way you cut your hair.

“George, calm down. Everything will be okay, I promise.” Lockwood said, sending an encouraging look to the boy next to him. George was sweating, he didn’t expect your sister to accept the double date. He didn’t expect you to accept the double date.

“I know. I even practiced a speech and everything, it will be alright.”

“You practiced a what?”

George wasn’t able to answer his question because right when Lockwood asked him, they were able to see two silhouettes standing outside of the café they were walking to.

“Oh, they’re here,” Lockwood stated plainly before walking up to them, George looking nervous as fuck next to him.

Sure, George was a sweaty mess, but he knew this would happen. He even expected you to look at him with disgust in your eyes and say something along the lines of “I was dragged here against my will. Fuck you, Karim. You will never date my sister.”

What he didn’t expect to see was your face painted with confusion. George was about to greet you with the long speech he spent the entire night workshopping, but before he could even mutter a word, you let out an exasperated sigh and looked George in the eye before you gaze slipped to Lockwood and then back to him.

“What is it, asshole day? Why are you two here?”

Lockwood was about to open his mouth and answer your question, but luckily your sister spoke up just in time.

“I invited my two friends to have breakfast with us!” She said with a bright, almost angelic smile. George felt like he was in heaven just by seeing her.

“I know about Karim, but why are you friends with Anthony Lockwood?”

“Oh, so you’ve heard of me? Only the good things, I hope.” Lockwood said, his charming smile making a way to his face.

“Yeah, like the houses you’ve burned down, and how stupidly reckless you are to the point that you even got shot.” You stated, repulse evident in your eyes as you looked at the man of the hour.

“It’s adorable how much you know about me.”

“Have you ever been to a psych ward? I can get you an appointment set and ready by tonight.”

“You want to see me tonight?”

George feared you might slit Lockwood’s throat with the way you were looking at him. “We should, um, get inside.” He said, trying (and failing) to break the awkward tension, guiding the four of you into the café.

George looked at your sister and whispered into her ear “It’s not my place to assume but.. you didn’t tell her we were coming, did you?”

She gave him a shy smile before answering. “I want her to make some friends, and I think someone like Lockwood might help her come out of her shell.”

She looked so innocent that George wanted to break down crying and tell her all about Lockwood’s dumb publicity plan. This was eating him alive.

You took a seat next to your sister in the booth George had reserved for the four of you. Lockwood smiled when he saw your eyes widen at the sight of him sitting right in front of you.

“Karim, can you switch places with your friend?”

“Why? Are you embarrassed I’ll see you blush whenever you look into my eyes?”

“Have you ever been told that your hairline will recede by the time you’re 30 years old if you keep cutting and styling your hair like that?”

“Have you ever been told that you’re incredibly beautiful?”

Your sister had to place her hand over yours before you could reach for the knife placed in front of you by a waiter. Lockwood couldn’t contain his laughter at the look on your face.

“What’s so fucking funny, Lockwood?”

“Nothing. Don’t mind me, please continue with your insults. I relish being the reason behind your thoughts and words.”

That was enough to shut you up. Your sister, George, and Lockwood shared jokes and stories while you looked down at your plate, the conversation flowing easily between them. Sometimes you’d look up to find Lockwood staring at you, he’d send you a small smile and try to include you in the conversation, but you didn't intend on giving him the satisfaction of getting you to speak, so you’d shut him down with an eye roll.

The rest of the morning went by smoothly until your sister had the brilliant idea to tell you about her plans for the rest of the day.

“You’re going to the archives with Karim.. alone? Just the two of you?”

“Did you not hear her the first time, love?”

“Shut the fuck up, Lockwood.” You snapped at him, hoping your anger was enough to mask the blush rushing into your cheeks.

It wasn’t.

“Did I just make you blush?”

“You made me want to throw up.”

“Deny it all you want, but the pet name clearly had an effect on you.. love.”

“Ugh, whatever.”

The four of you stood up and walked to the café’s exit, Lockwood opening the door for your sister and you. As soon as you got outside, your sister began to apologize for not telling you about her impromptu archives plan with George.

“It’s fine, I don’t mind. Just.. text me when you get there?” You said softly. Way too softly, Lockwood noticed. He had never seen you this vulnerable, maybe your sister was way more important to you than he expected.

“I will. Promise.”

