#lockwood & co fanfic
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i miss lockwood and co
#lucy carlyle#lucy i miss you come back😭😭#I MISS THE SHOW SO BAD#i read book 1 and 2 but i'm too lazy to read the rest bc i'm too distracted by the fanfics💀#anyway i love them#lockwood and co fanart#lockwood and co
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You've made your bed, now lie in it
Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader
Summary: 3 times you and Lockwood have to share a bed, and one time you want to share a bed.
Warnings: one bed trope, fake dating trope, fluff, only kissing, no smut, english is not my native language
Word Count: 3.9k
After a longer break I'm finally back. Enjoy!
The first time you and Lockwood, an insolent prick of a boss, had to share a bed, was comparable to a train wreck. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t.
This was how you felt, when you stared at the way too small bed in front of you. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And even if you could, where did you want to look? At the face of your far too handsome boss, hell no! Or at the floor, which was so dirty, that you were sure, that nobody cleaned it for at least a year? No, not happening.
“I will not sleep on the floor”, you stated without removing your eyes from the bed.
“Me neither!”
Hearing his voice made you seethe. Maybe he was your boss, but he wasn’t your friend. George and Lucy were your friends, but never him.
“You booked this flop house!”, you protested.
You had a mission two hours away from London, which required you to stay for two days. Luck wasn't on your side when Lucy and George got sick four days ago, leaving only you and Lockwood to drive up here.
“But I’m the boss, so I will not sleep on the floor.”
What would you give for the opportunity to get rid of him right now? But you were too tired to kill him, you just wanted to sleep.
“Fine, then we will share”, you bit out, ready to bite off his head.
“Fine”, he shouted back, but if you weren't mistaken, his voice sounded a bit hoarse.
Far too late, you realize what you had agreed on. You wanted to curse, but you kept your mouth shut. It was far too late to back down. He would never let you live that down. So, you had no chance. Turning your back on him, you went to your bag and took off your sweater.
“What are you doing”, the panic in his voice brought a smile to your lips.
“Getting ready for bed, what else does it look like?”
Not wanting to give the poor boy a heart attack, you put on a shirt, before unclasping your bra. Behind you, you could hear Lockwood taking a sharp breath. But you couldn’t care less. Never would you put yourself through a painful night in a bra. Opening the button of your jeans was the last straw.
“I’m going to the bathroom”, rushing past you, Lockwood loudly slammed the door shut behind him. You couldn’t help but smile, maybe you had to share a bed, but you totally won this round.
When you left the bathroom, after brushing your teeth, your eyes almost popped out of your head when you saw your boss, who had already made himself comfortable on the bed.
“Where is your shirt?”
Was this his revenge for the bra? Would the entire night be psychological warfare? Not that you weren’t ready. You were ready since you stepped your first foot into Portland Row and realized, that your new boss was a jerk.
“I always sleep like this.”
Your eyes narrowed, not sure if that was a lie or the truth.
“Don’t come crying to me, if you’re too cold this night.” With these words, you slipped into bed next to him.
“I will not be cold”, he protested, and you doubted it. The room was fucking cold, you weren’t even sure if the heater was working. But you were too tired to argue with Lockwood about this, what didn’t mean, that you weren’t ready to tell him “I told you so”, when he would admit it.
“Touch me and I will kill you”, you threatened before turning off the light. Next to you, Lockwood let out a humorless laugh, which shacked the whole bed.
“Trust me, I have the same desire to touch you as I do to touch a ghost.”
“Great, we sorted that out“, you snapped back, unable to let him have the last word.
For a moment there was only silence, broken only by rustling as you both tried to find a comfortable sleeping position. Which was harder than it sounded like. The bed was way too small, and you would rather die than to cuddle with Anthony fucking Lockwood. His body was only inches away from yours, and you could feel the heat he was radiating.
“Stop hogging the blanket”, hissed Lockwood, and you couldn’t help but roll your eyes.
“Maybe you wouldn’t need it, if you would wear a shirt like a normal person”, you spew back.
“Fuck you!”
“Fuck me yourself, you coward”, you didn’t know what was coming over you. You didn't know what made you say those words, but in the future, you would blame it on being tired.
Lockwood didn't need to be told twice. Hungrily, his lips crashed against yours and with all your anger you kissed him back, while clawing your nails in his naked shoulder. This wasn’t how you had imagined your first kiss with Lockwood. You always thought it would be sweet and slow, not raw and angry.
“I hate you so much”, you whispered against his lips, and Lockwood let out a chuckle.
“Believe me, I hate you more.”
You woke up to the sunbeams dancing on your nose. It was much warmer, than the night before, maybe the heater, had started to work overnight. This thought vanished, when you realized, that the heat was coming from your pillow, or better speaking the body you used as pillow. Suppressing a scream, you hastily tried to get away, only to back up a little too far and therefore to fall out of the small bed. You came up with a hard thud that woke up Lockwood.
“Y/N?”, sleepily Lockwood looked over the edge of the bed, and you suddenly remembered what you had done last night. A blushed creeped up your face, while you thought about the kisses you shared. At least you stopped, before it escalated. You could never forgive yourself and your morals if you had slept with Anthony Lockwood, you hated this arrogant prick.
“Are you in such a hurry to get away from me?”, running his finger through his swoon worthy hair, he gave you one of those arrogant smiles you hated so much. Seeing this, you wanted to wrap your fingers around his neck and just squeeze. But you wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying that you were throwing yourself at him. So, you just glared up at him.
“Yes, I want to get as far as possible away from you, and I think we'd be doing both of us a favor if we forgot what happened last night and never talked about it again.”
For a moment, Lockwood looked at you with an expression you couldn't quite put your finger on. It wasn't pure hate, at least not just.
“Last night was a mistake.”
Even if it was your idea to forget everything about last night, it hurt to hear him calling it a mistake. However, you would never give him the satisfaction of showing him that.
“At least we agree on one thing.”
The second time you and Lockwood shared a bed was nothing more than a mistake.
It was shortly before Christmas, Lucy already left Portland Row to take a train to one of her sisters and George was already by his family. You had the choice between spending Christmas with your family or with Lockwood at Portland Row. It was like choosing between Scylla and Charybdis. But before you could make up your mind, Lockwood felt ill, and you weren’t the heartless bitch, he made you out to be. You didn’t want him to die, even if you often said it. But you needed this job and without Lockwood there wasn’t an agency. Therefore, you decided to stay and care about him, so he didn’t catch a pneumonia and died a painful dead, even if he deserved it.
It was all going as well as you could expect it. Lockwood was too ill to fight with you, and you only wished for his dead once or twice a day, so far less than normal. Everything was going well, till you started to fell sick. Of course, this idiot couldn’t keep his germs to himself.
You were shacking from the cold you couldn’t escape, as you went up to his room, to bring him his dinner. Normally you tried to do this as fast as possible, in and out, before he even had the chance to say anything to you. So, you didn’t have to see him longer than needed, and he didn’t have to see you longer than needed. Nothing had changed since the night you shared a bed and kisses. You still hated each other with burning passion. But this time as you stepped foot into enemy territory, aka Lockwood’s room, you realized that this was right now the warmest room in the whole house.
Setting down the tray, you carefully took a seat on the only free space in his room, the edge of his bed. You wouldn’t stay long, you told yourself. Just long enough to drive the cold from your bones.
“You’re looking worse than usual, I didn’t know it was possible”, Lockwood’s annoying voice, broke your peace.
“Says the person who looks like a walking corpse”, you bite back.
“You got sick.”
“No, I’m fine.”
You didn't know who you were trying to convince with this lie. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that you weren't feeling well. However, Lockwood was too exhausted to argue with you. He just started to eat his dinner, while you closed your eyes to find the strength to stand up and leave this warm behind you.
The next time you opened your eyes, you weren’t sitting on the edge of Lockwood’s bed, you were lying in it. You weren’t sure, how it happened, but you were sure it was just an honest mistake, which could happen to everyone. Feeling too sick to panic, all you could just concentrate on was that you were finally warm. You managed to successfully ignore Lockwood's arm over your hip and his steady breathing on your neck. This was a problem you would deal with when you felt not like dying any minute. Closing your eyes for a second time, you drifted away.
The first thing you realized, when you woke up the next morning was, that Lockwood’s warm was missing. He had sneaked out of his own bed, while you were still sleeping. So, this was the perfect chance for you to sneak away to not have to face Lockwood after accidentally falling asleep in his bed. But you couldn’t muster the strength to move. You could just lay there and wait for your doom, aka that Lockwood returned.
It didn’t take long for him to come back. In his hands, he held the tray you used the last days to bring him food.
“I brought you breakfast”, giving you the tray, he got in the bed beside you. If someone had told you, that you would spend Christmas eating breakfast with Lockwood in his bed, you would have laughed and called the person delusional. But here you were. Neither of you had the energy to argue, so you both just ate in silence.
“You should try to get more rest”, Lockwood told you, after both of you finished eating, and he was right, not that you would ever say this out loud.
“You too, you still look like shit”, maybe he was a little bit fitter than you, but he was worlds away from being healthy.
“Fine”, he bit back, another sign, that he was everything but healthy. Normally he would have said something mean in response, but he just laid down beside you. For a moment, nobody said something. Then you shuffled a little bit in his direction, attracted by the warmth he radiated. He acknowledged this with raised eyebrows.
“I’m just cold, don't imagine anything about it.”
“I would never!”
The rest of the holidays you spent together in his bed. It was a surprise for both of you, that at the end, when you both felt better, no one had torn off the other’s head.
When Lucy and George came back and asked how your holidays were, you both just shrugged. What really happened was probably a secret that you both would take to your grave. You quickly found back in your everyday life of hating each other, and it was almost as if none of this had ever happened. But only almost.
The third time you had to share a bed with Lockwood would have been avoidable if Lucy had been a little bit more cooperative.
Lockwood and Co. had a new, very lucrative case. You were hired to secure a very dangerous source. The catch was, that the owner was one of those weirdos who was a little too enthusiastic about the occult. He was planning a two-day seance with an overnight stay at his manor, and your client had managed to get you an invitation. The only problem was that the invitation was for one guest and a plus-one. There was no question that Lockwood would go. But your team couldn't agree on who would accompany him. George wasn’t an option, that would bring too much attention. That only left you and Lucy.
“We all know that I’m a bad liar, nobody would believe me, that I’m Lockwood’s girlfriend”, Lucy stated. Normally you loved Lucy, she was your best friend. But right now, you could have punched her.
“As if anyone would think I was dating Lockwood”, you countered and directed to the asshole himself, you said: “I would never date someone like you.”
“And I would never date someone like you”, he fired back, and you didn’t have to look at Lucy and George to see them rolling their eyes, like always when Lockwood and you decided to argue.
“With the sexual tension between you, no one will doubt that you are dating”, Lucy butted in and could be glad, that looks didn’t kill otherwise she would be six feet under.
“There is no sexual tension, only hate”, you argued hotly.
You would never admit that there was maybe sexual tension, because if you would, you would think about it, you would think about the kisses in this one fatal night and that was a way, you didn’t want to go. Because if you would go down this path, there was no return to normal. Therefore, it was way easier to tell yourself and anybody else, that you hated Anthony J. Lockwood with burning passion.
“But Lucy is right, Y/N should join Lockwood”, George the little backstabber joined Lucy’s side. Knowing when a fight was lost, you ran your hand over your face.
