#anthony lockwood x fem!reader

[websterss]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐎𝐍𝐄 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐄𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐌𝐄 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: Heyy! Could I request an Anthony lockwood x reader where lockwood gets injured on his side on a mission so at home reader helps him take care of it but he has to take his shirt off. Basically full of fluff

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): A lil bit angsty with some fluff

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,881

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader  

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! :) I added angst cause I couldn’t help myself. Anthony Lockwood screams angst lol.

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“Can you stand at all?” Lucy gave a once over to the boy pressed up against a stone. Lockwood grimaced as he felt an ache course up through his rib cage. He faintly nodded a yes to lessen Lucy’s worry over him.

“I think I can manage.” He smirked to mask the pain he was in. “Though I could use a hand.” He reached up, eyes falling onto George. The curly haired boy met his hand and helped him onto his feet again. A muffled grunt didn’t go over their heads. One silent glance of communication was enough to agree to head on home. A home where you currently waited for the trio in. 

“Y/n is not going to be pleased about this.” George grimaced.

“So don’t tell her.” Anthony scowled with a grimace.

In a series of cases you would accompany them. The trio originally being a quartet, but after a case with a type two and a torn ligament. Lockwood thought best to keep you under house arrest, much to your chagrin, though you happily obliged to his wishes. Staying home at least until your foot is fully healed. That meant you weren’t allowed to apply pressure to your injury, thus preventing you from doing normal human things. You did your best to offer your knowledge and help out in terms of research, but you would much rather be out there in the field, another thing Lockwood was firm about, no forms of physicality. You hated being homebound, stuck staring at the small four walls of every room in the house, though you knew as much that Lockwood would have a cow if he so much saw you anywhere else but within the apartment. The bloke nearly panicked one day after you stepped foot outside to fetch the mail. Now you wondered how he would react once he knew about your rendezvous scales up and down the staircases. Your foot was far from healing at this point though you obliged. Wanting to keep the peace.

What seemed like a never ending wait, quickly vanished as the familiar twist of the doorknob got your attention from the living room. You hastily pushed yourself up to stand, hobbling towards the entryway. Your smile greeting your tired friends. Lucy reciprocates your smile, whereas George brushes past you with a curt nod, and Anthony…well he has yet to meet your eyes. You glance over at Lucy in hopes of an explanation, but she only further replies with. “It was our most difficult case yet. I’d give him some time.” You place your hand over hers that fell onto your shoulder in passing up towards her room. Your hand lingering on your shoulder. Tucking your neck in, as you subconsciously tether on your good foot. All your weight applied to your left side.

“Anthony.” Your voice rings out but it’s a faint mutter. Loud enough to dance in and out of his ears. You didn’t dare raise an octave. Too scared to break the silence with so much as a raise of your voice. “Ant-“

“Please.” He begs, shaking his head. Not in the mood to be lectured or frowned upon, he wouldn’t be able to bear it, seeing a frown on your soft features. He already got a glimpse of your worry stricken facade. He didn’t want to add on to your concerns. He didn’t need you to strain yourself over the horrible ache in his right side, not when you had your own injuries to worry about. His breathing becomes labored, his jaw clenches. The visible vein popping against his forehead makes your smile downcast.

“You’re hurt, Anthony.” You point out the obvious. You sigh, closing your eyes for what you knew was about to be a stubborn battle that was about to commence.

“It’s nothing.” His voice shakes, making his brave exterior falter. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Show me.” You gesture to the side he holds.

“I’m fine. No need to get over dramatic on me.” He straightens out with a smirk. His arms open wide for emphasis. “You have your injuries. I have my own. Goodnight, Y/n.” You roll your eyes, letting him brush past you slowly, then watch him ascend onto the second level. You wait a second then follow after him. Your slow thudded steps are not missed by him. He stops as he reaches the last step. Watching you hold the railing to support your climb. “What the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Wondering if you enjoy pissing me off.” You retort. You land on the deck with a huff. “Wow, that does not get easier.”

“Have you been practicing?” The realization hits him hard. His jaw drops, as two and two come together. You climb with ease, quite possibly faster than he could with his injuries.

“It was either I sit around all day. Or ascend the stairs. What do you think?” You pat his chest. Walking ahead and into his room. You turn back around to face the brute still gaping at you in the middle of the hallway. “Now show me!” You gesture for him to enter. He hesitates, but obliges. Coming into his room, and shutting the door behind him. He glanced up at you, waiting patiently for him to let you tend to his injuries.

“You really ought to just head on to bed. I’ll be fine.” He suggests, rather than fall vulnerable under your now narrowed annoyed eyes.

“And you really ought to know when to shut up.” You motion with your head to his bed. He averts his gaze, looking anywhere that isn’t your hard glare. He knows you mean well, but feeling the full blunt force he received when he fell against his ribcage. He didn’t want to imagine what his side appeared as if it’s caused him this much pain already. He didn’t want to burden you. See you in such pain. Your nurturing and caring stature is something he adores. You always look after others when you should apply such tendencies to your own self. You put others needs before your own, and right now, he knew after showing you how bad he was suffering, how much he was hiding, your mind would linger on this moment for a long time, until your mind occupied something new to dwell and overthink about. It’s why he’s so hesitant to even sit on the edge of his own bed.

“When will you stop being so stubborn and ask for help?” You walk over to the corner of the room, collecting a small aid kit, you recommended Anthony keep, in times of need, and situations as such. He had the tendency to gain a few cuts and bruises here and there. Overworking himself, and hardly gaining any sleep.

“Why bother? You see right through me every time.” The corner of his lips lifts. Eyeing you carefully as you set the box beside him. You roll your eyes, bringing a vacant chair over in front of him to help you clean up his wounds. You scoot until your knees brush. You sigh once more, meeting his eyes that have yet to leave yours.

“You’re right. I do see through every bullshit attempt of feigning okay.” You nod. “Though I wish more than anything that you’d tell me instead. That you’d use your words instead of having to see pain written over your face. I wish you’d tell me, Ant.” Your eyes begin to water. As do his. He holds your gaze, letting his walls tear down to allow you a second of entry.

He nods knowing that he definitely lacks verbal communication. He nods because he knows how this all affects you. He nods because you're the only person who truly sees him. Who doesn’t push him, but encourages him to find his voice and let his guard down around you. A tear falls down his cheek. “It hurts.” He finally allows himself to admit.

You hastily nod, swallowing down the ache in your throat. You sniffle as you try to gain your composure. “Where?”

“It’s my side…” He grits his teeth. “I fell on my side.” He closes his eyes as you go to lift the bottom shirt. His hand quickly stops you from pulling the shirt upwards. “No, no, no. I don’t want you to see. If it hurts this much then it can’t be far from looking bad.”

“Anthony please.” You plead. “I need to see so that I can help you. Make sure you don’t have a broken rib or worse!”

He thinks about it before giving in. His grip on your hand lessens up. You meet his gaze for a brief second then slowly go to lift the hem of his shirt. You lift and lift until his mid section is revealed to you. Your audible gasp has him thinking the worst. You reach out to touch him but stop. “I-I need you to remove your shirt.” You clear your throat. Tears brimming your eyes again. Your teary eyes lift to meet his now concerned ones. “Can you remove it?” You don’t even need his answer, his injuries do look as bad as he says he feels. A firm shake of his head is all you need to help slide down his blazer past his shoulders. Once carefully removed. His shaky hands fumble with unbuttoning the buttons. You take over and start from the top to the bottom. Once you reach the last button, you halt your movements. The overly confident person you are diminishing in a heart heart. Your cheeks grow warm as you overthink about the compromising position you just put yourself in. A shirtless Anthony was not something you thought you’d encounter.

You undo the button and push the shirt open. His chest, now revealed and his bruising and cut now more visible. Your breathing comes out shaky as you go to grab a cloth and disinfectant spray. Your eyes fleet back to his chest, shamefully letting your eyes take in his build. Anthony was a sight that was always sure. Despite the bags under his eyes, and overconfidence, you can see past it all and gawk at his attractiveness. His ego was now surely boosted as his eyes crinkled mischievously. A smirk prominent on his lips as he watched you try and subtly avert your eyes elsewhere, like towards his injuries, but your gaze flickering between his own eyes and open chest has him finding this whole predicament amusing. 

“You’re bashful.” He teased, reaching forward to poke fun at your cheeks.

“I am not.” You scoffed at his accusation. You denied him, reluctant to let him see that he was winning and you were losing, very very badly. 

“You know if you wanted to rid me of my shirt, you only needed to ask.” His laugh broke the barrier, the evident grimace now apparent as he grunted about the pain he felt. He had to make a mental note to not shake of laughter, at least until he got better and his side wasn’t currently sore. 

“Keep laughing, see where that gets you.” You chuckled, yet the familiar twinkle in his eyes was now reflecting back at him. “Besides…who says I wanted to see you shirtless?” Your eyes fail you as you chance a look at his chest again, then to his knowing stare. You let your head fall wanting to avoid confronting him and your clear feelings for him. Though the slight lift of your chin by his own hand has you thinking that the feelings you hide might not be all so invisible to a certain someone. 

