#anthony lockwood fluff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fleetingvow · 1 year

Text

‘ DEAD WEIGHT .

Anthony Lockwood x Female Reader

SYNOPSIS. the reader’s skills got rusty and with anthony breathing down her neck all the time, well, things that were better off unsaid were spoken. that’s when four became three. ( 6.87k words )

CATEGORY. angst. slight enemies to lovers ( not completely lovers because i write and stick to slowburn. )

WARNINGS. anthony being a total dickwad. usage of profanities. off the timeline. netflix series based. usage of “y/n”. lots of parallelism in statement structures.

NOTE. characters are aged up. written in third person’s omniscient point of view. room add-up for plot purposes.

REMINDER. this fic is written and copyrighted by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission.

TAGS. @superpositvecloudshipper

𝗛𝗘𝗥 𝗦𝗜𝗚𝗛𝗧 𝗪𝗔𝗦 shrouded in a misty veil. The room had turned bleary as soon as she stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped in her bathrobes. She closed her eyes and opened them again in a desperate attempt to regain her composure. When her feet led her to her room, she felt the pull stronger than what she had been feeling when she was washing up. Y/N gripped the doorknob and opened the door with a groan, and then there was a voice. A mere whisper to her ears.

“Help me!” She turned around, only to see no one but the pen she picked up from a previous home many months ago, mistaking it for the one Lockwood handed. It was surely just her imagination. They already contained the source from the previous mission, destroyed it even. George had done his research and there was only one soul that haunted the home. She was sure no other soul was left behind. Besides, Y/N made sure to set up a schedule to return the object to its rightful place.

However, just now . . . she felt as though it wasn’t just her presence that graced the room. Her eyes scanned her surroundings. There was no one, nothing. Why was it getting harder to breathe? The ringing, they were back again, but this time, it was higher in pitch and volume. She put both palms on her ears in order to block the noises, but it was too loud!

That was until she heard the knock on the door followed by the voice of someone more human, natural in his voice, “Prepare quickly, Y/N. We’re moving swiftly tonight, we have two missions!”

She didn’t respond. It didn’t seem like it mattered when his footsteps were already fading. The girl slowly ran her fingers through her damp hair, taking a deep breath to calm herself down. It was just her imagination — that ringing. But there was a protruding thought that maybe, there was something wrong with her, and she couldn’t place whatever it was.

Although, there was something far more important than that. She needed to be present for this other case. Y/N had been lacking for the past few days, and she was under the pressure of redeeming herself to prove something to Lockwood.

And she was going to prove it well.

THAT HURT! God, it hurt so much! There was no other thing in her mind than how much it felt, causing electric shock through her body, wanting to rip her ears out to just. get it. to stop!

“Fuck!” Y/N exclaimed, losing her grip on her rapier therefore also failing to protect Lucy from the ghost that hovered before them. The clang of the blade on the floor only triggered a louder sound in her ears, putting her mind into shambles as she scrambled to the floor to regain possession of her weapon.

Before she could, however, Lockwood had already slain the ghost himself, buying them more time to pull themselves together. “Lucy!” Lockwood hurriedly rushed to her aid as she panted, refusing the help Anthony was offering.

“Y/N?” Lucy called, her voice combined with worry over the girl’s well-being. “Are you okay?”

It didn’t look like she was, but it was certainly better than before. The ringing had stopped, and what was left was an overcoming fear of when it will occur again. Her forehead was covere din beads of sweat, her mouth gasping for air, and clammy hands clutching the handle of her sword.

She had, in fact, once again failed to redeem herself. And what had she done? Make a complete fool out of herself to Lockwood who only looked at her with disappointment painted oh-so-vibrantly all over his face.

“I covered the source with the net!” George excitedly announced as he made his way into the bedroom where everyone was. It had been a rare occurence before that Lockwood allowed George to do this type of work, but since he’s proven himself to be the hero in most scenarios, he trusted him.

Y/N glanced up at George. She wasn’t mad at him. As a matter of fact, she was grateful for him, not just for containing the source, but also putting an end to the tension in the room. “Are you guys okay?” he proceeded to question.

She stood up from the floor and lowered her head before mumbling, “We’re fine.” She then walked past him swiftly and out of the room with shame as her feet led her to the gardens of the home.

“She’s definitely not fine,” George breathed out. Both of his companions looked at him in a questioning manner. He shrugged, “She’s been acting odd for the past few weeks - months, even. Am I the only one who noticed?”

“You’re always the one to notice something, George.” Lucy commented with a smile. Anthony did not appreciate the conversation, no matter how little. He’d much rather they didn’t talk at all.

“Stay here. I’ll talk to her,” Lockwood ordered. George and Lucy nodded followed by exchanged glances with subtle wide eyes. They knew it was not a good idea Lockwood would follow her, but what could be done? They just hoped he wouldn’t make an arrogant fool of himself again.

“WHAT WAS that?” Y/N’s ears suddenly perked up from the voice. She plastered a sarcastic smile as she replied, “You found me, then.”

“This is no time for foolish remarks, Y/N. What was that all about? You had it. Lucy could have been hurt! You could have gotten hurt! Do you realise what you’ve just done?” Anthony exclaimed. The leaves crunched from under his feet as he marched his way forward to the girl.

“You’re saying that as if I’ve done it intentionally. Is that what you think I do? Sabotage the team?”

“I’m not saying that,” he frustratedly protested, facepalming before placing his hands on his hips, his coat pushed back. “What I’m saying is for you to pull yourself together. Where are you, really? This, this state of yours is going to get us all killed!”

“Lucy’s fine! I’m fine!”

“You both wouldn’t be if I hadn’t stepped in and you had made an absolute mockery of yourself in the situation! You were flailing! Can I even trust you with simple tasks?”

“You call fighting off a type two, simple?” She fired back, trying her best to hold back her anger when she knew she had fucked up.

“We’ve done it before! We’ve dealt with harder cases. What’s going so wrong now?”

“Of course you’d say that! Everything’s easy for you, right?” Lockwood was taken aback by her words, yet instead of processing her words and taking it as a reminder of his past conflicts, he took offence of it, triggering his sense of authority and anger. “If it’s so easy, why don’t you just work with yourself? If you’re so obsessed with perfection, why don’t you eliminate mistakes and put down the team? Because that’s you, right? You’re the one who’s always so bloody perfect at everything!”

His eyebrow twitched as he blinked at her, his face getting softer, yet still inconsiderate as he lifted his head to the side and clenched his jaw. Anthony momentarily fixed his gaze on the floor before placing it back to her. His voice had become monotonous. Cold.

“If you hate me so much, why don’t you just leave the team?”

There was a moment of silence. If the rapier didn’t pierce her heart before, it definitely has now, but it wasn’t the steel sword that did its damage. It was those exact words he had uttered so confidently in her face. There was no hint of regret there when she searched his eyes. There was absolute nothingness.

Suddenly, the coldness of the wind got into her eyes — did it really? Or was she just finding an excuse to mask the reason behind her slightly blurry eyes. Y/N blinked and swallowed her spit in order to remove the lump in her throat. It was useless. She nodded slightly, her face stiff as she tried to muster up her thoughts to create a better expression.

But there was no better reaction.

“What?” she asked for confirmation. Lockwood slightly shifted in his position, standing upright. He looked at her eyes and down to her shoes slightly, taking the sight of the disappointed girl. He swallowed his spit, licking his lips.

“You heard me.”

“So, that’s it then?” she mumbled, trying her best to disguise the betrayal in her voice.

“That’s it.” Anthony replied in a stern tone, not leaving her eyes. “Don’t be so surprised now, Y/N. If it helps you feel any better, maybe you could still start somewhere — just not here.”

“You’re a fucking dickwad, do you know that?!” She yelled.

“I’m doing this for the team.”

“Like shit you are!” She exasperatedly gesticulated her hands in the open air and continued, “You think George and Lucy would fucking applaud you after they find out? I thought we were family! What now? I fuck up, and suddenly I’m gone for good?”

“You could just say n—”

“No, because that’s not it, isn’t it?” She bitterly interjected and combed her fingers through her hair irately. “You’ve hated me from the start! You ignore me every chance you get, but when you’re not, you berate me! You look at me as if I’m about to fail, and you undermine me every single time!”

“I don’t undermine you. I look at you, and I see transitions of how things start and how things end,” he started, chest heaving up and down from his bottled feelings of anguish and rage, not to her but to himself. “I don’t know what it is about you that makes me doubt whatever it is I doubt. You were good at what you do, but you’ve been lost for the past few months. We don’t have a hold of you now, and you’re not telling us anything. To be completely blunt and forward, Y/N: Whenever you’re present in a case, something goes wrong.”

Even to herself, she could admit that he had a point. Every mission that she had with her friends, everything ends up a little bit too complicated than it should. She did feel like she was the cause for the performance of the agency lately. That information itself made her heart sink at the bottom of the pit, pushing her to another depth as he spoke once again.

“You’re a dead weight.”

That statement felt a little hypnotic that it proceeded to ring in her head. Now that was it, why did she feel defeated now? She felt as if he just called her useless. Huh, maybe that’s what she was. Completely and utterly useless for the best agency London has ever seen. She was the dead weight in their group, the failure.

“I just haven’t been myself. I—” Then, there was a silver streak of water that cascaded down her face. She cleared her throat and looked away, wiping the tear with the back of her hand as she sniffled and blinked away the glinting waterfall threatening to spill. “I’m sorry.”

Anthony’s chest felt different with that statement. His eyes that showed no remorse softened at this current sight of her, but there was something at that moment that told him to resist it. He had to stand firm, and he knew to himself he’d do just about anything for the sake of the team, even if it had to be removing Y/N from it.

The thought of questioning whether this decision was right began to rebuke him.

“Y/N, I’m only doing this for the best of everyone’s well-being.”

“You already said that,” she replied and took a deep breath, avoiding eye contact with him. Then, she shrugged her shoulders and laughed to herself in bitter humour. She unsheathed the rapier from her side and took a few steps forward to the boy who gave her a puzzled look.

She took his hand and offered the handle of her blade, closing his palm with hers. Y/N forced a smile on her lips, looking up to meet his eyes. They were close.

Just. This. Close.

Y/N had seen his eyes numerous times before, but under whatever spell, she never got tired of it even despite the sharp daggers it threw at her. Her heart shattered once more, this soft gaze she’d sometimes thought was an illusion made the broken shards leap hopelessly that it left her dizzy for another minute or so.

The wind in the garden gently whispered.

Anthony felt this feeling before, but he dismissed it just like he’d always done. It was something that he believed to be unworthy of his attention. If he looked the other way, what of the path that he worked so hard for?

“Y/N, I—”

“I’ll be gone by morning. Don’t tell the others . . . for me please, would you, Lockwood?” She whispered. Goddamn it, she was going to go! Anthony couldn’t do anything. His body and soul were both locked in the position of looking at her, paralysed as he tried his best to catch his breath. His eyes quickly paid a glance to her lips before switching back to her eyes.

He hummed in response.

There was a palpable tension in such an open space. The girl decided to have had enough of it, leisurely stepped away without breaking eye contact, and walked off with his head turned to watch her figure fade away with the distance.

SHE SAID SHE’D be gone by morning. It was 3 AM, and he wasn’t sure what morning she was referring to, but surely she’d use more time for rest and packing her things. It wouldn’t be so early. He paced back and forth, almost creating a six feet deep grave of his own in front of her door, his hands secured in his pockets. His furrowed eyebrows almost reached each other to knit a whole line on his face, but he soon stopped with a sharp exhale.

Anthony realised how wrong he might have been. The fact that both Lucy and George don't know anything made him feel even more guilty knowing damn well they would have his head and ego once they learn of what he did. Not only that, he felt incessantly bad for being cruel with his choice of words without consideration to what Y/N’s explanation could offer. To be completely honest, he wasn’t even thinking straight! He had no clue where the idea of eliminating her from the team came from.

His mind hadn't been at peace nor was it sober in his library when they got back home. Y/N shut herself in her room after an awkward dinner in which they both pretended everything went well. Lucy and George, bless their poor naive innocent souls, seemed to buy it with Lucy feeling a little bit hesitant.

It was 3 AM, and he was at her door.

At her door.

His hand slightly lifted to knock her door, but it stopped mid-air. Lockwood sighed, pulling his hand back in his pocket with a shake of the head. He’d been horrible, and disturbing Y/N’s peace no matter how fleeting, would be more displeasing.

Anthony’s footsteps faded with Y/N listening intently behind the door, wiping her silent tears. He was outside her door for half an hour during her moment where she wrote her letters individually to the members of the team. She didn’t want to open the door, but her desire to speak to him drove her to a decision that if he knocked, she would let him in. If he asked that she returned, she would.

But alas, he didn’t do any of those, leaving her to conclude that his decision was final, and his words were deeply meant and intended. It was her fault, after all.

And maybe the agency would be better off without a dead weight.

WHEN MORNING CAME, Anthony was jolted awake when George shook him back to consciousness in the library lit with the sunshine pouring through the window. As soon as he fluttered his eyes open and saw the light with George’s frantic silhouette, it had been a clear indication that he was too late.

“Y/N’s gone!”

There was an unpleasant sensation in his stomach, bad butterflies taking control over his system. He quickly sat up and ignored the pounding headache he gained overnight. Anthony turned to George, “Since when?”

“I don’t know. Lucy called her for breakfast but she didn’t answer. She never didn’t answer! So we went up there to check, but all her things were gone.”

He got to his feet and went straight to Y/N’s provided room where all traces of her existence were never found, except for the envelopes clutched in Lucy’s trembling hands. Her face wasn’t warm and welcoming at all as she furiously questioned, “What did you do?!”

“She’s left the agency!” Lucy exclaimed.

“Why?” George asked in response.

“Ask Lockwood. Apparently, he’s the one who talked to her last night after the mission.”

“What are those?” Karim gestured towards the envelopes Lucy had. She raised the letters with their names engraved in jet black ink.

“See for yourself,” she answered and shoved each of the letters to the designated receivers. The girl then furiously marched out of the room, leaving behind both George and Anthony to themselves. Karim opened the correspondence and trailed his eyes along the letters scribbled on the tear stained paper, his face growing bitter word for word as he finished.

The boy turned to his companion, “You’re unbelievable.”

Lockwood wore the same frown he wore in front of her door a couple of hours ago. George left him in the room to self-reflect between the four walls of nothingness but the lingering memories of who used to occupy it.

He looked at the letter, opening it as he scanned the wirds carefully written yet stained with tears that dried on the ink that spread on the fibres of the paper.

“Anthony,

I didn’t tell them, if that’s what you’re worried about, but I’m not sure if my explanations will suffice. I know Lucy and George are smarter than you give them credit for. Whatever happens, I want you to continue the agency with them. They’re your only family left.

I loved the memories with you and the others and I will continue to treasure them until it’s my prized possession that you will have to seek one day. I hated you for a while, and maybe I hate you now, but there’s nothing but the truth that you make a great leader, and I hope your passion will lead them to the path they want, and their loyalty will not banish even after eternity.

For a while, Lockwood, your home had been my home. Our home, but after tonight, it seems as though you gave the key to the wrong person. I hope you will find a better one worthy of the team.

Do not look for me. I will find a good place to find myself and start again and recover. And once I recover, I swear to George and Lucy, I will write. Take care of them.

I’m sorry,

Y/N.”

He wanted to crumple that letter, but that’s all he had of her. Each passing second that he stared at the empty room made him feel guiltier and guiltier. The blood in his veins rushed as he turned crimson with rage. Anthony had never been one to lose composure of himself, especially when he was angry, but it was different this time.

He knew to himself that he blew it. He had fucked up and now he was not the only one that was paying. Because of his arrogance, the house lacked Y/N’s annoying laughter, her awkward morning small talks and idle chatter, the familiar creaks on the wooden stairs because of how loud her feet become when she’s excited for a new case.

Her seat remained empty, devoid of the girl's presence. Her favourite cup had been set before the chair without any mark or stain of the hues she usually wore on her lips. The smell of coffee George brewed earlier for her wafted in a room, serving as an object to rub it in their nose of the bitter tension she’d left behind in that very room.

Lockwood cleared his throat, “Our next mission, er.”

Lucy’s scoff caught his eye, “Give us a break, Lockwood.” She put her mug down, her eyes piercing through his, speaking, “When will you ever learn to not only care about yourself?”

“Lucy, not now.”

“Yes, now.” George intervened. “No one knows why Y/N left, except you. Her family wouldn’t want her back even if she writes that on her Christmas list. You know it to yourself too, that’s a dumb excuse.”

“She left the agency because she made her choice,” Anthony monotonously replied, and quickly regretted it as he sighed and spoke again in a much gentler, more emotion-filled voice, “It was the best for us all.”

“Did she make that choice, or did you? No wonder she left.” Lucy mumbled as she was not having any of it. She slammed her feet on the floor and stood up to leave the kitchen with George leisurely following behind.

Y/N TOOK IN THE rotten interior of the home. Everything was mouldy and abandoned. It was an odd thing, for sure. The house was supposed to be sold months ago! Why was it deprived of human presence? Something was not right, especially with that voice slowly creeping in her ears again.

She wasn’t alone in that place.

“Help me,” she heard. There was a guess there. A guess she’d been doubting for weeks but knew to be believed by her subconsciousness. The girl grabbed the pen from her pocket and sighed, closing her eyes to allow itself to commune with her.

“What do you want me to do?” She questioned.

It was a bad idea, but it was daylight. The power of this type of entity, whatever it is, should be weak by now. Y/N felt herself being pulled in a deep void, forcing all her energy to go down with the force. It was her mind that felt lightweight and then her body with static. All sounds from her surroundings started to become collectively like the sound of electric waves until it was an absolute nothingness.

Just then, an ornate box appeared among the fog, its gold embellishments covered in crimson hues, dripping on the now visible desk. The event happened so fast, and what was once a flurry of foggy mess was now a warm room lit with glinting candle lights from above the ceiling before it turned into a ghost of the olden times. The doors were being pounded from the other side, followed by voices who furiously shouted a name.The girl looked around to see a cadaver on the floor, severely tortured and bloodied. Then, she looked at herself, taking note of how her hands were covered in the same liquid as on the floor.

“What happened here?” she whispered to herself in a frantic tremble.

“Give us the box!”

She looked at the object now in her hands. Every inch of her appearance had changed into someone else, feeling their sense of determination to hide and clutch the treasure in her possession. She turned frantically to look for a way out, but just as she was about to run for it, the door burst open and there came three men, one with a pen in his hand.

“You’ve signed the agreement my father’s given you!” She didn’t know why or how, but it must have been the ghost that kept haunting her that said it.

“Will it matter any longer?”

Just as she screamed, the world had turned into a fading vision. Y/N woke up with a gasp, finding herself on the floor with the piles of stones and rubbles, debris from the structure of what once was a home of an aristocrat. There it was again, that ringing. The girl groaned from the consistent hearing disturbance.

She stood up, only to find herself in an entirely different room. Her eyes made a quick scan of the structure. That was when she found an unusual glint inside the crack on the floor. “So that’s why.”

The death glows would have been seen by Lockwood before, but he didn’t, only because the home had been renovated long before it got destroyed again. The floor had been covered by another layer of floor.

Then, a glint caught her eye, the moonshine had reflected its light where she saw the intricate box. Quickly, she crawled over to it and pulled it out of the crack with force. The box was the same as before, only old and rusty. The surface was covered in dust and old traces of blood.

The ringing stopped, replaced by a series of the hushed voices of a woman. Y/N flailed side by side, falling on her knees as she crawled to grab ahold of the intricate box covered in dust and other filthy muck. “What is this for? What should I do?”

That’s when she realised the sun had finally set and she was in deeper trouble than she was. A glowing light appeared behind the door frame as it continued to hide. Her breath hitched, grabbing ahold of the rapier she managed to steal from Anthony’s library.

“I will help you! You’ve tormented me enough,” she mumbled, holding the rapier up as a barricade between her and the ghost.

The ghost let out a deafening shriek as it frowned at her, hovering through the air before her eyes.

“I promise!” Y/N exclaimed. “Just let me help you!”

However, it was not easy making deals with a dead-undead visitor made up of ectoplasm and substantial despair and anger toward the living. The ghost charged forward, making her lucky enough to move out of the way. She yielded the sword, and the luck of the draw struck again when she managed to hit the visitor with her iron blade, buying her more time.

The girl opened the box, revealing a pile of papers and an old silver pocket watch eaten away by old age and exposure to oxygen and insects that created their own home within the chest. The cobwebs were occupied by several tiny eight-legged creatures causing her to cringe as she dropped the box and shook the spiders off.

Upon the contact of the crate with the floor, a glowing spot appeared.

She looked at the ghost of the woman that haunted her. It stopped mid-air for a while before continuing with her new entertainment of tormenting the girl more. Y/N’s eyes widened at a sudden realisation.

That was it!

For the first time in a long time, she finally felt like she wasn’t being an absolutely bloody idiot. “I have to destroy it, don’t I? For you to find your peace, is that it?”

That was when she frowned and muttered under her breath, “But that’s not your source.”

Then, her ego was kicked off the curb with her guts. A hand reached out from the glowing spot on the floor. “That’s someone else’s source!” She raised her rapier and quickly wielded it to hit the box, preventing the ghost from coming out of it.

The first visitor shrieked again and charged forward as Y/N fumbled on the floor, miserably looking for the pen. Her breathing was audibly fast, waving her sword desperately through the air to ward off the ghost that had been restless in chasing after her.

She scanned the cracks, there was nothing. Then, under the desk, nothing. That’s when she noticed the object she sought right next to an empty cobwebbed shelf on the floor next to a book.

Y/N removed her sword out of the way, darting towards the pen to grab ahold of it, quickly swerving to get rid of the visitor. After that, she hit the box again and once the glow disappeared, her fingers found themselves holding onto the chest for dear life. She put the smaller object in it, and placed it between her side and arm, her other lifting the rapier up.

Dumb! Literally dumb!

Her foot got caught in a lifted crack on the floor, causing her to plant herself on the floor. A groan emitted from her lips as she tried to ease the pain on her chest. Upon realisation, she swiftly turned and held her sword up, fighting the phantom.

“My ears hurt from your constant shrieking!” she yelled.

Due to the movement of her arms, the box had slightly drifted away from her clutch as she busied herself warding away her enemy. “I even wonder why it isn’t Lockwood that you could have bothered! You would have been at peace by now, but no. You chose the weakest link! I’m practically useless, and I might possibly be losing my talent! Now you’re the one who’s mad? I didn’t choose me! You’re the one who screwed up!”

Maybe she was the mad one, in different terms. She was talking to a ghost, for Chrysler’s sake! Even worse, having a verbal feud with it!

If only Lockwood could see her now.

That was until the ghost disappeared after a swift, almost invisible lightning speed strike. She gasped for air and turned around to see what the cause of it was, but no. What’s better is to destroy the sources and get peace once and for all. She sat up and crawled over to the object, grabbing a nearby rock and destroying it for good. The pained wailing finally died down as she loudly caught her breath, exhaustedly falling on her back with her sword clattering on the ground.

“L/N!”

That voice. That god-awful voice. She closed her eyes shut, unable to open them for a second due to her strong will to rest and recover. Look, now she was even hallucinating Lockwood calling her by her last name. It was impossible that he was there, and even if he was — she laughed slightly. He couldn’t be. If he was, she would tear the world apart just to get away from him. She wanted to be millions of miles away from him, avoiding his gaze, getting rid of his smell, and that stupid voice with that arrogant tone of his. He had crushed her dreams and hope like it was nothing, even with just a brief conversation, everything that she clung to in that agency faded in one statement that she wished she never heard from him.

But good riddance, right? At least now she knew it was the wrong agency for her. She wasn’t cut out for this kind of work.

“L/N.”

“Can voices just stop — ” she angrily mumbled, almost in a slur of words, “ — pestering me all the time? Can I just have peace for once? Is that too much to ask for?”

“If they stopped now, you wouldn’t hear what I have to say now, would you?” Now that was it. The girl’s peace had been completely shattered once and for all with that single question built in a rhetorical structure. Her eyebrows now knitted together — an exaggeration, but they almost did. Just a little smidge and they’d be meeting. It couldn’t possibly be him, could it? Her heart fluttered both bitterly and in a way that she hoped that there was hope, but knowing Anthony, he was only here as a figment of her hostile imagination. He wasn’t truly here. That would be asking for too much — only she didn’t ask anything to send him here.

“I’m sleep-deprived,” she muttered under her breath.