“This can only go wrong.”
You should be right. You weren’t even an hour at the manor, and you hated everything. The weirdos got on your nerves with their own stupidity. Lockwood's arm had been around your waist for almost 43 minutes, and you wanted nothing more than to rip it off and hit him with it to dead. Yeah, you were everything than happy. I didn’t help, that Lockwood had decided that fake girlfriend wasn’t fancy enough and had given you an engagement ring before he introduced you to everyone as his fiancée. You were dead and in hell, otherwise you couldn’t explain, how you landed in this situation. At least the ring was pretty.
“We should sneak away and look for the source”, you whispered, only loud enough for him barely to hear you. Slowly, Lockwood nodded to let you know that he heard you. Calculating, he let his gaze wander about the other people in the room, probably to find the best way to disappear unnoticed.
“We should kiss”, he said after a moment, and somehow managed to seem totally serious.
“What?”, you almost choked from sheer surprise.
“If we make out, no one will be surprised if we disappear, everyone will just think that we were looking for a quiet corner to have a little fun.”
Hearing this, you grimaced. But he wasn’t wrong. Nobody would think much about you sneaking off when you first put on a show. Without a verbal response, you grabbed Lockwood by his tie and pulled him down to your height. Hungrily, you caught his lips with yours. Lockwood didn’t waste any time and pulled your body against his. Eagerly his hands roamed over your body, and you had the feeling, that this meant a little bit more to both of you, than just a show for a case. Not that you would ever admit it.
When your lungs were screaming for air, you reluctantly broke the kiss.
“You’re actually a really good kisser”, Lockwood smiled down at you, and it felt like your stomach was riding a rollercoaster.
“You’re actually very average”, you lied like the liar you were. But the truth was, there was nothing you would like more than to kiss him again.
“Like, you have kissed so many guys to know what average is. Feel free to admit it, I’m a good kisser.”
Seeing his arrogant smile, you just rolled your eyes.
“Let’s go, so we didn’t kiss for nothing!”
Together you walked through the manor, till you found the library, your first guess for the location of the source. You just started to look around when you heard steps coming in your direction. Before you could find a good hiding space, the door opened and nobody else than the owner of the manor, the weirdo you wanted to steal from, was standing there.
“Miss, did you get lost? The library is not open for the guest”, he told you, and you tried your best innocent smile. But Lockwood appeared beside you before you could try to lie your way out of it.
“I’m so sorry, Sir. My fiancée and I were just trying to find a quiet room”, he gave the owner his best Lockwood smile, while his arms found again his way around your hip.
“Then I would suggest trying the bedroom assigned to you.”
Under his caution eyes, you and Lockwood walked out of the library.
“I saw the source”, Lockwood whispered in your ear, at the moment the door closed behind you.
“Did you take it?”
“No, didn’t have the chance, but we can do it tomorrow, right now we should return to our bedroom, or do you want to socialize a little bit more with the other guest?” Hell no!
“Let’s go.”
Of course, your bedroom had only one bed. At least it was big. You and Lockwood could both sleep in it without touching each other. Without saying much and more important without arguing, you both got ready for bed. Of course, Lockwood decided against wearing a shirt.
“I hope one night you will freeze to death”, you mumbled while slipping under the blanket.
“I’m too hot for this and considering how you always cuddle up to me at night, you know it too.”
Rarely, you were lost for words, but this was one of these moments.
“Keep dreaming, Lockwood”, you shot back, but both of you knew that this was a lame response. As a reaction, Lockwood just gave you a cocky grin.
“We'll see that tomorrow morning.”
“Yes, we will.”
You firmly resolved to keep a lot of distance from Lockwood and his tempting warmth that night.
But waking up the next morning, you realized that you could even break the best resolutions. Like this one. Lockwood was like a mobile heater, and that was too tempting for you when you were sleeping. This night was no difference.
As you had been asleep, you had cuddled yourself in Lockwood’s side, and he had draped an arm around you, to pull you even further against him.
With a bright red face, you tried to free yourself from his hug. But your movement woke him up.
“Look like I was right, I’m hot, and you know it”, sleepy, he smiled up at you.
Torn back and forth, you closed and opened your mouth. You weren’t sure if you should kiss him or choke him till he died. You did neither.
“Or maybe you are just so touch starved that you can’t help but hold me in your sleep”, you countered.
“Maybe, but who could blame me?”
Too stunned to speak, you just stared at him. Was he flirting with you? Or were you just hallucinating? It must be the second. Maybe you were still dreaming.
“It feels really nice to hold you in my arms.”
“But aren’t we hating each other?”, a bit overwhelmed, you ran your hand through your hair. You were here to steal a source, not to talk abut feeling with Lockwood, you weren’t prepared for this.
“I never hated you, and I think you also don’t hate me.”
That was a bold statement, but maybe it was the truth. You weren’t sure what you felt for Lockwood. He had been an asshole to you from day one. And you hadn’t been better. Since the beginning, he had something that you just wanted to kiss or kill him. Because you were an insecure mess, you had decided to be mean to him rather than get hurt by him.
“But why were you such an asshole?”, you asked, curious.
“Because you let me something feel, I don’t like. In your presence, I feel so giddy and nervous, not like the agency head I should be.”
“We are such idiots. You are an idiot, but maybe I’m the biggest idiot of all. Seeing your face let me feel stronger emotions than I ever felt before, and I’m not sure if I want to kill or kiss you for it.”
“Then kiss me.”
He didn’t have to tell you twice. You kissed him like you always wanted to be kissed, like nothing in the world mattered to you beside him. And maybe this was true, the first thing you thought about was normally him and the last thing which crossed your mind before falling asleep was his dorky smile. You loved him, and you were an idiot, that it took you so long to realize it.
The first time you wanted to share a bed with Lockwood was after you and him returned successfully from your mission. You stole the source without getting caught, and after you told Lucy and George how you did it, you were sitting in the living room.
Lucy and George already went to bed and you both were peacefully silent. The only sound was the cracking of the logs in the fireplace, while Lockwood played softly with your hand in his. You were still wearing the ring he had given you. You had wanted to give it back to him, but he insisted that you keep it.
“Do you need a personal heater this night?”, Lockwood broke the silence, and you gave him a bashful smile.
“Maybe?”
“Are my eyes deceiving me or is that a smile, my love?”
“Oh, shut up.”
You were still laughing when Lockwood pulled you up from the sofa. Hand in hand, you walked up the stairs to his bedroom and for the first time in your life, you wanted to share a bed with him. So, this was what you did. Slipping under the blanked with him, you let him pull yourself in his arms. With your head laying on his naked chest and a happy smile, you slowly drifted away.
#anthony lockwood#lockwood & co#lockwood & co fanfic#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood netflix#fanfic#lockwood x reader#anthony bloody lockwood
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So the wonderful @martii-art had some amazing art of Lockwood, and I reached out to see if they might be able to create something for one of my fics, and they did!! I love it! In case you're curious what fic, it's this one -
Seriously go check @martii-art out - INCREDIBLE WORK!!
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Falling For You - Lockwood x Reader
“First person to laugh loses.”
”Not fair! I’m always laughing when you’re around. You’re bloody ridiculous.”
”Fine. First person to…er, feel something, loses. Deal?”
It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge. She hesitated. He took a sip from his mug. She let go of the breath she was holding.
“Deal.”
a/n: tfw you almost die in the arms of your future employer :) rip lockwood and co, never an agents first choice be it in canon or fanon ok ill stop now also just to be clear we’re all ignoring how much the title sucks ass okay god only gave out a limited number of brain cells and we can’t ALL be as creative as @bella-rose29 (will make a separate post on this a little later, not enough space here) (but also she was SICKKK for coming up w the title deck the halls (and not your partner) ok didn’t mean to turn this into a belle appreciation post but 👍)
warnings/tropes: fluff fluff FLUFF, this is about as fluffy as it gets from me ashdkd, cringy pick up lines overload, also I declare plagiarism (?) of some rlly popular incorrect quotes, you'll know it when you read them
word count: 2.6k!
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
She and Lucy were in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and waiting for the boys to reach home. The four of them had split up to get some errands done that morning before breakfast - she and Lucy went to collect the payment for a few jobs, while Lockwood and George dropped off some paperwork at DEPRAC headquarters. Lucy put the kettle on while she refilled their teabag jar, and a minute later the boys walked in.
George was telling Lockwood off for something, who wasn't looking too sorry for whatever it was that he had done, though he clearly cared enough to try to suppress his giggles.
"Those forms took me hours, Lockwood. I wasn't about to let you drop them into some slush."
"I keep telling you, I wasn't going to drop them."
"How would you know when you were too busy making an ass of yourself?"
"I haven't seen a good pickup line in a while, George. You found it funny too."
"Yes, and the threat of you chucking our forms was downright hilarious."
She handed out the mugs of tea.
"What pickup line?"
"It was just a DEPRAC ad. Something like 'Are you a wraith? Because you have me love-locked.' Just a reminder of some quick signs of a visitor presence for Valentine's Day."
She meandered over to where Lockwood was standing at the kitchen counter, a little too casual. He immediately snapped up whatever he was scribbling. She looked mildly (read: exaggeratedly) injured, but he just gave her one of his winning smiles. Really, she was well within her rights to be suspicious.
"S'that?"
"A bill."
"What bill?"
"Nothing to worry about."
"I'm not worried."
"Good."
"Show me the bill."
"You're adorable."
It was a poor excuse of an attempt at a distraction, as she immediately started trying to snatch it away. Lockwood just held the folded paper above his head, trying to pry his jacket out of her yanking hands. After a minute or so of vehement struggling, the scuffle ended the way all of their scuffles ended - her playing at sour grapes.
"Oh! Go boil-yer-head. I don't even want to see that bill anyway."
He slotted the letter into an envelope smoothly as George cut in.
"Speaking of bills, hopefully, we'll be able to pay more of them off soon. Couples like to go away for Valentine's, so it's the perfect time to get any lingering visitors taken care of. We should put an ad in the paper, like DEPRAC."
That set Lockwood off again, and George groaned. As he got up to get another biscuit, she conspiratorially turned to Lockwood.
"Y'know, for someone who's so tickled by pickup lines, I bet you'd be terrible at them."
"Not more terrible than you."
"I beg to differ!"
"Wanna bet?"
"Thought you'd never ask."
“First person to laugh loses.”
”Not fair! I’m always laughing when you’re around. You’re bloody ridiculous.”
”Fine. First person to…er, feel something, loses. Deal?”
It wasn’t a question as much as it was a challenge. She hesitated. He took a sip from his mug. She let go of the breath she was holding.
“Deal.”
Their bet had taken a back burner in her mind while she was preparing for their case that night, but she was still immediately suspicious when she walked into the kitchen to see Lockwood innocently snacking on a bowl of raisins.
"What did you do?"
"Nothing."
"What are you going to do?"
"Nothing! Can't a guy eat his raisins?" He silently proferred the bowl to her. She narrowed her eyes.
"No thanks."
"How about a date?"
"When did we get - oh. Ha ha." There was a mischievous crinkle in Lockwood's eye. "Sneaky. I was busy preparing for our case, like a proper agent."
"Hmm, excuses, excuses."
"Fine. If George finds out you haven't read tonight's case file, you're on your own."
"NO no no no please please please -"
She prepped a few pickup lines before they left, just enough to stop Lockwood from becoming completely unbearable.