“I say.” His face inches closer, the warmth of his breath closer to your lips than you wanted. The smallest flicker down to your lips then up to your e/c irises does not escape you. Your breath hitches when he lets his head lean against yours. Heads now pressed together. His hand still lingers under your chin, never retracting or falling back down to his side. “I am so utterly grateful for you, Y/n. I don't know what my life would be like if you hadn’t walked into my life.”

“I didn’t exactly walk though now did I?” Your smile widens. Eyes crinkling at the corners as you pulled back to look at him. “More like fell.” You laugh, reminiscing over your first encounter with each other. Another one of your cases gone wrong, you fell backwards when Anthony had opened the door your back was pressed against. Two strangers meeting under a ghostly scenario. What more could perfectly describe your bond with one another? 

“You were scared that day.” He remembered. You nodded.

“I was…It was my first case. I was on my own till you showed up.” Your stomach flutters under his gaze. You fiddle with the cloth in your hands. “I’m glad you did though. You saved me that day.” You let out a breathy laugh. His eyes never faltered, never fleeting. His gaze was intense, wanting to remember every little detail about you. This life you all lived, nothing was ever truly promised, you and him weren’t so easily promised. Tomorrow could come, but there’d be the chance that you wouldn’t. He was so afraid of losing you. Losing the team, and ending up alone like how he was after his parents died. He was trying to hold onto you all until he couldn’t anymore. 

“No.” He denied it. “You saved me.” He adjusted himself into a better sitting position. Straightening up. You gave the faintest smile. Looking away in hopes to lessen your flustered state. You saved him, and he saved you.

“You okay? I bandaged up the wound as best as I could, but you’ll need another clean up tomorrow.”

He looked down to observe your masterful work of art. He nodded reassuringly that he was okay. “Nothing a few pain meds can’t fix.” He joked, but saw you hesitate. “I’m okay. The pain isn’t as bad anymore.”

“Sure?”

“I promise. You’ve cured me.” He beamed.

“I wouldn’t go as far as that but I do try my best.” You began gathering the mess you made and all the opened wrappers.

“No, you are the best doctor anyone could ever ask for.” He placed his hand over yours stopping you from cleaning up after yourself. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me everytime I bandage you up Lockwood.” You reminded him. You’d help him any day given, no questions asked. “I want to help.”

“Thank you for everything you do for us.” For me, he wanted to say. You rolled your eyes and gathered up all the trash. You moved the chair back to stand and was stopped by Anthony’s grip on your wrist again. “You okay?” Your brows furrowed, looking down at him. He strained himself, using your arm for support to stand up to his feet. His breath shuddered as he stood silent for a second. “Anthony you okay?” He nodded in response. Then he grew flustered himself. You opened your mouth to speak again but clamped it shut when he leaned forward. His lips pressing a soft gentle kiss against your cheek. Your eyes widened in surprise, and your breath hitched in the back of your throat. Your dilated pupils met his own that were widened in shock of what he had just done. Your grip on all the trash loosened causing all the scraps to fall and float towards the bottom. “Oh I uh-” You scrambled, bending down to collect all the trash. Anthony raised a hand to rub the back of his neck subconsciously. He did not expect you to react this way. 

“Sorry here let me-”

“No it’s okay I got it-” You waved him away. Though as you rose to your full height and he lowered closer to the ground, your heads budded against each other. You both groaned, touching the areas that collided. 

“I’m so sorry-” He began, grimacing as the pain in his side returned.

“It’s fine!” You reassured him, rubbing your aching headache.

“No really. I shouldn’t have kissed you. I caught you off guard and I-” He was then cut off by your own lips. You pulled back in haste. Eyes widened in shock. You reacted impulsively and your mind said to kiss him, so you shut him up. “Oh…” He was the speechless one this time. 

“Sorry-” You began. He held onto your shoulders, shaking his head to reassure you. 

“No, it's fine. I just didn’t expect it.” You nodded in response this time.

“I’m gonna go now…” You answered lamely, gesturing with your thumb to the door. “Let you get some rest.” You took a step away only to be stopped once more. The tug on your forearm causing you to turn back around to face him.

“Stay.” The four lettered word caused your heart to skip a beat.

“Stay?”

“I want you to stay.” He muttered softly.

“You want me to stay?” You breathed out softly.

“I do. Please stay…If you want to of course!”

“I do.” You nodded surely.

“Okay.” His smile grew, tugging your arm to lead you closer to him. 

“Okay.” You breathed out a laugh as you continued to let him tug you closer. 

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

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: After a particularly rough case, Reader starts acting distant. Lockwood thinks giving her space will help. When he's woken by the phone ringing, George doesn't need to know what happened to know it's probably Lockwood's fault.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: Mature/Explicit.

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: Alcohol consumption, strong language, sexual content (second base with intent to go further), anxious avoidant Reader, Reader is shorter than Lockwood, drunk Reader, Reader is harassed at the bar, brief touch without consent, no use of y/n.

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: Fuck I love playing with different kinds of dynamics. I've had this sitting partially drafted in my writing folder for a year now, and the brain-goblins wouldn't let me keep working on SM until this was done lmao Please let this be the year I finally get a handle on my creative flow fml

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 6.1k

    The first time the phone rings, both inhabitants of 35 Portland Row manage to remain deep in a well earned slumber.

  The second time the phone rings, it successfully rouses one George Karim.  Muttering a string of colourful insults under his breath that - had he been in his family home - would have earned him a smack over the head with his mother’s slipper, he reluctantly drags himself from the warmth and comfort of his duvet.  Letting out a long suffering sigh that lasts through the entire shuffle from his room to the phone on the floor below, he lifts it from the receiver and greets the caller with a noise somewhere between ‘hello’ and ‘fuck off’.

  “Evening, sorry to wake you.  This is James, calling from The Royal Oak.  Is there a, uh-”  Even over the numerous voices and the clinking of glass in the background, George can hear the gruff sounding man being interrupted by a woman’s voice mumbling incoherently before all sound is muffled by a palm being pressed over the mic on the other end, “-sorry, did you say…?  Really, sweetheart?  Alright, but don’t try to blame this on me tomorrow when you sober up.”  

  Then the phone is back to full volume. “Sorry about that, I’ve got a young lady here who says she lives at this address?  She’s too drunk to get herself home and this is the number she gave for someone she trusts to come get her.  But, uh, she-”  James seems like he’d rather not say the next bit, “well, she just keeps asking for ‘that selfish wanker’?  Won’t give me a name otherwise.”

  There’s not a lot in this world capable of rendering George completely speechless, but that…  That does it.  He allows the phone to drop from his ear for a moment, resting it on his shoulder as he attempts to compose himself and reply to the nice man on the other end of the line.

  “Uh…  Yeah, she- she’s ours.  Probably talking about our boss, then.  I’ll, uh…  I’ll go wake him.  I’m sure he’ll be there very soon.”  He has to speak up over the sound of James choking and sputtering in surprise to say a polite ‘thank you’ and ‘goodbye’, before slamming the phone down and jogging up the stairs to wake his friend.  

  He pauses for a moment halfway up, considering heading back downstairs to grab a boot to throw at the door.  Unfortunately his need for immediate answers outweighs his urge to be petty, so he settles for pounding loudly on the door instead.   There’s quiet rustling and not so quiet cursing on the other side before it’s ripped open.

  “What?!”  A dishevelled Anthony Lockwood snaps, blinking sleep from glaring eyes and leaning on the doorframe in an endeavour to keep himself upright.

  “Just got a call from The Royal Oak, down on York Street?  Turns out they have a resident of this address drunkenly calling for a ‘selfish wanker’ to come pick her up.”  George crosses his arms, raising a challenging eyebrow at the taller man.  

  Lockwood’s expression shifts from its existing irritated frown into confusion, then straight to alarm.  He wastes no time flipping the light switch beside the doorway, bathing the room in light as he crosses it to tug one of his dresser drawers open.

  “Can you call me a Night Cab, please?  Offer them double fare to prioritise.”  He calls over his bare shoulder, searching for a t-shirt and hoodie to toss on.  His researcher says nothing as he complies, deciding to save the interrogation for later.

  Anthony is properly worried.     Their third roommate had come back from their last job acting distant.  They’d been separated by a pair of particularly nasty Spectre’s for close to an hour, but she’d succeeded in securing the Source’s and they’d all made it out in one piece.  He’d been so caught up in pride for his team he hadn’t noticed the effect it had on her until days later.  When he tried to approach her with his concerns, she clammed up and looked as though she was about to cry before excusing herself to her room.  None of the members of his agency, himself included, had seen her exit her room for two days after that.   He hadn’t asked about it since, and while giving her space seemed to be working by way of not making her cry, he was starting to wonder if it had been upsetting her in a different way.     Even taking all of that into consideration, there’s still no way he could have seen a phone call like this coming at 2:56 AM on a Tuesday.

  All he can find is a sleeveless black undershirt.  With a huff of frustration he pulls it over his head, kicking the drawer closed simultaneously, then pulling open the one above it.  The joggers he fell asleep in are fine enough, so after a fit of undignified hopping across the room to cover his feet with pink socks he grabs a random hoodie off of the armchair by the window, shrugs into it, and zips it on his way down the stairs.

  George is waiting for him at the bottom, staring at his watch.