It took Lockwood his whole body and soul to stop himself from smiling. He thought he wouldn’t see her here, that she would be off somewhere else, and not the usual destination she would go to whenever she was upset.

A hallucination: that’s what he was to her as of this moment. She still had her eyes closed, refusing to open her eyes, and what was worse was the constant question whether she refused to see the disappointment of a world with Lockwood there or the opposite.

Then, that’s when she felt a gentle contact at the back of her neck, slowly lifting her from the ground. Panic covered her bones and took over the nerves to her brain as she mentally screamed repetitively.

She quickly opened her eyes to see him kneeling just before her, holding her as if she was a fragile glass compared to all that he's seen in his entire life in his basement.

He was there.

He was real.

He was touching her.

And he was — "Your hands are cold."

"I don't care, L/N."

There was something different. All the passionate hatred she had for him was slowly starting to well up in her chest, but being swallowed by a big flurry of adrenaline that made her blood flush in her veins faster.

It was his gaze. They'd changed into something atypical. Too . . . soft, and upon realisation, the double volume of her disdain started knocking her off again.

"No," she mumbled and quickly sat up, pushing him away from her as she scrambled to get her rapier and stand up. "You can't just come here and play the hero, and look at me like that! No!"

Confusion changed his expression, "I just helped you."

"Why do you do this to me?" Her voice has all but given up standing sturdy. She trembled both in excessive fatigue and strong emotions. "You can't just — just look at me like that after you made me feel like shit! And then what? You pity me, and you say sorry and things will go back to being shit again and the cycle continues? What do you think I am?"

"I—"

"You what? You're sorry? Why did you come here? To tell me worse things, that I'm hopeless or that maybe you're so noble that you just felt the need to help me get started with my life?"

Lockwood understood every bit of what she was saying. Her absence in that home has made him realise just how much of a cowardly bastard he was. How undeniably much of an asshole he had been to her and how much hell he'd pay. Her wrath was just the start of it.

But his understanding was growing weary. He knew in a way that Y/N had her wrongs too, "You never told us about the voices."

She halted. She really didn't have any other reason than she didn't want to appear weak and bother anyone. Besides, she doubted the existence of the voice. But there was no excuse.

"I wanted to figure things out on my own," she stated before turning to leave. Before she did though, he spoke.

"I look at you," he started as she stopped and slightly turned to her side but not completely enough to meet his eyes, "like this, not because I pity you, Y/N."

That was her name. Her first name.

"I look at you because I've been. Whenever you were unaware that I was looking. I've always seen you from the start, hence why when I said you reminded me of how things begin and end, it was because you were the first person to make me get up from my bed and the only person I want to see when the day ends. When I'm tired and weary." He then averted his gaze to the ground, "I looked at you like that earlier because I couldn't bear to look at anything else or see you in another state."

"I regret everything that I said, and I wanted you to know how hard it's been to look at your door and think that in the next few days, someone else or no one will occupy that room knowing that there were traces of you — any traces, just anything but physical. It's been torture, not just for me, but for both Lucy and George. So, I thought maybe you'd gone to the place you've been going to peculiarly for the past few months," he continued.

Indeed, he knew her, watched her, examined her.

Possibly even admired her. From afar. But he looked the other way, believed the other way because how could he afford that? How could he afford these feelings knowing he had nothing? He had himself, but he did not have anything stable that he could give her. Will that make her happy? Not at all.

"I'm sorry," he breathed out. "I know it's not enough, but I'm willing to prove to you how sorry I am. Just — I want you to know that I never intended things to be so bad and out of control, and I never meant to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but this isn't an excuse. I just want you to know that I regret everything."

"You are not a dead weight, Y/N. If anything, you're a breath of fresh air, and you make things easier every time one of us feels down. You make the mornings lighter, the end of every exhausting day a moment of opportunity to think about how thrilling life can be. You make the next days, weeks, months, and years something to look forward to. When you left, thinking about those future moments without you with us, it feels empty and terrible. A few hours without you had turned us into malfunctioning lunatics. We're in shambles — I'm in shambles. What more with days? The truth is, it's not you that's the problem. I keep causing you pain, and I'm trying to be better, because I want to be better for you. When the time comes that I do, I will try to be the best. You deserve that. It will take time, and that is why I'll understand if you don't want to return to the agency with me."

Come to think of it, as she observed his state, his Lockwood hair wasn't in its best today. His eyes looked tired and bloodshot. His always tidy flat clothes were wrinkly and his tie was out of place. He looked like he'd been through hell, and his next elaboration explained why.

"Thinking about you every now and then, especially now, I've always shifted in my seat, trying to decipher just how you affect me this much. When I found the possibility of how, I felt the sense to hide it. Every smile that you caused, I hid it all, because secretly I love bickering with you every chance we get, because I get to see the thrill in your eyes and the fire that you hide. I thought that maybe if I hated you, I would selfishly gain more feelings and learn to embrace the things I might possibly find distasteful if my feelings started the other way. And I did, I managed to admire everything you hated about yourself. You've made me feel things strong enough that whenever I run away, I still end up going back to you."

"Lockwood," she finally spoke and swivelled to face him completely. "Anthony."

"Yes?" He eagerly lifted his head to wait for her response.

She chuckled, "I thought you were about to recite Mr. Knightley when he was confessing to Emma."

That's when he laughed and nodded, accepting the fact that maybe he said too much that all she could reply was Jane Austen’s Emma joke, "Well, I have been told that I have a knack for paraphrasing."

"Do you mean all that?"

"The bickering part, most especially."

"Do you want us to bicker now?"

"I think we're already starting," he commented, which made them snicker.

"I'm sorry," she stated. Lockwood thought that was her way of telling him that it was too late. His heart was pierced by a shard of mirror which he failed to use earlier for self-reflection. That was when she smiled, "I just don't know what to say."

"You can start by accepting our job offer. We, er, have an open position looking for someone with a talent like yours," Anthony cheekily replied with a playful smile. "Our agency is one of the most prestigious agencies in London, and we ensure the safety and warm welcome — new addition, of our team, old and new. Do you accept, Y/N L/N?"

“Didn’t you hear what I said earlier? I think I’m losing my talent.”

“And you still managed to beat a type two with a frenemy in one night with a rapier, a pen, and a box?”

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

"I'm taking that as a yes. Come on, if you say yes, we'll bicker nonstop and you’ll get endless coffee privileges."

"You're a bloody idiot." She defeatedly let out a breath of joy and relief.

“Just so we could hate each other again, and be able to speak about our fondness more.” offered his hand for her to take. She leisurely took it, trying to ignore the warmth her hand provided to his cold one. He was holding her. Touching her, when a few hours ago, he couldn’t even as much as lay a finger on her.

And when they got back home, the block had been covered with missing posters of Y/N, with additional apology notes and “Lockwood sucks!” extras. That was true.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader angst #anthony lockwood angst #anthony x reader #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood x y/n #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #anthony lockwood fic #anthony lockwood fic rec #lockwood and co fic rec

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jackie5656 · 4 months

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I’ve Got My Love To Keep Me Warm With; Anthony Lockwood

A/N: HEYYYYY. Well if it isn't another six-month hiatus...I fear I've done this too many times to keep apologizing. There are some long-overdue requests in my inbox, and for that I truly am sorry. With college, work, family, I'm not sure how you guys keep up with finding the time or motivation to write. Nonetheless, I just recently re-watched this amazing show, and I'm yet again horrified Netflix canceled it. I put a holiday spin on this and I hope you all like it!

CW: Characters are aged up. I wouldn't be comfortable w/ this if they were played by minors but that's not the case. Let's also pretend ppl don't typically lose their gift til their mid-20s

You're getting ready on the floor of 35 Portland Row's master bedroom. Makeup is littered all around you as you add the finishing touches. The smell of cookies flows from the kitchen all throughout your home, ones you'll decorate later upon Lucy's request. Christmas music sounds from the record player in the living room, crackling every now and again with its age.

Lockwood's leant up against the door frame, moving silently to the worn armchair across you. You can feel his eyes on you, quietly admiring, yet still brooding from a recent look at the newspaper. Kipps and his team were beaming brightly across the front page, having just solved yet another notary case on behalf of Fittes.

"I've told you not to read the papers on our day off, haven't I?" He's pulled out of his trance then, adjusting his slouched shoulders as though he's been caught.

"A bunch of posh showoffs, think their ridiculous uniforms and bureaucratic nonsense makes them superior. I swear-"

"Anthony."

"Yes, darling?" It's through clenched teeth, blinking hard to regain his composure. You brush on your mascara, still chastising when you face the mirror once more.

"It's our day off, isn't it?"

"Because we have yet to find another case-" He stops himself under your look of warning through the glass, fiddling with his rings and straightening. "I suppose it is our day off, yes."

"We don't have much of those, do we?" You approach him, then. Voice soft and sweet, unknowingly easing his tense stature with each syllable. He only hums, forehead pressing into your stomach as you run gentle fingers through his hair, careful not to disrupt the intricately combed strands. "We need this. You need this. So let's make it a good one, yeah?"

"Tell that to George. Why must we do the holiday card today?"

"We're all available, Scrooge. And if I'm not mistaken, this was your idea. Something along the lines of 'it's good for business, people are seeking a company with a personable image, clients need people to relate to-" You only stop your mimicking when he pinches at your side. The overly-posh, deep reenactment enough to bring a reluctant smirk to Anthony's lips.

"I do not sound like that." He tugs at your hips so you'll sit on the arm of the chair he's rested in, keeping an arm wrapped over your stomach and knees to settle you against him.

"Bunch of bureaucratic-" Your own yelp ceases your teasing, the arm that's snaked around you tugging hard enough to have you fall into his lap and victim to his incessant poking at your stomach and sides. Your squirming is no use, both of your laughter echoing throughout the room as you hopelessly swat at his hands.

He stops his torture eventually, avoiding an oncoming lecture on how he's ruined your neatly done hair with his tickling. You're breathless under him, stretching out over him to glance at the other mirror just above the dresser. Even with the reflection upside down, you're able to tell you'll have to redo multiple curls. He's grabbing at you before you can scold him, hand under your head to pull your faces just inches apart.

"Stop it. You look lovely." He's pulling out the charm, of course. Voice low and hoarse, the tone that he knows damn well well sets your skin on fire. He's smug then, knowing smirk playing over his dark features as his eyes dart to your lips and then to yours.

"Looked lovely." You correct, breathless all over again. His eyes narrow, incredulous.

"Can I prove it to you?" He moves only slightly closer, swallowing thickly as his thumb traces your bottom lip. You almost let him, nearly succumbing to his enchantments. Only when his lips are nearly on yours do you turn your head, keen on revenge for his sabotage.

"You've already toyed with my hair, I'll send George spiraling if I had to redo my makeup."

Lockwood, genuine betrayal littered across his face, can't even plead his case before your roommate takes his cue.

"Oi!" His shout rings from downstairs, tinged with impatience and growing irritation. "You two better be fully clothed and picture-perfect in five minutes. The camera's ready!"

Anthony can only bury his face in your neck, sore attitude overcoming him all over again.

****

"Wait!" Lucy exclaims just as the flash of the camera ensues, voice strained with exasperation. "I wasn't ready!" There's a collective groan from the lot of you, George shuffling past the redhead to reset the camera. You take the time to fix Lockwood's collar, dodging his swatting, grumpy hands.

"I assume ghost touch is a more amenable torture than this," he mutters pointedly.

"You wanted the bloody holiday card, Lockwood. And I'm the only one with enough creative vision to make the lot of you look remotely presentable." There's a collective sneer toward him, though he doesn't notice with all his tinkering with the outdated lense. Of course, George had insisted using film would make the photos hold a 'certain sense of novelty' that couldn't possibly be reproduced with less difficult equipment. "Take five, this might take a while." He waves you all off, adjusting his glasses and muttering a string of unintelligible curses as he works.

Lucy turns to you then, biting back a smile as Lockwood flushes under your doting hands, trying desperately to maintain his grouchy disposition. "Where's your chapstick, the strawberry one-"

"You always steal?" You cease grooming your boyfriend, to his relief, in order to tease her. Smiling when she only sticks out her tongue in mock disdain, already headed for the stairs and presumably your bedroom. "Right side of the bureau, just above Anthony's sock drawer." Your tone grows into a shout to accommodate her distance, grabbing onto Lockwood's wrist so he can't escape away to the study.

"Love you lots!" She calls from upstairs, most definitely making more of a mess of the bedroom in her search.

"Would you unhand me, dove? Pretty sure you're cutting circulation." He's got your attention again, face pulled with irritation. The bags under his eyes look particularly apparent this close, a dull ache in your heart at the sight. It's apparent the attitude is only due to all the stress he puts himself under. The pet name a clear sign the animosity is by no means directed at you. You smirk despite him, digging into your back pocket and ignoring his then curious expression.

Only when you get closer does he catch on. Socked feet clumsily stepping on his boot-covered ones to attempt to gain height, your arm reaches up above both your heads. Letting his eyes follow yours, Anthony can't help but let a dazzling smile spread across his features. Stubborn nature no match against the warmth and adoration overcoming him at the slightly crumpled branch above him.

"Is that-"

"Yep." You mutter, straining under the effort to reach above his head. His gaze is on your face then, arm snaking around the smalll of your back to keep you steady. "You're supposed to-"

"Oh, I know. But I'm having so much fun watching this." A small pout puckers your lip at his teasing, tone filled with the familiar mirth and smugness you hadn't known you missed so much with his solemn mood.

"Forget it then, Grinch." Your reaching arm falls to your side, attempting to push at his chest to force distance between you.

The camera flashes just as Anthony pulls you in for a kiss. Soft and sweet, each of you eventually smiling into it.

"I'm not developing that one." George frowns, adjusting the lens before shooting a pointed look to Lockwood, who loosens his hold only slightly on you. "You've got shade 205 right here, mate." The curly-haired boy draws an imaginary circle around the entirety of his mouth. Anthony scrubs his sleeve across his face at George's comments. Flushing as you laugh into his chest.

Taglist: @sunshineangel-reads

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood gifs #george karim #lucy carlyle #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co netflix #anthony bloody lockwood #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #merry xmas #christmas fic

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d0wnb4df0rf1cm3n · 1 year

Text

Let me

Anthony Lockwood x F!Reader

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

Word Count: 3.4K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Which led you to your current predicament.

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

Sergeant Bowers.

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

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

It was peculiar.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"So?"

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

"Yeah. We probably should."

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

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

"I don't understand?"

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

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

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

"14, actually."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

fin.

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bloodcanbehot · 1 year

Text

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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ghostlystyles · 1 year

Text

𝐖𝐀𝐈𝐓 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐋 𝐌𝐎𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆

anthony lockwood x gn!reader

anthony lockwood can definitely be a drama queen

request: Hi, could you do an Anthony Lockwood x reader where the reader is extremely exhausted and ends up passing out during a mission and Anthony gets really worried about the reader? Thanks :D

tessa’s notes: thank you anon for sending in the first request i’ve ever gotten, i hope this is what you had in mind :)

warnings: fluff, swearing, blood, sleep deprivation, fainting, a bit of angst?, canon typical violence, comment if i missed any <3

word count: 1,5k

— YOU OPENED THE door of 35 Portland Row in the middle of the night for what had to be the twentieth time that month and saw a middle-aged couple standing on your doorstep. “Lockwood & Co?” the man asked. “Yeah, that’s us. How can we help you?” you yawned, leaning against the open door. “Our house is haunted and it’s keeping us up at night. We figured you might be able to help us.”

You led the couple towards the kitchen and made them a cup of tea. “Oi, get up! There’s people here!” you called and not long after your three friends joined you at the dining table.

“So, tell us about what’s haunting your house,” Lockwood started, placing his ankle on his thigh. He wore a black, graphic jumper, joggers and his hair was messy. Although liking it, you’d been begging him for months to lose the suit every once in a while and usually midnight was the only time you got to see it, so you couldn’t help but grin.

“Well— we don’t know. We know there’s two but we’ve never seen them, only heard,” the woman explained. “And what did you hear?” you asked, leaning your head onto your hands with your eyelids heavy.

“Just— knocks on the walls and, we constantly have this feeling of crippling anxiety and fear and— we always feel like we’re being followed,” the man answered in detail. “Okay, that sounds like a Type One, so you don’t have to worry. We could get the job done tomorrow evening.”

“We actually don’t have a place to stay, we assumed you could just get it done right away.”

“That— okay. It might be possible, but it will cost significantly more as it’s extremely last minute.”

“That would be great, thank you so much. Money’s not an issue, we’ll pay you any reasonable price.”

“I’ll have to discuss it with my partners, if you’ll excuse us,” Lockwood nodded professionally as the four of you got up and walked into the corridor.

“What do you guys think?” he asked. “I think I could do it, they’re only Type Ones,” Lucy shrugged. “Well, I’d prefer it if I had time to research, but I guess it could work,” George added, rubbing his eyes. “And you, Y/N?”

“I— yeah, sure. I reckon I just need a coffee and then we can get to work,” you yawned, leaning against the wall to support your legs. “You sure? You’re not sleeping well as it is and you’re starting to look like a ghost yourself,” Lucy frowned worriedly. “A friendly ghost, I hope, but it’s fine, it’ll earn us some good money,” you joked. “I really don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N, we should just tell them no,” George added. “Yeah, are you really sure? We can wait until the morning. We don’t owe those people anything,” Lockwood pitched in. “Yes, Lockwood! I promise it’s fine! It won’t take long anyway.”

— THE FOUR OF you slowly entered the house that belonged to the couple. “Lockwood and I will take the upstairs, you take the downstairs?” you whispered as you looked around cautiously. “You two gotta stick together, huh?” Lucy nudged you playfully. “Oh, fuck off,” you rolled your eyes with a smile. You always got the same response, but it just made sense. Lockwood had excellent Sight, and you were a pretty good Listener, George was average on all talents, but Lucy was an outstanding Listener.

“Does everyone have all their stuff?” Lockwood asked, with his hands in his pockets and you all nodded. “Okay, then let’s stop fucking around and get this done.”

Lockwood quickly walked up the stairs and you followed him, frankly a lot less quickly, as your limbs felt heavy on your body. “Y/N! You coming?” Lockwood stopped at the top of the stairs when he noticed you weren’t next to him anymore. “Yes, just give me a moment,” you muttered, stifling back another yawn. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Lockwood asked once more, his face coated in worry. “Yes, Lockwood, how many times? Just, stop worrying about me for a second!” you grumbled as you strolled further onto the first floor.

“I— Jesus, I was just making sure you weren’t gonna faint or something,” Lockwood muttered, slightly taken aback. "Wait, shh—," you whispered as you covered Lockwood's mouth with your hands. "I hear something."

You closed your eyes and focused, so you could hear the sound better. You heard the soft shuffling of bony feet and echoing sighs, but you couldn't quite tell where it came from. "I'm pretty sure it's a Stalker," you concluded. “Where is it?” Lockwood asked. “I don’t know… I can’t tell,” you said, you squeezed your eyes shut, but it felt like your head was stuffed with cotton. Likely because of the sleep deprivation, but you’d never admit that, of course. The two of you started walking in the direction of one of the rooms and warily looked around. You closed your eyes, but you’d lost the sound of footsteps.

“I think we chose the wrong direction,” you muttered and Lockwood nodded in agreement. You walked out of the room and back into the corridor, when you were suddenly overtaken by dizziness and a sick feeling. You halted for a moment and took a deep breath, but the feeling didn’t go away. Instead, black spots started filling your peripheral vision and slowly spread their way to the center of your gaze. “Lockwood… I don’t feel so good,” you trembled, before everything went black.

“Y/N!” Lockwood exclaimed as he heard your body collapse with the ground and he rushed over to you, cradling your face in his hands. “Y/N?” he croaked as he brushed your hair out of your face. After about half a minute, your eyes fluttered open and you saw Lockwood’s face hover over you. “Hi,” he gave you a watery smile and his expression shifted from anxious to relieved.

You slowly sat up and immediately felt like vomiting, as your limbs were aching and your head was pounding from the fall. “Hey, hey, slow down,” Lockwood whispered tenderly, “how are you feeling?”

“Everything hurts,” you said, when you felt something warm dripping down your cheeks. Lockwood’s gaze slightly shifted and he gasped when he saw the huge gash across your nose bridge. “What happened?” you winced, feeling the wound sting. “I don’t— you must’ve hit your head on the banister or something,” Lockwood worried with wide eyes, “we should take you to the hospital, that probably needs stitches.”

“No way! I’m not letting someone sew my skin like it’s a piece of fabric!”

“It’ll be okay, I promise. George, Luce and I wil be there the whole time and besides, it’s gonna leave one badass scar.”

— A TRIP TO the hospital and a fuckton of stitches later, Lockwood was carrying you bridal style down the streets of London. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone get this injured on a Type One mission,” Lucy chuckled. “Be nice to me Luce, I fainted and smacked my head into a banister,” you laughed, hitting her shoulder. “I suggest we all just listen to me next time, because I get really scared when people faint,” George sighed. “Oh, you should've seen Lockwood, Georgie. He looked at me as if I was dying.”

“Look, in my defence, I didn’t know what happened. For all I knew, you could’ve had a knife in your back and were slowly bleeding out,” Lockwood scoffed. “I’m just kidding, it was very sweet of you,” you reassured him as you patted his cheek. “You’re always so dramatic,” Lucy smiled, as she nudged Lockwood with her shoulder and he gave her a side-eye. “Anyway, when we get home, you’re going to bed and you’re not coming out of there until I say so,” Lockwood started, looking down at you, “and I’m going to find those people and try to rake up the price by a lot, so we don’t have to open the door in the middle of the night again.”

“That seems like a good idea, I’ll go with you,” George said and Lockwood nodded approvingly. “Why did it take me nearly perishing at the hands of a fucking banister for us to realise that taking clients in the middle of the night is a terrible idea?” you laughed loudly, throwing your head back. “Aha! So you do admit that you very nearly died and I have the right to be concerned about you and your well-being!” Lockwood exclaimed as he slightly swung you, making you scream and tightly hold onto him.

Lucy caught George’s gaze and shook her head with a smile, “we really should’ve waited until the morning.”

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g1rld1ary · 3 months

Text

come home with me ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ hbd lockwood & co!! this was meant to be for the anniversary but as always I have greatly miscalculated the english timezone... (also totally feeling pre-valentine's excitement!!)

➻ word count: 3720

➻ synopsis: when your bus breaks down in the middle of the night, one Anthony Lockwood may just be your knight in shining armour

➻ warnings: slight mentions of drinking, clubbing & drugs, lucy making slight suggestive jokes if you squint, reader is shorter than lockwood, sharing a bed, fluff

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You sat in your bus seat, checking you still had all your cash and your fake I.D. Satisfied, your purse snapped shut, changing shape as you gripped it tightly. Although you took the bus fairly regularly, you felt much more alone tonight than you had in a while. You’d left your friends and their ‘galentines’ celebration early, not in the mood to go clubbing but not willing to ruin their vibe. Plus, you weren’t ready to celebrate a holiday all about love so soon after being dumped.

You fiddled with the bracelets on your wrist mindlessly, knowing you were still a long way from your family’s apartment. You quickly scoped out the rest of the bus. A few middle aged couples — you imagined they were returning from sweet Valentine’s Day dates and ready to be home and in bed before one. You thought it was sweet that their love was stronger than their fear of the Problem, though the iron lined buses probably helped quell their apprehensions. Your eye caught the only other young person on board, a boy around your age who was staring out the window, rapier hanging off the edge of the seat and into the aisle. An agent, clearly, though you wondered why he was alone when they usually travelled in teams.

You quickly averted your eyes, not wanting to be caught staring at anyone who could proficiently use a sword. You bounced along in the seat until the bus began to slow, jerking the passengers around aggressively. When it came to a proper halt you felt a spike of panic run through you. You were all alone in an area you didn’t know and still at least a half hour cab ride from home way past curfew. To top it all off you were in your heels and new slinky dress, prepared for the safety of a club and not the outdoor weather. You were going to die, you were sure of it.

Then the lights flickered and dimmed. Great. You were almost certain this was the end when the doors were locked too. You rolled your eyes as you watched one of the adults jiggle the door around until it could be forced open, then reluctantly followed the rest of the passengers out onto the street. Just your luck, you were in the middle of a random residential street with no overhead covers except a tiny iron bus stop fifty metres away, which you reluctantly let the older couples hide in. At least the ghost lamps were on, and your very average senses told you there weren’t many ghosts out tonight; were you the only person in London — dead or alive — who didn’t have a valentine?

