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gwqine · 4 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

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