  “Your cab should be here in three minutes, mine should be here in thirteen.”  He looks up from his wrist, meeting his boss’s confused look with an exasperated one.  “I’m heading to Flo’s for the night, so whatever you fucked up, mate?  Fix it.”  Karim claps him on the shoulder, walking past him to pack an overnight bag.  It might not be conventional, but Anthony knows it’s the closest thing to encouragement he’s going to get.

  The next several minutes pass in a blur of waiting and worrying, until finally it’s 3:14 AM and he’s slipping the cab driver an extra twenty quid to wait for them, swearing to be no longer than fifteen minutes.  The ungodly-early morning air is sharp and cold, cutting to the bone as soon as he steps out of the comforting warmth of the vehicle.  It’s plenty enough encouragement to hurry his way to the building, pulling the door open to slip into the soft golden warmth and loud ambiance of the pub.  

  He hesitates on the doormat, catching sight of the other patrons.  Thankfully it isn’t a particularly highbrow establishment, but it's nice enough for him to feel noticeably underdressed in black joggers and a grey zip-up.  And then he lays eyes on her, and all insecurities are immediately banished by the sharp knife of shock burying itself in his gut.  

  She’s balanced on a table, wearing a little black dress he’d never seen before.  Her arms are raised above her head, fingers combing through her hair as her hips sway to the bass of the music in a way that probably would have had his mouth watering if it wasn’t for present circumstances.   He isn’t the only one noticing her.  There’s a group of men standing around the table, watching her with hungry eyes that make his skin crawl with disgust.   A tall blonde man pushes his way past the rest of the crowd, deep set ice blue eyes chasing up her legs.  She seems to either be unaware of his presence, or too lost in the music to care.  Even from his position across the room he can see her eyes are out of focus, drifting away for split seconds every few beats from the speakers on the wall.     The man raises a hand and grabs her thigh, using enough pressure to leave visible fingermarks.

  Lockwood finds himself frozen in place, blood boiling as he mentally considers how challenging talking his way out of a murder charge could really be.  Surely not that much harder than talking his way out of an arson charge, and he’d done that often enough to be confident in his abilities.

  Before his sleep deprived mind can break free of its indecision, the girl spins around abruptly and slaps the lecherous limb away from her.  The slime of a man attached to it is none too happy about that, making a move to grab for her arm.  Her normally impeccable reflexes are slowed by the alcohol, she can’t move fast enough to avoid the attack.  When his fingers close around her wrist, he pulls.  Hard.     She teeters on the edge of the table, her short cry of pain audible even over the music.

  Huh.  He’d always thought the whole ‘seeing red’ thing was entirely turn of phrase, but as it turns out, there’s actually a modicum of truth to it.

  He’s halfway across the bar by the time he realises he’s in motion, but he’s not about to stop.  Closing the remaining distance in a few purposeful strides, he grabs the creep’s arm in a vice grip.  The blonde releases his hold on her immediately, instinctively trying to pull away from the pain.  Lockwood lets him stumble away in surprise, wasting no time placing himself in between his friend and the threat to her safety.  At first he’s optimistic he might have a chance to vent some anger when the wanker locks eyes with him, but whatever he’d seen in Anthony’s was enough to make him back down and stumble off with an insincere apology.  

  Reminding himself to focus his attention where it belongs, he turns to look up at the girl on the table.  Her face lights up with delight when she recognizes him, then swiftly sours the longer she looks at him.   He feels like an absolute prick for not noticing the dark circles around her eyes sooner.  Swallowing around the lump in his throat, he reaches up to offer her both of his hands, palms up.  She sways in place for a moment, scowling pensively at the proffered appendages.  He studies her face while he waits patiently, trying to find any hint of what could be bothering her enough to take this approach to forgetting.

  With a tiny hiccup she finally caves, placing her hands in his and allowing him to help her to solid ground.  Once both of her feet are securely on the sticky floor, he offers her his arm for support.  She gives him another little glare, but just like before, she eventually accepts his help.   Scanning the other tables and chairs around her makeshift stage, he sees no sign of a purse or jacket that he recognises in the slightest.

  “Did you bring anything with you, sweetheart?”  He asks her directly, leaning closer to her ear to be heard over the noise.  If he didn’t know any better he’d say she looks almost flustered; eyes glazed, cheeks flushed a beautiful shade of pink, looking through him rather than at him as she tries to filter his words through the haze of liquor clouding her mind.     Although he’s prepared to wait as long as it takes for her to answer, he can’t help but feel a touch relieved when the bartender waves him over holding a familiar leather clutch.  Gently taking her by the arm, he guides her to a nearby chair to sit and wait for him to collect her belongings.  Giving a final warning look to the remaining crowd for good measure, he leaves her side to approach the bar.

  The man behind it is average height, with mid length dark hair as well kept as his perfectly trimmed goatee.  He abandons the glass he’s polishing, tossing the white cloth he’d been using over his shoulder and offering Anthony a calloused hand.  “I take it you must be-”

  “‘That selfish wanker’?  Present and accounted for, though I also answer to ‘Anthony’.”  He replies, accepting the handshake.  

  The other man’s grip is firm but friendly, and he throws his head back in merriment at Lockwood’s unexpected introduction.  “James, pleasure to finally meet you.  I’ve heard a lot about you from your little Songbird over there.”

  Lockwood winces.  “Not all bad, hopefully.”

  “No, not all bad.”  James soothes before leaning in conspiratorially, “Just don’t tell her I said that.”

  He shoots him a wink as he settles back, and now it’s Anthony’s turn to laugh.  It’s decided then and there; they like each other.

  He reaches behind the lip of the bar, grabbing the clutch he’d tucked out of sight until he could determine Lockwood’s identity.  “This is all she brought with her.  You’ve got a safe way home?”

  Anthony takes it from him with a grateful smile.  “Yeah, paid the driver to stick around.  I consider myself pretty good at multitasking, just not ‘keeping her upright and not getting ghost-touched’ good.”  James lets loose a hearty laugh in response.

  The screech of wood against the floor draws their attention back to the woman formerly in the chair, now standing unsteadily a few feet away.

  “And that’s my cue.  Pleasure to meet you, James.  And, uh-”  He glances back at her involuntarily.  “Thank you.  For keeping an eye on her, calling us, the lot of it.”

  The bartender smirks, quirking an eyebrow and giving him a knowing look.  “It's what any decent person would do.  Don’t be a stranger now, either of you.”

  Lockwood departs the bar, clutch in hand, with a salute and a promise to be back another time.   She seems confused at first when he tries to get her attention, switching to stare at him reproachfully when she recognises him again.  He sighs, trying to tuck away his own feelings of exhaustion and defeat.  

  “Let's get you home, love.”  He murmurs, offering his arm again.  She takes it without hesitation this time, leaning heavily against him as they make their way to the exit.  Pausing on the doormat, he carefully extracts his limb from her grip, soothing her little noise of protest by assuring she’d be using him as a crutch again momentarily.  The metal of the zipper is cold against his bare arms as he shrugs his hoodie off, blatantly ignoring her attempts to argue with him and draping the grey fabric over her shoulders.

  The cold breeze cuts into him once they’re outside, but he carefully schools his expression to avoid showing her it's affecting him at all.  Despite having paid the man extra, he’s still pleasantly surprised to see the black cab still waiting at the curb.   It’s easier than he’d expected to load her into the comfortable back seat.  She doesn’t even try to swat his hand away when he places it on top of her head to prevent her bouncing it off the roof in her attempt to get in.   Once she’s scooted to the far side, he climbs in after her.  She seems lost in thought, staring absently at the headrest in front of her.  He leans closer slowly, giving her ample time to move away if she doesn’t want him in her space.  When she remains stationary, he reaches across her body to grab her seatbelt, gently buckling her in and tightening the belt over her hips.  

  She finally looks at him, expression blank as she studies his features.  It’s clear her mind is elsewhere, and she returns to staring at the black leather so quickly he wonders if he’d imagined the whole thing.   He gives their driver the all clear, directing him to drop them off where he’d first picked him up before slumping back into his seat for the uncomfortably quiet ride home.

  They’re half-way there when he can stand to ignore the elephant in the room no longer.  The words slip out before he can think of a more tactful way to ask;  “What’s going on with you?”

  She turns to look at him so slowly it’s almost unnerving. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”  She answers bitterly, her voice laced with the same steel as her eyes.

  “That’s bloody horseshit!”  He scoffs, far too tired to hold back.  “If there was nothing wrong, I wouldn’t have gotten a call tonight.”

  Her mouth opens and closes soundlessly for several seconds, seemingly overwhelmed by the number colourful insults she’d like to hurl at him.  

  “Like you care.”  She finally mutters, shaking her head and turning away from him to stare pointedly out her window.

  “...What?”  He manages to put his frustration on hold for a moment, making room for his growing concern.  “Of course I care, what makes you think I wouldn’t?”

  She laughs darkly, shaking her head.  “You’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

  “What the hell is that supposed to mean?!”  He cries in exasperation.

  She whips around to face him.  “You knew I was struggling!  You knew, and you ignored it because it was easier than dealing with me!”  Her eyes are wild, chest heaving as she draws in air like she has to fight for every breath.