You watched as the bus driver pulled open the hatch to expose the engine, tinkering around nervously to hurry and find the issue. You leant against a ghost lamp as a shaky protection and felt a few freezing rain droplets land on your bare arms. Fabulous, the night was just getting better and better. You watched the driver huff in frustration and glance around nervously, you doubted you’d be getting back on the bus anytime soon.

You slid down the ghost lamp until you were sitting on the damp ground, past trying to impress anyone at that point. You telepathically tried to send your friends a message that you were going to be found probably ghost touched or hypothermic in the morning. You breathed a sarcastic laugh to try and convince yourself it was a joke, but you could feel the panic rising in the back of your throat. At sixteen you were not equipped to be stuck on the side of the road well into the night, past curfew and pathetically unarmed. You could feel someone’s stare and couldn’t tell whether it was at your sad excuse of a dress or at your position on the ground, but you were past caring, not even trying to shield yourself.

“Sorry, everyone, but I can’t fix this. Your best bet now is getting a cab and getting inside as soon as you can,” The bus driver explained apologetically, and some of the couples groaned, eyeing out the street for a taxi. You were past the point of feeling phased, tilting your head up to face the sky and embracing the storm on your face, not even thinking about the mascara tracks being run. When you reopened your eyes there were only a few people left; the driver, one couple, the teenager and you. You stood reluctantly, trying to think of a way to get yourself home.

You cracked open your wallet sullenly, expecting exactly was in there. A few dollars; enough for a few drinks but not nearly enough for a taxi to where you were going. You sighed, feeling defeat creep upon you as you tried to come up with any other method of getting home. You could return to the club — if you survived the walk — but even then your friends would be either too drunk or too high to be of any assistance. A huge crack of thunder drew you from your thoughts, a lightning storm was definitely brewing. Amazing.

You sighed, stress manifesting as the hot tears beginning to stream down your face. You felt utterly hopeless. You had nowhere to go and no way of contacting anyone, you couldn’t even use a payphone to call your parents as you’d promised you’d stay in while they were away for the weekend.

“Why tonight?” You asked the sky, more to express your irritation than to search for an answer. You could hear the agent escorting the couple down the street to a cab, easily soothing their fears with overconfident assurances. You knew he’d returned only by the occasional drag of iron against cement accompanying his footprints, presumably his rapier. Unknown to you he watched you as he approached, taking in your dishevelled state. You were pretty, undeniably, but the mascara smudged from rain and tears and your hair stuck to your face and shoulders made you look like you might’ve seen better days. He sucked in a breath and approached you.

“Hi,” He said, “I’m Lockwood.”

“Y/n.” You turned to him, hoping he’d realise you had no interest in talking.

“I know this sounds really creepy, but will you please come home with me? Promise I’m not trying to murder you, but this storm’s not getting any better and I can’t leave you to the ghosts in good conscience. My house is only a few blocks away; I live with another boy and a girl, both my age so we wouldn’t be alone. You can take all the precautions you like — keys between the fingers, walk on the other side of the street if you want,” He rambled and you sized him up. A lanky boy with a sword or the ghosts? You figured you had a better chance against him if it came to it.

“Ok.” You nodded, trying to smoothly push yourself off the pavement and appear well put together in front of the strange boy.

Lockwood led the way, holding the umbrella over his head. You followed a few feet away, cautious to be out of reach, just in case he did want to hurt you. Though you were jealous of his prior planning for the rain.

“Here, take my coat. You must be freezing.” He held it out to you and you gladly accepted, spaghetti straps doing nothing to fend off the cold. The coat was warm and enveloped you entirely, sitting below the hem of your dress. “So, are you in school?” He tried to break the silence.

“Yeah, for history. You?” You cringed as you realised the redundancy of your statement — his being an agent of some sort was more than obvious and only emphasised by the rapier he held out in front of him. He answered kindly anyway.

“I never did much school, I’ve been an agent as soon as I was allowed.”

“That’s cool, you in a big agency?” You asked, and Lockwood beamed with pride.

“Not exactly — not yet. I run my own agency, soon to be the best in Britain. Lockwood and Co, you might have seen us in the papers?” You raised your eyebrows.

“Your own agency, huh? That’s big stuff. Wish I could say I’d heard of you, but I avoid the papers when I can, it just depresses me. You might have to be just Lockwood tonight if that’s alright,” You joked and Lockwood laughed out loud, giving you a glimpse of an illuminating smile.

“Just Lockwood is perfect,” He answered, and the conversation quickly moved on, the two of you quickly losing the awkward silences.

“I got caught up in my research — a first, believe me. If I’d known about the bus and the weather I would have just caught a cab, or bailed earlier which is far more likely.”

“Tell me about it. My friends are out clubbing and I’m here walking in the rain with a stranger — uh, no offence.”

“None taken,” He assured you, “Wait, how old are you?” He didn’t think you looked old enough to get into a club, although the smudged makeup may have had something to do with it.

“Sixteen…” You trailed off, suddenly afraid he would judge you for your bad habits.

“So you’ve got a fake ID?” He raised an eyebrow at your nod. “Lucky. I tried to get one once but my associate George yelled at me for forty minutes straight, I never tried again.” You giggled at his explanation, the image making Lockwood seem younger, less intimidating than he’d initially been.

You moved closer as you walked, eventually ending up under the umbrella and feeling much warmer without the violent rain. As you talked more you noticed Lockwood was quite attractive, in an odd sort of way. Despite his old fashioned attire (you didn’t think agents typically wore shirt and ties), he had the loveliest smile and soft looking hair, though some of it was plastered on his pale forehead, unable to escape the rain entirely. What stood out most though, were his cheekbones. They were impossibly defined and quite dreamy, if you were being honest.

You talked about all sorts of unexceptional things, and you had the impression that Lockwood was doing his best to entertain you and distract you from your previous mood. It was working though, so you had no complaints.

“I’ve got a bit of sensitivity — very average — but I’m not going to waste my adolescence being stuck in the nightwatch ‘cause I can’t make it to really being an agent,” You laughed softly, “So I figured if I studied history I could be of more use, learn more about the Problem and all that.”

“You’d get along famously with my friend George, he’s obsessed with trying to figure out the Problem. For me it’s about the action, knowing that I’m actually putting all these ghosts to rest and having a meaningful impact on people’s lives.” You watched him circle his sword in the air, keeping the few Type Ones around further than they’d been lurking.

“Is that why you started your own agency?”

The walk seemed much shorter once the two of you started talking, and soon you’d arrived at Lockwood’s house, 35 Portland Row. The outside was unassuming, but beautiful in the classic English way. You caught a glance of the Lockwood & Co sign and couldn’t help but smile; you could feel the love and passion Lockwood had for the company from the small discussion you’d had about it. As Lockwood pushed open the front door a woman was just heading up the staircase in the hall, but turned at the noise.

“Jesus, Lockwood, what time do you call this? I was getting worried! Who’s this?” She looked at you, and you couldn’t help but feel self conscious under the beautiful girl’s stare. You thought she looked a bit teasing, and realised what conclusions she’d drawn. Embarrassing, but understandable.

“Luce, this is y/n. Y/n, Lucy, my associate. She’s staying with us tonight; our bus broke down and getting her home at this time is practically impossible.” Lucy nodded, but the amused twinkle in her eye didn’t dull.

“It’s nice to meet you then. I’d offer for you to bunk in with me, but I’ve got a nasty flu coming on and I doubt you’d want me anywhere near you.” She gestured down to the thick blanket wrapped around her shoulders and the steaming tea in her hand. You smiled to absolve her of responsibility and she waddled back up the stairs and into the dark.

Lockwood, in turn, led you up to the first landing and into his bedroom. He rifled through a chest of drawers as you tried not to snoop, eyes instead catching on the alluring movement of his fingers. He eventually handed you a t-shirt and some tracksuit pants.

“They might be a bit big, but they’ll do for the night,” He sounded embarrassed and you smiled in thanks. “The shower’s just down the hall, second door. You can go clean up.” You thanked him again before heading for a much needed shower.

You stood under the hot water, more than mindful not to take too long. You were so caught up in being grateful to be alive and not ghost touched or stranded in the middle of London that the weirdness of the situation hadn’t fully caught up to you until now. Once dried you put on the clothes Lockwood had given you and laughed slightly at your reflection. Despite your figure the clothes still unexpectedly swallowed you. It made sense since Lockwood was so tall, but you found it funny nonetheless.

You returned to find Lockwood sitting on the edge of his bed and stood in front of him awkwardly, unsure of how to proceed.

“So, um, I’m not a great sleeper so I think I’ll go read in the library for a bit and probably stay there. You can take the bed.” His previous easy confidence was gone, and Lockwood suddenly looked his age again, innocent and awkward.

“Are you sure? I can take a couch or something, I don’t want to intrude.” Lockwood assured you that he wasn’t going to sleep anytime soon anyway, and he was sure you needed the bed much more than he would. You bade him goodnight shyly, and thanked him for the millionth time before climbing into his bed, ashamed to admit how much you liked the pillow that smelt like him.

However, once it was just you in the dark, all your previous exhaustion had dissolved and you were wide awake, too on edge to sleep. You were in a strangers house on the other side of the city in the middle of the night, you very well may not live to see another day. Logically you knew you were being dramatic, Lockwood and Lucy both seemed lovely and genuine, but then again, so did Ted Bundy.

You felt like you’d been lying in bed for hours when the door creaked open and you inadvertently made eye contact with Lockwood creeping in, looking admittedly adorably soft in his worn pyjamas.

“Sorry,” He said, “I needed an extra blanket. Can’t sleep?” You used the light from the hall to glance at the clock, almost two o’clock. You shook your head softly, feeling almost guilty when he’d given up his bed for you. Lockwood stood in the doorway for a moment, seemingly hesitant about something. “Do you, um, do you want me to read to you for a bit? It always worked for me when I was younger.” He sounded sheepish but you thought he was the sweetest person on earth at that moment. You agreed quickly, and he slotted himself in on the other side of the bed.

You huddled in to face him and Lockwood cleared his throat softly. He had continued on from where he’d evidently left off in the library so the plot was a mystery to you, but his soothing voice worked wonders in calming your thoughts, weary eyes closing quickly to send you into a cozy sleep. Lockwood, unbeknownst to you, fell asleep uncharacteristically fast after you, novel left upside down on the nightstand. Despite his usual aversion to sleep, having a warm body and small snores next to him strangely made him want to start getting eight hours a night.

Lucy was assigned to wake Lockwood for breakfast the next morning upon George’s request, and silently sent a prayer before pushing open his door, wary of what she might find. To her surprise (and personal relief) you two were in bed together, but not in the way that she’d dreaded walking in on. You were both totally clothed, your head resting on Lockwood’s chest, his arm around your waist, effectively keeping you burritoed in the blanket. Lockwood’s eyes snapped open, a habit he’d never detested more, and groaned at Lucy’s good humoured snicker when they locked eyes. She shut the door behind her quickly, leaving Lockwood to deal with things on his own.

You woke not long after, feeling Lockwood stirring next to you and his breathing start to become irregular.

“Morning,” He slurred, still half asleep and wanting nothing more than to pay off his sleep debt with you keeping him safely in bed.

“Good morning.” You smiled sweetly, already in a good mood. You bent to collect your clothes off the floor, eyeing your dress with mild disgust — it would be quite the walk of shame home.

“Keep the clothes.” Lockwood gestures casually to your outfit and you shook your head vehemently.

“I can’t, they’re yours!” You protested but he seemed not to care at all.

“I don’t need them, just have them. They look good.” You flushed and dropped the fight, words lost in the vacuum of your brain. You busied yourself with rolling the cuffs a few times so it wasn’t quite as obvious they weren’t yours.

Lockwood led you down to the kitchen, asking you about your plans for the day. You were met with Lucy and one other boy in the kitchen, Lucy sitting at the table already tucking into her meal while the boy was standing by the stove.

“I mean, come on Lockwood, you couldn’t have given me any warning we had a fourth for breakfast? Bloody good thing we had enough eggs or it would’ve been you going hungry!” The boy muttered to himself, apparently unaware of your entry. You locked eyes with Lucy who was holding back her laugh and Lockwood coughed uncomfortably.

“Morning, Georgie,” He smiled an amused grin, practically blinding you in the early morning. George froze as he realised he’d been caught, then doubled down his mood with a glare in Lockwood’s direction but it simply bounced off the charm he oozed and you smiled. You introduced yourself quickly and explained the situation, not wanting to uphold the tension in the room. George wasn’t exactly as warm as Lucy, but then you got the impression that it wasn’t in his nature to be.

Lockwood and Lucy upheld forced small talk as you became nervous in the new environment and George simply had no desire to talk, at least, until Lockwood had the bright idea to get the ball rolling.

“So Georgie, y/n actually studies the Problem. Like, academically.” It was like a switch had flipped and suddenly George had so much to say you were overwhelmed with it all. You tried to explain your research area as best you could while trying to politely ask questions about his own knowledge and make a good impression. Lockwood must have sensed your anxiety as he put a hand on your thigh and gave it a reassuring squeeze under the table, chuckling softly into his eggs.

Your meal passed quickly after that, and you felt strangely at home in the cozy kitchen, amongst three people who were total strangers only hours before. Yet, it had to come to an end at some point, and it was soon time for you to go.

You collected your things, profusely thanking each of them for not only saving you (Lockwood), but also for the ridiculously delicious breakfast (George).

“You really saved my life,” You said, as Lockwood disregarded yet another thanks.

“It’s nothing, you would have done the same. You, uh, you should come around again sometime.” You beamed, nodding quickly.

“Yeah, I have about a thousand more questions for you — not an exaggeration,” George said, and you easily agreed to share more of your research with him.

“Plus, we like seeing Lockwood blush,” Lucy added cheekily, and then it was your turn to blush, forcing your eyes down to the floor as both George and Lucy laughed at the pair of you, mirror images in your embarrassment.

Although it may have looked like you were making a post-Valentine’s Day walk of shame, you were gleeful. You hadn’t at all imagined your night would turn out as it had, but you’d made new friends — and maybe the start of something more, and managed to avoid being ghost touched which you always counted as a win. You ignored the judgemental looks you received in slept in joggers and club ready heels, and delighted in getting home before your parents arrived back and noticed you were missing.

You locked the door to your apartment behind you and dialled the number Lucy had made you promise to call when you were safe and sound, hanging up with plans for dinner at Portland Row the following week.

You flopped back on your bed and grinned. You were sure you’d see more of Lockwood & Co in the future.

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kestisvrse · 1 month

Note

hi sienna ! i love your fics SO SO MUCH you can’t even imagine the sizes of my love for you and your works but your works are always so freaking cute but they’re little ;( can i ask you for a medium or a big fic just about lockwood x fem reader being a couple and write just tooth rooting fluff. actually i’m so sorry for asking you for a big size cause i know how difficult is to write big ones but if you’re being able to write it i would read you masterpiece with pleasure ! *sorry for the mistakes, english isn’t my native language ;( 🪩

a trip around the sun

pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff. established relationship.

synopsis ⋆ your relationship with anthony lockwood. or love languages with anthony lockwood.

warnings ⋆ reader implied to be shorter, kissing, i think that’s it? let me know if i missed anything!! | wc: 3k

a/n ⋆ do not apologize!!! your english is amazing :) and i promise i’m trying to get into the habit of making my fics longer, school and all that yk! i’m so sorry this took so long!!!

anthony lockwood masterlist

@mitskiswift99 @novelizt @initialchains @eedwardss

♫ - comfortable by keni titus

you had known lockwood for almost two years, him having employed you a little while after george, and lucy joining a year later. in that time you grew closest with the boy, his charm easily able to capture you.

you knew everything about each other, you being the first person he had really opened up to about his family, which had ended with the first and only time you had ever seen lockwood cry.

the point is, you had his back and he had yours, and of course how couldn’t you develop a crush? his natural personality was to flirt with you, sending winks and grins your way in any situation, it was impossible to not like him, you just didn’t expect it to be reciprocated.

march 3rd

february was an odd month to say the least, only because of lockwood.

it started with flowers appearing at the door addressed to you from an anonymous person (lucy immediately assumed it was kipps, which lockwood didn’t take lightly to the suggestion.), and then the love letters, was it slightly creepy? definitely, but that didn’t stop the blush you had when you read the letters that were so romantic it was like they had been written by cupid himself.

you can’t exactly remember how, but one day lockwood subtly revealed it was him sending these gifts, he brushed past it so quickly you almost missed it, grabbing his arm to pull him back down to the kitchen table to question him.

the presents became less frequent, but not because he had told you, but because he started to take you on dates, or giving you the gifts up front. he went all out on valentines, taking you to a nice restaurant that you were positive none of you could afford, but he would brush you off and tell you not to worry about it.

he would hold your hand in the taxi on the way home from jobs, offering you his clothes if you shivered even slightly, lucy was ecstatic for you, while you remained confused, sure he had been touchy or flirty before but as soon as you entered the month of valentines, he acted as if you were dating.

which he had meant to make happen before march, but the nerves got to him as he pushed it farther away, settling for chocolates or notes under your pillow.

but here he stood, outside your room with a bouquet of flowers, asking you to be his.

“what?” you choked out in shock, your hand sealed to the door helping you stand up as your knees weakened.

“will you be mine?” he repeated, a sudden line of sweat covering his forehead.

“you- you’re serious?” you said in disbelief, as he shuffled his weight onto his left foot uncomfortably, expecting rejection.

“yes, yes i’m serious.” he spoke nervously, a lopsided grin appearing on his face, “if you say no it’s fi—“

“no! i mean, yes!” i sigh, “i’m not saying no, i want— i want you to be my boyfriend.” you stammered out, as his nervous grin quickly turned to a cocky one to hide his urge to jump for joy, he stuck his hand farther out for you to take the flowers.

“okay.” he beamed, his cheeks turning a light pink.

you look up at him through your lashes, hiding a smile behind the bouquet in your hands.

march 17th

george was fed up with you and lockwood's little honeymoon phase, shoving you out the door making you two make a journey to arif’s for donuts.

it took you a lot longer than it needed to, walking as slow as possible that a few people had to walk around you, just basking in each other’s presence as you held hands, his thumb tracing over your knuckles.

“we should go for walks together more often.” he suggests, bumping shoulders against yours as you hum in response, grinning up at him.

reaching the steps of portland row, you hand him the box to reach into your pocket and grab your keys, not noticing him staring at your face, as he gave himself a pep talk in his head.

“um- before we go in.” he began, causing you to look up at him, freezing your actions of going to unlock the door, “can…”

you tilt your head at him, moving forward, “what’s wrong?”

“i just..” his eyes flickered to your lips, “i wanted to do it in a more romantic setting, but i really can’t help myself.” his voice lowered as he stared intensely down at you, “can i kiss you?”

he watched as your mouth curved up and your eyes sparkled staring at him, you began to nod eagerly as you brought your hands to his cheeks. his hand slid onto your back as he leaned towards you, meeting each other halfway as a soft kiss was placed to your lips. you could only imagine how red you were as you pulled him closer, deepening the kiss that was meant to have been a peck, but he didn’t decline, attempting to not drop the box of donuts in the awkward position.

but they did almost go flying as the door whipped open, revealing george narrowing his eyes at the two, “sickening.” he said, grabbing the donuts from lockwoods hands and slamming the door in your face.

april 20th

after a very long job, you couldn’t stand to go up one more set of steps to your and lucy’s shared room, feet aching leading you towards lockwoods bed, you quickly changed into a big t shirt he owned and flopped onto the bed. minutes later he joined you upstairs, shocked to see a body wrapped in his sheets, but he crawled in next to you, trying to ignore his red hot cheeks at just the thought of you sleeping in his bed.

but you were too tired to notice, too busy focusing on sleeping as a wave of tiredness took over you.

“g’night anthony.” you mumbled against his pillow, he propped himself up on his elbow, leaning over you to turn the light off, he stared down at you in awe before bringing a kiss to your temple.

“goodnight love.” he whispered, laying down next to you and draping his arm across your waist, pulling you closer to his chest.

after this, lucy got the room to herself most nights.

june 5th

lockwood and co had been busy lately, leaving your anniversary celebration a few days late.

it wasn’t a huge deal for you two, at least it wasn’t as big as a year, so you didn’t mind sitting on the roof, late at night staring at the stars, the only sounds being the wind whistling through your ears and the sound of lockwoods heartbeat through his chest while you laid on him.

you both needed a quiet moment after the hectic weeks you had, finding peace in each other's arms in such a scary world.

when his hand caressed your chin to turn it up towards him, you had expected for him to lean in to kiss you, but he just stayed staring at you, like you were a painting in a museum.

“what is it?” you whispered to him, nuzzling into his shoulder.

“just want to admire you a bit.” he says nonchalantly, taking notice of how it heats your cheeks, “it’s so easy to get lost in your eyes.”

you hit his chest, hiding your face in his neck flustered from his words as you giggle, but he just chuckles, pulling you away so he can look at you again, before leaning down to place a kiss to both your cheeks, you lips, just everywhere on your face, in between kisses muttering about how perfect you were.

“i love you.” he lets slip as he kisses your temple, freezing against you at the realization.

his lips pursed and eyes widened as your jaw dropped, his pupils dilated, waiting for a negative reaction, but he was pleasantly surprised when you beam up at him, whispering “i love you too.” before pulling him by his tie to meet your lips halfway.

august 23rd

the agency never had many free or calm nights, and even if you did it was usually spent with everyone trying to catch up on sleep.

but finally, after so much hard working the past year you all took the week off, leading to your first ever lockwood and co game night.

also the night that lucy learned lockwood physically could not live without you.

lucy and george sat on the armchairs in the living room, you and lockwood in the couch opposite to them as you rolled the dice of some board game you were playing. as lucy stole a biscuit, hiding it from george to see, she noticed the way lockwoods left hand just had to be touching you.

whether it rested on your back, held your hand, rested on your knee, it didn’t matter, his hand was always hovering over you.

she suddenly realized why george had been so disgusted seeing you two together all the time when you first started dating. don’t get them wrong, they loved you two together but lord, anthony was love sick.

you also brought out another side of him, he had his own smile and laugh reserved just for looking at you or laughing at something you said.

lucy didn’t have to hear lockwood say he loved you, it was written all over his face.

october 3rd

you were convinced he had forgotten.

sure, he was very busy lately but it was your 8 months and he didn’t even say happy anniversary. he instead sent you and lucy out to do errands all day.

lucy wasn’t happy to be guiding you around as you pouted and stayed eerily quiet with short responses.

but she tried to ignore your sad tone as she knew what awaited you at home.

“tell me luce!!” you begged, as you both got closer to home her smile brightened and she walked a little faster, “why are you so happy all of a sudden?”

“no reason!” she said, fumbling with the old lock on the door, once unlocked she reached into the bag and grabbed the book lockwood had asked you to pick up for george’s christmas present, “could you go put this in lockwood’s room?”

you groaned but nodded, shrugging your shoes off as you trudged up the creaky steps.

you sighed at the sight of light leaking out under the doorway, announcing he was in his room, and suddenly his gift in your pocket felt very heavy. you frowned before walking to the door, knocking lightly.

you were taken aback at the sound of him pouncing up from his bed and sprinting to his door, opening it only a crack so you could only see his eye.

“hi?” you muttered in confusion, brows stitched together, his eyes crinkled indicating he was smiling, as he ripped the door open.

“happy 8 months.” he breathed, revealing his bed.

your jaw dropped at the sight in front of you, his bed had been littered with letters and gifts for you, letters addressed to you for when you felt sad, or for certain holidays. your favorite chocolates laid in the arms of a teddy bear wearing a crown, he noticed as your eyes glazed over as you stepped into his room.

he met your side, taking the book from your hand to place on his dresser as he shut the door with his foot, his arms snaked around your waist and his chin rested on your shoulder, “m’sorry if i scared you, i wanted to surprise you.” he whispered, looking at you despite your eyes being glued to the bed.

“you- all this— for me?” your sentences were choppy as you tried to remember how to speak, your brain slowly turning to mush at how adorable the whole gesture was.

“of course, love.” he said, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder as he squeezed you closer.

“oh anthony, i love it.” you chuckled in disbelief, a few happy tears slipping onto your cheeks but he was quick to swipe them away, “i got— hold on.” you snapped back into reality, digging in your pocket for the present that had seemed so heavy earlier and now you couldn’t even find it.

suddenly you grabbed hold of the velvet box and pulled it out to reveal to him, “it-it’s not much i’m sorry.” you said, looking bad at the bed.