"Are you a visitor? Because you've been haunting my dreams."
She scrunched up her nose. "Boo. That's terrible."
"You try coming up with a visitor-themed one. They're all so horrible."
She paused for a minute.
"Are you a Lurker? 'Cause you're making my heart race."
"...no one likes a show-off," he grumbled, and she smiled to herself as they continued rooting through boxes, looking for a potential Source.
"Your hand looks heavy. Could I hold it for you?"
"What's it like to be the most gorgeous person in this room?" That one got a good laugh out of him.
"Might be more flattering if my competition wasn't a Raw Bones. You’re pretty and I’m cute. Wanna be pretty cute together?"
"If you and I were socks, we'd make a great pair."
She revelled in the huge smile that lit up his face. She knew he'd get a kick out of that one.
She hadn't expected to have as much fun with their game as she did. They recounted their highlights to Lucy and George on the way home, which made for an entertaining end to the case. As Lucy and George put away their coats, Lockwood lingered behind, looking at her as if there was something he wanted to say, but couldn't quite find the words. She became even more alarmed when he placed a hand on her shoulder, because of how serious he looked.
"Is everything okay?"
He took a shaky breath and tightened his grip on her shoulder ever so slightly.
"If you let me borrow a kiss, I promise I'll give it right back."
The line itself wasn't particularly outrageous, but in the darkness by the door, with their faces in the shadows and him holding her close, she momentarily forgot how to breathe.
"Good one," she whispered.
He gave her a sloping smile and retreated into the kitchen. She stood there for a moment, thinking about the warmth on her shoulder, as if his hand was still there.
"Did it hurt?"
"When I fell from heaven?"
"When you fell down the stairs. Right in front of us. It's been ten minutes and you haven't even gotten up yet."
With a strangled wheeze, he righted himself, looking more than a little stupid with his affronted expression and hair sticking up in all directions. They were on a case, and Lockwood had been a bit too close to the stairs whilst investigating the death glow on the landing. It had been quite a painful-looking rollercoaster of a fall with many bumps as he flailed for the railings, ending with a muffled scream.
"I was checking for broken bones."
"For ten minutes? Do you even have that many bones?"
He had an oily smirk on his face, though it was mostly nullified by his slightly crossed eyes.
"I've got...so many bones, I could give you a...wait. No. Hey lady, do you want a...bone? If you were a bone, you'd be in my...body...my body has all the bones...hang on. Okay, got it. Bones....fuck."
"...concussion?"
"Nuh-uh."
That was the moment his knees chose to buckle under him, and the three of them hurried to hold him upright. Even though he kept insisting he was fine, he was looking far too pale and woozy, so they flagged down a cab and pushed Lockwood into it. After a quick round of rock paper scissors, she joined him in the cab while George and Lucy got to stay to finish the job.
It had been a bit of a challenge to fumble for the key to the front door with the dead weight that was Lockwood compressing her spine, but she somehow managed. She tried her best to keep track of all of his long limbs after he knocked his head on the side of the door frame, groaning again. She dumped him onto their living room sofa, going down with him in the process, and with some difficulty peeled herself out of his grip. The bump had clearly taken quite a bit out of him, for by the time she returned with a blanket, he had completely passed out.
With some difficulty, she wrestled his rapier off of him and draped the blanket over him. She put away her own gear and rapier and curled up with a book on the armchair opposite the sofa. It was odd to see Lockwood sleeping. And even more odd to see him doing it so peacefully, like all thoughts and worries had been knocked clean out of his head. Much like her thoughts, the first time they met.
It hadn’t even been her goddamn fault. She had been lugging around her uncle’s rapiers since hers had been sent for cleaning and it was starting to make her arm ache. She deserved a little lean, no doubt. Only, what she thought was the door frame had been the door itself, so when her then-future employer had opened the door, she stumbled right into his arms.
And then promptly fell out of them when he let her go by surprise. To his credit, he was superfluously apologetic and sympathetic, and kept asking if her head was alright throughout the interview. It was a little annoying, if she were entirely honest, but she was grateful when that sympathy translated into a job, because all coherent thoughts in her head were lying somewhere on their front door runner.
As much as she tried not to think about the incident since Lockwood showed no sign of doing so himself, it kept her up at night more than she'd like to admit. But it had also been rather liberating, as there was little else she could do that would be any worse.
As if hearing her thoughts, Lockwood began to stir after an hour or so, opening his eyes blearily. She instinctively put her book down and crouched next to the sofa, where she immediately felt awkward. After a moment's hesitation, she placed her hand on his forehead, and they blinked at each other in confusion.
"How're you feeling?"
"Great." He cleared his throat, which barely helped his hoarse voice. "Chipper."
"Are you sure? Feeling chilly?"
"No, I'm fine. Are you a construction worker?"
"...huh?"
"Because you are building."
"What."
"I win."
He turned to his side and buried his face into his cushion with a satisfied look on his face.
"Oh, Lockwood. I don't think..."
He pulled his head out of the cushion alarmingly fast. That couldn't have been good for his neck. "Ohhh, too good for my pickup lines now, eh?"
"I...what?"
"I get a bump on my head and you don't like my pickup lines no more?"
"Why do you have a Brooklyn accent?"
"You's got a Brooklyn accent."
"Okay, now you're just throwing a tantrum."
He fussed for a few more minutes, muttering out of the corner of his mouth or into the cushion, but eventually calmed down. As his eyes fluttered close, his breathing becoming long and even, she quietly got up to leave.
"Just so you know...I do think you're building."
The Brooklyn accent was gone, and though his low murmur was comfortably familiar, something in it sent a spark running through her brain.
"I think you're building too."
She could have sworn he had a small smile before his mouth relaxed as he drifted off again.
She didn't see much of him after that, given how much rest he needed, and the reprieve from their game was a welcome relief. The pickup lines didn't slide off her tongue as easily when she meant them as much as she did now. Still, she couldn't hide from him forever, and ran into him in the kitchen a few nights later.
"Oh. Hey."
He held up the biscuit tin. "Hello. Catching up on my biscuit rations."
She smiled. "Feeling better?"
"Definitely. A little sick of lying about, but I think I've finally got my head on straight."
He smiled, and the tension between them melted. She smiled back.
"Must have been scary, having your brain go wonky like that."
"It was...wild. I don't even know how I had the presence of mind to put my rapier away."
Her cheeks burned as she pointedly rummaged through their pantry for a snack while Lockwood brewed tea for the both of them. They sat at the kitchen table in silence, slowly sipping their tea as they ignored the elephant in the room. That is, until Lockwood broached the subject.
“Did it hurt?”
She put her mug down. “Lockwood.”
“Did it hurt?” He pressed, firmly.
“I’ve already heard this one.”
“Just - humour me for a minute, won’t you?”
She looked at the little she could see of his face, given how close they were sitting, and gave a small sigh.
“So. Did it hurt?”
“When I fell from heaven?”
“When you fell into my life.”
He lightly squeezed her hand, it was only then that she realised that they were holding hands. She choked on her breath in a mildly undignified manner, but with the proximity and the unexpected answer, she was well and truly taken aback. She waited for the embarrassment to kick in. There were a lot of things to be embarrassed about at that moment - how he could probably see every imperfection on her face, how he could probably tell how nervous she was getting from how clammy her palm must be, and of course that he remembered their dreadfully embarrassing first encounter.
But the shame never came. If anything, she felt oddly…touched. There wasn’t anything embarrassing about the memory anymore. It was…as much as it pained her to admit it…slightly romantic. She looked away from his face, shaking her head slightly, staring at their gripping hands. So easy it was to hold onto each other in the shadows, but terrifying in the daylight. Scratch that, it was terrifying to see herself holding his hand just as tightly as he held hers. Maybe he did compel…something in her.
His hand disappeared into his pocket, and a moment later he was pulling out a familiar, weathered envelope.
"I've never...I've never asked anyone to be my Valentine. Never knew how it worked. Still don't really know how it works. So I tried writing it all down, and..." Lockwood frowned at the loopy yet measured scrawls in front of him. He sighed in defeat, crumpling the letter. "...and I still don't know how it works."
She swallowed through the lump in her throat. "Me neither. But..." she tore her eyes away from the table, looking at his face with his emotions stacked plain as day. "I think we know enough."
She curled her fingers into his. Years ago, she hadn't thought knowing if she was in love would ever be an issue, but for so many years she struggled to find the love they wrote books, songs and poetry about. But sitting here now, in the dim light of the kitchen, with a person whose face she could trace in her sleep, she realised Little Her had had it right all along.
“I always thought you were very nice to me in that interview. A little too nice.”
“You didn’t hear the way you screamed. I thought you were going down with a heart attack.”
TAGLIST: @dangelnleif @elenianag080 @snoopyluver20 @ell0ra-br3kk3r @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @ahead-fullofdreams @neewtmas @mischivana @houseoftwistedspirits
#lockwood and co#lockwood & co#lockwood and co netflix#anthony lockwood#fanfiction#fanfic#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood imagine#valentines day#fluff
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Heyyyyyy so I know I disappeared off the face of the planet for like a month there but IT'S FOR GOOD REASON. I'm going through college applications rn and SATs and the whole gauntlet so yea. Also: hyperfixating on a new fandom
bc HAVE YOU HEARD OF LOCKWOOD AND CO??? LIKE
THIS SERIES
IS
KILLING ME.
and then Netflix had the gall to go and FNDUGNSVGING CANCEL THE SERIES and of course I only found this out AFTER I watched all the episodes and was so emotionally invested in these idiots that I think I may have cried when I found out.
and yes I know there's a book series too; I'm almost through book two and I am TERRIFIED of reading The Hollow Boy bc I'm getting bad vibes from the fandom every time someone mentions it. like. Reichenbach in the Sherlock fandom. and Mark of Athena w my Percy Jackson broskis. Violent sobbing in the back of the room, type thing. We got any long-time Lockwood & Co fans here? Bc I need emotional support.
anyways, have any of my fellow fanfic writers ever had the dilemma of "I want to write a fic for this fandom but at the same time I don't feel like I'm a 'member' of the community bc I haven't consumed every available piece of it yet?" idk, maybe that's just a me thing. That's why I'm throwing this out into the abyss.
So what do you guys think, my fellow fic gremlins? Can you always tell when someone writes a fic that they're a new member of the fandom? Is it cringey?
#fanfiction#fanfic#lockwood and co#lockwood and co fanfiction#lockwood and co netflix#lockwood and co fandom#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim#george cubbins#jonathan stroud#locklyle#lockwood and lucy#renew lockwood and co#save lockwood and co#PLEASE NETFLIX#i'm literally begging#on my knees#save the children
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New Christmas colored pencil drawing AND a fic to go with it! 🎄
#lockwood and co#save lockwood and co#lucy carlyle#anthony lockwood#ao3#fanfic#writing#cameron chapman#ruby stokes#artwork#fanart#george karim#christmas
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I was tagged by @synestheticwanderings for a writing thingy that I just remembered, and I rewarded myself for writing some very boring sentences for an outline for my final semester project by writing some far more fun fanfiction.
RULES: Post the last sentence you wrote (fanfic / original / anything) and tag as many people as there are words in the sentence.
Her wound breaks him.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) I will not be explaining myself at this time.