You said your goodbyes before turning around, planning on walking to your car, but the universe definitely wasn’t on your side today.

“Wait! I’ll go with you.” Lockwood said as he tried to catch up with you, matching the pace of your long strides.

“I don’t know if you can tell, Lockwood, but I’m trying to get away from you.”

“What kind of gentleman would I be if I didn’t drive you home after our first date?”

“You’re not a gentleman, and that wasn’t a date.”

Lockwood pressed a hand to his heart, feigning hurt. “Ouch, not a gentleman? Thank god my mother isn’t here to hear those words.”

You finally stopped walking and turned around to face him. “What do you want?”

“To.. drive you home?”

“No, Lockwood. What do you want? You tried to include me in your stupid conversation earlier, then paid for my breakfast, opened the door for me, and now you want to drive me home. What the fuck do you want?”

Lockwood stayed silent for a while, just staring into your eyes. “I was trying to be nice to you, is that too hard to believe?”

He took notice of how you looked away from his eyes and tried to keep your hands busy by playing with the hem of your shirt.

You cleared your throat before saying, “Fine, but if you fuck my car up, I swear to god, Lockwood..”

2- I hate the way you drive my car.

The car was silent the entire first half of the ride. Sometimes you’d catch Lockwood staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you never looked back, deciding that looking through the car window was a better sight.

“You don’t talk much unless it is to deliver a well-crafted insult, huh?” Lockwood said, trying to break the silence. It wasn’t awkward, it was just.. tense.

“Do you want me to talk to you?” You answered, slightly surprised by the fact that Anthony Lockwood of all people, wanted to have a conversation with you.

“Yeah.”

“And what do you want me to say? It’s not like I know a single thing about you.”

“You can say whatever you want, I don’t mind. I’ll accept it whether it is you cursing my entire bloodline, or you saying you’re deeply attracted to me.”

The car came to a stop, a red light illuminating Lockwood’s sharp features. You hated to admit it, but fuck, Anthony Lockwood was attractive.

“Me? Deeply attracted to you? Holy shit, did you fall and hit your head as a baby?”

“You so are.”

“Am I that transparent? Because you’re right. Oh, Lockwood, I am so attracted to you and your stupid fucking personality. I want you, I need you. Oh baby, oh baby.”

“You have such a beautiful way with words, love.”

That was enough to get a small laugh out of you. Lockwood kept surprising you, he didn’t back down after an insult or two, and he actually seemed to enjoy being indulged in them.

He turned his head to look at you as soon as he heard you laugh, a smile adorning his face. A feeling of pride (and maybe something more) swelled in his chest.

“I can’t believe I just made you laugh for the first time and we’ve been on a date for about three hours now. God, I’m making such a bad first impression.”

“You still won’t let the idea of this being a date go?”

“Nope. I enjoy being on a date with you. You’re a nice person to hang out with.”

The corners of your lips curled up into a small smile. “You don’t mean that.”

“I do, I would rather take you out on a million dates than spend 30 minutes with any other person,” Lockwood confessed, and he meant it.

“Like you could find a person who would willingly spend 30 minutes with you.”

“Oh, see? That, there. Who needs affection when I have blind hatred?”

The two of you spent the rest of your ride home talking, the tension slowly evaporating, leaving room for the back-and-forth quips that Lockwood and you kept throwing each other.

Lockwood stopped the car when he heard you say, “Alright, this is my house.” You were about to open the door, but before you could even extend your arm he said a quick, “Wait!” and got out of the car, rounding it to open your door.

“Thanks.”

“Anything and everything for you.”

Just as you were about to answer, a flash and the sound of a camera clicking disrupted the moment you were having.

“You’re fucking with me”, you muttered under your breath. Lockwood looked surprised too, he had completely forgotten about his plan.

Take her out for a few days. Get photographed together. Gain more clients.

His heart sank at the reminder of the reality of this situation. He had been so busy having fun with you, that his mind decided to blur out the reason why he was hanging out with Fittes’ most hated agent.

“Alright. I should, um, go.”

“Do you want me to walk you to your door? Or is the first date too soon to meet your parents?”

“Fuck you, Lockwood,” You said with a smile.

“It doesn’t really seem like you want to.”

He found himself smiling, too.

3- I hate it when you stare.

“What a fun coincidence to find you here, love.”