“you could have given me a kiss as my gift and i would have been perfectly fine.” he assured you, he spoke softly and his voice calmed you so easily your knees almost buckled.

your thoughts were interrupted as he snapped open the box, revealing a silver ring with A.L + your initials carved into it.

he said your name softly, admiring the ring as he slipped it onto his ring finger (not purposefully, but it didn’t stop your heart from beating faster.), “this is more than enough, it’s beautiful.” he said, beaming at you.

“i love you anthony.” you breathed, getting lost in his eyes as he admired you.

“i love you more.”

december 25th

anthony spoiled you enough throughout the relationship, despite getting told off by george for the times you really couldn’t afford it. you didn’t think it was possible for him to find you anymore things to buy or write for you, until christmas.

you all agreed to keep it small, the four of your curled up in the living room playing games and opening small gifts.

and that’s how it went, everyone gave each other a gift or two, and you played games all night, the house echoing with loud laughter when lockwood got caught cheating, or lucy performed a victory dance that almost involved her falling and taking the christmas tree down with her.

it wasn’t shocking that as soon as you yawned and announced you were going to bed that lockwood quickly followed your footsteps, guiding you to sleep in his room instead of the attic with lucy, not that you were complaining.

as you changed into pajamas (aka his t shirt) he ran downstairs to grab you a glass of water, no harm by it right?

so you got comfortable under the covers, fiddling with the hem of the duvet as you heard him climb the staircase.

he wore a cheeky smile as he stood next to you as you lay in the bed, your eyes narrowing as he passed you the water.

“why are you smiling like that?” you asked, biting back your own grin from the nervous look on his face. your thirst long forgotten as you put the cup on your bedside table and sat up, urging him to admit his secrets.

all he did was kneel on the ground which had you very confused, slightly taken aback as you studied him.

until he pulled out three wrapped boxes from under the bed, plopping them in your lap, “merry christmas.”

“anthony.” you gasped at him, adjusting your posture, “what is this?”

“gifts.”

“obviously they are gifts.” you stated, as he chuckled, “i mean why are they here? there is no way we can afford this.”

“i pulled some strings.”

“i hate when you say that.”

“just open them!” he urged.

you rolled his eyes as his eyes lit up in excitement. the first box contained a pair of shoes you had been obsessing over for months, causing a proud smile on his anthony’s face as he sat next to you on the bed as you gasped.

the next box contained two books that lockwood already owned.

“i know i said i would read these but i meant your copies! we cannot afford to be buying books we already own.” you scolded, your jaw dropping.

“relax!” he said, his arm sliding between your back and the pillow, his hand resting on your waist, “they are the ones i own, i just wanted to be fancy and romantic.” he explained, smirking as you roll your eyes again.

“you are something else.”

the third present was smaller than the rest, tearing it open to reveal a box with a necklace inside, you gasped as you realized the pendent hanging to the necklace was in fact a locket, and as you opened it, it revealed a tiny photo of you and anthony that lucy had taken the day of your and lockwood's first date. it was so small that you had to squint your eyes, but despite the blurriness you were able to depict that it had been taken from the second floor window, you and anthony hand in hand as you returned home, wide grins on your faces.

“anthony…” you breathed, the metal of the necklace was shining into your eyes due to the light hitting off it, but you found yourself unable to tear your vision away.

“don’t say we can’t afford it, because i don’t care.” he states, “i want to spoil you.”

reluctantly you look away from the jewelry in your hand to look at him, “i love it.”

before he could respond you tackled him into a hug, peppering kisses all over his face, muttering about how amazing he was as you tried to stop yourself from crying. he just smiled, finally catching your lips with his as you sat over him on the bed.

“i love you.” you whispered against his lips, before you could go back to deepening the kiss he started speaking.

“i don’t think i could live without you.” he said softly, you pulled your head back to get a better look at him, expression softening as his arms wrapped around your back, “i love you more.”

“yeah, not possible.” you responded, causing him to laugh out, but he was quickly distracted with the urge to kiss you again.

#sienna’s fics #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood fluff #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood and co fic #fluff #established relationship #cameron chapman

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novelizt · 5 months

Text

EXPECTO PATRONUM II ☁︎ ANTHONY LOCKWOOD

GENRE ➺ HOGWARTS AU [slytherin! lockwood x fem! ravenclaw! reader]. rivals to lovers (and a dash of 'everyone knows but them'). fluff and angst.

WC ➺ 17.4k

SYNOPSIS ➺ after a six year rivalry with lockwood, your patronus suddenly matches his when it didn't before.

DISCLAIMER ➺ reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood. appearance of harry potter next gen characters and a few ocs. lockwood calls reader 'sweetheart' and 'dearest vexation', (+'my girl). prefect! lockwood. jessica lockwood lives!! (i also headcanon him being a cunning-flirt, so lockwood might read slightly ooc.)

WARNINGS ➺ strained family dynamics (for reader). boggarts, and a lot of unpolished dialogue. QUILL KIPPS. blood and injuries (tending to wounds). mentions of kids and marriage at the end.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

In true Slytherin and Gryffindor fashion, neither of the boys hesitated. Lockwood swung a hex at you. You deflected with a basic protego. He advanced, closing the distance to aim better.

On the other side, Daria flung offensive spells at James. She managed to cast levicorpus on him. He hung upside down, chained in the air. That didn't dampen the flames of his spirit. He threw more charms and jinxes at her. She responded just as quickly.

You almost lost sight of Lockwood before he casted an impressive disillusionment charm on himself. He melted into the background as your blood rushed. You opened your senses and spun revelios in attempt to unveil him.

James's feet found the floor thanks to Lockwood, and the Potter striked a petrificus totalus back at Daria. Instead of turning his attention on you, James nodded to the air and sat like his part was done. He was heaving but smirking.

The hairs on your neck rose and you turned to dodge a stupefy the still disillusioned Lockwood slung at you. You could only hear your breathing and your shoes tapping.

Every hair on your body stood as paranoia sunk in. You're tempted to give up, but you remembered who you were up against and regained your resolve.

You backed against one side of the cage, leaving three directions he could come at you from. In that position, he couldn't catch you from behind.

You'd obviously underestimated Lockwood's growth. The last time you saw him cast a spell as impressive as his disillusionment was the sleeping trance charm he used on the dragon. He used your lack of knowledge against you and you were both impressed and frightened by it.

You remind yourself that you were a Ravenclaw, one of the most highly acclaimed students under Professor Flitwick and the brightest witch of your age.

Everytime you won against Lockwood, it was because you were using your head. Then, it finally clicked for you.

You held out your wand and went on a limb as you spoke, "Accio Prefect Badge."

You heard a gasp to your left and spun your wand to cast revelio. Lockwood's face appeared, speeding towards you, left hand trying to remove the badge he often boasted about. You couldn't help but smile, raising your wand, ready to cast.

His wand rose to rival yours. You heard the beginnings of an explosion spell before adjusting yourself.

Your hand was furious and your lips moved at a speed you didn't know was possible. The beginnings of his firework charm surged towards you before the sound was cut off by the crippling noise akin to metal meeting metal.

The explosion was engulfed by silvery light. It swallowed the flames until all that remained was your patronus.

They say the devil's in the details, and you forgot about one in particular detail. Your smile faded as a silence befell the room.

Your patronus had stayed a crane. Its wings, pearlescent and broad as it hovered, a carbon copy of Lockwood's.

There was static in your ears. Your face drained of colour and your heart plummeted to your stomach.

The patronus's glow casted a faint veil between you and Lockwood. He looked back at you with a shocked but not surprised expression. Neither of you expected James to raise his wand and stupefy you.

—

Everything was all black for a while. You had no dreams. Yet, somewhere in the void, you began to hear giggles, familiar and chilling.

"Come on now," one spoke.

"Stumped by a stupefy!" another added, this one more energetic.

"And by Jamesie, no less."

"Potters are trouble," the other tutted.

The first gasped. "I saw her lids twitch!"

"We know you're awake already."

You cracked your eyes open, and, sure enough, you're greeted by two golden-haired rascals; Lorcan and Lysander Scamander.

Three years your juniors, they were Ravenclaw's notorious twins who were known to be as caring as they were mischievous.

Your throat dried, your neck stiffened, and you wished the duel was all a dream. You tried to sit up, to no avail.

Lorcan jumped into action, helping you up by propping a pillow behind you whilst Lysander passed you a cup of water. It wasn't spiked with anything, you pleasantly discovered. You finished the whole glass in one fell swoop.

When you shifted to return the glass to the bedside table, you felt a tug on your opposite arm and nearly jumped when you spotted curls of brown crushing your hand. He was slouched but there was no mistaking that resting sad face.

No wonder the twins were so smiley.

You turned to them. "How long has he been here?"

"Asking about him first?" Lorcan grinned.

Lysander cupped his chin. "That's awfully un-rival-like of you."

"Hush. Just tell me."

"Since you asked," Lorcan said with an attitude.

"Tony's been here since lunch," Lysander answered. You laxed. That wasn't so bad, it couldn't have been too long.

"Lunchtime yesterday," Lorcan corrected.

Your soul departed from your body.

"He would have come sooner if Madame Pomfrey didn't keep you under intensive care," Lysander continued, as if that was any better. "No visitors until she deemed you stable enough."

"He's very stubborn, you know."

"I think she knows, Lorcan."

"And you let him?" You kept your voice down but your tone was a borderline shriek.

"He wouldn't let up." Lorcan shrugged.

"Professor Flitwick said the best we could do is bring you two food and drink," Lysander backed up.

Your jaw loosened at the news. "The professors allowed this?"

The pressure on your hand lightened. Your lips smacked shut as Lockwood said, "I'm their best student, they let me do anything."

Say something smart, you told yourself. It's the only right reaction to an egoistic comment like that, but your mental function ceased at the rasp in his voice. His very, very groggy voice that made you feel like you've been hit by lightning.

One hand rested on yours while his other arm lazily held up his head. He looked like he was about to fall asleep again, yet, he looked like he hadn't slept at the same time. Gray swooped under his eyes, he turned more gaunt than the last time you saw him...

Goodness, the last time you saw him. Heat crawled up your neck.

The patronus. The crane, his crane. Now yours, too.

He knows.

The Scamander twins were on the same wavelength because Lorcan hopped onto an empty square of your bed and asked, "So... is it true?"

Lysander crossed his arms and placed them on the bed. "Did your patronus really change?"

"Did it?" Lockwood asked, just to drive the fact home. Though tired, he did that smirk-smile that you've committed to memory.

You blamed your near internal decapitation for your unaligned state of mind. You answered quietly, "It did."

Lorcan and Lysander exchanged looks. Bright-eyed, like they had just discovered a Fantastic Beast of their own. They both leaned toward you, forcing you to lean toward Lockwood to retain some of your personal bubble. He didn't mind, he even squeezed your hand to reassure you.

"How did it happen?"

"What was it before?"

"Did it happen consciously?"

"Did someone cause it to change?"

You didn't know which twin was speaking, their lips were moving at the same time. You processed their words before answering. "It just did. It was a giraffe. No, I didn't expect it to change at all. And I don't know."

The last answer wasn't really a lie. Lockwood didn't do anything special, but your patronus was now miraculously connected to his. He was involved somehow. You would be grasping at straws if you didn't consider your earlier adventures to be the catalyst.

Lorcan and Lysander had a whispery discussion while you drowned in your reverie. When they decided that they were sated with your answers, they waved you goodbye. You faintly hear a muttering of George's name and it all made sense.

George had sent the twins to gather intel because he knew you could never say no to them. That, or he was still upset at you over being dragged into the anti-Amortentia scheme. The bugger.

You sat up despite your aching head, but surrendered the moment Lockwood brushed a finger over your knuckles. It's odd to give in so quickly, but it was too late to go back on it.

Your eyes shifted to him and, just like before, his were already on you. A smile formed on his lips but it wasn't your favourite one. He gave you a tight-lipped grin that matched the ashen grey under his eyes.

"You were stupefied," he said.

You rolled your eyes and pretended not to see his smile grow. The weirdo missed seeing it.

"Unfortunately," he continued. "You had backed yourself too close to Professor's cage. The stupefy basically bludgeoned your skull against the cage and the protective spells sent you in the opposite direction."

Just hearing the technicalities made you grimace. You remained grateful he didn't mention Madam Pomfrey's methods of fixing you up. If you had broken your skull, you wanted to be ignorant of it. Lockwood understood your dread and kept the rest of the details to himself.

That still didn't answer the question that's been at the forefront of your mind. "Why are you here?"

He sucked in an audible breath, eyes wandering. Classic evasive Lockwood move. You already knew he was going to respond with a lie.

"Because I owe you one," he said.

You mastered the art of stoicism, but that didn't take away from the fact that it was harder to practise that time around.

"You don't owe me a thing," you replied, coughing away the dejection that bled into your voice. "We're even. The Romanian Longhorn incident, remember?"

"How could I forget?" He smiled at the floor. Another swipe over your knuckles that sent you into orbit. "But I would have been spell-bound for the rest of my life if you hadn't intervened."

Years—That's how long you'd been avoiding his eyes and how his emotions swam in them, but now, you couldn't convince your angel and devil to look away. Honey in a bottle eyes pried open so raw you physically felt the weight of his words, and then the shackles of your own guilt.

It clawed at your throat, coiling its gangly fingers around your windpipe and choking you until your fears were forced out. "You were spell-bound because of me."

He responded with a frigid laugh. "Are you kidding me?"

Your brows furrowed. "No? Why would I kid about something like this? You were under the influence of Amortentia. It's not the first time a tragedy had come from its misuse. Have we not learned from the story of Vol—"

The cold bit at you as he disentangled his hand from yours, pushing himself back to see you in full. "This is not about the moral of the story or what could've happened. Why are you blaming yourself?" He scoffed. "Sweetheart, you're not the one who tricked me. Some nutter did."

"Listen here," you gave a despondent sigh, crossing your arms and distancing yourself by pressing your back into the pillow. "She wouldn't have done that if you hadn't... been so fixed on me."

"Sorry, is that a sin?" He couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Fancying someone that isn't her isn't a crime. You didn't do anything to hurt me. What she did was the making of her own evils."

"Fancying? Lockwood– Nevermind that. She said—"

"You value her word over mine?"

"No!" Your heart clenched, your mind raced. "Merlin, no. I just mean that you would be better off without me."

Lockwood never looked so frustrated before. Not at you, at least. He pressed his lips together, fists on his hips as he paced.

Your eyes followed in wait. There's not much else you could say. You'd let the biggest resident of your mind go in that one exchange. You didn't take into account how anxious it would make you to see him react.

He stopped, as did your heart. You sat up straighter when he let his arms fall to his sides.

"You are the most despicable woman I have ever met," he said in one breath.

You had a lot to say about that. You were offended, humiliated, and humbled all at once. Yet, he didn't let you say a thing until he finished.

"And I could easily choose some other lovely lady who doesn't give me a migraine every time I speak to them, but I can't. Because I've been taken by you the moment you called me a twat for mistaking a llama and camel even though I am the raised as a muggle between us." He stole a breath to replenish his air. "And I try to make you understand that there is no getting rid of me, but your lack of awareness is equivalent of my lack of failure—"

You rolled your eyes at that and he cracked a smile.

"And if I had to guess, it would take about a million years and triple that of worshipping before I get you to understand that I am hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you; But I'm already aware, and I'm going to spend all of my mortal years trying, and then spend the rest of our reincarnations doing that over and over just so I can be yours. Don't even try to stop me, sweetheart. You know I never give up."

Your cheeks hurt from trying to repress a smile.

"Come on," Lockwood coaxed. "No need to be shy. You can smile, sweetheart."

And so, you did. But you didn't expect the waterworks to begin.

Salty tears slid down your cheeks and into your mouth. You tried to wipe them away to preserve the rest of your dignity in the face of Anthony Lockwood but it was for naught.

Your breath hitched as your chest constricted, but it's the first time you cried tears of joy. You couldn't help but laugh amidst the pain.

Years of trying to prove yourself to your family. Years trying to meet ungodly expectations just to earn your place at their table—they return to you at the same moment. You cried for every minute you fought for a modicum of love from people who preferred pride, all while Lockwood was right there. You didn't see it until he spelled it out for you.

Lockwood washed away the shattering memories with every swipe that dried your tears, then quelled the rest of your fears as his arms came around you.

He held you fast against him. "I hate to say it, but I love the way you keep my feet on the ground. Snarky attitude and all," he said.

Your head hurt from both the injury and the crying, but you'd never felt so seen, so loved.

It was pure instinct to try and hit him. That time, he let you. Your fist met his chest with a dull thud.

"Would you look at that," he chuckled against your hair. "You got me."

He earned a soft laugh from you, and you didn't see it, but he smiled your favourite smile.

You got him in more ways than one.

—

If you admonished one thing, it was whispering behind your back. The likelihood for people to do just that tripled since the patronus business got out.

You and Lockwood, renowned for butting heads at any given opportunity, had the same patronus. They were studying magic. Of course they knew what that meant.

In the recent days, you'd taken to hiding in the confines of the library. If not, you'd be tucking yourself in your room behind a good novel.

Lockwood had taken up the same hobbies.

You pulled a book out of its space to examine the cover, just to double take and peer between the space it left behind. You'd recognise that smirk anywhere. Only Lockwood would pose all suave against a shelf like that.

He smirked. "Like what you see?"

"I don't know. An ogre is covering a pretty, rebound version of Hogwarts, A History."

He laughed all dashingly then closed the book he pretended to read. He came closer, setting his forearm on the shelf.

"I open my heart to you and you wound me. You are a cruel, cruel woman."

"If you didn't like that about me, you would have handed your heart to someone else."

"Have I told you how much I love your feistiness?"

You cheeks strained from holding back a smile. "Bugger off."

He looked thoughtful for a moment, then duly decided to drop the act. "I don't feel like being obedient today. Come with me?"

You squinted at him. "Where?"

"It's a secret. Why, you scared, smart girl?"

You pursed your lips, miffed. "Please. You're the bigger pansy between the two of us."

His smile stretched. "Prove it."

"I will."

You returned the book to its place, locking Lockwood out of view. You heard his laugh and stifled yours as he was reprimanded by Madam Pince.

—

Calling Lockwood a danger magnet was putting it lightly. The man actively sought out danger like it was weaved into his state of being.

Somebody had to keep him in check, and some Higher Being had chosen you to be his keeper. So, there you found yourself, at the margins of the Forbidden Forest in the belly of the night.

"If I die, I want a special coffin in the likely event that my corpse leaps out and strangles yours."

"Sweetheart," Lockwood set his hand between your shoulders, easing you forward. "I'd be torn to bits before I ever let anything touch a hair on your head."

"Very reassuring."

He poked his head over your shoulder just to flash you a smile. "I know."

He chuckled as you shoved his face away.

Even if you were braced in your warmest cloak, the chill of being at the thresh of such a foreboding precinct of Hogwarts was overwhelming. It was like being face to face with a Roman Longhorn, except there were more than two eyes on you. You could already see their glowing irises peering at you behind the foliage.

They scrambled for the dark when Lockwood had casted lumos, lighting up the dirt path ahead. He eased his arm over your shoulder, squeezing you to him, before trudging on.

"What are we looking for?" you whispered. In your mind, the less creatures that knew you were ever in the Forbidden Forest, the better.

Students were punished to walk through the very path you were on, and here you and Lockwood stood, walking it on your own volition. Your reason for being there was to prove an arrogant Slytherin wrong, but you were walking the path regardless.

It took a moment for Lockwood to answer. He was already looking between the branches. "Promise you won't behead me if I tell you."

"I would behead you even if I did promise."

His lip quirked. "A spitfire as always."

You feigned politeness. "May I know now, please?"

"Since I'm doomed either way, I won't tell you that we're on the hunt for a unicorn."

Your feet dug into the dirt, halting Lockwood in his path. Disbelief written on your face. "A unicorn?!"

"Well, 'hunt' is an abrasive word. I suppose 'find' is a more apt verb—"

You slapped his chest, and he turned to you with a grin so blinding it outdid the lumos.

You motioned to the vast forest ahead. "Spotting one is as likely as becoming friends with a centaur."

"It isn't impossible," he quipped, as if that would inspire you.

"Lockwood," You pinched the bridge of your nose and exhaled, expelling all your murder ideations in the same breath. "You are as reckless as a Gryffindor."

"I take full offence. Gryffindors rush in with no clear goal. I, on the contrary, have a remarkable one."

You gave him the benefit of the doubt. "What would this 'remarkable' goal be?"

He was the picture of youth as he smiled. "To fulfil a childhood dream."

The nuance was lost on you. You trusted him to not have done something so particularly stupid.

He tapped your chin. "Why the face? You're the one who drew them all over your notebook."

You reeled. "Me? When?"

He looked dumbfounded. "When we met. You threw the whole notebook at me, remember?"

It dawned on you slowly. The cogs finally clicked into place, and you shoved him, just for him to catch your hand and grin.

"You remember it now?" he mused.

He let your hands fall between you, refusing to let you go.

Your cheeks warmed. "That was six years ago. Rowena knows where that notebook is now! I haven't drawn a unicorn since third-year Care of Magical Creatures."

He reclaimed his spot by your side, throwing his arm around you once more. "It's a testament to my impeccable memory."

"Your memory won't help if we're torn apart by rogue beasts," you chastised.

You expected a response. A real, apologetic response. But you watched as his eyes fell over your shoulder and simply stared instead.

You scoffed at him. "You are terrible—"

He cupped a hand over your mouth. "Shh!"

"Woat aye you loofing at?" You shook your head, freeing your mouth. "What are you looking at?"

A smile teased at his lips as he pointed over your shoulder. The glow at the end of his wand died, making the presence of the very real, very majestic unicorn prominent. Its coat shined like it was made of moonlight. You almost forgot to breathe as you watched it with the intrigue of a tyke.

Lockwood was much closer than before. His whispers loud in your ears. "Breathe, sweetheart. Can't have you fainting on me now."

You breathed a laugh then snapped to cover your own mouth. The creature craned its head around, allowing you to glimpse midnight blue eyes before it galloped into the trees. A short but worthwhile encounter.

Lockwood tugged on your arm, bringing you back to the present and leading you out of the forest.

You're still at a loss of words when you glimpsed his triumphant smile. "Not impossible," he reiterated.

You're on the brink of a laugh as you agreed, "Not impossible."

As you broke into safer forest, you realised that night wasn't over. Not for Lockwood, at least. His hand slipped down your arm before he twined his fingers with yours.

His smile brightened when you adjusted your grip to hold him tighter.

"We have one more stop before we succumb to sleep," he told you, leading you through the clearing.

Your curiosity grew as you passed Hagrid's hut. "Somewhere within Hogwarts, I hope. At this point, I find it plausible that you're scheming to sneak out to Hogsmeade."

A metaphorical lightbulb blinked above him. "Not yet, but that is a brilliant idea."

"There isn't a moment of peace when you're involved."

His fingers ghosted over your knuckles. It affected you more than you cared to show.

"Sweetheart, we both know we're susceptible to boredom when it's too quiet."

"I suppose," you hummed.

You did enjoy the cracks in the silence being filled by intelligent squabble or nonsensical arguments. But only if they involved one audacious Slytherin.

Your thoughts turned to static as torchlight began to cast a golden glow in the grass. This clearing was the opposite of empty. Torches and cages inflated where the air should have been. What fit in the cages were what stole the air from your lungs.

Lockwood was absolutely joyed that your first reaction was the dropping of your jaw.

The cages were filled by dragons. Luckily, asleep. The same ones that were supposed to be there for educational purposes.

You heard that they were on the loom for being transported back to Romania, but you never thought that they were being kept this close to the castle.

Lockwood led you by the hand, further between the cages. They shrunk in size until you were at the end of the line, facing a chillingly familiar face.

You laid a hand against the grainy bars, close but not too close to admire the sleeping beast. "The juvenile Romanian..."

Lockwood stared down at the nameplate welded against the bars. "Her name's Gorgonzola."

"She's named after a cheese?"

Lockwood chuckled. You felt the shake of his shoulder through your linked hands. "We were almost wiped out by aged dairy."

"It's a good thing we quelled her then." You nudged his side, and he nudged you right back. "Now, we're able to admire her without the impending threat of death."

"If that incident hadn't occurred, you would still hate me," he chuckled. It came out soulless.

You were taken aback. You weren't his biggest fan, but it would be too dire to say you hated him.

"Lockwood, I wouldn't hate you."