  All hostility drains out of him in an instant, leaving him uncomfortably hollow in its absence.  He’s intimately aware of her eyes searching his face, trying to gain some kind of insight into his mind.     He feels like he’s just stumbled into a minefield, and in a way he has.  If his next words aren’t carefully chosen, he could detonate one and destroy his friendship with someone he can’t live without.

  Organising his thoughts and taking a deep breath, he plunges ahead.

  “I’m sorry.  I thought by giving you space I was giving you what you needed, but I should have just talked to you.  And you’re right, I was being selfish, just… not in the way you’re thinking.”  She looks like she’s about to interrupt, but he ploughs on.  “I was afraid if I pushed too hard you’d shut me out.  I thought it would be safer to stay silent and let you come to me when you were ready, but it was my responsibility to communicate that to you, and I failed.”

  They sit in stillness for far longer than he’s comfortable with, his words hanging in the air between them.

  When she finally puts him out of his misery, he has to strain to hear her over the rumble of the car.  “It wasn’t two Spectres.”

  It feels like someone’s poured ice down his back.  “...What?”

  “The last job?  We thought it was just two Spectres, but it wasn’t.  It-”  Her voice shakes, then dies.  She has to stop and breathe, looking like she’s about to be crushed by the weight of the words on her tongue.  “One of them was a Fetch.”

  Staring down at his hands, he searches for the right words to say.  Is he supposed to say anything at all?  If he interrupts now, will she shut him out?  If he doesn’t, will she think he doesn’t care?     A point of personal pride for him is being able to read people, to shape himself into whatever role they need him to fill, but… he has no idea who she needs him to be right now.  

  She hesitantly continues.  “It was you.”  

  He looks up at her only to find her eyes already on him.  “It wasn’t.”

  She laughs sadly, but doesn’t look away.  When she tips her head to concede the point, the light catches at the corner of her eye.  “Right.  It did use your face, though.”

  “Whatever it said, it isn’t true.”  He can’t resist the urge to reach across the seat between them, wiping the tear from her cheek and hoping she can feel the truth in his words when he says;  “A Fetch will find your worst fear and exploit it.  And I swear to you, I will never allow anything to make you feel afraid like this again.”

  Silence stretches on between them, becoming heavier with every second passing them by.  His thumb continues stroking her face slowly, absentmindedly.  If he didn’t know any better, he’d think her eyes had drifted to his lips. 

  “Kiss me.”

  His hand falls from her face.   For a second, he thinks it’s him that’s said it.  When he realises it wasn’t, the potential implications of her words make his heart stutter.  There’s a chance this is just a drunken impulse, a need for comfort in a moment of vulnerability.   If it is, what the hell is he supposed to do about it?  If he gives in to her, will he be able to carry on working beside her once he’s had a taste of the life with her he doesn’t even allow himself to dream about?   On the flip side, there’s a chance that this is an actual confession.  The Fetch had chosen his face to torment her, and as horrifying as that had been to hear, it only would have done so if she felt something for him.  Maybe she feels the same as he does.  Maybe the reason he can never figure out what mask to put on for her, is that she’s only ever needed him to be himself.     Hope fills every inch of him as he stares at her, enraptured.

  Then, he realises he’s been quiet for long enough for panic to fill her eyes.

  “Ask me in the morning.”  He breathes, feeling as perplexed as she looks when the words come out of his mouth.  She’s confused that he hasn’t directly shot her down.  He’s confused that he’s capable of this kind of restraint while sleep deprived.

  “What?”  She frowns, blinking as her eyes lose focus for a split second in her bewilderment. 

  Feeling more confident in his decision, he smiles softly at her. “Ask me when you’re sober, and when we’re not in this nice man’s cab.” 

  The driver laughs, trying and failing to cover it with a guilty cough.

  Once they reach 35 Portland Row,  Anthony covers the fare and slips the man a generous tip for enduring their antics before exiting the cab.  The emotional intensity of the ride home had been enough to partially sober up his companion, but he still isn’t sold on her ability to climb stairs without assistance.     He keeps his arm wrapped tightly around her waist until they reach the door of her room - formerly Lucy’s - on the top level of the house before reluctantly removing it.  She wobbles for a moment, but it seems to be more from her leaning to chase his touch than any serious instability.  They stand there for a while, neither willing to walk away from the other, until a large yawn overtakes her.

  He chuckles, suddenly remembering James’ nickname for her.  “Goodnight, Songbird.”

  “That’s a stupid nickname.”  She complains, scrunching up her face in distaste.  When all he does is laugh some more, she sighs and carries on.  “Goodnight, Anthony.  Sweet dreams.”

  He disagrees completely, of course.  From her lips, his name is the sweetest song he’s ever heard.   Turning away from him, she places her hand on the doorknob but doesn’t make any move to twist it.  He’s about to ask her if something is wrong when she turns back to him swiftly, closing the distance between them and standing on her toes to brace her hands on his shoulders as she presses the ghost of a kiss against his cheek.  By the time he’s raised trembling fingers to the tingling skin, she’s already in her room with the door closed behind her.

  He spends his early morning dreaming of the flutter of wings, and birds gently pecking him on the cheek.

  When he’s woken by persistent knocking on his door once more, Anthony Lockwood finds himself wondering what precisely he had done to piss off Hypnos in a past life.

  Still on high alert from his unusual evening, he’s out of bed and across the room without a second thought.  When he pulls the door open he’s entirely expecting another emergency, not to find the girl of his dreams standing there staring steadfast at her feet.

  “I am so sorry about last night, I should have told you what was going on instead of going on a bloody bender.  That was incredibly immature and irresponsible of me and I completely understand if you want to fire me.”  She starts slow, but by the end of her apology the words are flying out of her mouth.  Despite her best efforts, the misery in her voice as she says the last bit is tangible.

  Why would he want that?  Still not entirely awake, the first thing out of his mouth is the first thought in his mind.  “Please don’t leave.”

  “...What?”  Not even remotely prepared for that response, she finally looks up at him.  As their eyes meet, reality sets in and time seems to slow.

  When he takes a proper look at her, he completely forgets the entirety of the English language.  Her hair is mussed from sleep, remnants of last night's makeup smudged under her eyes.  She’d apparently had the mental faculties to change into her pyjamas the night previous, and while he’d seen her in those shorts often enough to control the urge to stare, something about her wearing his hoodie zipped over them was making him feel like a moron.  He’d never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.   On the other side of the doorway, she’s having a very similar crisis.  His sleep tousled hair only doubled her ever present urge to rake her fingers through it.  And not only had he been in such a hurry to answer the door he hadn’t bothered to slip on a shirt, his joggers were also sitting dangerously low on his hips.     Their eyes snap back to each other's faces in tandem, both flushing almost comical shades of red.

  “Did you mean what you said last night?”  He asks hurriedly, heart pounding in his throat.

  “I said a lot of things.”  She wraps her arms around herself, laughing nervously.  “Which part?”  

  He keeps his eyes fixed on hers, searching them for some clue to tell him what comes next.

  Mustering more courage than she thought she was capable of, she answers honestly.  “Yeah, I did.  Every word.”

  Mimicking his actions from the night before he extends both of his hands towards her, palms up.   She tilts her head quizzically, but places her hands in his.  He uses them to pull her close enough their bodies are almost touching, guiding her arms to rest on his shoulders, releasing them to place one hand on her waist and the other on the side of her neck.  She inhales sharply when he leans in, his thumb lightly stroking her jaw while her gaze flickers between his eyes and lips.   He’s studying her face like he never wants to forget a single detail, but he doesn’t get any closer.  She’s lightheaded and pretty sure she’s going to die if he doesn’t kiss her soon, which is probably why it’s not until she sees the corners of his mouth twitch into a smile that she realises what he’s waiting for.  

  “Kiss me.”  She breathes.

  He doesn’t need to be told a third time.   He leans down and kisses her like he’ll never get the chance to do so again, like the world is falling to pieces around them and the only thing that can save them is the feeling of her lips against his.     The hand on the side of her throat slides back to bury itself in her hair, cradling the back of her head to take the strain off her neck from their notable difference in height.  Her hands wander the expanse of bare skin across his back, mapping every muscle and scar like it’s the braille translation of his life story.  He shivers under her touch, wrapping an arm around her waist to pull her body tight to his in a desperate attempt to fill the yawning pit within him that had grown larger with every day he believed he’d never get to hold her like this.  

  As she runs her hands down his sides to his hips he gasps involuntarily, deepening their kiss with enthusiasm.  Driven by curiosity, she lets her nails graze his skin as she retraces her previous path.  The noise he makes in response is downright sinful, but so is the feeling of his rapier-calloused skin against her back as he slips his hand under the hem of his hoodie.  Her breath catches as his fingers trace featherlight patterns up and down her spine, feeling him grinning between kisses when he notices she’s not wearing anything beneath the grey material.  When he nips at her lower lip, she drags her nails down his back, and the last of his restraint abandons him.  

  Both of his hands drop, fingers dimpling the flesh of her upper thighs.  As in sync as they are in the field he’d never dared to imagine the same would apply to the bedroom, so he’s a little blown away when she understands his intentions immediately, jumping as he lifts her up to wrap her legs around his hips without breaking from each other.  Now he’s the one craning his neck to capture her lips, the floor creaking beneath his feet as he crosses the short distance to the wall, pressing her back against it and groaning at the restrained whimper that slips free from her.