You rolled your eyes at Lockwood’s annoying voice. “Yeah, it’s such a fun coincidence that you almost burned this house down and my team had to come help your incompetent agency.”

“Third time’s a charm.”

“There’s no way in hell you’ve been the cause of more than two fires.”

“If you let me take you out on another date, maybe I’ll tell you more about them.” You almost stabbed him with your rapier. “Shut up, people might hear.” That brought a bright smile to his face and an incredulous look to his eyes.

“Oh, so you want to keep our relationship a secret? Fine, I’ll take it. I love a forbidden romance.” He whispered, the smell of lavender and lemon engulfing you as he kneeled a bit to whisper in your ear.

“Yeah, whatever helps you sleep at night. Anyway, I need to go check out the paperwork for the mess you made, can you keep an eye on my team?” You shyly asked, breaking the eye contact he was desperately trying to keep.

“You trust me with your team? I thought my agency was incompetent and I wasn’t good at anything.”

“It’s just for a few minutes, don’t let this get to your head.”

“Oh, it’s way over my head, love.”

You showed him a very special finger, before walking away to talk to Barnes. You tried to remain professional and listen to what the inspector was saying, but you couldn’t shake the feeling of a pair of eyes looking at you. “Sorry for calling you again, you know how it gets whenever Lockwood and Co have a case,” Barnes said, breaking you out of the cage your mind had trapped you in.

“Oh, it’s nothing. It’s my pleasure to help.” You tried to muster up a small smile for the man, you liked Barnes, he never treated you differently, not even when the way you acted and decided to express yourself wasn’t the most appropriate.

“And I think it's their pleasure to be helped.”

“I’m sorry?”

You turned around, following Barnes’ line of sight, only for your eyes to meet Lockwood’s. He gave you a small smile but didn’t look away, it was almost as if he longed for your eyes to make contact. You sent him a small frown, wordlessly asking him what was wrong, he just shrugged and waved at the two of you.

“He is so weird.” You said, turning to face the inspector. “Tell me about it. Well, we are all done here. Have a nice night, and make sure to get home safely.” He answered, eager to get away from the group of agents surrounding him, and walking away.

Lockwood didn’t miss a beat before making his way to you. “So, I’m thinking we make the second date happen over some tea at Portland Row?”

“Not happening.”

“I’m not one to make a woman feel uncomfortable when she says no, but may I ask why?

“I’d rather spend my time hanging out with ten type threes, than with the group of miscreants you call friends. No offense to Lucy and Holly, though. I quite like them. I was talking about Karim, tell that thing to stay away from my sister.” You answered, finally finding the guts to maintain eye contact while you spoke.

“You know Lucy and Holly?” He decided to ignore your entire statement, now only focused on the fact that you knew his friends. Anxiety making its way through his body at the thought of Lucy telling you about his plan.

“Yeah, and they told me some really interesting things about you. I never took you as the type of person to do that type of stuff.”

Lockwood’s heart almost gave out. “What did they say?”

“That you wear pink socks.”

He felt his heart start beating again. Lockwood thought he was about to die in front of you, he made a mental note to thank Lucy for being nice enough to not tell you about his schemes. He found the strength to give you a charming smile.

“That surprised you? Lord, do you think I’m the type of guy to have a fragile masculinity? My mother raised me better than that.”

“You mention your mother a lot, are you close with her?

They should give out awards for Feeling your heart stop two times in the span of 3 minutes because Lockwood was sure he would get one delivered to Portland Row’s doorstep by tomorrow morning.

“I.. um, yeah.”

Fuck. You made it awkward. You almost dropped down to your knees and begged him for forgiveness.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude into your personal life, it’s not my place to ask and assume shit about your family. I’m so fucking sorry, Lockwood.” The light in your eyes dimmed, the sight of it made Lockwood want to tell you all about his past. He wanted to go back to ten minutes ago when your eyes were shining and looking into his. He internally swore to never let the light leave them again.

“You’re good, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.” He reassured you in a small voice, clearly not fine.

“No, I will worry–” You couldn’t finish your sentence because, once again, the light of a camera flash illuminated Lockwood and you, blinding you both for a split moment.

“Of course they’re here. Jesus Christ, do they not have lives? A family?”

“Maybe they just like taking pictures of your beautiful face.”