"Well," he downplayed the frown in his tone. "we wouldn't be friends."

You turned to face him. The toes of your shoes bumping his. He looked up, surprise evident in his eyes. You were so close, he could see his own reflection in your eyes.

His eyes followed every movement of your mouth. "Sulking over a version of us that doesn't even exist, snake boy?"

The edges of his lips upturned. "Just considering the possibilities, sweetheart."

You recognised that spark of mischief anywhere. You only had yourself to blame when he'd closed the distance even more.

"Besides," He cupped your cheek, drawing you closer. His fingers tickled the underside of your ear while his thumb brushed your cheek. "I like this reality better."

I do, too, you intended to say, but the words died on your tongue. Your lips parted as he inched closer and closer. Honesty lulling you together.

You felt his lips land on the corner of yours, teasing. You hummed in dismay before he drew away, leaning in to finally—

"Hey! What are you two doing here?" The dragon's caretaker, most likely. By the sound of it, he wasn't happy to see two miscreant students skulking around.

Lockwood bit his tongue, holding back the urge to call out and tell them to shove off just so he had a moment to kiss you—but the look on your face sobered him quickly.

You didn't have the luxury of being involved in trouble as he did. Your family would know if you got into trouble. The dominos would fall, and a sad you was the kind of thing Lockwood casted spells to avoid.

He tightened his hold on your hand. "We'll get back to this," he promised.

You nodded firmly, holding onto him with the same intensity.

Though the moment was left behind, Lockwood clung to the vision of your eyes fluttering shut. Your lovelorn face seared into the back of his mind, keeping him up all night.

—

You didn't know where you and Lockwood stood at that moment in time. You were walking the line between more than friends, less than lovers. Wherever your feet were, you realised you had a lot to make up for.

If he caught you at the right time, you might just blurt out that you loved him, too. You'd been fortunate enough to have the restraint to keep your confession contained.

The thought of telling him felt like bearing your soul. You were unprepared for it. But there were new ambitions that stirred in your thawing heart. They all centred around one, Anthony Lockwood.

You tried to be subtle, but in Lockwood's eyes, you were as subtle as a gun.

You remained your verbally abrasive self (how he found it enamoring eluded you), but you picked up the habit of awarding him with a kiss on the cheek when he drapes an arm over your shoulders. He's yet to brace himself and melts every time.

In the same time frame, you magically found a way to duplicate your notes so he didn't have to hurt his hands to write them.

His hands were perfectly fine. Lockwood said you're insane for it, but you replied with, "have I ever been sane?"

To that he'd shake his head and smile a smile that encompasses a million confessions.

On another morning, a gaggle of first-years delivered a gift box of his favourite knacks from Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes and Honeydukes sweets. They told him it was from an anonymous benefactor but one look up and his eagle eyes spotted your poorly done disillusionment charm.

He thanked the kids with a smile and sent them off just so he could tap your disillusioned arse as he passed, then had the gall to chuckle at your yelp.

The rest of Hogwarts progressively became aware of the development. Professor McGonagall purposely seated you apart. Professor Flitwick did the opposite. Professor Longbottom occasionally tipped off ideas like hiding spots and locations with a view.

Even Peeves seemed to be aware that you were unofficially an item. To your utmost surprise, the poltergeist took it easy on you.

Your shenanigans began to pay back Lockwood's six years of unnoticed pining. The man of the hour appreciated them but his heart could not take that much affection. Realistically, it could, but he never passed up an opportunity to be dramatic about it. Especially when he caught sight of you in his colours.

It was the last Quidditch match of the year—his final match as a student of Hogwarts; Gryffindor versus Slytherin.

He wholly expected to see you among your housemates, sporting the deep blue you looked so good in or even in red, just to spite him, but his heart stalled when he spotted you in steal-his-heart green.

He knew it was you even from miles away because you were sporting his number and wearing his jersey. The very jersey you said you'd never wear, you wore with a smile so bright it makes the cloudy skies part just for you.

He was just about ready to abandon his broom when you blew a cheeky kiss his way.

"Lockwood!" his teammate called urgently.

Lockwood begrudgingly looked away. He leaned into his broom to chase the Snitch, but he couldn't pry his eyes away from you for too long.

At the tail end of the game, the Snitch hovered right in front of you. You stared at it while Lockwood lunged for it, catching it in his palm and (un)covertly planting a kiss on your cheek.

It sent the stands into uproar and secured another win for Slytherin. He pointed to you as his team threw him up on their shoulders.

—

"You–" He snatched you from your path, beguiling you behind a fluted column. "–are unbelievable."

You smirked when you whirled to face him, resting an arm over his shoulder. The other against his forearm—and you chuckled when you felt him flex his arm to impress you. He couldn't help but smile.

His nose bumped yours, taunting. Judging by the way you raised your head to follow, you wanted the same thing he did.

Unfortunately for you, he was still Lockwood. He pulled his head back to coax that scowl from you. It sent him back to the first time he'd seen that look on your face. The weight of the world lightened every time he saw it.

You're not one to sulk, or beg, or admit you want something. Of course, you changed the topic. "Congratulations on the win, Captain."

"Captain? I like the sound of that." He did his best to remain chivalrous, but the thought of slipping his hands under your—his—jersey to caress your bare waist was meddlesome. It was tempting, and he barely fought the urge by drawing circles over the shirt instead. "Call me captain again, sweetheart."

You must be getting back at him. He had no other explanation for the rapturous grin on your face. "You're being too kind . . . I'm never going to call you that again."

"You are cruel, have I told you that before?"

You laughed, and he felt your breath on his neck. He found it reasonable to assume you're experienced in torturing boys who are in love with you. He clamped his lips when you graced him with a kiss on his chin. So close yet so far. "You love that about me though."

His fingers dug into your sides, keeping you to him even when you tried to pull away. Your fox grin only grew, confirming that you were torturing him on purpose.

He was immediately pardoned from guilt. He slid his hands down, and then up; touching your skin with chilled fingers. His smile reached his eyes as your mouth parted for a gasp.

"I do," he said, playing along and kissing the corner of your lip. "I'm forever harrowed by the very thought of you."

His form of play is quickly dispatched once his eyes meet yours. The mischief died away, leaving something deeper. More amorous. Yearning.

"Anthony..." It's but a whisper, but his fingers grappled to feel more of your skin. You felt them at the curve of your ribs, holding you with the prudence reserved for a fragile thing.

He drew you closer, as if the proximity of your mouths weren't enough to sate his cravings. "Say my name like that again."

"Anthony," you mused.

You're flush to him. If you were any closer, you'd feel his smirk against you, on your lips or your skin. You weren't picky.

His voice dropped to a lower register. "Yes, sweetheart?"

You lifted yourself on your toes. You met his eyes, but they travelled to his lips with intent. His eyes fluttered shut, transfixed on your smell, your hand tangling into his hair, your breath fanning his lip—everything. You drew closer and closer. He almost tasted the satisfaction of finally kissing–

"You better not be snogging behind there!" Kat Godwin, the dementor in disguise. Now, the person you wished to throw into the Black Lake.

You groaned and rocked back. Lockwood held on to your waist, closing the distance and allowing himself the reprieve of pressing his forehead against yours.

"We'll come back to this."

"Third time's the charm," you hoped.

His pulse raced as you snaked your hands up his torso, bracing your hands on his chest. If he didn't love you so much, he would have felt betrayed for the way you shoved him into the open.

"Anthony Lockwood," Godwin tutted. "I should have known..."

He glanced back at you, glimpsed your smile, and decided that he liked you too much to be mad.

He turned back to Godwin with a smirk. "I'm positive I saw a roach run through here." His lip twitched when her eyes darted down the hall.

Lockwood watched you book it for the opposite hall, ducking out of sight and escaping trouble. You blew a kiss before you turned the corner and he found that he didn't mind being your scapegoat.

—

Lockwood was aware that your beauty and brains could charm even the deadest of hearts. Some days, he wished you didn't have the magnetism you did. He dreaded every second watching that Gryffindor boy scamper up to you, a rose in hand.

Lockwood wasn't one to be mean up close, but he found glaring from a distance to be fair game.

You looked up from your book, innocent and unknowing, with a smile made for a princess. You turned the lion boy away, of course. You didn't even glance at the Gryffindor boy's love offering. The sad chap went off to wallow on his own.

Your head turned at the sound of Lockwood's footsteps. A smile coming to you before he even reached you.

"Hello, snake boy."

Lockwood didn't dawdle. "He was chatting you up."

"You were watching?"

"It's hard to miss trollop."

Amusement danced in your eyes. He forgot how gracious you were when he was caught up in his own mind-matter.

You shifted to the side and patted the spot next to you. Like a puppet on a string, he sat. Leaving no space between you, his arm flushed against yours.

"You're jealous," you said, with a lot more merriment than he expected from you.

His brows furrowed. "He's a twat. I'm just glad you had the sense to turn him away."

You crossed your legs and set your hands on your lap, exuding confidence that made him forget his own name. "So, you are jealous."

"Indefinitely," he said mindlessly.

"My poor serpent boy," you cooed sympathetically.

Your hands found his cheeks, and he had no reason to complain. He even nuzzled into your hold.

"You're never this touchy in public," he muttered, appreciating the closeness. He dipped his head to plant a gracious kiss on your palm.

You spoke like the action didn't rile you up. "I know someone adores me enough to be jealous of a boy I don't even know."

You felt his smile against your hand. Yours grew.

He planted one more kiss on your other palm before he drew himself away. He fought the urge to lean down and steal your first kiss right then and there because he had something much more fitting planned for you.

"I know you hate breaking rules but this is the last time I'm coaxing you to, I promise."

"I don't believe that for a second, but if you're so convinced, I don't see why I shouldn't be involved."

He turned your hand, placing a kiss on your knuckle. "The Astronomy Tower, after hours."

"Are you mad? The Astronomy Tower has special protection charms on it's doors."

Lockwood was mischief personified with a grin like that. "Have you no faith in me? I swear by Merlin's name, by the time you sneak out, I'll have the door open for you. I am a gentleman, after all."

It was glaringly obvious that you lost your ability to say 'no' to him.

—

You'd become acquainted with the darkest halls in your recent trysts with Lockwood. You would be lying if you said you weren't sceptical this time around.

The Astronomy Tower, a heavily guarded place following the murder of the previous Headmaster, was Lockwood's idea of a good time.

It was no easy feat to get in, especially when it was dark out and the charms were upped for maximum protection.

You let the glow from your wand guide you through the halls. Once you made it to the base of the stairs, you're greeted by the sight of Lockwood. Suave and plucked from your dreams, he kicked off the wall and pushed the door open with ease. All while wearing your favourite smile. You could have kissed him senseless.

He bowed at the waist, flourishing a hand at the open walkway. "Ladies first."

"You are... unbelievable. You actually did it."

He held his palm out towards you, like an invitation to dance. "Did you ever have a doubt?"

"For a moment," you admitted, placing your hand in his.

"Anything is possible, if you have enough nerve." He punctuated his statement by kissing your knuckle, his eyes never leaving yours. He was luring you in, and it was working. "Shall we?"

You nodded, allowing him to guide you up the stairs, passed the landing before you set foot on the observation deck. The gold accents of the room shone, even in moonlight. The books that filled the shelves vibrated, like they were dying to open themselves and unleash the knowledge they held, and the skyline ceiling was so brilliant, you could reach up and feel it against your skin.

If you spoke the want to touch a star, you had no doubt Lockwood would take a shot in the dark just to make it happen.

"Don't look at the books, sweetheart. Look at me."

"But the books are so pretty."

He grinned, holding back the urge to say something cliché. You could guess what it was.

Instead, he said, "Plenty of time for them later. I have to show you something."

He guided you to the balcony, the night's chill amplifying the feel of his warm hands on yours. It was getting hard to act like your heart wasn't jumping for joy.

The wind tousled your hair, the stars dotted the sky, and Anthony Lockwood made everything look so much brighter.

He rounded until your back was against his chest, pulling you in until you felt the thrum of his heart against your shoulder. Arms wound around you to shield you from the bite of frost than rolled in now that winter was one step through the door.

You found that his pulse was just as eratic as yours. Fervent in every sense of the word.

You'd never been in this position with anyone. The proximity was jarring, but it was welcomed nonetheless. You laxed into him, and he eased into you.

You weren't paying attention to the view as you hummed. "This is nice."

"I know... I was waiting until you didn't want to decapitate me to bring you here."

You turned your body to rest your cheek on his shoulder. "It's not my fault you're insufferable."

"Is that truly your favourite word to describe me? I hear it plenty."

"You tell me, serpent boy. I don't remember every little thing about myself."

"Remembering the little things about you is my job, thank you very much."

You felt the rumble of his laugh through his chest, reminiscent of a cat's purr of contentment. It took everything in you not to bring it up.

All whilst Lockwood was trying to keep himself together. Anything that involved you took a lot of restraint on his part.

Unexpectedly, you broke the silence. Your voice, the song of a lark in the night. "Have I ever told you how much I appreciate you?"

"No, I don't think you have." He hated to put a distance between you but he wanted to see your lips make the words as you said it. "Go on and tell me."

He memorised the way your smile reached your eyes and the softness of your brightened cheeks as the stars reflected in your eyes. You'd always been beautiful, but you were vibrant now. He liked to think he had something to do with it.

"I don't hate the way you know me better than I know myself."

He cracked a smile, cupping your cheek with the tenderness one reserves for their most precious thing. "Come on, you're more eloquent than that, sweetheart."

Your smile widened, and you melted into his palm. "If the world allowed it, I'd like to go back and return every stolen glance, every missed confession, and every chance we lost to be friends sooner."

His cheeks hurt from withholding a smile. "We can move past our regrets. Besides, aspirations have changed. I don't just want to be friends anymore, sweetheart." His thumb swiped against your cheek, printing the image of you into his memory. "I want to be your life's confidant, your harbinger of hope, your worst nightmare, and the object of your dreams. I want to be everything to you, because you are already everything to me."

Of course, he had to outdo you in words.

“Cheesy...” you teased.

His thumb travelled down the curve of your cheek, flitting over the plush of your lips. It took everything not to steal you away as you pressed your delicate lips against the pad of his thumb, like his confession didn't have to be returned in words.

And you didn't seem to be looking for words at all. Your hands found his lapels. With a sharp tug, you finally connect your lips to his. Years fell away as he grasped your neck, holding you to him as your fingers slid into his hair.

You exchanged breaths. A mess of clashing teeth and rushing emotions. Judging by the fervency in his grappling for skin, you got an idea of how long he'd been waiting for this, for you.

Yet, he wasn't savage about it. His movements were eager but equally as careful, savouring every stolen second he had you all to himself.

Even as the air ran short, he couldn't fathom the idea of being too far from you. You broke the kiss, chasing oxygen. He rested his forehead against yours, heaving with a smile that could brave you through your worst times.

His thumb swiped over your lips once more, already missing you. "Would you find it pathetic if I said I've dreamt of doing that?"

"I'd be more flattered, really. What girl wouldn't want to be wanted like this?"

You disarmed him as you cupped his chin.

"Can't imagine," he replied. He bumped his nose to yours, and you leaned into him even more.

Should have known that the world wasn't kind enough to give you much time to yourselves. Both of you jumped into action the second you heard the clicking of shoes coming up the stairs.

Anthony refused to release your hand, even as you rushed for cover. Your whispered urgencies fell on deaf ears. You didn't get far enough to hide fully.

Your back was against the wall, hidden from sight. Anthony was not. You were whispering for him to just duck beside you when he clamped a hand over your mouth and posed for whoever appeared inside the Tower.

"Lockwood?" Lucy Carlyle.

You sighed in relief. You weren't in inescapable trouble after all.

"Hey, Luce! Fancy seeing you here."

"What are you doing?" A few more steps.

Anthony panicked. "No! Sorry–" He cleared his throat. "I... made a mess of a hex. It's a disaster."

You bit his palm, offended. The way he sputtered was victory enough.

"Really?" Lucy questioned, deep in disbelief. "You look completely fine... Except your hair."

"Terrible winds, really. The mess is off to the side." His smile was so unconvincing you could laugh.

Instead, you started a trail of pecks across his palm, travelling down to his wrist until he choked on air. Your heart swelled and mischief bubbled to the surface. You grew audacious enough to nip at his skin.

Lucy's voice rang out. "I can help—"

"Absolutely not!" Anthony winced at the crack in his voice. "I mean, I have it handled."

You heard a few more steps. Anthony laxed. You assumed Lucy was walking away. "If you say so..."

"Haha. I appreciate the concern, Luce. Let's keep this between us, hm?"

"Sure..." Her steps echoed as she toed down the steps. Before she shut the door, she added, "Say 'hi' to the Ravenclaw for me."

Anthony slumped himself against you, sulking as you laughed. "Not as sly as we thought, hm?"

"I've had better days..."

You ran your hands through his hair, attempting to right the mess you made of it earlier. "Then you're blaming the night?"

He raised his head from your shoulder. "Don't tell me you're about to side with the moon again. I'll start to think I'm competing with it."

"Well, the moon is beautiful."

"Oh, come off it. I'm so much better."

He took it upon himself to prove it, pressing your hips into the wall as he stole another ground-shattering kiss from. You surrendered, musing his hair to your heart's content.

—

Anthony thought that the perfect way to start off a relationship was to demonstrate how you two truly clicked in terms of cruelty. Not that you'd call it that outright. You'd crossed out Lockwood's 'revenge' and wrote 'comeuppance' in its place.

He eyed the plans from over your shoulder. "Does it make a difference?"

"Comeuppance is just karmic debt being repaid. Revenge sounds like it could be a crime."

"It's only a crime if we get caught."

That could very well be Anthony's life motto.

You rolled the scroll up and casted a hasty concealment charm on it, packing it away in the bag of supplies before you looked down the hallway.

"You go cause a distraction."

He guffawed, clutching his cloak like he'd been stabbed. "I came up with the plan. Why do I get distraction duty?"

"Because," you drawled, fixing his tie. "You're a sweet boyfriend who does anything to pacify his vengeful girlfriend."

"Defence is a pivotal subject in the field I'm aiming for. I could lose my career if this goes wrong."

"I can cover all our future living expenses, and we won't get caught. Swish away the pessimism, captain."

"I'm not being pessimistic. I just want to be the one flinging oobleck balloons."

You smiled faultlessly. "We'll miss our chance if we don't time this correctly."

His shoulders sunk, a grumble shaking his chest before he righted himself. "Do what you please. Just... don't turn me into a ferret. I heard a terrible rumour about some other Slytherin being turned into one."

"You have my word."

An enchantment here and a flick of a wand there, and a baby eagle stood in the place of your lover. You cupped him in your hands, cooing cordially as he nipped at your fingers.

If a bird could blush, you assumed he would have. You set him on the window sill.

A ways down, Professor Loathes-Your-Guts strolled by. Unassuming and grumpy as ever.

"As good as I am, it won't last forever. Off you go, Cinderbird."

Anthony squawked indignantly before you shoved him off the sill. He stretched his wings, working out the complexities of flight right before he hit the pavement.

His odd way of flying seized the Professor's attention right away. She caught him in her hands, stopping right where you wanted her.

Anthony freed himself as the first balloon careened down and splat against her head, drenching her in watered starch. You muffled a laugh as she screamed bloody murder. She had yet to get the sludge out of her hair before you dropped three more.

Blood pumping, Anthony flew right up, turning human right as he shot through the window.

"Save some for me!"

You kicked the box of balloons toward him, absolutely riveted by the scene you'd caused below. You looked far too good doing evil, and he was the Slytherin.

He dropped five balloons before Peeves uncovered the plot and took matters into his hands.

The poltergeist bombarded the Professor with the remaining ammunition and left the basket over her head as a consolation prize. While she shrieked at him, you and Anthony booked it—hands connected, boasting matching smiles.

Operation: DADA Comeuppance — Success!

And thanks to the spirit of mischief, you were never caught.

—

Anthony found it ironic that your favourite views were of crepuscular rays; those beams of light that slice through dense foliage or part the clouds to shine on dreary ground, because it's how he often described you—rarely letting the light in but always magnificent when you do.

You were standing under one of those rays as you bowed to a Hippogriff, once again setting an example for the class. It's to nobody's surprise, he's the first to burst into applause.

You glared at him. He mimicked your deep bow in response. The twitch of your lip was reward enough for him.

It wasn't long until the party was assigned to pairs. It was an easy guess as to who leeched to your side the second people broke off into their groups.

You waved your finger at him, as if that would keep him from you. "If you keep tailing me, we'll end up on the Bulletin'."

"I love a good word in. About us, specifically," he replied.

You shook your head, more endeared than disappointed. "Of course, you would."

"If I were you, I'd be showing off my new boyfriend."

"You say 'boyfriend' with so much conviction, you would think we've been going out for years."

"My apologies, m'lady. Would 'husband' suit your tastes more?"

"Lockwood!"

He withheld a smile. "You can call me Anthony, sweetheart. In fact, you can keep my last name for yourself."

Your mouth dropped into an 'o'. "I cannot believe what I'm hearing."

He took a more tentative step towards you, closing distance. "What are you hearing?"

"Nonsense. I hear nonsense," you replied. You were doomed the second your back hit a tree. Anthony wasted no time to trap you against it. "You are..."

He leaned down, bumping your nose with his. It was inertia that drew him close enough to touch lips. "I'm what– Oof!"

He clutched his chest after you pushed him away, smiling like you were faultless. "I'd like a ring if you are seriously talking about stealing surnames. A nice, awe-inspiring ring. Not a common one. Something privy to us."

He rubbed his shirt as he spoke, a smile teasing his lips. "How's about a house to start?"

Your visage changed. Genuine surprise marred your features. "You're serious?"

"It's a big house, and it could use a magical touch."

The way your lips quirked into a smile made him forget himself. A mistake he'll try not to make in the future.

Under the spell of your gaze, he hadn't seen your Hippogriff friend rush for him. He received a headbutt to the side and crashed into a tree. If that weren't bad enough, a fat fruit thumped him right on the head.

For a fleeting moment, everything went blurry. He saw you as a smudge in his vision. When he tried to talk, all that came out was gibberish.

"He's a friend," you explained to the Hippogriff. It gave a ninny and nudged its snout against Lockwood's side as a form of apology.

When he came to, he got a faceful of Hippogriff cheek. You waved the gentle beast out of the way before cradling Anthony's head.

His foul sentiments dissipated. Perhaps he should get bodied by a Hippogriff more often if that meant he got to see you this doting again.

"Merlin, Lockwood... I forgot she was protective."

"That's 'Anthony' to you, sweetheart, and 's alright," he slurred, blinking his vision back to clarity. He smacked his lips, luckily not tasting blood. "I get protective of you, too."

"Not the time to flirt, serpent boy."

"You're holding me. There is no better time to flirt."

"Alright, Casanova."

Your hands travelled to his wrist, assessing his pulse, then pressing into his side to check the extent of the damage. If this was a glimpse of how you'd be as a healer, he was already jealous of the patients you'd be caring for.

The second his brain fog cleared, he patted his pockets in search of his gifts.

You sat back on your calves, staring him down like the wind could blow him over. "Looks like minor damage."

"Excellent news," he rasped. He took your hand and placed a solid metal something in your palm. "This is for, if you choose to accept my invitation." He fished in his pocket for a second object. He placed that into your closed palm as well. "And this is for you in general."

The first object was a heavy silver key. The ornamental kind of key you loved to hold as a child. You stared at it with so much intensity, he was convinced you were trying to set it on fire with your eyes.

"You're just... giving this to me?"

Worry crossed his face. "Yes. If you'd like it, of course."

"I like it," you said urgently. "How could I not? I just... Don't I have to do something to earn this? Like, giving up a handful of galleons or marrying–"

He let go of the breath he was holding.

"Hold it there, sweetheart," he grasped your hands the second he saw your mind going in all different directions. "I want us to live together, no conditions. I want to be close to you." Of course, he had to add, “I know, I couldn't believe it myself.”

Your hands tightened around his. He'd let you squeeze his fingers bloodless if it quelled your worries.

He cracked a smile, relieved to see you giving the effort to return it. He carefully unravelled your hands to show you the second object.

You gasped. As would any girl when they're presented with a ring. It was the metal that complimented your skin best. A solid band detailed in engravings and decadent carvings. Your worry morphed into panic. With tense shoulders, your eyes flit to Anthony's.

"Relax," he mused, turning the ring in his hands and sliding it on your third finger. "It's not an engagement ring. It's a passion project of mine..."