  “Please don’t hold back.  I want to hear you sing for me, my little Songbird.”  He urges, adjusting his grip to slide his hands up her sides under his hoodie, palming one of her breasts and swiping a thumb experimentally across her skin to carefully catch one of her nipples between his thumb and the side of his forefinger.  She finally breaks, back arching away from the wall, head falling back against it as she moans unabashedly.  All of his strength threatens to leave him when she rolls her hips against his, dropping his free hand to grab at the plush of her ass and pull her impossibly closer as he whispers praise between frenzied kisses pressed to her throat.  She buries her hands in his hair, gasping for air as his ministrations travel to her collarbones then slowly down the centre of her chest, placing an open-mouthed kiss to swell of her breast-

  The front door slams open, startling them apart.  There’s the sound of shuffling beneath them as someone kicks off their shoes.

  “OI, MATE!”  George’s voice calls from the base of the stairs, “Did you fix it?”

  They look at each other, dazed and drunk off each other.  A confused frown decorates her features, mouth falling open to ask him what the hell their other roommate is talking about.  He shakes his head in exasperation, shooting her a look that reads ‘I’ll fill you in later’ and dropping his head to rest on her chest.  They take as many seconds as they dare like that, her fingers combing through his hair soothingly as he wraps his arms around her back, basking in the warmth of her body against his.  Reluctantly, he lifts his head and steps away from the wall, gently setting her back on her feet and pressing a kiss to her temple.  She seems hesitant to move away from him at all, back to staring at her feet instead of looking at him.  He’s known her for long enough to know she’s overthinking.

  “Hey, look at me.”  He slips his fingers beneath her chin, gently lifting her face to meet his concerned gaze.  “What’s on your mind, darling?”  

  “I don’t-”  She starts strong but stops suddenly, shifting anxiously.  “I really don’t want this to be a one time thing, or - or just a way to blow off steam-”

  He lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, cradling her face and pressing a brief but searing kiss against her lips.  She softens, melting into his touch.

  “Good,” He murmurs as he pulls away, tucking her hair behind her ear and giving her a peck on the cheek like the one she’d given him the night before, “because I don’t think I can survive another day of not being able to kiss you.”

  George chooses that moment to begin his ascent of the stairs.  They break away from each other, struggling to make themselves presentable before he makes it to the landing.  Anthony rushes to grab a shirt from the foot of the bed, throwing it over his head haphazardly  She squeaks when she finds the zipper of his hoodie down to her navel, shooting him a teasingly chastising look when he snickers and crosses past her to greet their researcher in the hall, running his fingers through his hair in an attempt to tame it.  She yanks the zip as high as it will go, trying to smooth her own hair as she approaches the bookshelf and grabs something at random.  She throws herself into the armchair in the corner of his room just in time, flipping the book open to roughly the halfway point and staring intently at the page as George reaches the top step.

  “Good morning!”  Anthony greets him far too cheerfully, leaning against the doorframe in an attempt to obscure the other man’s view of his room.  

  “...Morning.”  George replies, not even trying to disguise his attempts to peer around his boss.  “How’d it go last night?”  

  “Um - fine!  Yeah, just fine.  Perfectly fine.  Everything is… fine.”  She closes her eyes, letting out a slow quiet sigh at his obvious nerves.  

  Adjusting the book to make sure it’s in his line of sight, she grits her teeth and bites the bullet.  “Morning, Georgie!”  

  Lockwood looks over his shoulder at her in alarm, but at her reassuring nod he steps hesitantly out of the way so she’s in clear view.

  George inspects her with narrowed eyes.  “You are significantly less hungover than I’d expected.”

  She winces, not able to fault him in the slightest for the disappointment in his voice.  “Yeah, pretty sure it just hasn’t hit me yet.  Sorry about that.  It won’t happen again, Scouts Honour.”

  “Why are you in Lockwood’s room?”  His brow furrows almost imperceptibly.

  She doesn’t miss a beat.  “I was so drunk last night he was worried I was going to fall asleep on my back and choke on my own vomit, so he made me sleep in this ridiculously uncomfortable chair.”

  Both men fix their eyes on her.  Anthony looks horrified, while George looks strangely impressed.  The bespectacled man studies her for another moment and she holds her breath, hoping he’d bought it.  Shrugging a ‘fair enough’, he bids them a temporary farewell and walks into his own room, closing the door behind him.  

  She huffs a sigh of relief, closing her eyes and slumping back in the chair as the tension drains from her body.  When she cracks an eye a few long moments later, Anthony is still standing in the doorway with the same look of horror plastered across his face.

  “What’s wrong?”  She asks, worry laced in every syllable.  

  “I didn’t even think of that!  I could have let you die!”  He seethes, throwing his hands up in annoyance at himself.  

  She has to fight the urge to laugh at him, focusing instead on gathering her strength to stand and walk over to take his hands in her own.  

  “I appreciate the concern, my love, but I wasn’t that drunk by the time you got me home.”  She smiles fondly at him, lifting his hands to press soft kisses to each knuckle.  When she glances up at him even his ears are flushed pink, looking at her with a lovesick smile.  

  “Call me that again?”  He implores, pulling her against him.

  With a quiet laugh, she drapes her arms over his shoulders before replying.  “My love.”

  They lose themselves in each other for another several minutes, only parting grudgingly at the rumble of his stomach and the threat of another interruption.

  George waits until later that morning when Lucy, Kipps, and Holly have joined them and they’re all in the kitchen eating breakfast to comment on Anthony’s inside out shirt, and how impressed he is that the sixth member of their agency has learned to read upside down.   As Lucy slowly turns to look at them, eyes wide and jaw seemingly aiming to touch the floor, Anthony lets the red-faced young woman beside him hide her blush in his shoulder.  For some reason, he can’t even bring himself to be annoyed.  Grinning proudly, he winks at the Listener, causing her to shriek loudly and demand to know the full story.

  When his girlfriend looks up to shoot him a warning look, he mimics zipping his lips.  “Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Luce.”

  Lucy’s demands are finally met five years later when James taps the side of his champagne flute with his knife, drawing the attention of the room full of guests to tell his favourite story about the bride and groom.

⤛⊹ 𝔣𝔦𝔫 ⊹⤜

taglist: @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #x reader #reader insert #x female reader

[g1rld1ary]

bloody genius ; anthony lockwood x fem!reader

➻ rushed to get this out before I go out tonight (wish me luck lols) but am pretty fond of it !!

➻ word count: 1686

➻ synopsis: after a long night of sifting through research for an impossible case with lockwood, you do something you didn't quite mean to

➻ warnings: light mentions of series typical murder/violence, kissing, idiots in love

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

You groaned, tipping back in your chair and rubbing your eyes, trying to make them see straight. You and Lockwood had been pouring over photocopied newspaper articles, floor plans and assorted research for hours and you weren’t getting any closer to stringing any of it together. With Lockwood & Co steadily improving their reputation, the company was getting more and more cases with shorter and shorter timeframes. To combat this influx of cases and the consequent research that needed completing, you’d all decided to split the load where possible. This meant that currently George and Lucy were in the library researching one case whilst you and Lockwood had shut yourselves in the kitchen to struggle through another.

You supposed you had the better deal, though, supplied with easy access to tea, the thinking cloth, and, of course, Lockwood. He was your secret favourite out of your coworkers-turned-family, though if you asked Lucy she’d say it was no secret at all. Regardless, that brought you to the current moment where the thinking cloth was filled with nonsensical lines following trains of thought, all edges punctuated with a frankly ridiculous number of question marks.

Lockwood himself looked almost as frustrated as you felt, but you could tell he was trying to hide it and save face. He caught you staring and flashed a smile, but it lacked its usual charm when his eye bags were more pronounced than usual.

“Hey,” He said softly, putting his hand over yours to stop you drawing stress doodles — the latest one a crudely drawn murder scene, “We’ll get it soon, just gotta find the connection between it all.”

“Sure, Lockwood.” You tried for a smile but it came out as more of a grimace and Lockwood could see the exhaustion etched into your features. He frowned, more concerned for your wellbeing than the case at the moment.

“Maybe you’ve done enough for tonight? Go get some sleep and we can pick back up in the morning?”

“Are you going to go to bed?” You asked, already sure of the answer, “I’m not leaving you to do this on your own, not this time.” He opened his mouth to argue but you shut him up with a glare. He held up his hands in light-hearted surrender. As an alternative Lockwood suggested a break; only a few minutes, but enough for you to make two new mugs of steaming tea and him to crack open a new packet of biscuits. “I’ll even let you break the biscuit rule,” He stage whispered, ducking out of the kitchen to check on Lucy and George and refill their own stash of snacks.

You watched him go, smiling softly. You loved evenings like this — well not like this where trains of thought didn’t quite make it to the station and you had the infuriating feeling of knowledge being held just out of reach, but nights where you were all home and together. You liked them even more when it meant you got to spend time with Lockwood and he got like this; treating you just a little bit differently to George or Lucy, offering you extra biscuits and giving you that soft smile, the one that made your heart flutter in a way it probably shouldn’t when looking at your boss. It fed your delusions of one day telling him how you feel, sure, but the lightness of his attention overpowered the inevitable heartbreak you’d face when he got a date that wasn’t you.