Ayy, that's few enough I actually can tag that many people! Tagging @polithicc, @lilaccatholic, @loubuttons, and @softboiledwonderland (optional as always) <3
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Say It Like You Mean It With; Anthony Lockwood
A/N: Hello again! We’ve begun a new obsession, I am absolutely hooked on this show. And if there’s no renewal announcement in the next month, or at all, I’m fighting. @sunshineangel-reads provided some suggestions in the inbox, so I figured I’d tag <3. All right, hope you enjoy!
Summary: The one where you meet the newest addition to the agency, and insomnia strikes again
IMPORTANT: All characters are aged up. I wouldn’t be comfortable doing so if they were played by minors, but that’s not the case here. Just wanted to make that clear before we begin.
“She can’t just go taking two at once like that.”
“the rule is each member of the agency can only take one biscuit at a time in a strict rotation. Keeps things fair.”
“E-each member of the agency?”
“Assuming you are still interested in the position?” The front door opens just as Lockwood’s finished. Three heads snapping toward the mud room as you shuffle in, arms weighed down from grocery bags.
“Of course she’s still interested!” To Lucy’s relief, it’s a female voice that sounds before you appear in font of them. Tufts of hair spilling over your face at the exertion of errands. The two boys are immediately at your side, ridding you of all baggage and heaving it toward what she assumes is the kitchen.
“Lucy,” Lockward calls out behind him as he descends the staircase along George. “Meet y/n y/l/n, another associate.” You scoff, extending a hand with a kind smile. Undoubtedly the most welcoming so far. “She’s most sensitive to sound, much like you. Not bad with a rapier, either.”
“I hope they haven’t irritated you too much so far.” You beckon her to follow the boy’s path with you. “Please tell me you didn’t use the bloody toothbrush cup.”
“Of course not.” Lockwood taps his nose with his finger when your back is to him, a silent beckon for your potential hiree not to snitch.
The kitchen’s just down a flight of stairs, where you get unloading items into their designated spaces as George works on cooking.
“We call this the thinking cloth,” Lockwood taps onto the wooden table after tossing you a box of pasta to put away. “We jot down memos, theories, trains of thought-”
“Cheesy love confessions.”
“Shut up, George.” The redhead misses the inside joke, brows furrowing with confusion as Anthony continues on. “I located the bones of the Fenchurch Street Ghoul by sketching out the street plans here at three in the morning over cheese on toast.”
“When a case goes badly an we’re not talking to one another, it’s good for exchanging insults too.”
“Ah, and how often does that happen?”
“Almost never.” You butt in, giving her your most genuine expression despite the white lie. You’re so eager to finally have another girl around, it’s only fair you promote the job as much as possible.
“Now, basement. Follow me.” Lucy does as asked, sending a quick look of concern your way before she disappears down the stairway.
“She’ll never last.”
“Oh c’mon George, I was more than welcoming when you came along.”
“That’s because my natural talent was evident.”
“Is that why you screamed like a little girl during the test?”
“I wasn’t expecting the gunshots from the knife, alright?”
**********
“This was my bedroom when I was little, and y/n’s for a while. You can use it, if you’d like. Unless you have other sleeping arrangements?”
“Yes...No-I mean-”
“Of course, we’d deduct the rent from your wages. Nothing too steep. Just enough to cover the bills. I’m a very reliable landlord.”
“Jesus, Anthony. Give her a second.” You tear open the blinds, smirking when Lucy takes a moment to admire the view at such height. Something tells you the pair of you will get on just fine. She hesitates, then. Looking Iver to you with confusion.
“Do you sleep elsewhere?” There’s a sudden silence between the three of you. Lockwood clearing his throat as he pulls at a the tuft of hair at the nape of his neck. He studies the newest employee with a twinge of anxiety, presumably understanding how things might seem...Unprofessional. Granted, it’s a business run by an 18 year old, but an official one nonetheless.
“We share the bedroom downstairs.” Is all you manage, blush adorning your features as her jaw slacks in understanding.
“I’d like to make it clear,” Anthony looks over your frame, smiling fondly. Then back to Lucy. Who seems to hold no judgement despite her obvious contemplation. “Y/n and I attended academy together, she was with me when this all began.”
“In other words,” you finish for him. “We were sleeping together before he became my employer.” The closed-off girl huffs a laugh for the first time since you’ve met her, though your boyfriend twinges pink with an abashed smile. Diffidence is awfully rare on him, though it's quite adorable. It’s then Lucy decides she’s fond of you already.
“Please excuse my girlfriend’s lack of filter. I suppose George’s rubbed off on her.” He's only teasing, Lucy knows that when you shove at his shoulder. The pair of you are not overly affectionate, you don’t seem like the types anyway. Of course, she’s only caught a glimpse of your relationship, there’s an undeniable glint in her potential boss’ eyes as he looks at you.
“Like Anthony said-”
“Lockwood, please.” Though he interrupts you, he’s only looking at Lucy. She comes to understand you may be the only one unwilling to refer to him as such. It almost twitches a smile to her lips.
“This used to be my room, before Anthony begged for my hand.”
“Was that before or after you professed your undying love for me?” Said boy backs up toward the stairs, noticing the inklings of a friendship beginning to form between the two girls front him.
“Before then, but definitely after you pleaded to kiss me when you drank the better half of MY whiskey. Which was a gift, by the way. An expensive one.”
“From that muppet at academy?” He scoffs, wiping an invisible stream of dust off the banister. “Horrid flirt.” A grimace sets upon his face. Josh Collins was a right prick, you had to admit. Though it was an obliged graduation gift.
“Don’t speak so poorly of yourself, sweetheart.” Lucy can’t help but really smile this time, features immediately dulling once she realizes she’s been caught. You pretend not to notice.
Lockwood sends a half-assed glare your way, holding his tongue in lieu of the new company. “This has got it’s own bathroom. There’s a bigger one downstairs, but that’s mean sharing with George. And I wouldn’t wish that on anyone.” A beat of silence after you nod in agreement, cringing at the flashbacks. “Right, well, we’ll leave you to unpack. Settle in. That’s assuming-”
“Those newspaper clippings on the wall...”
“Oh. You saw those. Not very modest, is it?”
“But definitely on brand.” You mutter what you think is to yourself, smiling innocently when they look your way.
“Should really take them down.”
“No, it’s more...It’s just. Well you haven’t said anything about...I mean, who are you guys?”
“Plenty of time for that. You should rest. Get some sleep.”
“That’s...If you’ll take the job?” You hope you don’t sound as desperate as you are, voice tilting with anticipation as you wring your hands together.
There’s a couple, agonizing beats of silence that feel like hours. Finally, the girl nods, “yes.”
You all but shout, fighting jumping up and down at the confirmation. Anthony shakes his head at you with a fond roll of his eyes, sending Lucy hopeful smile. “Well then, welcome to Lockwood and Co.” You squeeze her arm gently in congratulation, taking hold of your boyfriend’s chin to press a swift kiss to his cheeks. Unaware of his skin flushing with heat as you descend the stairs in an elated hurry.
“Georgie, she said yes!!”
****************
It’s dark when you wake, rolling over in search of warmth that isn’t there. Unsurprisingly, Anthony’s not beside you. You huff a sigh, cursing your boyfriends’ relentless insomnia before wrapping the quilt folded at the bottom of the bed around your form and stalking down the hall.
He’s in the library, of course. The bright fire pops into the silence of the night, illuminating the room in a tantalizing warmth. Lockwood runs a finger over his bottom lip as his eyes remain trained on the book in hand. Up until a weak floor board gives your presence away with a groaning creak.
His lips curl into a tired, yet no less pleased smile at the sight of you. Shifting the couch so you’ll fit perfectly into his side. “Why are you awake, dove? It’s late.” He pushes a stray strand of hair from your face, brows furrowing when you scoff at the irony.
“Could say the same for you. Can’t sleep again?” He hums, elaboration not necessary. Hurt tugs at your heart strings as your thumb trails over the dark skin just below his eyes. A hand wrapping around your wrist to kiss your doting ones away.
In the solitude of these hours, you’re both able to find comfort in your gentle affections. It’s much easier alone, sometimes. There’s an unspoken ease in the solitude of it all. In these moments, Lockwood can feed into the delusion it’s just you and him in this house, in the whole world.
“Close your eyes and get some rest.” He wraps an arm around your sternum. Your back to his chest as he continues reading. A pout adorns your features, eyes narrowing.
“But I’m not tired.”
“Yes. You most definitely are,” the corners of us eyes crinkle with his knowing smirk. “You just don’t want to make me feel bad for making you feel obligated to stay awake with me.”
You envy his ability to read you more often than not. Pulling the quilt further over the two of you so as to seem inconspicuous. Failing miserably when a yawn tears through you. Long lashes fluttering over your cheekbones as you blink slow, gazing up at him. Anthony feigns stoicism under your gaze, though you’re just about the only person to make his heart race with just a look. The one you’re giving him right now is particularly cruel. Pleading, soft, all things sweet and alluring. He figures you’ve perfected the craft of drawing him in, unknowingly or otherwise.
“I’m wide awake, actually.” Is all you manage. Voice rasped with sleep as your nails run over the exposed skin of his forearm. Sending chills down his spine. The arm resting over you pulls slightly back, just enough to enable his hand to hold the side of your face. Fingers smoothing over your warm skin to lull you further.
You’ve always been naturally much warmer than him. A personal furnace, he regards you. Seeing as he’s always too cold for his liking.
It makes sense. You’re all things sweet and painstakingly kind. There’s not a soul who’d be able to repay half the debts you deem mere favors. You’d give the shirt off your back to anyone who needed it, especially those you care for.
You’re everything Anthony Lockwood is not. And sometimes, most times, he hates himself for it. Hates he’s too selfish to let you go and award you opportunity to find someone much more worthy of your heart.
“Hey. Where’d you go?” He’s stopped his ministrations, seizing your attention from the cackling fire and back to him. He offers a small smile, one you read right through. Here he is again, pulling away and closing off in the moments you’re both most vulnerable. It’d hurt, at first. The beginnings of your relationship...Friendship, even. Had often been strained by Anthony’s reclusive habits. You’ve shared just about every piece of yourselves to one another, yet he still manages to find more fear in love than fighting the dead.
Over time you’ve developed patience. Reveling in the small moments of softness he’s awarded you in all the chaos. They’re worth it. Knowing him, learning how to love him, has been worth it.
“I’m right here, love. I’m always here.” He presses a gentle kiss to the crown of your head. Pretending to get lost in the pages afront him once more.
“Come to bed.” You’re so quiet he almost misses it, folding the book against his chest to meet your gaze. Doing his best to ward off your obvious puppy eyes. (though he lacks lacks the best track record with this)
“Just one more chapter? Then I’ll take you to bed and pretend to sleep for the next few hours.” You frown at his teasing, swatting away his poke to your sides in search of a smile.
“You’re not funny, Lockwood. All i want is for you to rest. Really rest, for once.” Rapier-calloused fingers card through his hair, eliciting a gracious sigh.
“I’m only joking. I do rest much easier with you around,” a swift kiss to your lips. “Sleep better when you’re beside me,” two more against your cheeks for good measure.
“You’re awful.”
“Awful?”
“Awful!” A hand collides with his chest, chastising. “Being sweet so I’ll stop worrying. It won’t work. I’ll always worry about you.” And there it is again. The agonizing clutch at his heart at your compassion. Unable to resist the notion there are so many others much more worthy of your affections.