Your shoulders laxed. "Thank Merlin... Hogwarts is not a place to propose."

"Agreed, and I'd never disrespect you by proposing so drably." He chuckled, examining the ring on your finger before brandishing his matching one. "They're a pair, loaded with protective charms and a trace. It functions as a handy portkey, too."

You raised your hand to the light, examining the engravings in full. "Why turn it into a portkey?"

"The trace tells me if you're in trouble. The portkey will take me to you the second you are."

Only a witch like you would fall in love with intricate spell work. It made you susceptible to melting for gestures as thoughtful as Anthony's.

He admired you as you admired the ring. His heart jumped as you quickly turned your head to kiss his cheek.

"Thank you," you whispered. The raw, unfiltered gratitude in your voice made him fall for you all over again.

His smile reached his eyes. "Anytime, sweetheart."

—

Waiting on the last train out of Hogwarts felt like some kind of catharsis. A journey that spanned seven years felt like a short car ride home. There was happiness doled by sadness, and sadness doled by happiness.

It was in Anthony's nature to look on the bright side, but it was difficult when he hadn't seen you since the awarding ceremony. You outdid him, of course. Bringing home one medal more than him.

His initial plan was to sulk, maybe play kicked puppy and finesse himself a kiss, but his anticipation blurred into worry as the train entered view, but you didn't.

He broke from the crowd, leaving his things with Lucy and George before going off to find you.

He didn't peg you as the type to take a last walk to your favourite spots, but he found you in the dingy Defence classroom. As much as you loathed the lingering stench, you exalted the memories in that very room. The only subject of concern was a boy toying with an empty cage on the far side of the room. Anthony turned a blind eye to the stranger, for how could he look away from you?

Your eyes, that were peering ruefully out the window, snapped to Anthony's. He felt the beginnings of a smile creep up.

Without warning, a wardrobe wove open, the hinges holding it together rasped as a black form ballooned out of it. Your gaze fell on it, and horror replaced the nostalgia instantaneously.

He'd never heard you scream so loud.

Blood rushed to his head. He found his wand.

You fell to the floor, clamping your hands over your ears with your eyes shut tight.

Vision in red, he turned his attention to the boggart that crushed the air in the room. It took the form of four figures; A horrific scene sampled from the many tormented stories plucked from the war...

He paused, finding his own tortured face staring back at him and your anguished one shackled, unable to help. The two remaining figures must have been members of your family, looming over you and watching you without compassion. They were your boggart.

He didn't hesitate to mutter the counter-charm.

The illusion burst. The boggart whirled back into the closet with the wardrobe doors crashing shut.

The boy Anthony hadn't paid attention to stood to reopen it but Anthony threw a stupefy right at him. The boy nearly dented the wall with how hard he rammed into it.

Anthony advanced, fury heavy in his steps. It only heightened as he realised who the boy was. It was the Gryffindor boy you'd rejected all those weeks ago.

"You have got to be kidding me." Anthony scoffed.

The lion boy's nose flared, turning him twice as ugly. Anthony might have felt bad if he wasn't furious.

He didn't give the Gryffindor time to recuperate before he drew him up by the collar and cracked his back against the wall. "You bastard. You couldn't take the 'L', could you?"

The boy's head lulled. Anthony had to give it to him, he thought he'd be out cold with how solid the spell hit him, but the tosser had the resolve to spit at him.

There was no guilt in the way Anthony threw him to the floor. He could have done worse if you hadn't called for him.

"Anthony."

He turned his head, relieved to find that you'd returned to normal. Save the red that rimmed your eyes, you were fine. You were the one thing that kept him from bludgeoning the roach on the floor.

No words were needed.

The Gryffindor laughed, repulsed. "So, you were with him this whole time? Godric... you're a bitch—"

"Quite the mouth for someone who'd stoop low enough to unleash a boggart on a lady," Lockwood said dismally. "I suggest you scat. Before I show you what each of my accolades mean."

Courageous as the Gryffindor was, he was brainless. "Did you hand a few to her for 'favours'? Hm?"

Oh, the number of jinxes the human body could handle before breaking. The boy was lucky you were there. Anthony was gentleman enough not to hex in front of a lady.

He sufficed with carving crescents into his own palms to restrain himself. "Serpents don't concern themselves with the opinions of sheep. I suggest you stitch your mouth. There is a lady present, if you aren't too blind to see her."

"Kiss up," the Gryffindor simpered.

Patient as Anthony was, you weren't. You hurled a spell at the Gryffindor. After a twitch, his head hit the ground.

You showed Anthony your palms when you were met with inquisition.

"What? Was I supposed to let him speak to you like that?"

Holding back a smile was futile. He was proud. "You're cute."

You stepped over the Gryffindor and returned his smile. "I know." You brushed the imaginary dust off Anthony's shoulders and righted the orientation of his medals before you took his hand. "As I remember, we have a train to catch."

He twined your fingers, bringing your hand to his lips to worship your knuckles. "Shall we, m'lady?"

"We shall."

You exited the classroom, hands intertwined, leaving behind an incapacitated moron. If the rest of your lives were going to be spent like that, you had no qualms with it.

"Have I told you how gorgeous you look today?"

"No." You looked at him expectantly. "Tell me."

He pressed a kiss to your temple and gave your hand a squeeze as he said, "My dearest vexation, you are a vision. Aphrodite herself would be green with envy."

Definitely no qualms there.

—

"Why is it that you travel by this rather than apparating?"

You were always a sponge for knowledge, but your eyes were particularly bright once the train had delivered you to Platform 9¾. It spat you right out into the muggle world.

Anthony realised that he had never seen you in all-muggle clothes, and he wasn't shy of staring. He was rightfully in a daze until you'd asked the question.

"Cabs take us directly to where we want without raising suspicion from muggles."

"So, they willingly spend their sickles on simply getting home? How impractical, and expensive."

He hid a laugh. "It is the way it is, sweetheart. Nothing we can do to change that. It's best you avoid saying 'sickles' though. It'll confuse them."

"Noted."

Anthony loathed the silence, but he made due with it. He had you for a view, after all. He recounted all of your details, down to the flutter of your lashes as the breeze caressed your face.

Weirdly enough, the ride to Portland Row was much shorter than he remembered.

He slipped out first, flattening a hand at the top of the cab's door and taking the brunt of the impact when you expectedly bumped your head on the way out.

"Sorry."

"Don't mention it. I did the same as a kid."

You kissed his cheek anyway, and he turned his head to the side to make the warmth of his cheeks discreet.

As he unloaded the trunks, you absorbed the Lockwood family estate as it stood: A tall, classical home with wrought-iron fencing leading to the bricked door arch and its charming knocker... the picture of a fine London home.

The only thing out of place was the irritating, freckled face of a neighbour Anthony hoped disappeared.

"Tony! Done with community service?"

You turned to Quill Kipps with a frown. Anthony withheld a laugh. You had never met the man but you obviously disliked him already.

Kipps straightened, realising that you were present. "You have a dame with you... Quite the looker, too."

"I have a name, if you had the mind to ask." You crossed your arms. Anthony found that to be a sign to look away. You had yourself handled. "I suppose the oaf with room temperature IQ has a name, too?"

Quill Kipps's smirk faltered. "He does." His eyes shifted to Anthony before he clicked his tongue. "Just trying to rile up Tony. Hope you stick around though, sweetheart. He could use a backbone."

Anthony soured at the nickname.

You didn't let up your glare until Kipps vanished from sight.

You shifted your heated gaze to Anthony. "Did you hear what he called me? How have you not jinxed him?"

"Trust me, I'm not a fan of him either, but he's a muggle. Trying to fight him would be bullying."

"The lack of justice!"

He snorted. "It's bearable. Now, come on. There's someone who's been dying to meet you."

"I can stupefy the freckled redhead double quick."

"Sweetheart, no."

He seized your hand to make sure you didn't run off and break a law, no matter how entertaining that would be for the both of you.

—

"I'm Jessica Lockwood! Jess is preferable. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Your arm almost fell off from the intensity of her handshake. The older girl was twice as energetic as Anthony and triple times as smiley.

Your boyfriend was the one who saved your hand by taking it into his. "Jess, I like my girl with both her hands intact, please."

"Don't kid. You'd still be smitten if she was cursed into a worm." She slapped her brother's shoulder. You kept in a laugh as he struggled to remain upright. She didn't forget you for a second. "Once Anthony starts talking about you, it never truly ends. I didn't believe he hated you for a second. When he 'complained' about you, he'd use phrases like *'annoyingly distracting'* and *'unfairly attractive'*."

"Jess..."

"The truth was bound to come out." She shot you a knowing look. "You can tell in the smile. He does it without knowing"

"He is terribly obvious," you doubled, holding his hand in both of yours in a pacifying manner.

His mouth fell open. "My word . . . It's been five minutes and the pair of you are already cornering me."

"This is the beginning of something beautiful," Jessica sang. She winked at you before meandering to the door next to the steps. "Now show her your room and unpack before dinner. We're having potato soup. Are you allergic, sweets?"

You smiled until both of your cheeks hurt. "Not at all. I like the sound of potato soup. Before that, I'd like to formally introduce myself–"

"There's no need for it, really. Anthony blabbed about you enough. I'll call you two down when it's ready."

Anthony lead you to the stairs by the shoulders. "Up we go, sweetheart. Before Jess says more than she should."

"I think she's a treat, Anthony. I wish I had a sister like her."

"She kicked me into a lake once. You wouldn't find her very nice if she did that to you, would you?"

"I would kick you into a lake, too, if you were my brother."

"Let's not open that can of worms, sweetheart. I want to be your husband. Obliviate this conversation from my memory."

You laughed, patting his knuckles sympathetically. "Torturing you is just as fun as laughing about it."

"You and Jess get along like a house on fire. That said, I'm not sure how long I'll stay sane."

"I'll save you a room at St. Mungo's." He fought a smile as you stalled on the taller steps. He was a goner the second you turned to wrap your arms around him. "You love it though. And you love me."

He sighed into your hair. "Unfortunately."

His arms wound around you, pulling you close enough for your heartbeats to sync. He nuzzled into your shoulder, and you did the worst thing you could possibly do: you played with his hair. He melted.

The prospect of you being in his forever home made a strange feeling bubble in his stomach. He figured it was what he had been looking for—a sense of fulfilment, or maybe he just needed someone to play with his hair the way you did.

Jessica's voice speared through the tranquillity. "No funny business, both of you!"

"Yes, ma'am," Anthony responded. He stole a chaste kiss from you before leading you to the first door on the second floor.

—

He should have known you'd go straight for the bed. You were always lounging or reclining if you weren't working. Anthony developed a disease that entailed observing you every time you did. He could probably paint a portrait of you, if he only had the artistic talent.

You stretched like a starfish, relishing the softness of the sheets that still smelt of him.

"I could die here, happily."

Anthony kneeled in the space next you to fix the blanket over you. "Sweet as that is, I like you better alive."

"I'll live and die here," you cooed, pulling him down beside you. "So much better than my room... well, my old room. My parents decorated the house like it was a prison. Seeing your mess can make any place feel like home."

"Should I be offended? You just called my interior decorating skills a mess."

"You're ugly enough to distract them from the mess."

"Thank you, sweetheart. Much appreciated."

"You're welcome."

He lowered his body next to yours, throwing an arm over your waist. The brush of his fingers on your stomach did not go unnoticed.

You took the liberty to rest your head on his shoulder, snuggling deeper into the blanket as you did. The perfect plot to hide your warming cheeks.

"Getting cosy, already? In my room?"

"We can share, can't we?" The way you looked at him made the temptation of a cosy cuddle difficult to resist.

"Jess would behead me, and I don't mean metaphorically. We have a collection of axes from pivotal historic events downstairs."

"Just a nap then. We have some time before dinner."

You made a good bargain. There was only so much saying 'no' Anthony could do to you before he bent.

"Just this once."

"Just this once," you confirm with an unconvincing smile.

"I am a gentleman, you understand that? We can't stay here for too long."

"I know."

"Then why are you smiling like that?"

Your smile only grew. "Cause I'll be the barbarian this time. I demand to stay here."

"Sweetheart—"

"My mind's already made up. Sleep, Anthony."

“My sister—"

"Sleep."

He tapped your side in surrender. He dragged the blanket higher to cover your shoulders. "If I am putting my neck out for a cuddle, might as well ask for your input. Though, the idea itself might be absurd."

"Anthony, 'absurd' means 'innovative' in your language. Spill."

"Is it possible to shrink a patronus? I was thinking about the practicality of a smaller patronus after I signed up for the auror training programme."

"It'd be more covert."

"My thought exactly." His expression turned pensive. "I might use it to get into the specialised auror squadron."

"Well," You sat up and wiggled your wand out of your pocket. "Only one way to find out."

He couldn't leave it alone. "First person to do it gets a tick on the Tally."

"You're just bitter I got one more medallion than you."

"What can I say?" He tapped your nose, bringing the smile back to your face. "I love the competition."

—

The spellcasting didn't cease, even after dinner had passed.

You found yourselves under the covers, using the space between you as an arena for your patronuses. So far, every cast came out a regular-sized patronus.

Anthony's eyes drifted to the glint of your ring every time it was your turn. The engravings came to life every time it came into contact with magic. He felt the pulse of it through his own ring. He shouldn't have felt as thrilled as he did, but he couldn't help it.

"Anthony. Are you sleeping with your eyes open?"

"No. Just looking at you."

Your lip curled. "Cheesy."

"You love it."

"No comment."

He laughed before picking up his wand. He concentrated as best as he could, but one glimpse at your face, and it slipped. His patronus emerged as it usually did.

Magnificent, iridescent, and face-slapping. Its silvery sands dissipated as Anthony received a well-placed smack to the cheek.

"That was worse than the last one," you snorted.

Anthony nudged your knee. "I'd like to see you do better."

Even if a million failed attempts already plagued you, you went through the motions. This time, the swishes of your wand were smaller and more slurred—like your wrist was limp as you cast.

Your patronus burst forth. Beautiful and respectable, and the size of a mouse.

"Aha!" You threw your hands up, sending the blanket flying and letting the cold air rush in. "I win! Get the Tally, give me my point."

"Merlin, sweetheart. Careful." Anthony chuckled, gathering the blanket and quickly chucking it over your head before getting up from the bed to fetch the notebook.

Your head poked out of the swaths of fabric, just to prop your chin on his shoulder and watch as he drew another line under your column. Two points more than his.

He leaned his head on yours. "Happy?"

"Very," you quipped.

The patronus trounced over his hand, soaring over your head like a halo before perching on his nose.

"Try it." You coaxed. "Smaller shapes, dramatic flicks."

"You're going to laugh if it fails, aren't you?"

"When do I not?"

The crane flew over to the nightstand, preening it's feathers before cocking its head at Anthony. Urging him to go on.

With a sigh, he gave in and gave it another go. The first attempt was as bad as the last. The second one worked like a charm.

His patronus skipped the usual fly around the room, preferring to head straight for yours, landing next to it and dancing around it before they took off like butterflies in the wind.

Your lips parted for a yawn. Anthony felt your weight press against his side, his arm instinctively finding home around your waist.

"How late is it?" Your eyes were too bleary to read the time.

Anthony found the clock. "A quarter to midnight." He hauled you closer, settling you against the pillows before dimming the lights. "I think we're due for some shut-eye."

"A Slytherin who values a proper sleep schedule . . . Boo!"

He didn't even try to fight you. You were already swaying.

You felt his chest rumble as he spoke. "We can stay up then."

"Your idea, not mine."

Your head rested against him, the steady lub-dub of his heart pounding against your cheek. He felt yours against your ribs as he rubbed circles under your shirt. Even then, he couldn't tear his eyes away from your miniature patronuses.

They lit up the room like restless twin flames. Your eyes followed them, too, but not for long.

The combination of the patronuses' light and Lockwood's gentle massaging proved to be an effective sleeping pill. It wasn't long 'till your earlier words were void and your breath evened out.

"Thought we were staying up," Anthony whispered, more endeared than anything. He couldn't help but place a kiss on your forehead.

The curious thing was... your patronus hadn't disappeared, even as you slept.

The pair of tiny cranes danced in flight. Nipping playfully before beautifully looping around one another.

He observed them for a while more before the drowse began to creep in. He dispelled his patronus, and only then did both of them disappear. Never leaving one without the other.

He cracked a smile as he slipped the blanket tighter around you, blessing your head with another kiss before he, himself, succumbed to the symphonies of sleep.

—

When life spun from essays and practicals to work and elbow grease, Anthony often found himself thinking of the future, of the past and where the two met in the middle.

He wondered if you ever missed the opulence of living in a pureblood home: The fluted columns, the glistening chandeliers, and the sunlight that streamed through ceiling-length windows.

He'd stare at the back of your head, feeling the doubt creep in. Then, you'd turn and chide him about some miscellaneous argument you refused to let rest, then all would be right in the world.

On a particularly gruelling day, he traipsed straight to bed without breakfast, too tuckered out to even lift a finger.

He heard you and Jessica chattering while you cleaned downstairs—moving furniture and kicking the ol' vacuum back to life. Sometime after dusting the bookshelves, you carefully opened the door to your (Lockwood's) room—mindful not to wake him with its creaking. He watched you through lidded eyes. You didn't notice his blinking.

Your hands glided a cloth over the nightstand pictures. When you'd reached the family portrait, you smiled. He found himself holding his breath.

"Your son is a dolt, you know," you snitched as if they'd be ready to gossip with you. You brought the picture to the light and rubbed away a stain on the glass. "Can't even take care of himself these days. He's lucky Jess and I are here to scold him . . . But he is a good man. A polite, romantic, and utterly chaotic one," You took a breath to calm yourself. "but I can't bring myself to hate him more than I... Well, I can't get the word out, but I will eventually. I've only been here for a while but living seems so much easier now. Not to alarm you, but it may have something to do with your son."

It was complete agony to continue feigning sleep after that. You cleaned the other night table, then adjusted the blanket so he was fully covered.

You left the room like you hadn't taken his heart with you.

—

On the dreaded eve of his parents' death, you approached him as he scrutinised the chipping paint and the stick-on stars on the ceiling.

Detached wasn't an apt word to describe how he had been acting all day. He was somewhere else mentally. Not even Jessica could break through to him.

"Jess told me to check on you," you said quietly, trying not to startle him.

All he did was hum in return.

You filled the empty space on the bed. "Anthony . . . Grief is just love with nowhere to go." You set your hand on his cheek, carefully swiping over his cheek, catching tears that have yet to fall. "No need to repress anything in front of me, serpent boy."

He took a shuddering breath. The first time he truly took a breath all day. It shattered you as his eyes glazed over. Even then, he refused to look at you. Refused to show you how torn up he was.

"I just... I miss them, but it's been so many years since they left. I thought–" He sucked in a breath, pinching the bridge of his nose just to cover his eyes. "I thought it would be easier. It's supposed to be easier."

You shifted closer, the bed dipping at your weight and bringing him closer to you. He thought he'd seen it all, but he'd never seen that kind of softness on your face. You pried his fingers away and wiped his tears yourself.

He was reduced to a little boy, and you were still sticking around. No barbs, no sharp sarcasm. Just your caring eyes and even more careful hands grasping his cheeks.

"Grief never really leaves, Anthony. They're your parents, of course you'd miss them." You mustered a smile, but it only revealed the tears gathering at your eyeline. "But you don't have to feel it alone. Jessica is here, and she loves you more than anything. It hurts her to see you so distant." He reached up to hold your hand in his. Your melancholic smile stretched. "And I'm here, too. You'd have to be pretty daft to forget your roommate."

He managed a smile, squeezing your hand in silent thanks — just before he had felt his façade fracture.

Anthony sat up, pulling you onto his thighs and wrapping you in a hug that was all-encompassing. He hid his face in your shoulder, and you rubbed his back as he finally let the tears free.

Sobs racked his body, his heart picked itself apart once more, but at least he could breath. Keeping all of the heartache to himself was like holding his breath. There was only so much he could hold before he needed air.

He didn't know how long Jessica had stood at the door before you beckoned her closer. Another pair of arms came around you two, washing away all the misplaced guilt he'd been stewing in since morning.

It didn't make him miss his parents less, but it reminded him that there were still people he got to hold hands with. And you were right, it was easier than doing it alone.

—

The conversation at dinner was a calm one. Less on banter and more on planning what to do in the morning.

The general consensus was to pick up flowers and bring some things to picnic with before visiting the Lockwoods' graves.

Jessica hugged Lockwood extra tight before letting him turn in for the night.

You glued yourself to his side the second he slid into bed. The responsibility of initiating skinship usually was on him, so, the change of pace was heavily appreciated.

He wrapped an arm around you and pressed a kiss to your head in unspoken gratitude.

You fought your nature to fall asleep first, just to stay up with him, but your resolve crumbled after your third yawn. You drifted off. Your arms didn't budge, and he was relishing the closeness for what it was.

Though, his mind wouldn't stop turning.

He never heard his parents' story, but he knew his mother had been a half-blood. He wanted to know how they met, if his mother's patronus ever changed, if his father had fashioned something from muggle magic to impress her.

So many questions that would remain unanswered forever.

He reached for his wand when insomnia had stolen enough hours of sleep from him. In the darkness, he whispered the enchantment.

His patronus burst forth, silvery and glorious... and not alone. Contrary to his previous casts, he summoned not just one crane, but two.

The pair of them remained quiet, for your sake. They perched on the armoire opposite of the bed and preened one another. He was entranced by their obvious affections, only breaking from focus when you shuffled in his arms.

The patronuses faded away, and you blinked into the darkness.

"What are you up to?" Your voice was heavy with drowse. Anthony fought the urge to pinch your cheek.

"Nothing, sweetheart." He glided a hand over your eyes, coaxing, "Go back to sleep."

You grumbled. "I saw something, you liar."

"Just a trick of the light."

You eyed him with sleepy uncertainty before your head went limp against his shoulder once more. "We'll come back to this," you swore.

Anthony pacified you by rubbing your back. "You bet, sweetheart. Now get your beauty sleep. I can't always be the prettier one."

He didn't have to tell you twice.

Not long after, his own eyes began to droop with the twin cranes still swimming in his mind.

—

The last time the sky had been this alive was the night Anthony had stolen you away to the Astronomy Tower. It felt like a lifetime ago.

You barely even noticed the extra luminescence of the moon or Anthony, who had been waiting for some form of acknowledgement all day.

Grunts were your definition of olive branches, and he wasn't having it. He stole the page from your hands and raised it above his head.

Your response was snap. "Anthony... I don't have time to dawdle."

"Why are you so worked up?"

You flailed your arms, gesturing wildly to the hulking stack of papers on your desk. "The warden at St. Mungo's wants to speak to me, personally. I need to be ready."

He read your scrawl on the paper, quickly giving up on trying to understand what it all meant.

What you dove into was far beyond the field of study in Hogwarts. Madame Pomfrey clearly took her role as your mentor seriously. You were advancing quickly.

"My girl," he said with a laugh. "You're the only witch who can commit a twelve-foot scroll to heart in the span of two hours. You'll be fine."

He loosened his grip on the paper as you leapt up to snatch it back from him, sitting back down on your chair with your lips pursed. Stress lines forming where your smile lines were supposed to. He hated seeing you so... consumed.

He wondered if you'd been hiding that face behind the four walls of your bedroom before things had changed between you, back when medals were currency in your home rather than achievements.

"This is a once in a lifetime opportunity... and it's being handed to me. I have to put my best foot forward." Your hold on the page turned sentimental. "I can't mess it up, Anthony."

He set his hands on your shoulders, and you surrendered to his touch. He took it as a good sign and cleared himself to kiss the top of your head.

"You are the best at what you do," he assured. "No one can compare. I'm not just saying that. You genuinely scare people with how much you know." He spun your chair to face him, tilting your chin to see you. "My dearest vexation... You've got this, and I've got you."

Your shoulders dropped with the intensity of your sigh. "I don't know what to do... I might forget something I'm supposed to know."

"You could never." He scrutinised your work desk before he made the decision. "What you need is a break. Dance with me?"

He drew you up by both hands, guiding one of your hands to rest on his shoulder. When your eyes drifted back to your stack of papers, he killed the lights so you wouldn't be able to see them.

You laxed as soon as the room plunged into the dark. That left you, Anthony, and the glow of the moon and streetlights.

Anthony returned his hand to yours and hummed a sentimental tune to lead the dance.

You leaned into the music, resting your head against his shoulder. He, in turn, rested his cheek against your head.