He returned with a confident grin, snapping you out of your stupor. You buried yourself in a new file, scanning for anything that could make sense of the mess of a case you were given. Maybe a Type Two, could be a poltergeist or not, who knows who the ghost was — the whole thing was ridiculous and you had no idea why Lockwood would even take it, but he said he felt sorry for the poor old man who came to the doorstep of 35 Portland Row. The both of you sat in comfortable silence for what felt like hours, knee-deep in paper.

Your eyes were glazing in and out of focus until you caught a snippet of something that had you gasping and tumbling out of your chair, standing frenetically in front of Lockwood looking ready to perform.

“What if I told you,” You said grinning, “That your dear old man had a sealed criminal record until a few years ago? For being a suspect in a murder case no less!” Lockwood was solely focused on you now, dark eyes searching your face for more information. You were no less enthusiastic, eyes scanning the police report quickly for the relevant information. “He was a suspect in the murder of a Charlotte Black back in the 50s. Her sister alleged that the two were involved but the police found no evidence of his involvement, nor of their relationship at all, with the exception of two letters the sister sent during the time of the investigation. Officers on the case said his apartment was ‘severely lacking a female touch’ — ouch — and said to them he was definitely not in a relationship. The record was sealed because the allegations had a dire impact on his accounting firm!” You were buzzing despite the grim subject matter, as you’d finally found the link that could tie the case together.

Lockwood was similarly ecstatic. “Obviously the relationship had to be a secret for whatever reason which was why there’s no marriage certificate or record of letters between them. The letter I was looking at before must’ve been from this sister, it detailed her desire for independence and her interest in his business. She found out about his shady numbers—” He jumped up to grab a letter of complaint over botched figures from a client, “He got mad and killed her! Y/n you’re a bloody genius!” You flushed at the compliment.

“And she’s here now because he’s coming out of retirement, he bragged about it when you were hearing his case! God, it would just be great if we had, like, one more piece of evidence, just to confirm they knew each other,” You sighed, clenching your fingers at the single hole in the puzzle.

The door opened suddenly and George appeared, holding a small folded piece of paper.

“I think this might be from your case, not ours — odd looking couple,” George said, popping the photo on the edge of the dining table, giving a quizzical look at the two of you standing in the middle of the kitchen before heading back to the library. You and Lockwood exchanged a look, almost too scared to take a peek, it was too perfect. You grabbed the photo of Charlotte Black her sister had attached to the letter, plus the one of the man that you’d found in a local newspaper in the archives and laid them both out on the table for comparison.

Lockwood sucked in a nervous breath before slowly peeling open the photo. You couldn’t contain your joy, it was them! The whole night was suddenly worth it, the two of you jumping around the kitchen like little kids on Christmas. One second you were doing a stupid victory dance and the next your lips had pressed themselves to Lockwood’s. The moment you’d become cognisant of what had happened you stepped back, feeling your heart plummet to your toes. This was not how you’d imagined that would happen. Plus, Lockwood’s unusually stoic face was igniting your anxiety, cold spreading through every branch of your veins.

“Oh my God,” You breathed, willing your legs to work, “I am so sorry, Anthony.” Your body caught up to your brain and you headed to the door until you were pulled back, a hand on your waist twisting you to face him again. And then his lips were on yours with purpose this time, the hand not on your waist finding its way to cup your jaw. When your brain was done short circuiting you matched his fervour tenfold, bringing your hands up to rest on his chest, gripping the collar of his shirt to bring him impossibly closer.

You only pulled away when you were at genuine risk of passing out, unable to conjure a single word. Lockwood gazed at you with glossy, blown out pupils. That, mixed with the pink blush on his cheeks and swollen lips created your favourite ever version of Anthony Lockwood — an image you hoped would be privately yours from now on.

“So, is this where I ask to take you on a proper date, love?” He asked, his smile melting your heart into a puddle in his hand. You couldn’t let him have all the fun, though, and willed yourself to produce a teasing grin.

“Seems appropriate, doesn’t it?” Your eyes strayed to the clock on the wall that showed an inappropriately early hour of the morning, “I think we both ought to get some sleep, tomorrow’ll be a big job. Goodnight, Anthony.” You punctuated it with a soft kiss to his cheek before slipping out of the room to silently scream as you bound up the stairs, victory dance making a reappearance behind your safely closed door.

Anthony was left standing in the kitchen like a fool, hand sitting softly where you’d kissed him. A lovesick smile passed his face, thoughts of the impending case long gone from his brain, and in their place sat pictures of you and a looping memory of you slotting your lips between his. He wasn’t sure how long he was standing there basking in your light, but Lucy walked past to drop her mug in the sink, shooting Lockwood a knowing look before heading up to the attic. Lockwood found himself giggling uncharacteristically, giddy with the glee of finally telling you how he’d felt since you first walked through the door of 35 Portland Row.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #fluff #love #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood and co #lockwood and co fanfiction #save lockwood and co #lockwood netflix #george karim #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood fluff #lockwood #renew lockwood and co #locknation #george cubbins #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood & co #lucy carlyle #cameron chapman #anthony lockwood fanfiction #netflix

[ms-fade]

Day 3 of Kinktober

Public toy play.

Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader. 18+ Drabble.

Warnings: Public play, Toy play, Vibratater, Slight sir kink, someone talking to the reader when she’s getting pleasured, Cum control.

You couldn’t believe that you said yes to this.

He was so charming when he asked you all those mouths ago and he knew when to ask you, how to ask you. Lockwood had you pinned against the bed as you laid on your back with your legs wrapped around him. All you could do was cry at the overstimulated he gave you by giving you his cock all night until the sun was about to come up. He knew you’d do anything to be called a good girl so when he ask with his cock buried in your cunt, he knew you’d say yes.

It’s been mouths since then and you forgot about it, not even taking him seriously until he showed you the controllable bullet. It was purple and had a wire having out it for easy removal, the fucking smirk on his face made you annoyed. “I wasn’t joking sweetheart.” You spend about ten minutes trying to persuade him away from the idea, but you had to admit it did seem hot. “Let me try it once, the thought about it- Fuck. It turns me on so much.” That sent shivers down through your core and you had no choice but to indulge his fantasy.

In the little shop that sold your favorite items for missions for cheap he decided to control you there. Behind the shelfs you stood with your hands gripping the metal and forcing yourself to stand up. “Hmm.” You tried to keeper your mouth shut but it was so hard when it felt so good. Lockwood was watching from the aisle across with the controller in his hand. His cock hard while watching you try and keep your composure.

Pushing a bit further your hand pushed off a book on the floor and it was load you jumped in shock. “Oh fuck,” you whispered and looked over at your boyfriend with a glare. He just laughed and turned up the setting for giving him attitude. Your pussy clinched at the new sensation and your knees become so weak you almost feel. “Oh shit.” You moaned and looked down at the book trying to pick it up and act normal.

“Excuse me miss,” a voice called from behind you and made your face go pale. “Do you need any help?” Turning your head slightly around you saw a boy with a name tag and a store outfit on, his features similar to lockwoods. “Just fine, I have a-” the toy changed vibrations and started to pulse within you and you fell back a bit with a groan. “Had a nasty fight on a hunt- Oh. Could you pick up that book for me?” You held your stomach to act like it hurt so he wouldn’t get suspicious.

He bent down and picked up the black book and handed it back to you with a smile, “Anything else you need? We have medical supplies here if you need it.” Nodding you pushed back onto the shelfs and took a break to lean on something.

“Actually, I’m just looking around but I’ll call you if I need anything..” you smile and trail down to his name tagged, “Marcus.” Lockwood saw how the boy looked at you. In other situations he would jump over and feel jealous but not now, not when he’s about make you cum. It was hot to see him think he has a chance but he’s the one in control of you.

The boy walked off and as soon as he did you made a “O” face and your legs shacked with pleasure. You hummed and tried to grind on something that wasn’t there, you needed to cum so badly. Looking back over to lockwood you mouthed him a plead for permission to cum. It was perfect for him to see you begging to cum when you had hated the idea before.

Instead of a nod of approval you got nothing, his fingers clicked the button and the feeling stopped immediately. Whimpering you groaned at his teasing and got pissed off how he could do that to you. Flipping him off you took a few breaths of recovery. Clit throbbed to be touched and satisfied, your whole clinching on the toy inside.

“Don’t be so down, baby.” His voice spoke as he walked over to you, “We still have more places to go. Can’t you take more?” His fingers took your chin and pulled you closer, his eyes filled with hunger and desire. “Be a goodgirl for me and I’ll let you cum. Not just on the toy, but on my cock.” It sounded so good. Your body aches to do both.