“I know.” It’s a whisperer, forehead pressing against yours. “You should probably start saving that for a bloke who deserves it.” There’s no self-pity to it. No trace of malice or fish for reassurance. So succinct and matter of fact you want to tackle him into an embrace in lieu of willing away every deprecating thought that intrudes his conscience.
“Anthony Lockwood.” You’re stern, then. Maneuvering upward so your head can rest on the arm of the love-worn couch and better face him. “If you’re mean to my boyfriend one more time, I’ll ensure my spirit is tied to you. Haunting you with love and affection for the rest of eternity.”
“I feel like that’s supposed to be a threat...” Cold fingers trace over your collar bone, peeking out from under his dress shirt you’ve stolen. “Though it’s almost endearing. I’d quite like to be stuck with you for the rest of time, I think.” A blush flushes your features, worsening when it elicits his cocky smirk at the observation.
“I hate you.” Hands concealing your abashed face with the muffled whine.
“Say it like you mean it, Darling.” He stretches under you, nudging at your forearms with the spine of his book. “Will you uncover yourself now? I’d like to see you again.” You oblige, hands falling atop your thighs and against his stomach. Anthony’s gasp startles you, features taught with confusion. “My God, it’s happened again!”
“What?”
“You’ve gotten prettier! Just now, I swear it!” A groan sounds as you press your face into his chest, shaking along with his rumbles of laughter.
“Just read your book, Lockwood. I like you better when you’re quiet.”
“Just one more chapter. Then we’ll head to bed.” He straightens, getting ahold of himself as he obliges. Eyes meeting yours once you tap his elbow.
“Read to me?”
“I thought you liked me better quiet?”
“I like you best complacent.”
“Noted.” And with that, he begins.
You stretch over him as he begins, his shirt on you rising just enough to expose your mid drift. Greedy fingers take the opportunity to run themselves over your soft skin. Cool rings giving eliciting goosebumps. He does it mindlessly, which makes you heat even more
“Stop blushing, you’re distracting me.”
************
Lockwood squints as the curtains are torn open with a cruel screech. George stands a-front him, hands on his hips. You’d never managed to make it back to bed, both having fallen asleep in the sam positions as the hours before. This particularly apparent when Anthony raises his head from the back of the coach, wincing at the soreness in his neck.
“You know, I may as well take the master bedroom if you’re never gonna use it.”
“Quiet down, George. You’ll wake her.” The curly-haired boy rolls his eyes when his colleague cuffs his hands over your ears, shielding you from the noise.
“Good. We have work to do.”
****
“Our first official case as a team of four.” Your boyfriend beams brightly despite the morbid information in hand. Passing it along so the rest of you can be caught up.
“Mrs. Hope...Looking to rid her house of a Problem following the demise of her late husband.” George adjusts his glasses as he sums the story to you and Lucy.
“Cheeky.” The girl deadpans, taking a sip of her steaming cup of tea groggily.
“Pay grade. That we desperately need.” You shrug, doing your best to make light of each job despite their implications.
“George, you should get a head start on the research while we pack the bags. Lucy we have to learn plans A-F, as well.” The three of you nod along, Lockwood tilting his chin upward to allow you better room to adjust his tie, Pulling away so he can offer the portion of buttered toast and chopped fruit he’s plated for you. You only take a strawberry, a polite shake of your head when he pushes it forward once more.
“Later.” You note, running your fingers under his collar to smooth it out.
“You should eat.” He’s stern, pulling away his steaming mug you reach for with furrowed brows. “Can’t have tea on an empty stomach, you get all shaky.” Your jaw slacks in half-serious offense at the notion, the pair of you turning your heads toward your colleagues sat at the table,
“You’ll have to get used to their old-married-folk tendencies. It’s quite insufferable at first, but becomes increasingly tolerable over time.”
“Oh shut it.” It's in unison, only aiding in your flushed demeanors as their grins grow.
“Told you.” The bastards’ irritatingly smug as he motions toward you. “I’ll be off to the archives, I’ve reached my morning’s capacity of affections.” Anthony’s arms cross with a scoff, eyes trailing over to you and face igniting in a mischievous smirk. Your brows furrow, about to question his sudden change in attitude before he’s on you. Making a show of grabbing the sides of your face and littering kisses all over your face. Pushing so you have to step backward toward a horrified George, hands over his ears as he attempts to escape the treachery.
Lucy can’t help but laugh. Overcome with the realization of all the agencies in London, she’s likely ended up with the best one.
#lockwood x reader#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood#lockwood and lucy#lockwood gifs#anthony bloody lockwood#lockwood x you#lockwood x y/n#imagine#fanfic#lockwood imagine#lockwood fic#cameron chapman#lucy carlyle#george lockwood#request#inbox requests
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Hi! Could you please write a Lockwood x reader fic involving the prompt: You aren't well, but you don't want to skip training and make them worry, so you continue on as usual, thinking it's not that serious. But that's proven wrong when you faint right in front of them mid-fight. Mixed with the dialogue: "You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?" Thank you in advance! 💙
Pretty Boy
Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x gn!reader
Content: mild swearing, whump (fainting as in the prompt), mentions of not eating or sleeping, cute flirty ending
A/N: thank you for such a great request!! I've actually also just got over being not well while I was writing this (I'm fine now and wasn't this bad!) so it was weirdly cathartic 😅
Word count: 2.3k
The blissful quiet of the kitchen at 35 Portland Row was shattered by an incredibly loud, almost violent sneeze. You threw your arm across your face just in time to catch it. That was weird. You never sneezed.
"Bless you," Lockwood frowned over the top of his magazine.
That was day 1.
On day 2, you were all out on a case, in a dilapidated Victorian house. In a divide-and-conquer strategy for such a big place, Lockwood and George had headed upstairs while you and Lucy stayed on the ground floor. Fumbling around in the dim light of the dining room, Lucy threw open the curtains to let in what was left of the evening sun, accidentally unleashing a cloud of dust which shimmered in the beam of your torch. You both coughed a little in surprise.
Your coughing didn't stop for the rest of the night.
Day 3 was spent relaxing, recovering from getting home in the early hours of the morning after a gruelling fight with a pair of Type Twos. Or rather, everyone else was relaxing. You were in your room, fluctuating between wrapping your shivering form in your duvet and throwing it off so you wouldn't melt into a puddle. The bowl of soup you'd made yourself for lunch grew cold where it sat untouched on your bedside table.
A sleepless night heralded the arrival of day 4. Your symptoms had mostly abated by the evening, and you desperately hoped to claw back a few hours of rest. By dinner time, bleary-eyed, you forced yourself downstairs to try and get at least one meal of the day. Fortunately, the kitchen was empty, so at least you didn't have to explain your recent lack of presence to anyone. Unfortunately, none of the contents of the fridge were even remotely appealing right now. You settled for a slice of toast which you took back upstairs. Two bites in, you felt your stomach flip. Great. The rest went straight in the bin.
A gentle knock sounded on your door the morning of day 5, after another night of tossing and turning without ever drifting off.
"Yeah?" you called wearily.
Lockwood poked his head in, dressed in a loose Henley T-shirt and sweatpants. "Morning. Just thought I'd check you were alright, you didn't come down for training." Oh shit. You and Lockwood had been doing weekly training together for months - it started not long after you joined the agency, when he'd come down to the basement for practice and found you already there, and you'd ended up sparring. It had happened a few more times, and eventually you fell into the habit of both going down on Friday mornings so much it became an unofficial appointment.
"Oh, sorry," you swallowed a yawn. "I lost track of what day it was. Give me five minutes."
"I sort of assumed you weren't coming down dressed Iike that." He nodded to your fuzzy pyjamas with a smirk, and you tugged shyly at the hem of the top. "Have you had breakfast?"
"Yeah." That was a lie. Lockwood studied you for a moment, and you wondered if he could see right through you, but then he nodded to himself.
"Alright, see you downstairs." He began to leave, but popped back at the last second. "I'm not saying the pyjamas are a bad look, by the way, they're cute, just maybe a bit warm for fighting in." He grinned again, and disappeared. What was that supposed to mean?
—
Five minutes later, as promised, you traipsed down the basement steps in runner shorts and a tank top. This was the last thing you wanted to be doing right now, but you loved getting one-on-one time with Lockwood and knew how much it would hurt him to break the tradition and how concerned he'd be about you if he found out you'd been ill.
Lockwood gave you another puzzled look. "Are you sure you're okay?" He'd seen you this low energy before, but normally only the day after a case.
You gave the most convincing smile you could muster. "Fine. What's the plan?"
He furrowed his brows once more, before apparently deciding against whatever he was thinking. "Okay, there was a new move I figured out on the last case. I thought I could teach you and see if you think it's any good?" That last part sounded so open and vulnerable. You could imagine what he was thinking - was it a fluke? Was it him overselling his talents? Did it look ridiculous? He got like that sometimes, needed snapping out of it. Reassuring. Your smile was more genuine this time.
"Sounds good, it certainly seemed effective."
You tried your best to concentrate while Lockwood demonstrated the move, really you did, but you were running on empty and the basement was so delightfully cool. Maybe if you just lay down on the floor for a bit, you'd sort yourself out.
"Did you get that?" Lockwood's voice cut through the fog of your thoughts, and you dragged your eyes up to meet his, which were nodding to your hands. You hadn't the slightest idea what it was he expected you to have got.
"Uhh…"
To your relief, he mistook your distraction for confusion and stepped closer to help, carefully off to one side to avoid the blade as his hands rested over yours.
"You hold it like this and- why are your hands trembling?"
You barely registered the alarm in his voice, or the uncontrollable tremor that was indeed present and spreading up your arms. Nothing in your body seemed to be responding properly any more. Did you still have hold of the rapier? Why was your chest so tight, not allowing any air in? An invisible wad had trapped in your throat, and you desperately sucked in a breath through your nose. Gosh, Lockwood smelled good. Lavender and bergamot. And he was pretty, too. So pretty. Those deep dark eyes, gazing at you with so much longing. No, not longing. He didn't do that, did he? Plus, he was frowning too much for longing. Concern? You didn't like it when he frowned. You tried to pout, but your lips didn't move. That was annoying. So were the lights. Had they always been this bright? It hurt. Everything hurt. You needed to leave. Now.
Panic took hold of the last working corner of your brain and sent a jolt of electricity down to your legs which finally reacted, carrying you shakily towards the stairs. You muttered something incoherent, mouth not quite as functional. The effort drained the last dregs of energy, and your legs stopped working again.
"Whoa, whoa-" a voice behind you gasped, hasty footsteps echoing. Who was that? There was someone else down here, wasn't there? You couldn't remember. Wait. There was a pretty boy, right? He seemed nice. You tried to tell him you were okay, you wanted to. As you pitched backwards, the silhouette of the pretty boy swam into view, blocking out the harsh lights above. That was better.
Everything went black.
—
You were laying somewhere warm and soft. That was odd. And it was less bright behind your eyelids. Where were you? Hadn't you been down in the basement? With the cold floor and the cold lights… and the pretty boy? Was he still here?
You tried to call out for him, succeeding only in a groan. The surface beneath you shifted by your feet in response, and your eyelids fluttered open a fraction. There he was. Framed by the golden rays filtering through the window behind him and dappling across his dark hair.
"Hey, pretty boy," you murmured. Proper words; that was more like it. Next step: opening your eyes fully.
Ah.