"This reminds me of our first dance," you mumbled.

"How could I forget?"

You concealed a smile in his shirt. "A lovely dance on the balcony after you kissed me senseless."

"It takes two to tango, sweetheart." He pulled closer, basking in the yelp you let out. "And my hair didn't stand a chance in your hands."

"In my defence, the tousled look suits you." You had the cheek to peck the juncture between his shoulder and neck. "Like the princes I used to read about."

"Charming."

"Don't be salty, captain. You'll always be my favourite." You rubbed his shoulder as a gesture of peace.

"As I should be."

You chuckled. "You're smirking. I feel it."

"You can't even see me."

"Don't have to," you chirped. "I know you."

"I've never met a woman so cumbersome."

Your head jerked back. Even in the limited lighting, he could see the scowl on your face. "You know other women?"

He couldn't hold back a grin. "Merlin, you are so jealous." He pressed a kiss to your temple, a gesture of truce. "You're my only and only vexation, spitfire. Everyone and everything pales in comparison."

You opened your mouth with the intent of giving a smart answer, but he shot you down before you even said it.

"Don't bring the moon into this."

You sealed your lips into a smile. Your worries slipped away, and you relished the few minutes you stole for a moonlight waltz with your lover.

—

In the two years you'd lived together, he'd picked up on your ticks. And you, his.

When you lightly bump your forehead against his cheek, Anthony knew it was your way of demanding a kiss. He never denied you one.

You learned to wear loose shirts to sleep because Anthony liked to slip his hand up your bare back and feel the up-and-down motions of your breathing as you slept.

He never forgot to bring home a little keepsake from work for you, accompanied by a single flower you got to add to a growing bouquet in the living room.

Anthony often got colds in the winter seasons, but he retains his reverent hate for the smell of Vix. So, you made your own impromptu mint remedy with lemongrass and ginger. To him, it was so much better.

Last but not least, a new chess board found home in the receiving room. The pieces only move when you and Anthony arrive home from your respective statutes of work.

Gist is, you had a routine, and you knew what to do for every boyfriend-shaped hurdle life had in store for you.

Imagine the panic that hit you the second your enchanted ring started to warm and shake.

The day was dark and ruthless. Rain pelting down like cats and dogs. Electricity had gone out as well.

You were wary to answer the door, since you were home alone, but you did so anyway because your ring had only grown more restless.

Your heart ceased in your chest as you took in the sight of Anthony. He couldn't even hold himself up. Lucy and James were doing that for him.

You choked on nothing. "Merlin..."

You reached out. Like a moth to a flame, Anthony gravitated to you. Falling into your arms and sighing into your shoulder like your presence alone could suture the injuries that marred his figure from head to toe.

"We took him to St. Mungo's," Lucy elaborated, clutching her own side. She was less beat, but she was still slouched in pain.

James had taken over when she wheezed for breath. "He fought every medi-witch that approached. Said he just wanted to come home and see you."

"You twat," you scolded in a whisper. It took most of your energy to keep Anthony upright. You schooled your expression, offering a mustered smile to his companions. "Thank you for bringing him home. See yourselves to St. Mungo's. I'll cover your tab when my shift rolls by."

James hooked his arm around a limping Lucy, offering you a grateful smile before producing his wand and apparating in the guise of the rain.

Anthony was tracking blood and mud wherever he walked. It was useless trying to get farther than the living room. You'd rather have a tarnished sofa than a bloodless boyfriend.

"What happened, Anthony?" Your tone was firm, but quiet—careful of a headache that could be blooming behind his ears.

You tore off his coat to get to the scratches on his arms. Repairing him one injury at a time. Even if the injuries were gone, his skin was still drenched in his own sweat and blood. It was a mess, and you'd be damned than leave him looking so trodden.

You accioed a basin of water and a handful of washcloths to your side. Swiping away grime as you healed him.

Only when you began to unbutton his shirt did he find his voice.

"We're moving a bit too fast, sweetheart. Where's your decorum?"

Your gaze held bite. He chuckled like his smile would save him.

"Where's your mind? You've been unresponsive for five minutes! I thought you were stewing in the after-effects of a psychological curse—" You drowned a blood-stained cloth in the basin of water, watching scarlet swirl into the clear water before moving back to his shirt. "—and I'd have to give you a permanent room at the ward, and then break the news to Jess—"

"I'm fine—"

"But I'm not!"

You sat back on your calves, taken aback by your own tone. The backs of your fists pressed into your eyes, forcing your tears back in before returning to assessing his wounds.

He was quiet as you examined the deeper gashes slashed across his torso. Your hands swiped at your cheeks before your lips moved, muttering cures and charms that stitched him up like new.

You wiped the blood away, but you wrung the cloth like you still saw blood. On the fabric, on your hands, on his skin.

Your voice was devoid of life as you asked, "May I see your back?"

He winced as he sat forward. At least the pain wasn't as unbearable as earlier. He saw some herbs swirling in the basin, so it was safe to assume you'd taken extra precautions to make things as painless for him as possible. His heart wrenched as you repaired him and dirtied the water with even more blood.

"I didn't mean things to get messy," Anthony told you slowly. He felt your hand pause on his back, then continue with more careful intent. "The suspect had an accomplice we didn't account for. Had us outnumbered... and they had a spell book full of vulgar spells. Nasty ones."

"So, you took the brunt of them?"

He chanced a smirk. "You know me too well."

"You're reckless."

"I couldn't let my subordinates get hurt," he rasped, sucking in a breath when you purposely pressed down on an open wound.

You magicked it away and cleaned the blood, but you refused to meet his eyes the whole time.

Finally, the insistent shaking of the linked rings faded. It calmed your pulse by a fraction, but nothing could cease the trembling of your hands.

Anthony took the liberty to take them in his, your matching rings clinking against one another.

"I'm here... I'm okay."

You hung your head, forehead meeting your twined hands. "I almost lost you... I couldn't find your pulse right away, and there was so much blood—all I could see was red. Anthony—"

"Shh." He closed the space, flattening himself against your side and drawing you into his chest so you could feel the familiar thrum of his heart. "We're okay. I'm so sorry, sweetheart... I didn't mean to scare you."

You sniffed, hiding your face in his neck. "Why didn't you accept help from St. Mungo's? They have blood banks to replenish what you lost, I can't do much about that here."

He held you tighter, rubbing your arm as he racked his mind. "I thought it was too late for me... I just wanted to see you. I wanted to come home."

You hit his chest once, seething as you sobbed. Your tears wet his shoulder, but he didn't stop you. He took your rage until you went boneless in his arms—clinging to him like it would calm the racing of your heart.

Eventually, you picked yourself up to gather another cloth to wipe away the bloodstains on his face. Hands still shaking but determined to restore him to full health.

As low as it was, he still heard you. "I love you, you know that? It's impossible for me to remember a time where you weren't around."

He searched your eyes, finding nothing but morose truth in them. It was the first time you'd said those three words to him. Explicitly, without sarcastic connotation.

He caught your wrist, lowering your hands so he could look at you. "I know... and I love you, too. I'm sorry."

"Then why put your neck out like that? You promised me a ring, Anthony Lockwood. You gave me your word. You can't do that if you're gone."

"I'd never forget," he promised, kissing apologies across your palms and wrists. "How could I when it comes to you?"

"Then tell me why you put yourself in so much danger— in so much pain."

He licked his chapped lips. Your eyes pleaded for explanation, and he'd be cruel not to suffice you with an answer.

Reluctantly, he retrieved the box in his pocket. It was the only thing untouched by blood. Your eyes snagged on it immediately.

Anthony chuckled, nervous, before popping the case open. Inside sat an ornate ring, embellished with your birthstones put together. An eagle held yours in its talons, and a snake held his in its mouth. Your identities intertwined.

Whatever words you wanted to get out died in your throat, mouth hinging but never uttering a word.

Anthony tried his best not to stutter. "They tried to take it from me... I didn't let them. You can imagine that they weren't happy with being deprived of such a beaut."

You sunk into yourself. "You almost died... to save a ring."

"Your ring," he said carefully. "If you still want to have me as your husband, of course."

"I have half a mind to say 'no'." You laughed bitterly, swiping at your cheeks. "Merlin, Anthony... You have terrible timing when it comes to presenting things like this."

"A lot of realisations happen when you walk the line with Death."

He readjusted his hold on the box, refusing to let go of your hand. You admired the craftsmanship of the ring before you leaned on his shoulder.

"Promise me you'll never do that again. I'd rather have a husband than some hunk of metal."

He let out a breath of relief, hugging you to him as you smiled into his shoulder. "Rude. I learned how to craft a ring just for you."

"You crafted this?"

He felt the world hold its breath as he slid the ring onto your finger. A perfect fit for his perfect match. He kissed your knuckle to further cement the notion.

"From scratch," he boasted. "I made a killing from the pen business. I used the money to take some lessons from a smith in Hatton Garden."

"I cannot believe you..."

"You didn't believe me when I said I cleaned your desks before you'd arrive to class."

"That's different," you said promptly. "You almost got yourself killed to preserve a ring."

"That ring brings me one step closer to marrying you," he tutted. He even leaned down to steal a kiss. "It was worth it."

"I would have brought you back from the dead just to strangle you if you did die on our new sofa."

"Good thing I didn't."

You cracked a smile. "Good thing you didn't," you agreed. "But I'm not forgiving you so easily. You gave me a scare, Mr. Lockwood. I hope you know that you're not allowed to hug me tonight."

"I thought near-death would warrant me extra hugs."

"I can give you everything else, just not hugs."

"How cruel..."

You waved your hand dismissively. "Take it or leave it. What do you want while you're not allowed to hug me?"

Anthony wanted a lot of things. The cheesy dynamics in the books you read, the happily ever after where the couple ends up married and in love with a kid or two. He wants your kids to look like him but act like you, so you two wouldn't spend half the time greying from stress. He wanted to be part of your story forevermore.

But holding your hand would do for now.

He tangled your fingers together and kissed your knuckles. "This is enough for me."

Disbelief was written all over your face. "Really? I thought you'd be more combative."

"We have all the time in the world, sweetheart. We can live in the moment."

"I can only hope you don't jump into some other death-defying scheme again. I'll be all grey before you."

"I think you'd look like the snarkiest grandmother ever."

"Thank you, my love."

His brows furrowed. "My love?"

"What's with that reaction?" Your arms crossed. "Fine. I won't call you that."

"No! I was playing. Say it again, please."

"You lost your chance, snake boy." You shook his hand off, standing from the couch.

You didn't get far. Anthony latched to your waist, smiling into your shirt. "I pledge to never approach a renowned criminal ever again. Just say it again. Please, Sweetheart? Spitfire? My dearest vexation? M'lady?"

You didn't even get close to picking up the basin before Anthony snatched it from you.

"When I get back," he said sternly. "I want to hear you say 'my love' again. Even just a whisper. Thank you."

If you were subject to his clownery for the rest of your life, it wasn't that bad of a price to pay. He was thoughtful when he used his brain.

Every Slytherin boy needed their Ravenclaw girl to keep their ambitions from getting them into trouble, after all.

It wasn't long 'till Lockwood crashed back into your arms. Spinning you in the air like he hadn't been on the verge of death minutes prior. His eyes were wide with expectation, and you didn't want to torture the boy for too long. Not after the lengths he went to to keep your ring safe.

You exaggerated the sweetness in your tone as you said, "My love."

Anthony was more than ready to hear those words for the rest of his life.

Neither of you noticed the pair of cranes that soared past the window, announcing the end of the rain and welcoming the beginnings of a wonderful season.

BONUS ANGST ➺ If I didn't include Jessica, Anthony would be able to see Thestrals. You would do some absurd things to distract him when you pass the carriages—even when you were rivals.

⚜ PART 1 | SERIES MASTERLIST

SWEETHEARTS ➺ @kiyasoup @toddandersondupe @locknco @onecojg @avdiobliss @mentallyillsodapop @mitskiswift99 @mischivana @bella-rose29 @wordsarelife

NOTE ➺ expecto patronus was the title because the initial idea was they always protect each other :>

i like to think mitski's 'my love mine all mine' was the song they danced to. so romantic~ i'm just baffled that i was able to write so many words XD all this was once just brain barf, crazy. it was a rollercoaster, but i hope you enjoyed 💙

as always, leave your thoughts in the comments or reblogs, i love hearing feedback <3

love always 💙 until next time, my dearest vexations 😘

⌠ @novelizt 2023 ⌡

#— ❨ 🌺 ❩ 𝐋𝐈𝐙𝐙𝐈𝐄'𝐒 𝐔𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐈𝐀 ₊˚.༄#lockwood hogwarts au #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood angst #anthony lockwood fanfiction

254 notes · View notes

thetarsier · 11 months

Note

okay. hear me out.... lockwood helping with hairwashing because your side is injured and you can't stretch your arms.... and you just have a little chat to keep it from being awkward but the way he's holding your head is really gentle and you've never quite been touched so lovingly before

Word Count: 1.3k

Warnings: none, injury, but not much detail, nakedness (*shocked face*)

<3: anthony lockwood x reader

“Lucy!” You called through the house from your spot securely hidden behind the bathroom door, “Luce?”

“She’s out,” The voice of the one person you didn’t want to ask for help filled your ears, “So is George. What’s up?”

Lockwood appeared, raising a teasing eyebrow at your position. You glared at him the best you could with your hair dripping steadily down your back and the door being your only protection from him seeing your naked body, but it was hard to feel anything but embarrassed.

“I’ll wait for Lucy to get back, thanks.”

“Let me guess,” He ignored your comment but didn’t come any closer, “You can’t lift your arms to wash your hair - which is exactly what I said would happen.”

“No,” You shook your head, “Okay, fine. Yes. Yes, I can’t reach up to wash my hair, alright? Good enough for you? You were right.”

He watched you for a few moments, dark eyes focused on yours for a time that seemed to stretch on. He wasn’t wearing his usual formal attire, just a shirt and joggers, and it made him seem more boyish - you preferred him that way, he tended to be somewhat nicer when he wasn’t putting on the appearance of Lockwood, when he was just Anthony.

“Lucy said she won’t be back for a while. Do you want me to help?” He offered, and you slid yourself further behind the door at the thought of him getting into the shower with you.

“No.”

“You’re just going to leave all the dirt in your hair? I’m all up for challenging beauty standards, but I’m not sure that’s hygienic. Come on, let me help you,” He seemed more sincere when he followed with, “I want to.”

“I’m naked.” You tried weakly.

“Who stitched up the gash on your side?” Lockwood posed the question, and you sighed, caught.

When you’d been injured by one of the Fittes agents on the latest mission that they’d ambushed, Lockwood had ripped the agent responsible a new one and reduced the boy to tears before taking you back home and taking the wound into his own hands. He cleaned it, wiped up the blood, and bandaged it - all without your top on.

You’d been in too much pain to care about the loss of the garment, but you had to admit that even once he was done, and you were in considerably less pain, you didn’t care that he was seeing you without your shirt on. It seemed… natural, in a way.

“I’ll give you my shirt to put on if you want,” He offered, hands already tugging at the hem of his grey shirt and pulling it over his head, “Here.”

You groaned before closing the door and tugging his shirt over your head. It was a feat with your injured side, but two seconds of pain was worth Anthony not seeing your bare chest. Having him help you wash your hair was enough embarrassment for the month, let alone him seeing you naked. Luckily, his shirt was long enough on you that it fell to just above your mid-thigh, meaning it covered everything else, too.

Closing your eyes and gathering your strength, you opened the door to Anthony, who was waiting patiently on the other side of the door, topless and no longer smirking like an idiot. He seemed bashful, and it was obvious that he was trying not to look at how his shirt was already sticking to your body thanks to the amount of time you’d already spent in the shower.

The shirt wasn’t offering you much more modesty, but it was enough.

Anthony entered the bathroom and shut the door behind him, and you begrudgingly stepped back into the shower, keeping your back to the boy behind you. He reached over you and pulled the shower head from its hold to wet your hair, and then he held it out to you to hold, and you took it, happy to have something to do with your hands.

“Where did George go?” You asked just to fill the silence as Anthony bent down to pick up your shampoo.

“The library,” He answered, his voice quiet and soft, reverberating in the confined space of the shower, “Lucy is out shopping, I think she said. I don’t know, she left quickly.”

His fingers made contact with your scalp, and you jolted, your back knocking into his front unceremoniously. He made a noise deep in his throat at the contact, and you moved forward again, though you could never escape his touch in the tiny space available to you.

“I’ll give you more warning next time,” His comment almost sounds sarcastic. Almost. But as his fingers begin to slowly massage the shampoo into your hair, all thoughts of rebuttal dissipate from your mind.

“Do you think I’ll ever be respected by the Fittes agents again?” You half-joked, “I mean, how many of us are injured by a rapier and down for the count?”

“That Fittes agent won’t have a job tomorrow if I have anything to say about it,” Anthony’s voice had slipped back into the soft tone, though there was an undertone of possessiveness that took the air from your lungs, “Any deeper and you would have needed stitches. Stitches. All because someone couldn’t watch where they were going…” He paused, exhaled deeply, “I should have never let it happen.”

“It wasn’t your fault.” You wanted to turn to him, despite the fact that his shirt was doing nothing to cover your naked body now that you were back in the shower. You wanted to look him in the eye so that he knew you were sincere when you reassured him, but he took the shower head from you to start washing the shampoo out of your hair, so you knew that it wasn’t the time.

One of his hands raised to your forehead, gently resting there to protect your eyes from the spray of water and soap as he rinsed your hair out, and your eyes closed in bliss. You’d never had somebody else wash your hair before, and you weren’t sure whether you would ever be able to go back to doing it yourself after Anthony’s treatment. Embarrassing as it was, you were becoming putty in his hands the longer his fingers stayed in your hair.

“Did you see the message on the table?” He asked as he bent down to collect your conditioner from the floor of the shower.

“Yeah. I’ll get on that as soon as I’m dressed.”

“Take it easy,” He advised, tugging all too gently on the ends of your hair as he ran the conditioner through it, “You’re to stay out of the field until your side heals.”

“What? But-”

“George will be happy to finally get some action,” Anthony interrupted you, “And you can stick to the researching for the next couple of weeks.”

You went to protest, but Anthony’s fingers drove over the top of your head, not putting conditioner on your roots, but lightly coating the hair there, too, and you melted under his touch. His hands were so gentle, his touch so loving and relaxing, that you were powerless to stop your body’s reaction to it.

It was his intention, of course, to get you to relax, but he hadn’t expected your head to fall all the way back until it met his bare shoulder, and he certainly didn’t expect it to stay there, your lethargy removing your inhibitions.

He washed his hands off with the shower head but kept hold of it as his free hand came up your arm to hold your jaw tenderly, supporting you even more than he already was. He kept his eyes securely on your face, watching it relax under his touch, and his own body relaxed more at the visual proof of your trust in him.

Maybe he wasn’t who you’d wanted to help initially, but there he was helping you, and if you wanted to spend the few minutes that your conditioner needed resting on his shoulder, he would stand there silently, willingly. Lovingly.

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood comfort #lockwood and co fic

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vi-trying-to-survive · 1 year

Text

Public Displays

Anthony Lockwood x f!Reader

Warnings: None, this is pretty much fluff and only fluff :) 💖💖💖

Summary: Lockwood and Y/N have to pretend to be a couple for a case, which is hard for her, but things are more complicated than they seem, as usual 💖💖💖

A/N: I hope you guys like this one :) 💖💖💖 It's a little longer, but also I love the fake dating trope a little too much :') 💖💖💖 Also so sorry if updates are unpredictable and slow :’) 💖💖💖 Hope you have a great day 💖💖💖

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"Lockwood are you really sure this is necessary ?", she frowned, sinking deeper into her seat.

Why did they need to pretend to be couple for this ? He was known to love elaborate plans, but this seemed a little much and slightly unnecessary. Alright, maybe the problem was partly because she really liked him, but how could she not. He always had her tea ready, just the way she liked it. He made her laugh, not cute little giggles, the ugly one that had her in tears on the ground, snorting. He cared about everyone in the team, more than he cared about himself sometimes, and definitely more than he let on. So, it was hard to not like him. She did hide it though, buried so deep, as to be sure that no one would ever know. Someone smarter and braver than her would have told her to just tell him how she felt, but it was easier this way, the pain of rejection would be agonising. Not just because she'd lose him, it may as well be like losing Lucy and George as well. She would rather live in denial all her life, than give up her only actual family. What could she say, she was a pessimist.

"I'm positive", he grinned.

George put down his book, nodding his head, "Public displays of affection do make people uncomfortable"

"Not helping", she groaned, letting her head drop into her hands.

"What ?! I'm just stating the obvious", he frowned, looking around the room for an air of support. The room was silent except for Lucy, giggling in her seat. Clearly this was amusing to her. She shot her a wary look, a silent plea for help. She only shrugged her shoulder, popping another biscuit into her mouth. She cursed under her breath.

He took a seat next to her, a hand on her shoulder, "Don't you trust me Y/N". She did trust him, that wasn't the problem. She didn't trust herself.

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"Lockwood, slow down", she gasped, unable to keep up with him. He was practically dragging her behind him. Their hands were interlocked, and she was only too aware of how her hand slotted into his, like pieces of a jigsaw. She was terrified. Her palms were sweaty. What if he could notice how sweaty her palms were. She muttered an apology as she bumped into another passerby, looking down on the ground.

He didn't slow down, only shook his head with a smile, "Sorry sweetheart, you are just going to have to walk faster".

She was taken aback, but kept walking. "I- Don't call me that", she sighed.

He squeezed her hand little, "What? It's part of the act, we are playing a couple".

"You are so annoying", she rolled her eyes. She hoped that he wouldn't look back and see the blush that coloured her face.

"But you love it sweetheart", he laughed and she couldn't help but laugh too.

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"You know we need this to be believable right ?", he sent her a pointed look.

"This is completely believable", she raised a brow, gesturing to the couch that they were both seated on. She was playing dumb, well aware of the distance between them. It was supposed to be a reality check of sorts, that she was hoping he wouldn't notice, but he was being sharper about this than she thought.

He chuckled, bringing a hand to her waist, pulling her towards him, "You could come a little closer ?". She pressed her lips together, as her contingency plan fell to pieces. Well shit. "You're so stiff", he repositioned her arms around him, allowing her head to rest on his shoulder, before replacing his arm around her.

"There this isn't so bad is it", he sighed, sounding a little too pleased with himself. He was warm and comfortable, with the faintest scent of lavender and bergamot. She let herself relax, as much as she could at least, settling in next to him. He was all to aware, a smug smirk plastered on his face. This was bad.

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She found herself in a predicament. She had to create a distraction. The best way would be to act like a couple, but that would only make it worse for her at the end of the night. Chancing a glimpse at the shadowy figure in the corner of her eye, she groaned internally. She knew what she had to do.

"Hey", she turned towards him,

His eyes met hers, "Yes ?'.

"How is that you always manage to look so good ?", she giggled, pulling him closer by his tie. She brought her palm to his cheek, he leaned into her touch. That was weird, but she kept going. She wasn't risking her sanity the whole day just for the case to end up in failure. She moved in closer, their lips only meeting, separated by a few millimetres. She could feel his hot breath on hers. Her heart pounded faster. How had this become a part of her job ?

His face turned red, "I um- I-".

The figure moved past them, and she thanked every higher power in existence. She pushed away from him, taking a step back. His tie dropped from her hold, "Okay they're gone".

Only then could she truly appreciate how flustered he had actually gotten. He looked like he had run a kilometre. She laughed, "Are you blushing ?". It was rare, which is why it was such a treat. At least if anything, at the end of this day she could say that she made the Anthony Lockwood speechless.

He fixed his gaze on the ground, running a hand through his hair, "I- I um- No".

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"They're coming out, we gotta go", she hissed, tugging at his arm. How had she not come to the realisation that this would end up with them in a sketchy alley, that was lit up by a sinister glow and wet with something she hoped was just rain water. This was disgusting, but the stakes of their lives was a bigger priority than hygiene, and still everything she endured today would all be for nothing if they were dead at the end of this.

He ran a palm across his face, "No there's not enough time".

"They're gonna know we were eavesdropping", she chewed her bottom lip. Her eyes flitted back and forth, searching for an escape, but all she could see were walls, nothing to climb, no hole to squeeze threw. Nothing. How could there be nothing ? They always made it out ? He always had a plan.

She looked at him, a sinking feeling burning a hole in the bottom of her stomach. "I- I know what to do", he sounded unsure.