“Yes sir.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood smut #anthony lockwood x reader smut #lockwood x reader #lockwood x reader smut #lockwood smut #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co smut #lockwood and co x reader #Kinktober #kinktober 2023

[reidrot]

locklyle

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwoodandco #cameron chapman #lockwood and co netflix #incorrect lockwood and co #incorrect lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #locklyle #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood x lucy #lucy x lockwood #lucy carlyle #lucewood #anthony x lucy #george karim #george cubbins #lockwood netflix #johnathan stroud

[oblivious-idiot]

Don’t wanna see you crying anymore

Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader

Summary: after Lockwood deems you housebound while your injuries heal from a case (broken arm and cracked ribs), you reconnect with Kipps, which only makes Lockwood jealous

Warnings: Fluff, a little bit of angst, language/swearing

Word count: 1.5k

Pairings: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader, Quill Kipps x fem!Reader (in the past)

AN: This is my first bit of writing so I apologise if it's not the best haha, I also have no idea how to end these either oops. I'd love any feedback but please be kind!

You’d been working for Lockwood and Co. for a while by now, it had just been your first anniversary with the team when Lucy joined, and you were all the more grateful to have another girl in the building. After previously working for Fittes and then joining Lockwood and Co, you’d quite frankly needed a change of pace. You and George had been close friends while you worked at Fittes together, which is how you ended up joining the team at 35 Portland Row.

Lockwood you couldn’t quite get your head around - he always seemed to pay attention to you while you worked for Fittes, maybe it was because you were dating Kipps at the time, maybe it was just that he didn’t like Kipps all that much. The two of you had grown quite close in the past year though, you’d had your fair share of arguments and patching each other up after cases. It was only after Lucy had joined that you realised you had fallen for him and his soft security.

You and Lucy were getting ready in your shared room before your next case after having a disagreement with Lockwood in the kitchen if you should come or not. As you were going over a few newspaper clippings Lucy looks at you from the bathroom mirror.

“You should go easy on him, you know.”

“Go easy on him? What for Lu?” You scoff

“He’s just looking out for you y/n, he doesn’t want to see you hurt” she says as she walks over to you on the bed

You chuckle a little and look up at her “Lu, we fight ghosts for a living, I’d be surprised if we didn’t get hurt once in a while”

She takes hold of your hand “you know what I mean, smartass. I’ve seen the way he looks at you, it would break him to lose you”

You sit up straight and look at her soft smile, confused as to how she thinks he likes you “wha-, Lu he doesn’t-, we’re just friends”

“Just try not to be too reckless tonight, alright?” She gets up and smiles at you again, before heading downstairs.

Surprisingly, the case didn’t go as plan. The alleged Type One that you and George had been researching all week turned out to be a Type Two. You knew something didn’t feel right when you picked up this case, but Lockwood was so adamant in taking it that you didn’t want to crush him.

You and Lucy were trying your best to hold off the Type Two while Lockwood and George went to look for the source. You could tell that you’d began to tire and you didn’t know how long you could keep going. You looked at Lucy worriedly, but that was your mistake, because the ghost lunged towards you causing you to lose your footing. You fell down the first flight of stairs, your foot getting caught in the bannister and your body slams so hard into the wall you go out cold.

It had been about a week since the case when you were finally allowed to leave the hospital. Your arm was in a cast after breaking it in your fall, as well your chest and ankle being tightly bound - the doctors had told you that you’d cracked a rib as well as spraining your ankle from getting caught in the bannister. Lucy and George picked you up from the hospital, but when you asked about Lockwood, Lucy just smiled at you softly.

“It’s been really hard on him y/n, this past week. He’s been worried sick”

You look at them both confused “but it’s not like it was his fault, he didn’t push me down the stairs, did he?” you say a little sarcastically to try and lighten the mood.

George sighs and looks at you, “you know what he’s like y/n. He blames it on himself for not getting to the source fast enough.”

“He really cares about you y/n” Lucy chimes in “just go easy on him, okay?”

When you got back to 35 Portland Row, Lockwood was waiting in the kitchen. You smiled at him as you hobbled over to give him a hug. He looked like he hadn’t slept since you’d last seen him.

He sighed once you’d all gathered around the kitchen table. “I think it’s about time we had a talk” his eyes settling on you and your broken arm.

“Y/n, you’re not to go on any more cases until you’re fully healed.” He hangs his head when he sees your hurt expression. “This isn’t up for discussion. We cannot lose you, I-“ he cut himself off and left the kitchen before you could get a word in.

You hastily got up from your chair and followed him, trying not to hurt yourself as you went. "Lockwood!" you called after him, making him stop in the hall. Once you caught up to him you couldn’t read his face “I’m sorry y/n, you just need to heal. I can’t have my best agent getting more hurt on my watch.” He squeezed your hand and smiled before heading upstairs to his room.

After another week being housebound, you'd began to get restless. Although Lockwood was keeping his distance (you think he still feels guilty for your injuries), he almost scolded you for daring to put on your coat because you were out of milk. As an apology later that night he gave you one of his hoodies, in which the larger size made it easier for you to wear with your cast.

Shortly after the team left for another big case, you hear a ring at the door. You assumed it was George forgetting the chains again, but instead it was Quill Kipps.

"Hey," his voice was gentle as he studied you all bandaged up. "I, uh, I heard you were on house arrest, so I thought I'd stop by to check on you"

You smiled "I'm not your girlfriend anymore Kipps, you don't have to check on me." looking down, you notice the brown paper bag in his hand "I-, did you bring sandwiches?"

A big grin spreads across his face "Your favourite. I haven't had them since you left" You invite him in, knowing you didn't have much of a choice when Kipps made up his mind.

Over the next week, Kipps would stop by the house on his days off and have lunch with you. You hadn't told the team, you didn't know how they'd react, but it was nice to have the company every one in a while, the free food was good too.

One day Lucy and George went out to the store for food while you and Lockwood went over files for the current case you were all working on - Lockwood still wouldn't let you out in the field but it was nice to be included again. You hear ring of the doorbell and Lockwood goes up to answer it, the next thing you hear is his rapier unsheathing and raised voices.

You hobble your way out to the hall to see Lockwood pointing his rapier at Kipps, who was holding a bag of fresh sandwiches and... flowers?

"Anthony, put your bloody rapier down" you say, but he doesn't move. "Anthony, put it down" raising your voice this time.

"I'm curious to see what the weasel is doing here, trying to charm his way into stealing our cases now? Nice try Kipps but I don't like flowers" he smiles dryly.

"They're not for you, Tony, but I'll keep that in mind for Valentines" Kipps says sarcastically.

Lucy and George arrive back and they both give Kipps a strange look, before looking at you in the hallway. Kipps hands you the bag and flowers "I'll call you later" and he flashes Lockwood a look before leaving.

Once Kipps was gone, you brush past Lockwood to go sit in the Library. "Y/n!" he calls out after you, before following you into the room.

"What's going on y/n?" Lockwood says softly as he sits next to you, he sounded hurt. "If you needed anything while we were gone, you could've told me..."

"Anthony, I haven't left the house in weeks, I can't work, all I get are the four walls of this house." You look over at him "What I needed was company. I needed you. And Lucy and George"

He takes a hold of your free hand brushes your hair out of your face. "I'm sorry. I just-, you know how I get with you and Kipps, if he hurt you again..."

"Anthony look at me" you say as you squeeze his hand "I am never going back to him or Fittes ever again. This is my home now."

"Thank god," he chuckles softly "I remember the day you arrived here, looking for George. You were such a mess."

"Gee, thanks for making me feel better Lockwood" you laugh and push him away softly.

#allie writes #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood #quill kipps #lucy carlyle #lockwood #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood and co imagines #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #lockwood and co x reader #george karim

[wenigstenshabeichesversucht]

Anthony Lockwood Masterlist

'Come off it Luce. You know I'd die for you'

"He is half of my soul, as the poets say"

Reader sees something on a job which got her realising life is too short

Drinks and kisses

Four times you drunkenly confessed your love to Lockwood and one time you did it sober

A Christmas Carol

It only takes three ghost (one form the past, one from the present and one from the future) and one Anthony Lockwood for you to realize that you maybe don't hate Christmas as much as you had thought

All I Want For Christmas Is You

You spend Christmas at Portland Row

You've made your bed, now lie in it

3 times you and Lockwood have to share a bed, and one time you want to share a bed.

A force more powerful than gravity

Soulmate AU, where you can feel the pain of your soulmate, and it looks like yours is a reckless idiot.

#anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co fanfic #lockwood netflix #lockwood x reader #save lockwood and co #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x you

[starzortega]

I want to request Anthony Lockwoodxfem!reader, where Anthony meets the reader and immediately falls for her, but she doesn't notice because she's very socially awkward. Also, she is Inspector's Barnes niece, so they always meet each other after a case when DEPRAC shows up. Lockwood always flirts with her, but she doesn't think his being serious. When she calls him Lockwood, he tells her to call him Anthony. That surprises George and Lucy, and they tease him for it. The reader is also starting to fall for Anthony , but she doesn't think he could ever like her back. The reader and Lucy start becoming very good friends, so she's around Portland Row a lot. After a case goes wrong, Anthony is injured, and the reader gets mad at him about being reckless. They get into an argument, which leads to an angry confession.

Stars upon the face

Masterlist

Warnings: a lil bit of angst and mention of being st!bbed

Word count: 689

Pairing: Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

A/n:Thank you so much for this request!! I didn’t do the whole request as I’m really new to this but I hope you enjoy it <33

I’m really sorry if this is bad!! This is my first fic ever!!

Feel free to send in more requests <3

————————————————————————

“Please look at me” Lockwood voiced, staring at Y/N.