The light came back to your dim eyes at his statement. “There he is.” You said, noticing how his gaze slipped from your eyes to your lips, before going back to the eye contact you had.

“What can I say? I can’t stop myself from complimenting you when you’re around.”

4- I hate your big dumb combat boots and the way you read my mind.

The streets of London were quiet while Lockwood took a small walk in the early morning. Lucy told him if he walked around the city for a few hours, he’d be able to break in the new pair of combat boots she got him as a present after he made it through 10 cases without almost dying.

“It’s 8 am and you’re already up being pathetic. I should say I saw this coming, but I really didn’t. Holy shit.” A familiar voice snapped him out of the daze he was in. He was so busy going through a list in his head of all the things he had to do this week, that he didn’t notice you walking next to him.

“How long have you been walking by my side?”

“Long enough to see you staring straight ahead and not noticing how incredibly pathetic you look. Your boots are hideous, by the way.” You answered, looking into his eyes and noticing how he smirked at your last remark.

“I don’t think Lucy will be happy about you calling her well-thought gift hideous.”

You let out a genuine laugh as soon as he said that. It was the type of laugh that bubbled up from your chest and had you throwing your head back. It made Lockwood feel as if all the morning clouds had disappeared and the sun shone only on the two of you. Sure, you had laughed at Lucy’s gift, but the sound was enough to let the sun shine its warm rays through Lockwood’s heart. An infinite sunbathe.

“Oh, so you find this funny? Hurting my best friend’s feelings?” He asked in a teasing tone, squinting slightly at you.

“So.. I take it she didn’t tell you?” You asked, a small giggle escaping your lips and going straight through Lockwood’s heart.

“Tell me what?”

“That our plan was to get you the most ugly, repulsive looking, and incredibly stupid boots that we could find? I wasted my money on that, you’re welcome or whatever.”

He should’ve been offended. Offended at how Lucy wanted him to humiliate himself by walking through the streets of London with a pair of bright neon green combat boots. Offended that she had asked for your help to choose the ugliest pair she could find. But he was too busy fighting the urge to press his lips against yours and to run his slender fingers through your hair.

Did you not notice how you always bit your lip after laughing because you thought that would stop you from falling into another fit of laughter?

“Yeah, yeah, you two are so funny,” He rolled his eyes with a smile. “Thank you, love.” He was about to nudge you with his shoulder, but as soon as he turned to look at you, he noticed you weren’t next to him anymore.

His heart stopped for a second until he finally looked back and caught you staring at two women through a café window, clearly on a date. One of them gave the other a bouquet of different types of flowers and brushed back a strand of her girlfriend’s bright red hair. That brought a smile to your face.

“Hey, you okay?” He whispered as soon as he stood next to you, noticing the sad smile on your face.

“Oh, yeah. I was just..”

You didn’t have to say a word for him to be aware of what you wanted to mention. The look in your eyes, and the small smile on your face.. this was the look you always got whenever you saw your sister with George.

“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Lockwood reassured you. Not wanting to scare you off after seeing the look on your face and the small voice you used to answer.

“Do you think I’m holding my sister back?” You asked, turning around to look into his eyes, your hands trembling a bit.

He didn’t miss a beat before taking hold of your hand and lacing your fingers together, giving your gentle hand two squeezes. “I think.. you care a lot about her, and that’s completely fine. But it is not your job to dictate what she can or can not do. It’s okay to let her have her freedom and life, just like you deserve to have yours.”

You took a deep breath before pulling Lockwood into a hug, your arms surrounding his neck. Lockwood was startled for a second but didn’t have to think about it twice before wrapping his arms around your waist, letting you take the lead in this display of affection.

“I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“I know, but.. um”

“You don’t have to say anything, come on,” He said, breaking the hug and taking your hand into his, pulling you forward to continue the walk you were on.

5- I hate you so much it makes me sick, it even makes me rhyme.

Lockwood looked down at your intertwined hands, thinking of things to say to get the fog of sadness blinding you out of the way. “So you’re a hopeless romantic, huh?

“What the fuck?”

Alright, so maybe this wasn’t his greatest icebreaker ever, but at least it was something. He chose to continue.

“Don’t think I haven’t noticed how you always stare at every couple we walk past. It’s kind of adorable. Fittes’ heinous bitch being a hopeless romantic? Sign me the hell up.”