At least he had a plan, and a plan was better than nothing. She winced, shrugging her shoulders, "Well whatever it is you're gonna have to do it quick".

In one swift movement, he had shoved her against the wall, his body pressed up against hers. She was breathing heavily, trying and failing to look anywhere else. It was probably not a great look, but when he put his lips on hers, her mind went blank. He tasted sweet, like honey. He was gentle, not like that she had imagined. It was soft and hesitant, messy and awkward. Still through all that it felt different, less like a daydream, more real.

He pulled away, she gasped, "That was-".

"I'm sorry, they’re gone now- I didn't mean to-", he began, hands up in surrender. Cutting him off she grabbed the collar of his shirt, connecting their lips again. He was taken aback, but he caught on soon enough, his hands moving to her waist, tugging her closer against him, almost suffocating her. It would be a lie to say she didn’t enjoy it though. Her fingers were tangled in his hair, leaving it sticking out in different ends. She felt warm all over and desperate, clinging onto him, but in the moment she didn’t care.

She pulled away breathless. He looked out-of-breath, yet he still seemed to be watching her closely. She turned her gaze to his, searching his eyes for a sign, something to tell her that he felt the same. He gave her a soft smile, “Can- Can we do that again ?”. She laughed.

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The door swung open. Her eyes travelled to their interlocked hands. He scratched the back if his head sheepishly and she looked to the ground.

"So, how was your date ?", she took a step back, letting them in, with a teasing grin.

Her eyes were still trailed on the floor, letting him lead her in, "We um-". How would she be able to describe it ? Where would she even begin ?

"I knew it", she shook her head knowingly, arms crossed.

She was confused. "What ?", he wondered, tracing patterns on the back of her palm.

“You two kissed”, she pointed out, but before he could respond she was already marching up that stairs, “George you owe me 10 quid”.

Maybe she wasn’t as great at hiding her feelings as she thought ? She tilted her head to look at him. His hairs was ruffled with a tired smile on his face, her hand still secured in his. Turning to her, he raised a brow, probably feeling her stare. She just smiled back.

"You two kissed", she pointed out, like it was written on their foreheads, but before he could think of a response, she was already marching up the stairs, “George you owe me 10 quid”.

They were silent. Maybe she wasn’t as good as hiding her feelings as she though she was. She tilted her head to look at him, a ruffled with a tired smile on his face, she felt a sense of comfort. He turned over to her, probably sending her stare, she just smiled, content.

They were silent. She felt her face heat up. Was it that obvious to everyone else ? Maybe she wasn’t as incognito as she had thought ? And maybe that wasn’t so bad she thought, as she looked at him, ruffled with a tired smile on his face. She felt a a strange sense of comfort and couldn’t help but smile too.

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fleetingvow · 1 year

Text

ANTHONY LOCKWOOD X FEMALE READER

SYNOPSIS. you and anthony have settled it before. you couldn’t allow whatever it was that had been going on between the two of you to continue. so, that resulted to consistent longing looks and stolen glances, until you met someone new. lockwood didn’t like that, especially with the way this bloke flirted using the very language he used to communicate with you from far away. ( 4.5k words )

CATEGORY. angsty fluff. jealousy plot. will-they-won’t-they trope. written in second person’s point of view.

WARNINGS. unproofread. i don’t have beta readers, sadly. english is not the author’s first language. usual usage of profanities. tried my best to characterise anthony as he is, but he’s a little much of a challenge. — hopefully i did him justice. aged up to eighteen but without nsfw theme.

NAVIGATION. you can find more of my works about anthony lockwood and wednesday addams by clicking the link here! a fair warning, they’re all angsty!

DEDICATED TO. @obsessed-female @courtneyraeblogs1221 @philliam-writes ( apologies for the repeated tags - there was a malfunction with the previous one and i had to replace it with this one )

REMINDER. this fic is written by ©fleetingvow on tumblr. do not rewrite or repost on any other platforms without my permission. inspiration is lovely, but plagiarism by paraphrasing is not, as well as stealing someone’s idea and claiming it as your own which is exactly what plagiarism is.

𝗜𝗧’𝗦 𝗚𝗢𝗜𝗡𝗚 to be like this forever, isn’t it? Endless rounds of stolen glances and yearning looks from across the table, learning the art of composure and restraint to keep both your desires to be close to one another just solely in the back of your mind. Anthony always was a complex character, and there were times you couldn’t read his thoughts behind his eyes, but when you started to study him carefully, you started to understand that those looks he gave you were quite more interesting.

Not interesting per say, perhaps — perhaps interested.

You couldn’t deny Lockwood the fact that you weren’t immune to his charms. He was gentle and caring yet careless with other things that involved the agency’s line of work. Which was the irony of it all, really, because once you both have opened yourself to each other and came transparently clear of your feelings, he insisted that you both set it aside for the sake of the team.

And now here you are, months later, just glancing at each other briefly, smiling at nothing like idiots when no one’s looking, and pondering over the small moments when your hands would brush slightly. Your heart would constantly ache for him. This barricade he built between the two of you made it difficult for you to see him, but your feelings kept growing.

He was so close yet so far.

All you could get ahold of him was a view. That’s all you could do after all, look at him, admire him from afar, picture how he smiles proudly and smirk so smugly in your head.

Lockwood is an entire art, you thought.

And then, there were two lovesick arts looking at each other, which are, for clarification, are the arts they were looking at.

How could both be so active with their eyes yet be so blind from the fact that they wanted each other at the same level of intensity?

Sight was Anthony’s talent, and he was damn grateful it was that it was his pair of eyes that did all the work for him. He couldn’t communicate by words to you or else someone else would hear. He couldn’t touch you because someone else might see. It might be better that he’d learn the language of looks for you, and maybe then you’d know. You’d know how his tired eyes wouldn’t let him sleep as it worked with his mind, screaming for him to wake up and convince him to be selfish for once. Selfish enough just to get you all to himself.

But he couldn’t do anything about it, he just couldn’t. He didn’t want you suffering because of him. He knew you loved the idea of romance, and he knew how avid you were to find someone who would shout his undying ardour to the ends of the Earth. He couldn’t let you suffer, only holding hands with him behind closed curtains.

Lockwood wanted you, but you were someone he couldn’t have.

“Your tea’s getting cold, Y/N.” George commented as he noticed the untouched teacup set before you. You quickly snapped out of your trance when suddenly, there was a knock on the door. In an attempt to shake off the embarrassment you just caused, you stood up from your chair and mumbled, “I’ll get it.”

Anthony let out a chuckle under his breath as he flipped the page of the newspaper, casually appearing to read when his mind had entirely lost track of the article he was supposed to be absorbed in two minutes ago when you started zoning out while looking at him.

“What are you laughing at?” George questioned. My, he seemed to be in a bad mood today. Anthony lifted his head to meet his eyes with a shrug.

“The paper’s just a little ridiculous today,” he reasoned. It was truly because he found you amusing for a little while. The boy closed the paper and set it on the table. “Where’s Lucy?”

“Upstairs. Said she needs another hour to sleep in,” Karim replied, unbothered by the previous encounter. He took a bite of the cookie and passed the platter onto Lockwood who returned it, seeing as there was only one left, and George needed it to maybe lighten up his mood.

You laughed slightly, “You really shouldn’t have. Is this your mum’s recipe? It is, isn’t it?” You frowned in confusion as you examined the pastries inside the basket. It smelled so good. Cinnamon, just like —

“Hey, L/N. Who is it?”

— Lockwood.

You quickly turned to look at him with the basket clutched in your hands, “Oh, it’s Theo. He gave us his mum’s specials. Here, have a look at it. They look delicious.”

You noticed how his eyebrows furrowed as he caught sight of the boy in the doorframe. That wasn’t a good sign. “Theo?”

“Yeah, he’s the one stuffing us up with bread and pastries for the past few weeks.”

‘So this was Theo,’ Anthony thought to himself, scanning the guy from head to toe. He frowned even more. “Theo, it’s nice to finally meet you. I’m — ”

“Anthony Lockwood. It’s nice to meet you, too.” Theo shook his hand. There wasn’t an expression on Anthony’s face for a while before he caught himself and tugged a slight smile.

“Do you want a cuppa? It’s the least we can do in return,” you suddenly interjected, diminishing the tension that had been threatening to build up between the two. Oh, why did you have to be so nice all the damn time? Lockwood swore he could lose two of his toes right there and then.

You realised Anthony didn’t much meddle with the idea of Theo entering the house as he only stood there, waiting for an answer from your neighbour. Theo let out a breathy laugh constructed of fear, “Er, as much as I’d love to, I don’t think I have the time today — must go help my mum arrange the er, bakery.”

“Perfect! We’ll just deliver you a George special. Truly grateful for the gift.” Lockwood replied immediately after the end of Theo’s sentence. You didn’t even get to talk as Theo awkwardly stood.

“George special?” He asked, bewildered.

“Made by George — er, our researcher,” you answered. Lockwood flashed him a smile and held back a sigh.

“Any more questions? I think our agency’s quite busy. I can already hear the phone inside, it must be our third commission for today.”

“Okay, yes, I mean no. I — hey, I’ll just drop by tomorrow, yeah?” You could have sworn Theo gave you that look, his eyes gentle as they were fixed on you without a care for the fuming facade in Anthony’s face.

Lockwood slightly pulled you away from the doorframe.

“Thanks, mate.” Anthony found his grip on the door as he quickly shut it on the boy’s face, his hand lingering a little more while on the wood as he stared at you. You returned the gaze, arching your eyebrow. You almost said something, like why he was in a rush when she could literally hear no ringing from the phone, why he was examining Theo from head to toe, and why he shut that door on his face. But his eyes, they were staring right at your soul as if he was trying to figure out some kind of puzzle in the back of your head.

“Are we just going to stare at each other, or are we going to talk about what just hap—” You finally spoke up only to get cut off.

He quickly took a sharp inhale with a question that made his eyebrows furrow again, “Do you like him?”

“ — What?” You asked in response, your mouth ajar.

“Lockwood, Y/N! Your tea! It’s a waste of teabags, seriously!” George’s voice quickly cut the tension with his yelling, turning the atmosphere even more awkward to bear. You both turned your head to the kitchen’s direction with you recovering first when you cleared your throat. You then left without a word.

Throughout the next week, things have been like that. Theo comes knocking on the door, and you would be welcoming him, accepting his gifts . . . with Anthony closely standing a foot behind you. If it isn’t you that would answer the door, it was him, and you could ask Theo about how that went later on.

The visits have become regular and the gifts have become more in quantity and taste. There was a point that Theo got inside the flat and visited the library, much to Anthony’s dismay. He had to watch him closely tailing you in every corner of the chamber of books, his hands clasped behind his back. Anthony was reading the latest scoop, but then he had no choice but to pretend that he was occupied by it while he watched closely. Theo was making jokes, funny enough to you that it would earn a hearty laugh.

Lockwood almost rolled his eyes and scoffed.

“That’s hilarious!” You exclaimed.

‘Oh, you little liar,’ Anthony thought with a smirk. If you really found that hilarious, you would slap Theo lightly, but you weren’t. If there was something he was confident at, it was that he knew you better than anyone else.

You lightly tapped Theo’s hand as you let out yet another laugh. Anthony groaned mentally, resisting the urge to stand up and leave the room. His eyes peeked through the newspaper while listening intently.

“You mentioned before that you liked reading, so I thought maybe showing you the great Lockwood library would be enough to return the favour.”

“What favour?” Theo questioned.

Yeah. What favour? Anthony leaned in slightly.

“Delivering your gifts to the agency. The bread, pastries, and the er, . . . ”

The what?

“The flowers.”

The flowers?

He heard Theo laugh under his breath as he watched him bob his head with a gentle ‘you’re welcome.’

‘Are they quite done yet?’ Anthony thought. Theo’s eyes watched you, his eyes travelling from your eyes to your lips.

Lockwood didn’t like that. So, with much grace, he cleared his throat and closed the newspaper, finally getting the attention of the two of you from where you stood. Your breath almost hitched as you watched Lockwood walk out of the library with much haste.

You didn’t know what you did to him. You didn’t know exactly how that conversation affected him, and he wished you did. He wished you had a clue. Of course, you have. Could you? He was stupid to leave that library — what if whatever that conversation was leading to, happened? What if . . .

What if you walked out of that room completely and utterly unreachable? Your devotion truly untouchable and bound to that Theo?

No matter what had transpired, or what Lockwood thought, that seemed to be the inclusion after Theo left the house, wasn’t it? Because when the door closed and you turned back facing your team, Lucy and George looked at you quite expectantly.

Yet Anthony couldn’t meet your eyes.

No matter how much you searched for them.

You gave them a slight smile before walking past them without a word, rushing to your given room with a heavy heart weighing inside your chest.

You thought it was only you? Lockwood felt his heart shatter when he walked in that kitchen with Lucy and George indulging into the fresh biscuits Theo gave earlier that morning. They were chatting and betting away whether Theo would have probably made his move or chickened out. When they finally noticed his presence, they quickly stopped and looked at him.

“What?” Lockwood asked.

George cut off the awkward silence when he offered the boy the biscuits he shared with Lucy. When he left that library, he thought he already got away with the sight of that man who was persistent on having you, but guess he thought too early.

“Do you think Theo’s made his move yet?” Lucy questioned. It was odd, for sure. She was never the one to be so invested in something like this. That made his stomach churn. Could it be that you and Theo were both too compelling to have her trapped in this sort of spell?

“He’s a wuss. He’d probably walk out of that door with an awkward trip. I can already see it.” George, not you too.

“Do you think they’ll be together in any minute now, Lockwood?” Lucy, could you stop with these questions? It was making his tie almost choke him and take away his breathing.

“It’s obvious. Their awkwardness is not hard to miss.”

Oh, so you and Theo were obvious to Lucy and George, but when it was you and Anthony, it wasn’t? He didn’t know if he should be happy or not that no one knew. Because as much as he’d love to shout it, could he?

The sight of the goods was sickening, but he had to cover his traces desperately or things would only go downhill from here. He couldn’t have you, and that’s final. That was the very reason he lost his sense of planning, and all he had to resort to was just — be the Lockwood that’s always Lockwood.

The team before you. The agency above all else. The greater good before his feelings. The well-being of everyone in that house before him.

What’s the point? Theo had proven himself consistent — with gift-giving, he supposed. He just looks at you so perfectly, like he was taken with you. Lockwood used to look at you like that, and he still does, no matter how useless it has become. Theo’s body language didn’t display threat to you or anyone. He was just unapologetically himself, gentle and soft. You would probably want to live with someone like that.

He was your friend.

Lockwood? He was your boss.

He convinced himself that that was the only role he could play in your life as you grew further and further apart from that table. Who knew, right? That someone could be this close yet so so far.

Anthony began to take his morning tea rather faster than before and proceeded to keep himself locked in the library for the times that the team wasn’t out for ghost-hunting. He was still himself, still the same boy with witty remarks and had a subtle smugness about him. Still the same friend and boss who praised his team constantly and asked for George to make his specials just because.

Still the same old Lockwood with so many things different about him. Oh, please, spare us the irony, but goodness how much you sought for answers from his eyes that just wouldn’t stare at you for more than three seconds.

You couldn’t see him. Truly see him.

And you were sick of it. He acted so normal, like nothing happened. That he didn’t just watch everything that happened in that library, left without a word but with a sense of anger lingering, and stood with the two to ask for what happened.

There was something different about you. Your eyes stayed focused on your tea for an hour every morning, you went outside off-duty a lot, and you only spoke when you were spoken to. You smiled. Just occasionally. You opened the door to the agency’s home for Theo, but it never felt thrilling anymore ever since you found that Lockwood’s presence won’t be a foot behind you. Theo only brought bread now. No more flowers, no other gifts of romantic causes. He always put on a friendly smile like it was his favourite shoes.

And you wished you’d see that same smile but on a different face.

So, you did what you did best. Avoided Lockwood. You couldn’t afford to fall for this challenge. Every single day proved to be difficult as you saw his face. That was the reason you were out the door often. You also met up with Theo quite frequently.

There was this one time Anthony wished he never stared out the window. Just so he wouldn’t catch a glimpse of your figure, your hair, your eyes that looked up at Theo as you listened to what he had to say as you slowly walked side by side.

He looked away, shutting the accounting book in his hand. He’d suddenly lost interest in sorting out the bills when he knew he couldn’t even afford something intangible. He scoffed. ‘This was different.’

Anthony stayed in the library again tonight, watching the striking dance of the flame in the hearth, nursing a book in his arms. He sighed, looking away and turning his attention to the paperback he now settled on his lap. What was wrong with him?

He already had you, and he just had to ruin it, didn’t he? He couldn’t be with you because what? Because of Lucy and George’s predictable taunting?

He was sure he had a good reason, but now? Now that he’s successfully pushed you away into the arms of another guy, he couldn’t see it as a reason.

Only as an excuse.

Just so he wouldn’t hurt you, but being involved with him already did half of that. It was just when he lost you that it must have damaged you both.

Or maybe it was just him.

“Lockwood?” He heard his name spoken by a voice ever so gentle yet thought-provoking that one would doubt it came from a human but a siren. The boy looked up from the book and turned his head to you, catching sight of you again.

One.

Two.

Three.

Four.

He looked at you for more than three seconds. You took note of that as it made you smile, yet that smile faltered when you felt your heart dropping to your stomach upon realising the reason why you knocked on the library door and faced him in your sleepwear.

“Yes, Y/N?” Your name always did sound like a melody in his voice. You almost got distracted, but took a step forward and closed the door behind you.

“I was wondering if we could speak.” That statement was firm.

It took him a while, but then, “Sure.”

“It’s about Theo.”

“And what about Theo?” He was quick to reply. You didn’t know if he wanted to talk about him or not, but you were slowly believing it was the latter when he looked away from you and stood up from his chair, putting the book aside on the table.

“I don’t think you like him very much,” you confessed. Your chest heaved up slowly as you sighed in relief of finally telling him the truth, but it wasn’t over yet. It wasn’t even just the beginning.

He paused for a while before resuming to ask gently, “Is that him saying that or is it you that wants to know?”

“Him.”

“No, Y/N. I don’t not like him.” You knew that. No, not the like part although that, you didn’t know whether to trust. You meant him not being gullible enough to believe that it wasn’t him that was asking him that question and you were only there to deliver the missive.

“Look, I only want the truth.”

Ah, so it is you asking that question.

“Why do you need this specific truth?”

Why is he asking you back? That wasn’t supposed to happen. You didn’t expect him to start turning the tables of who asks who. “I was just thinking, that’s all,” you replied in almost a whisper.

That’s when he crossed his arms and nodded his head, jaw clenching slightly. “We’re both not being truthful at all, are we?”

You lifted your eyebrows in return. “What?”

“It’s half the truth; What I said.” What was that supposed to mean? Your inhalation this time around was shaky. You tried not to crumble and appear as sturdy as possible, but you were close to knowing about the truth and Anthony who had been amiss for the past few weeks.

“Do you want to know the full truth, Y/N?” Lockwood questioned. His voice seemed to be coaxing you out of your trance, like he was taunting you, luring you in with that tone in his voice, but there was a different flavour to it.

Like it was soft, gentle, almost as if he was making it sound childishly alluring enough to show you innocence in which it is bliss in all its glory of the truth. Lockwood here before your presence was willing to be completely honest, and he was making your heart flutter with hope.

“I don’t like the way he looks at you,” he mumbled quietly, eyes glued to yours as you scanned his face for a sign whether he was cracking a joke. There wasn’t any readable hint at all, and you knew just how to handle a situation like that.

Play dumb. You painted a face of confusion, slowly settling your hands to your side after they went numb from clutching your hips. You replied, dragging the emphasis of the question along, “Looks at me like what?”

He took a deep breath and averted his gaze, buying his merry time as he appeared to be lost in thought, mesmerised by how utterly stupid he was starting to feel. This time, it was him that placed his hand on his hip, his other firmly placed on the table next to the chair he warmed with his presence earlier but completely ghosted as he stood. He lifted that hand and rubbed the nape of his neck. He shouldn’t be saying it. He shouldn’t even think it!

But by God, you were driving him mad!

“Like how I’m supposed to look at you.” He could have sworn his hand twitched in response to the urge to slap himself, but he had to keep his composure, especially in front of you. He had to appear better than the guy who had been the object of your attention this past week. Anthony mentally cringed — Why did he say that? He messed up, didn’t he? Ridiculously so!

“Lockwood,” you whispered.

His eyes furrowed, watchful gaze softening at you as if he was going to lose you forever and he was a dead man destined to just watch and watch until his time runs out.

“Anthony,” you corrected yourself. That gave him hope, but he wasn’t just about to rejoice either. You were, after all, Theo’s. Not his.

“But he’s doing it wrong.” Anthony continued without a care in the world. He just wanted this, if it’s the only thing he gets.

He was exhausted from just staring at you from afar, and what’s worse, having another guy in the picture doing all that wondrous romantic work for him.

He’s selfish, fine, but he once had everything when he communicated with your soul and now he had nothing.

Just fleeting hope.

“He’s supposed to see your soul in your eyes, not just his reflection in them. He’s supposed to notice every detail, the colour, the shape — and he’s supposed to remember it for when he thinks of it in sleepless nights.” He took short strides forward to meet you this close as he lifted his hand and brushed the loose strands off your face and tucked them behind your ears. “He’s supposed to tuck your hair like this when it gets in the way or else the message he’s trying to tell you won’t end up being clear.”

“But maybe he should have messages to give you before he looks at you like this at all,” he mumbled. “He should have learned the language of looks. You don’t just deserve words, you deserve the truth, the full picture, every inch of a canvas painted. The Devil knows just how much you like to watch yourself in someone’s eyes, how they perceive you, and you in mine, you’re perfect in every way. Does Theo know that? Is he aware? Do you like how he looks at you?”

You couldn’t talk. You were malfunctioning upon hearing his words. They were all being processed in your head but your understanding also kept shattering.

You felt like a girl again. Not like Theo never treated you like one, it’s just that only Anthony managed to make you feel this way.

“You said it before, Anthony; We can’t happen. We could never, because — ”

“Because I was a coward.”

“Because you had a duty to this agency, and you were thinking of everyone. I agreed on the matter with you.”

“And I had a duty to you.” Your world stopped. Is this the same Anthony? What was he doing being this close to you? Why did you like it? Was he taking his words back from before? Could you possibly happen now? You didn’t know the answer to your own questions. You were in a haze and flurry of questions, but when you searched his eyes now, they were true, deep, lovesick and drunk at the sight of you.

“Theo and I aren’t together, Anthony.” You mumbled without blinking.

You just wanted his breath on your skin, his touch on your cheeks, his eyes all over you and his lips meeting yours. “So what’s holding you back now?” you whispered again, your hand leisurely finding its way on his chest.

His skin was hot underneath his shirt, but you could also feel the fast thumping in his chest. His smile before that didn’t quite reach his eyes now reached the sky and his eyes became starry with the news. For weeks, he thought he’d lost you, and what a fool he was to only know it now that you were there just waiting for him. How could he think that?

“Kiss me.”

You closed your eyes as you closed the vexing gap. Your hand roamed from his chest to his shoulders, looping your arms to hold him close. His hands made their way down to your waist, the other trailing your back and settling on the nape of your neck. His fingers were feather-light on your skin, making the hairs on your neck shiver to the touch.

You never thought you’d feel something like this. You thought it was just the books you read and the films you watched. Now, the boy you thought was a tense duty-first guarded eighteen-year-old was kissing you until the oxygen his body possessed gave out.

How relieved he felt, how soft you were under his touch. He thought of this a million times over when he couldn’t even look at you before, holding you close like this, having your lips on his like this.

He had to firmly shut his already closed eyes again just to make sure it wasn’t a dream, but no, he wasn’t in the midnight voyage of slumber. He was there in his library filled with books and the scent of you that lingered. Sweet and you. You always loved that room and so you’d linger every single day.

He thought it was the books you liked so much. It was, but the best part of it was Anthony Lockwood himself, and he can’t quite complain now, can he?

Meanwhile, Lucy was getting rich with George’s money, but who cares, right? Who knew you and Anthony thrived on angst and it took Theo the bread guy to bring you two together?

Oh, you thought no one knew? Even a kindergartner would know in five minutes.

END NOTE. This is a repost because the original one was butchered by Tumblr's read more link bug that made the paragraphs of the fic disappear and get jumbled.

This paragraph is a test whether the read more link bug will destroy the fic again and make it disappear. Hopefully not, because I can't keep rewriting the last paragraph repeatedly.

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