The pretty boy was Lockwood, brows knitted upwards as he shuffled further up what you gradually realised was your bed.
"Hey." His voice was thick, with the hint of a shake. "How are you feeling?"
You groaned again, moving to sit up. Lockwood instantly reached out, one hand on the small of your back and the other lifting the pillows to prop up behind you. "Been better."
Under any other circumstances, you think he'd probably have laughed. As it was, he huffed out a breath and you spotted a brief tic in his jaw. "That's a mild way of putting it. You collapsed in the middle of training. I had no idea what happened, I thought…" His gaze dropped to his lap as he trailed off. The silence clenched tightly around your heart. Eventually, he spoke again, still not looking at you, voice cracking and barely above a whisper. "I was so worried about you."
The tension in your chest pressed down further, and you thought you actually heard your heart shatter.
"Hey, Lockwood, look at me." You raised a hand, still trembling but for an entirely new reason, up to cup his cheek. At last, he looked. Those beautiful dark eyes were watery, and his nose ruffled as he tried to hold back the tears. "I'm okay, see? I'm here, I'm okay, and I'm so sorry for making you worry."
A warmth spread over the back of your hand as he brought his up to meet it. His fingers curled over yours, thumb rubbing calmingly across your knuckles. Whether the calming was for you or him, you couldn't say. "But are you sure you're okay? People don't just collapse like that, and you've been out all day." Your eyes widened a little as you glanced at your alarm clock. Almost 6. Wow.
"Honestly, it's nothing serious. Kind of stupid, actually; the irony is it all happened because I didn't want you to worry." That made him chuckle. That was promising. You continued. "I was ill - I don't know if it was a cold or flu or what - but that wasn't great to begin with, and then with it ruining my ability to eat and sleep I just… didn't have anything left to give."
You don't know what reaction you expected from Lockwood: frustration, confusion, disappointment perhaps. You certainly weren't expecting him to look quite so… guilty? "Why didn't you say something when I came to find you? We could have cancelled training." It came out sharper than you were expecting. Oh. There was where the guilt came in.
"I didn't want to break the tradition."
"To hell with the tradition if this is what it does to you!"
You faltered. Was it just your current condition, or had your mouth gone very dry? "Wait, I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" You took a steadying breath. "It's not just that. I don't mean it like it's some obligation. I love our sessions! Getting to have that time just for us, having it be our thing, it's the highlight of my week. And it's been a pretty shitty week so I wanted this one thing to be nice."
The fire in Lockwood's words died out, and he almost visibly deflated. His free hand reached up unexpectedly to brush a strand of hair from your face.
"Well, I'm glad it means that much to you, but next time will you please tell me when something's wrong? I can survive missing our date more than I can survive missing you."
Hold on.
You were definitely still ill. Your cheeks felt warm and your heart was pounding against your ribcage. That was the only possible explanation. Definitely nothing to do with the fact that the boy you'd been in love with for months had just called your training sessions a date. Oh god, you'd infected him too, his face was flushed. "Date?" you breathed.
"Only if you want it to be, of course, I don't want to jump to conclusions. Although you did call me 'pretty boy' barely five minutes ago, so I'm sure even George would agree with the legitimacy of my hypothesis." Oh, how you'd missed seeing that smirk he'd grown all of a sudden.
"I'm not entirely sure you can take the high ground on this one, love, when you said even more recently how you couldn't survive without me."
"I think so long as I'm right I can. Especially since, if we're going off who said something last, you couldn't even argue without calling me love."
"I wish we were still holding rapiers, I've got a chance of beating you at that."
Lockwood laughed, all earlier emotions replaced with nothing but tender affection. "Get some sleep, and then we can test that theory." He made to leave, but where your hands were still entwined you tightened your grip a little.
"Will you stay? Please? In case I didn't make it clear enough with fainting, I haven't been doing so great at the whole sleep thing."
When he nodded, you wriggled over to one side of the bed, allowing him to slip under the covers behind you. Everything about him felt cosy, and you snuggled towards that feeling. It took him aback for a moment until he draped an arm over your stomach, gently tugging you closer so the two of you slotted together like you'd been designed to fit one another from the start. His breath tickled your ear, but its constant rhythm slowed yours in turn. Your eyelids grew heavy.
"You know," you mumbled sleepily, "you could take me on a proper date. Only if you want to, of course, wouldn't want to jump to conclusions."
He squeezed you playfully. "I think I've got enough evidence to consider it. Lunch tomorrow if you feel up to it?" You hummed a contented agreement. As your eyes drifted shut, a feather-light kiss pressed against your temple. "Good night, love."
"Good night, pretty boy."
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rereading the creeping shadow and between the show's "just reckless enough" and book 4's "once in a while you have to be a little reckless; that's a skill I learned somewhere" u should check out how hard i can cry!
#lucy carlyle#lockwood & co#lockwood and co#i am both rereading the books and rewatching the show AND reading fanfic like why couldn't i have liked this a normal and healthy amount
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"He is half of my soul, as the poets say"
Madeline Miller, The Song of Achilles
Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader
Summary: Reader sees something on a job which got her realising life is too short
Warnings: angst, trauma, description of dead, english is not my native language
Word Count: 4.3k
The cold was slowly creeping up on you, and the sight before you could only mean one thing, you were dreaming, dreaming a nightmare.
The day started like every other, you all slept till noon and then George went to the Archive to collect information for your new case while Lucy, Lockwood and you prepared everything else.
The sun was already slowly setting and was turning everything around you into a dim light when you all met up with George. “Around sixty years ago, the house was owned by a young couple, Andrew and Mary Hoffman. They were brutally murdered by robbers.” George told the team as you entered said house.
The new owners had no connection to the killed couple, they weren’t even sure if it was one or two ghosts. They only reported that the living room and the second bedroom upstairs were colder than the rest of the house; two weeks ago at night, the rooms became so cold that the windows were freezing and they could see their own breath. This, plus a dreadful feeling, had brought the owners to Lockwood & Co. to get rid of their ghost problem.
You joined Lockwood & Co. half a year ago. Since then, your team had become your best friends, and you trusted them with your life. Of course, with Lockwood & Co. often times things took a turn that really nobody expected, but they had your back and you had theirs, so you knew that it didn’t matter what the night had in store, Lockwood & Co. would ace it.
With this in mind, you followed your team inside the kitchen. Like every good team, you knew your ins and outs, so you didn’t need to talk to know that it was your job to make tea while Lockwood searched for biscuits. You had like fifteen minutes before the darkness would settle upon East London, which was also enough time for a cup of tea and one or maybe two biscuits.
While you were busy preparing each cup of tea the way each member of Lockwood& Co. liked it, Lockwood found what he was looking for. And when he happily declared that the new owners had the good kind of biscuit, you couldn’t help but smile. Lockwood’s happiness always got you beaming, when he was happy, you were happy, probably because you were such good friends. At least that’s what you tell yourself when you were lying at night in your bed and couldn’t sleep because you were too busy thinking about how the laugh of your boss sounded or how his skin felt on yours when you accidentally touched at the kitchen table when you both were reaching for the same item. Maybe if you would stop for a moment and think about it, you would realise that you were head over heels in love with your boss and landlord, but for you denial was not just a river in Egypt.
“The police suspected Mary was killed first, they found her body in the living room. Andrew was found upstairs in the open door of the bedroom. They assumed, he heard the gunshot which killed Mary and wanted to see what happened”, George shared his grim research, and you pushed his cup over the counter to him. As thanks, he gave you a quick nod.
“So, we should split up”, Lockwood appeared next to you and cool like always he leaned against the kitchen counter. This was enough to make your heart skip a beat. It felt like every minute, it would just jump out of your ribcage.
“George and I, and you and Y/N, like always?”, asked Lucy sipping her tea.
Lucy was the best listener you ever met; Lockwood’s talent was great sight. You were like George; you got a bit of everything. You could see ghost, but no death-glow. You could hear the voices of visitors, but you couldn’t understand what they were saying. Only your touch was better than average and saved you from the fate of a night watch kid. Sometimes when you touch something ghost infected, you could see, hear, and feel important moments of the ghost’s life. For you, these visions often felt like minutes, but it was only a few seconds.
But in Lockwood’s humble opinion, a few second were enough for you to get ghost-touched. For someone so reckless, he was terribly worried about your safety. Therefore, you got into more than one argument about this issue. If Lockwood had his way, you would sit back home, while your team was fighting ghost without you. But that was no life you wanted to live, and you made this clear. If Lockwood would ever force you to stay back at Portland Row, you would leave Lockwood and Co. This was the argument, which always won you the fight. When he couldn’t keep you safe by leaving you back home, Lockwood insisted, that on missions you always stayed by his side. He was the best swordsman of you four, so he was the best fit to protect you and himself from getting ghost-touched. You didn’t mind. It was nice to work close with Lockwood, when he wasn’t plunging himself head first into danger. But Lucy once claimed, with knowing smirk in her face, that he was doing it less, since you joined the agency.
It was no surprise to everyone, that he agreed with Lucy, and before you knew it, you were standing in the living room. One look at your watch confirmed what you already felt, every minute the last light of the sun would disappear, and the night would begin. Unconsciously wrapping your jacket tighter around your frame, your fingers fiddled with your belt, trying to remove the thermometer.
You weren’t nervous-no- you weren’t more nervous than on any other mission. Of course, you didn’t know which kind of ghost you would encounter this night, but you were positive that you could handle it. To fail in front of Lockwood wasn’t an option.
Finally freeing the thermometer from your belt, you began to start tracking the temperature. This was your job, while Lockwood was kneeing in the middle of the room, probably examining the death-glow.
The closer you got to the fireplace, where the remains of a long-forgotten fire lay, the colder it became. When you came to a stop in front of the fireplace, your hair stood up, and you couldn’t help but tremble. Closing your eyes, you put your hand on the old stones of the fireplace, expecting them to be cold, but they were nicely warm.
“How odd”, you muttered, before you were hit by a vision.
The first you picked up was the warm, it was a stark contrast to the cold, you were feeling just seconds ago. You were still standing in the same spot in the same room, but beside the fireplace everything was different. The furniture and décor were an older style, bright sunlight shone through the window, and everything screamed home.
In the middle of the room, a couple were slow dancing to “Will You Love Me Tomorrow” from The Shirelles, they were laughing and the happiness they were emitting was luring you in. You couldn’t help but also smile, and for a moment you forget that this wasn’t real. As if you were under a spell, you watched the couple in awe and as he spun her around, you saw his face for the first time.
You inhaled sharp. This face in front of you, you would recognize everywhere. The man looked exactly like how you imagine Lockwood would look in maybe four or five years. He was dressed in the fashion of the 60s, and his eyes shined full of love. You could watch him like this forever.
Narrowing your eyes, you tried to get a better look at his dance partner. She had light brown hair and wore a pretty yellow dress. The pair did another turn, and you couldn’t believe your eyes. The woman in Lockwood’s arm were you. She was exactly looking like you. Maybe a few years older and a lot happier.
Lockwood was gazing at her like she was his world, and you would have given everything that your Lockwood would looking at you like he was looking at her. You would kill for it. As this thought plopped up in your head, the world around you shifted.
In one moment, everything around you were bright and warm in the next moment you stood in the dark lifeless living room and the cold rushed over you, like somebody emptied a bucket full of ice water over your head.