“You’re sick in the head, Anthony Lockwood.”

“I didn’t think of you as a hopeless romantic, like.. at all. But I assume this means you’re the type of person who wants flowers and love letters delivered to her doorstep. Right?”

“No.”

“Sure, love. I’ll keep this in mind for future references.”

Lockwood made sure to walk you back to Fittes’ building after spending the rest of his morning with you, choosing to take the weird looks his boots got with pride and a bright smile. Whenever someone stopped him in the street he’d answer with a happy “my best friend and this beautiful lady next to me gave them to me as a gift”.

You spent the rest of your day going back and forth through Fittes’ small yet numerous offices, talking to different people about your previous and next cases. Sometimes you’d stop to take a breather outside a door, but quickly remembered the importance of your role as a team leader, and snapped out of your seemingly neverending exhaustion.

“Am I dreaming or is that my best friend in the whole world?” You turned your head to the right to find Bobby Vernon smirking at you, a dry chuckle leaving his lips.

“Fuck off, Vernon.”

“Woah, no need to get all pissy, love.” You clenched your shaking fists, trying to keep your anger in. You may have a short temper, but you would never let someone like him get the satisfaction of making you angry, or at least of noticing the effect his words have on you.

The thought of someone other than Lockwood calling you by that pet name made you want to burst into tears. How dare they see you as someone who’s weak? After everything you’ve done and fought for to get the role you have as an agent?

“I don’t have the time for your bullshit, so just spit it out and let me go home.” You said with an eye roll.

“Your sister wanted me to tell you that you got mail. Well, it’s more like a gift, I guess. I assume it’s from your parents because I can’t think of a single human being who genuinely likes you.”

You knew better than to take his words to heart, but the venom he said them with stung. You knew you were unlikeable, probably even unloveable at this point, but he didn’t have any right to say those words to your face. It made you feel disgusting, you had to fight back the urge to throw up.

“Yeah, alright. Have a good day, Vernon.” You replied as you walked past him and out into the street, calling for a cab to take you home.

The ride back home was silent, and it surprisingly made you miss Lockwood. It made you miss his stupid jokes, his ugly haircut, and his reckless way of driving your car. You were sure the poor guy didn’t know what a stop sign meant.

As soon as the cab driver got you home, you made sure to pay him and wish him a safe drive, after all, the curfew was 15 minutes away from starting. A sigh escaped your lips after opening your door and heading into your room. The day had left you completely worn out, and Bobby’s words didn’t help at all with the shit day you were having.

You quickly got changed and were about to head to bed when you noticed a package sitting in the corner of your room. A frown made its way to your face when your eyes caught the unfamiliar handwriting with your name on the box, curiosity taking the best of you as you opened the package with a delicate touch.

A gasp left your lips when you opened it and found the same bouquet of colorful flowers you saw the woman give to her partner at the café. A white envelope sat next to them.

With a small smile and shaking hands, you opened it and were greeted with Lockwood’s handwriting.

Hey, my love.

I’ll be really honest and say that my mind is completely blank as I write this, but I just wanted to let you know that right after I dropped you off, I went to Arif’s with George and heard a love song playing — I couldn’t help but think of your hopeless romantic self as soon as I heard these lyrics: You’re just too good to be true, can’t take my eyes off of you.

Jesus, I know you’re having a field day reading this. Me? Embarrassing myself and sending you a bouquet and a love letter? You’re right, I must be extremely sick in the head.

Anyway, I hope you have a good day. You deserve it.

With lots of love,

Lockwood.

(PS: You don’t have to say it back! But I thought it felt right to say it since we’re kind of besties now.)

The tears you spent the entire day holding back decided to come out right after you finished reading the letter. Sobs escaped your lips as you sat down in your bed, the flowers and letter still in your hand. A strange feeling bubbled up inside you, you didn’t quite know what it meant, but decided to guess it was that disgusting sickening feeling Bobby left you with.

When you laid in bed and tried to go to sleep, you took notice of how different the feeling you were having right now was from the one you got with Bobby Vernon. Sure, this one made you want to throw up, too. But it also made you want to stare into Lockwood’s eyes again and to feel his arms wrapped around your waist for a few more seconds. You drifted to sleep with a craving of feeling Lockwood’s hand intertwined with yours for the rest of your life.

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #magnolia’s fics!

548 notes · View notes