A bad taste in your mouth and a creeping feeling of dread was all the warning you got, but it was also all the warning you needed. Pulling out your rapier, you spun around to come face to face with the ghost of Mary Hoffmann. But what you saw let you freeze like a stone statue. You weren’t ghost-locked, you just couldn’t believe it. It was like looking into a mirror, just that the own reflection was dead.
Shortly the thought, that the ghost was playing with you, crossed your mind, but that was not how your visions worked. Mary looked exactly like she had in the vision; she was your Doppelgänger.
Tearing your eyes from the sight, you never wanted to see in your life, you looked to Lockwood. Normally Lockwood tried to look cool, calm, collected, but right now his eyes darted between you and the ghost, not believing what he saw.
Nobody of you were moving, the ghost looked at you and when your eyes locked you couldn’t even lift a finger. You could feel her sadness and her grieve. But under all there was anger, an anger you could understand all too well. Maybe you didn’t know how it felt to lose your own life, but you already felt the grieve and anger after you lost a loved one.
“Darling, please step back slowly”, Lockwood tried to sound calm, but you could see right through it. But his voice had always the same effect on you, it brought you back.
Removing your gaze from the ghost in front of you, your eyes met Lockwood’s. That was enough to stop the growing panic. He was here with you, nothing too bad would happen.
Clutching your rapier like your life depended on it, you followed Lockwood’s order. Slowly you took a step back, then another till your back hit the wooden shelf of the fireplace. All the time you watched the ghost cautious, waiting for it to attack you. But Mary only followed curious your movement until you touched the wood.
It was like you flipped a switch. In one moment, she was peaceful, in the next she wasn’t any more. With a high wail she lunged for you, and before you could react Lockwood was there, his rapier slicing through her. Ectoplasm splattered around, and a few drops hit your boots. And the ghost? She vanished but both of you were agents and knew that it was only a matter of time, that she would reappear. Time you could use to search for the source.
“Are you OK?”, Lockwood sounded concerned.
Like the liar you were, you sent him a small smile, “Sure.”
Of course, you weren’t OK, not after seeing this. But you were too professional, to let it affect your work. Therefore, you took a deep breath and tried to slow your thoughts. First came the work and when you survived the night, you could handle your feelings.
You weren’t new to this field, your experience told you, that it wasn’t a coincidence that Mary acted up as you touched the wood. Her source had to be close. A short look at Lockwood confirmed your suspicion.
“We should lay out the chains”, Lockwood suggested, and you nodded. Both of you knew, that there was no guarantee what would happen, if you touched the source and to find it you had to touch it. Also, there was the possibility, that the ghost was out to get you. Maybe it also realized that you both were a lookalike and now wanted to kill you for it.
“I grab them and Darling, remember no matter what happens, I have your back.”
While Lockwood laid out the chains, he insisted on doing it, you stood with raised rapier next to him, ready to fight off the ghost, if it would appear. But you both were lucky; Mary didn’t show up.
Now you stood inside the iron chains, slowly reaching out to touch the wood a second time. You could feel it, you were so close. Closing your eyes for better concentrating, you carefully let your hands wander over the shelf. When you touched to deep cuts in the wood, which awfully resembled the letters A and M, you knew, that you found it. But before you could inform Lockwood, another vision came crashing over you like a wave and pulled you under.
You were in the same room as in the last vision. But now it was night, and you were looking down the barrel of a gun. Her angst, your angst, was all consuming. Your whole body was shacking.
“Please”, her and at the same time also your voice, was not more than a whisper.
That was all you needed to realize, that in this vision you weren’t just watching her, you were her. And now you would learn how it felt like to die. A small tear ran down your cheek, and you didn’t know if it was Mary or you, who was crying.
Before you could beg again, the robber pulled the trigger. The pain you felt as the bullet priced your flesh was worse than anything you had experienced before. Falling to the floor, you wanted to scream, but the only sound which left your mouth was a quit whimper.
You could feel the warm blood rushing out of your body and starting to form a puddle beneath you. You were too young to die. You had so much you wanted to do, you had so many people you had so say goodbye to. You just couldn’t leave George, Lucy and him- oh you would miss him so much.
With the last of your strength, you tried pressing down on your wound. Burning hot pain shot through your body. But still your warm blood was running through your finger, and you were running out of time. Any breath could be your last one. Everything was cold and you were so tired. You would love nothing more, than to just close your eyes, so you did. Your lungs took their last breath, and then you died.
Just to suddenly standing next to Marys/ your dead body. There was only one thing worse than seeing your own ghost, and that was seeing your own lifeless body. By the sight in front of you, your blood was running cold, and you felt like throwing up.
“Darling, everything alright? What was this noise?”, you heard Lockwood’s voice from above. The robber exchanged looks before they followed his voice upstairs.
Knowing what was to come, your whole body went stiff.
No-no-no-no, that could not happen. You couldn’t let him die. Panicking, you searched for something, that could be used as a weapon, but when you tried to reach for the poker, your hand just went through. In this vision, you were the ghost, you couldn’t change anything.
You jumped when two shots rang out, another tear was running down your cheek. Damn, you knew that you didn’t want to see it, but you couldn’t help it.
Rushing up the stairs, there he was lying. His lifeless eyes stared at the ceiling; all sparks long gone from them. Your legs gave up under you and with a loud wail you felt to the floor. You were wrong earlier; the worst sight of your life was Lockwood’s dead body here in front of you. And you would never fully recover from it.
You were still crying ugly when you came back. When you said yes to this job, you really didn’t expect to get so traumatised. Your heart was beating so fast like you just ran a marathon. Trembling all over, you allowed yourself a quick look over your shoulder.
There he stood, with his back to you, he was facing the room. His rapier was resting in his hands, while he tried to look less tense than he was feeling. Relief flooded through you at the sight of him. It hasn’t been real, he was alive. You suppressed a loud sob and forced yourself to appear calm on the outside, even if there was a storm raging inside.
“I found the source, do you have a crowbar?”, hearing the sound of your voice, Lockwood turned around, which was a bad mistake.
Of course your luck just ran out and Mary decided, that this was the best moment to reappear again. Would it be a typical mission for Lockwood and Co. if something like this wouldn’t happen? You guessed not.
Seeing her appear right behind Lockwood, her arm outstretched, gave you a heart attack.
They say when something terrible happens, you witness it in slow motion. But that wasn’t true for you. It always happened so fast.
“Watch out”, you yelled, while your hands worked hastily to pull out a salt bombe out of your jacket pocket. While Lockwood spun around and only escaped the ghost-touched by jumping back, you threw the bomb. It hit Mary right in the chest, and with a high-pitched wail she backed off.
“I will fend her off”, without warning, Lockwood threw with his free hand his crowbar to you. Luckily for you, you caught it.
To be completely honest, this was a shitty job. You hated it with all your bones. If it were up to you, this night couldn’t end fast enough.
So you took Lockwood’s crowbar and bought it down onto the shelf with all your anger bundled and a roar of frustration. Two hits were enough to cause the part of the wood with the initials to splinter.
Behind you, you heard Lockwood taunting the ghost to distract her from you. Because one thing for sure, Mary hated what you were doing to her source.
There was no reason for you to drag this out any longer. Therefore, you took your silver net and threw it over the little piece of wood, you broke off. In an instance, the chaos stopped.
“Are you alri-”, Lockwood never got to finish his sentence, he got too distracted from the loud pounding footsteps, which were running down the stairs.
The next moment, Lucy appeared in the doorway.
“Thank god, you are alive”, with a relived sigh, she threw her arms around Lockwood. Confused, his eyebrows raised.
Would it be any other day, you might have become jealous at the sight in front of you- you could never hug Lockwood light this- but this job had been hell. You only felt tired, so tired.
“We were fighting against a ghost, which looked exactly like you”, Lucy added when she realised how confused Lockwood looked. You already put two and two together, thanks to your visions.
“And suddenly he just vanished, did you found both sources by any chance?”, George chimed in as he entered the room.
“Quite possible”, picking up the silver net, you were careful not expose the source.
“Here”, without further ado, you handed the net into George’s unexpected hand. You wanted nothing more to do with it.
Not waiting for his response, you pushed past him and rushed out of the house. You knew that it wasn’t your smartest move to just run out of a house in the middle of the night. But you still had your rapier and you needed fresh air.
Trembling all over, you took a deep breath. What the hell had been this shit show? And why had they looked exactly like Lockwood and you? You wanted to cry, but you hadn’t any tears left. Wiping your cheeks to remove the salty remains, you crumbled a little. You could still feel the warm blood on your hands, you could still see Lockwood lying dead in front of you.
But before you could collapse, you heard steps behind you. Turning your head, you saw Lockwood hurrying to you. Without saying anything, he pulled you in his warm embrace, and you melted under his touch. Laying your head against his chest, your hands griped his coat, like you were afraid he would leave you. You could hear his hearth racing, and you were sure, that your heart was beating even faster.
Like this, you stayed for what felt like forever. It seemed like both of you wanted to make sure, that what happened inside the house wasn’t more than a bad dream. As if you stayed long enough like this, you could undo what you had seen insight.
After a moment Lockwood broke the silence, “For a second I thought you were her and that you-”, right in the middle he stopped, and you looked up into his pained face.
This was the moment, that you realised, how close you were. You would just have to stand on your tiptoes and your lips would be brushing his. But you didn’t dare. What if he didn’t like you as much as you like him? Then you try to kiss him, ruining everything.
“I never felt such relief in my life when I saw you standing there”, pausing, Lockwood also seemed to realise in which position you both were. Blushing, he took a step back, and you wanted to scream.
“Darling, will you be OK after tonight?” Certainly not. Maybe you put a stop to the haunting, but for sure her memories will haunt you.
To 85.66% you were sure, that after this night Lockwood told the rest of the team, that you both had fought against your lookalikes. You could see it in the pitiful glances they gave you.
The first days after the job, you mainly spend in your room. At the latest, when you didn’t protest when Lockwood suggested that you stay home for the next job, everyone knew that something was wrong with you.
Every night in your dreams, you and Lockwood died again and again. Every night you woke up heavily panting, and your bed was soaked with sweat. Rational, you knew that neither you nor Lockwood had died, but it had felt so real.
Even when the light was shining through your window, you felt the adrenalin pumping through your veins, ready to fight or flight. The worst part was, that you knew your fear wasn’t so wrong. As an agent, every job could be your last. A little slip up and you could be dead.
To distract yourself, you tried to think of reasons why Mary and Andrew Hoffman looked exactly like you and Lockwood.
One time you read, that every person had seven doppelgängers, but the probability that your lookalike married Lockwood’s was so low. There must be another explanation, you just knew it.
Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t hear the knock on your door. Only when Lockwood entered your room, you got brought back.
“Do you believe in reincarnation?”, you asked the first thing, that came into your mind, before he could say anything.
Taken by surprise, he came to an abrupt stop in the middle of your room.
“I-I- I mean”, he stuttered, and slowly a blush began creeping up his face. From the eloquent Lockwood you often watched was no sign to see.
“Are you thinking about them?”, he asked instead of answering your question. He didn’t even have to say their names for you to know who he was talking about.
“Yes, they got me thinking. How odd it is that both were our lookalikes?”
“And they married each other.” Lockwood’s brown eyes met yours and your heart stopped.
“Yes, and they married each other”, you repeated breathless, while Lockwood came closer.
“May I?”, before you knew it, he was sitting next to you on the bed. Only now did you realize he had swapped his fine suit for a simple grey jumper. If it was even possible, your heart started to beat even faster. Discreetly, you tried to wipe off your sweaty hands on your leggings.
Hoping to gain control over your own body again, you took a deep breath. “You didn’t answer my first question, do you believe in reincarnation?”
Nervously, you bit on your lips, and Lockwood’s eyes followed the movement before his eyes lingered.
While fidgeting with his hands, Lockwood cleared his throat. Never before you saw him so nervous.
“I would like to believe that my soul will always find yours, no matter when and where we are.”
He was looking anywhere but at you. Which was fine, totally fine, because you looked like an idiot.
Was he saying what you thought he was saying? Or was it just wishful thinking?
The last job has showed you, that the life could be awfully short, you could die any time. Sometime love was worth taking a risk on and if you knew one thing it was, that you loved the reckless idiot in front of you.
Gripping his jumper, you brought his lips down to yours. First, he wasn’t kissing back, and you were scared, that you did a big mistake. But then he returned the kiss, and you felt like flying.
Far too quickly you separated and breathless you gazed into each other eyes.
“I would also like to believe that my soul will always find yours.”
#anthony lockwood#fanfic#lockwood & co#lockwood & co fanfic#lockwood and co#lockwood netflix#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x reader
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https://karen-219.tengp.icu/h/qphKXES
#Lockwood and co#fanfic#oracle cards#gyaru#stevie nicks#hamilton musical#american apparel#black girl magic#roy mustang#mushrooms
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Locklyle kiss
Wanted to create a separate post to fully rep the beautiful art from myrthena!
#locklyle#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#lockwood and lucy#lockwood-fic-recs#fanfic#fanart
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buy me presents! - Lockwood x Reader
A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.
Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.
She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.
"How are the accounts?"
"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."
George yells again and they wince in unison.
"How long has that been going on?"
"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."
He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.
"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"
"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."
"Still. Christmas, all alone?"
George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.
"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."
He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.
"You think my hair's fancy?"
She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.
"What's this?"
"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."
She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."
"He made an exception for you."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I might have...tipped him extra."
"Lockwood."
"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."
She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.
It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.
"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.
He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.
Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.
"It's not too late for me to stay."
She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
"Y/N!"
"Lockwood? Hello?"
"Ho - How have you been?"
"What?"
There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.
"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"
"Sounds busy."
"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."
He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"
"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."
"Really?"
"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."
She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."
"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."
"What's the popcorn for?"
"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."
She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."
"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”
“…Belinda?”
“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”
“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.
“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."
She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.
"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."
"Nicholas?"
An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.
"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."
"...Nicholas."
"Yeah."
"Never heard of him."
"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."
"Hm."
"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."
"So, you're spending time...with him?"
"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."
"Workshop?"
"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."
"I'm sure he is."
Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.
It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-
"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.
"Nothing, go back to sleep."
"Y/N?"
"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"
"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"
"He's helping with the caramel apples."
"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"
"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."
She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."
"He's doing fine."
There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.
"Get anything in the mail?"
"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."
"I see."
"Why? Did you mail something over?"
"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."
"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.
"Did Nicholas get you anything?"
"He really only goes by Nick."
She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."
"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.
"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."
"He is."
"Good."
"Great."
"Glad we cleared that up."
They fume at each other through the phone for a while.
"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."
"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."
"Like...a circus?"
"...yes."
"Well. As long you're having fun..."
"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?
"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.
"Merry Christmas Lockwood."
She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.
'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'
The dial tone reverberates through her skull.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.
She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.
Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.
"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"
"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."
George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.
"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"
Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"
"Lockwood, wai-"
"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."
"Will you stop, for a minute?"
"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"
"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.
George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.
"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."
"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."
It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.
"Merry Christmas."
TAGLIST: @mischivana @dangelnleif @avdiobliss @mitskiswift99 @elenianag080 @houseoftwistedspirits
#lockwood and co#lockwood and co netflix#fanfiction#lockwood & co#fanfic#anthony lockwood x reader#lockwood x y/n#anthony lockwood x you#anthony lockwood imagine#sabrina carpenter#fruitcake#buy me presents#side note i am so obsessed w writing huhhhhhhhhhhh any and every time i can#love tacking on an infinte amount of 'h' at the end#thats how much i have no idea abt whats going on at any time
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you know, there’s something really special about all the fanfics set in different worlds — the steampunk au, the medieval, corporate, fantasy. It really is saying in this life and the next, I saw a million futures and he loved you in every one, I’d come for you and if I couldn’t walk I’d crawl to you; whatever our souls are made out of his, and mine are the same...If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger; doubt truth to be a liar, but never doubt I love. Love, having no geography, knows no boundaries: weight and sink it deep, no matter, it will rise and find the surface.
#fanfic#fanfic writing#lockwood and co#six of crows#wuthering heights#shakespeare#locklyle#kanej#soulmates#romamce#romance novels#romance writing#beautiful quote#books and literature#beautiful words#book quotes#spilled ink#book quotations#fantasy quotes#poems and quotes
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I Wish You Would
(gotta keep that Taylor Swift theme)
Anthony Lockwood x f!reader
Content: Angst? Fluff? Touched starved Lockwood
Warnings: Mention of blood and wounds, also some curse words (I think)
Characters: Anthony Lockwood and (y/n) Kipps. (Lucy Carlyle and Quill Kipps also appear)
Word count: 1.083
A/N: Exactly two people told me to post it, and that was enough (I'm literally about to enter to an online class while typing this). Chronology speaking, this goes BEFORE their first kiss but I'm a dumbass and forgot to post this one first, hope you like it
(I'll attach their first kiss here)
“Where were you?” Quill asked, seeing both Lockwood and (y/n) walk in with dirt on their faces and hair. As soon as he spoke, his sister’s face told him to not speak, unless he wanted to die.
“We’re fine!” (y/n) said, grabbing Lockwood by the arm and walking to the kitchen.
“You guys don’t look-” Lucy started, but the slamming of the door cut her off.
“Sit”
“I’m not your dog”
“And I don’t care” (y/n) said, pointing at the kitchen chair “sit down”
Lockwood did as she said, even though he didn’t want to. (y/n) started taking out items from the first aid kit, slamming them on the table as she cursed.
“I cannot fucking believe you” she said “seriously, why is it so hard for you to take care of yourself while we’re out on a case?” (y/n) asked, soaking a small piece of cotton with disinfectant. She grabbed Lockwood’s arm, forcefully moving the sleeve of his dress shirt up to see his cut better.
“(y/n) I-” Lockwood started, hissing when the cotton made contact with the cut on his arm.
“This might hurt” (y/n) said, after hearing him hissing, a smirk on her face.
“Okay” Lockwood said “I deserved that”
“You deserve more” (y/n) said “actually, you don’t even deserve me doing this for you, should I just tell my brother to do it, so you suffer a bit more?” she questioned, sarcasm all over her voice.
“(y/n)-”
“You know, when Luce told me you were reckless, I thought 'well, he's certainly not stupid' guess I was wrong!” she grabbed one of the big band aids and covered his cut.
“(y/n) I’m sorry, okay?” he said “this wasn’t reckless, I had a plan, it just didn’t work”
“Wow, what a surprise”
“I didn’t know the golden blade was gonna be there!”
“The what?” (y/n) stood up, forgetting about his other cuts.
“Last year we encountered him” Lockwood explained “we think he somehow works for Penelope Fittes-”
“My boss?”
“Yes” Lockwood nodded “he tried to steal the bone glass from Lucy and I” he explained “he’s also the one who shot me” he grabbed her hand “you have to believe me”
(y/n) looked at his eyes, processing what he had said in silence, enough to make Lockwood panic, the hold on her hand tightening.
“I… I believe you” she said, sitting back down. She wasn’t gonna lie, she always felt a weird vibe from the woman, or the entire agency for that matter. And she didn’t think Lockwood would lie to her.
He sighed in relief “Thank you (y/n)-”
“What I also believe” she started, letting go of his hand and grabbing a new cotton piece “is that your other cuts need to be taken care of” she said “specially this one” she tapped slightly the cut on his forehead, making him hiss again “I thought you were good at fencing?”
“I am” Lockwood shot back “I was just… surprised”
“Your blood says otherwise” (y/n) replied “now, lean closer so I can help”
Lockwood only nodded and whispered a small ‘yes’, letting her do the work and leaning closer as she instructed. As she leaned in, she quickly realized how her back was going to kill her if she did that, so she grabbed her chair and dragged it a bit closer to his, eventually ending up with her thigh in the middle of his thighs.
Lockwood chuckled “you might as well sit on my lap if you-”
“Shut up or I’ll do it” she cut him off with a smile.
He smirked “be my guest”
She ignored him, grabbing the back of his head to steady it as she disinfected the cut across his forehead. She was focused, focused on cleaning the blood and figuring out which bandage to use, but Lockwood’s wandering hands on her knee were distracting her.
It started with his fingers, slowly tapping her knee, barely noticeable, and she wouldn’t have known if he hadn’t kept going at it. His fingers slid across her knee and (y/n) made her best to ignore it, but as she stood up to change the cotton piece, he pushed her leg open, causing her to fall on his lap.
“That’s better” he said, smirk on his lips again.
“Lockwood-”
“Please” he said, voice so quiet she barely heard him.
She looked at his eyes, and for one moment she saw his mask crack. His dark circles and clenched jaw showed her how tired and stressed he was. She couldn’t even imagine how much his muscles ached after the fight, let alone the throbbing of the multiple cuts on his skin.
“Fine” she whispered, not trusting her own voice with the feeling of his hands on her waist.
She kept doing her thing in silence and he just watched her, tracing small circles on her sides with his thumbs. (y/n) just wanted to close her eyes and enjoy it, enjoy his touch on her skin and wish she could feel it for longer, to forget about the case, the fight, everything. She wanted to focus on him and him only.
“There” she said, breaking whatever spell was between them. She grabbed his chin, angling his face to admire the, now taken care of, cut “you’ll live”
He chuckled, smiling truthfully for the first time that night, or since (y/n) knew him, she didn’t care. She liked the small glow on his face.
They locked eyes, the blanket of silence settling on them again. (y/n)’s fingers slid across his chin towards his jaw, making him close his eyes and just enjoy her touch. His hands started moving up her waist, slowly, also making her want to close her eyes and enjoy, but she still leaned forward, closer and closer to him.
He felt it, the weight shift on his lap, some of her curly locks tickling his shoulders.
She could feel their lips almost touching.
The door opened, making her open her eyes wide and snap her neck so hard she wondered if this is how she was going to die. That would be better than the image she saw.
Both Lucy and her brother were standing at the doorstep. (y/n) stumbled off Lockwood’s lap, feeling his hands fly away from her and almost fell. Chair and all.
She gripped the thinking cloth “I was tending his cut” she stupidly said.
She could feel how Quill resisted the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose as she looked at him.
“You sure were”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
A/N: I feel like this scene and the other one are pretty similar, so if I do write the fanfic I'll change it, but let me know what you think! (Again, be nice)
#lockwood and co#anthony lockwood#lucy carlyle#george karim#george cubbins#this is for my lockwood and co fanfic#fanfic writing#lockwood and co fanfiction#anthony lockwood x oc#anthony lockwood x reader#anthony lockwood fic#anthony lockwood fanfiction#anthony lockwood fluff#fanfic#quill kipps#writer#writing
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