With tear-rimmed eyes, she looks over her shoulder meeting his eyes, breathing erratic.

“Was it worth it Lockwood? Worth almost dying” Raising her voice anger lacing her words as she turned back around and walked through into the kitchen.

“Listen, I had it under control. I would've been fine.” he grits his teeth, holding back a breath as he leans against the kitchen counter.

Stepping towards him, Y/N snorted “Really? Well if you had it under control we wouldn’t be in this situation right now!! I mean look at you, you were stabbed, Lockwood. Sometimes I feel like you go in harm's way on purpose” Her voice wavers, tears streaming down her face.

His face softens lightly, They’d known each other for almost a year, meeting after a case that went terribly wrong yet again.

She had been with her uncle Inspector Barnes when the team of Lockwood and co staggered out of the Combe Carrey Hall. He was angry. Really angry. Uncle Barnes after a bad day often vented to the young girl about the troubled trio, saying they were dragging Fites through the mud, employing people who didn't have the right grades, practically making Barnes’ job more difficult. Much to her uncle's dismay, Y/N began harbouring a small crush on the determined Lockwood even though she had never even spoken to the boy. Walking over to the group that just walked out of the Building with her uncle, Y/N stood giving the trio an apologizing look as her uncle shouted at them she kept her head down embarrassed by her uncle's frantic. Since that day, Y/N kept bumping into them after cases or even just out stocking up on salt bombs often stopping and chatting to them for a while. That was until one day Lucy offered for Y/N to come back to their home Portland Row for a cup of tea and biscuits. I mean how could you say no?

Now, it being almost a year since Combe Carrey Hall, they have all gotten close. Portland Row felt like Y/N's home she was there practically every day, always staying too late so she’d bunk with Lucy in the attic.

“So what’s going on between you and Lockwood?” Asked Lucy one day, she was led on her stomach looking up at Y/N.

“What do you mean?” She replied, confusion written on her face.

“Come on, you don’t see it? The way he looks at you isn’t the way friends look at each other.”

Y/N shakes her head “We’re just friends I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You think that?” Lucy raises her eyebrows

“Well.. yes he doesn’t like me like that.”

“Well, what do you feel for him? Do you like him?”

Y/N's face flushes red “Well er I think so? anyway change of topic I don't feel like talking about it anymore”

————————————————

“Lockwood, I'm just looking out for you. I know you’re just trying to protect Lucy or George but please just think about how I’d feel if something bad happened to you. I need you, Anthony.” Her voice cracks, Sobs emitting from her mouth. Lockwood grabs her wrist and pulls her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist and letting her wet his shoulder.

“Lockwood I don’t think you understand how much I need you here I don’t even know what I’d do if-“

“Hey, I’m here. I'll try. I promise I’ll try to be less careless, okay? I’m so sorry dove.”

Lockwood pulls back their faces close together, their eyes lock looking at each other with pure love.

Her eyes move from his eyes to his lips and back to his eyes again, parting her lips ever so slightly.

Lockwood moves one of his hands to cradle her face.

“Can I kiss you?” Whispers Lockwood, smiling when Y/N nods vigorously bringing her closer to slot their lips together.

Their lips move in a synchronized rhythm only parting when they run out of breath.

“I really like you.”

“I really like you too.”

#anthony lockwood x reader #lucy carlyle x reader #cameron chapman x reader #lockwood netflix #lockwood and co #save lockwood and co #anthony lockwood #lucy carlyle #george karim #fanfic #Anthony Lockwood imagine #Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

[fictional-addiction]

I'm Not Really Here.(Pt.2)

Relationship: Anthony Lockwood x Fem!Reader

Genre: hurt/comfort, angst, reader whump and pain and general chaos

Requested: icl it wasnt 100% in the works but so many of you came forward asking for pt2, thank you, so here we are🙏🙏

Word Count: guys.. idk. probably similar to the last one lol

Part: 2/2

Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong. You and Anthony are left to face the consequences. !! PART 2 OF 2 !!

Warnings: blood, swearing, angst, creeps, violence, torture. I AM NOT CONDONING/ROMANTICISING VIOLENCE. THIS IS PURELY FICTION. PLEASE TAKE THIS INTO ACCOUNT. DO NOT READ IF THESE WARNINGS TICKLE YOUR BRAIN THE WRONG WAY. THANKS BESTIE

-/-/-/-/-

It had been hours.

Your throat was scratched raw with the echoes of screams. Cheeks stained with the remnants of tears that had tracked down your face. No sense of what was real, and what was in your mind.

Chaos.

The blade dragged against your jawline once more, never enough pressure to make a cut, yet just enough to leave your skin burning with the scrape of the uneven edge.

A new tear slipped out the corner of your eye, a silent plea for this agony to end.

The man saw it.

The blade pressed harder.

"Didn't I tell you, you weren't to let a ano'her one of them tears to fall? Oh, princess.." he snarled. "Time to start with our favourite toy again, no?"

Your eyes squeezed shut. When the man had showed it to you and Lockwood all those hours ago, you had almost scoffed at its appearance. Small, rusted, and seemingly barely functional enough to make a dent.

A drill.

You would have thought otherwise. Yet this, this thing; it had deceived you.

The man yanked the chain and fired up the ancient tool as it grated and grinded, specks of rust flying in all directions.

I'm not really here. I'm not, I can't be, I'm not here, I'm not-

"Ohh, princess?" the man taunted. "What-" , he brought the drill closer, "did I say about sleeping on the job?"

A horrifying smile glimmered on his face.

"You sleep- you pay," he whispered, breath hot on your neck.

Another tear slid down your grimied face as he held the drill even closer to you- this time grabbing your left leg.

"I think it's a'out time we do th' other one, yeah? Since your right one seems to be all dolled up now', aight?"

The blood had dried somewhat a long time ago on your right leg. In certain places, fresh drips seeped out of the cuts. The tidy handwriting.

'Lockwood's bitch', it read. All neatly cut out and on display for all to see.

Well. At the moment, 'all'... was Lockwood.

He sat opposite you, eyes wide. Hands still bound behind him, his futile attempts at escape falling flat as he struggled to undo the knot of the fabric. Mouth stuffed with a rag - courtesy of the man, who had wiped the blood off your right leg with it, before promptly shoving it in his mouth to silence his shouts and protests.

He was helpless. And Anthony Lockwood couldn't bear it.

The man began to softly drag the drill up your leg, prolonging the process of digging in to the skin. Your eyes followed the moment of the drill, a deep panic settling in the pit of your stomach.

"Ah, 'ere we are. This seems like a perfect spot, dontcha' think."

The fear crept through your body; it trembled in anticipation. I’m not really here, I’m not, I’m not here, I-

The man dug the drill into your calf. You bit down harder on your lip, as you tried not to scream. You couldn't give in this time.. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. Maybe your body had gotten used to the pain, maybe it was going to be fin-

It wasn't.

The drill bit into your skin and your mouth flew open as a shrill scream ripped out of your throat.

"Y/N!" Lockwood bit down on the rag, struggling to speak through the material.

"Y/NNN!"

You tried to look at him - he always knew how to ground you. If you could just catch a glance, maybe it would hel-

Nothing but blinding pain tore through you. Your vision went white, your ears deaf to the screams... your screams. Oh god, it- it ripped across your body, leaving streaks of raw pain in its path.

It was the type of pain that you couldn't get used to. Sometimes, one can bite down and bear raw pain-- but this, this was unreal. This seemed to only grow, trawling through your veins, clawing its way out as it scrabbled up your throat- filling the room with ugly, horrid screams.

And all you could do, was... struggle to breathe. Struggle to live.

You wished you would die; you couldn't.

But if you truly wanted to die, wouldn't the world grant you that?

-/-/-/-/-

"Boss, come here. Look at this."

With a sneer, the man eventually pulled the machine away, the drill bit dripping blood onto the dirty cement and stomped towards Cliff. Your vision was screwed beyond belief, but your eyes could still carve out shapes, colours; his face.

Your ears were- ringing-

painfully

ringing.

Your head dropped back, your neck protesting at the steep, uncomfortable angle that it was now dangling at. Yet it dulled in comparison to the fire burning in your leg as air seeped into the fresh wounds.

"Oh god... I..," your voice strained, fading as it became harder and harder to form words. "Please..."

Lockwood could only watch as the horror unfolded before him. Limp. Pale. Almost dead.

He wanted to reach out, assure you that he had a plan, that he knew what to do- but he couldn’t. He was frozen, heart beat-beating beat beat beat beating.. louder, and louder, and loUDER-

I’m not really here.

The man's head twisted over his shoulder, ignoring Cliff as the plea fell from your cracked lips. Striding back towards you, his heavy footfalls causing you to wince and furrow your eyebrows as the sound went straight to your pounding head.

He pouted. "Please, what?" he taunted. "Please, again? Tha' can be done-"

You pushed yourself to interject, "-No; please, no.."

The man cocked his head, eyebrow raised as he continued to mock you. "But hun, dont'cha want to add to the beautiful handiwork? My, there's s' much already etched on you, we could turn ya into a art piece, fit for one of them fancy galleries uptown. Like the one you an' your little friend here tried to catch us at." His eyes darkened as he recalled the previous events of that night. The trap you and Lockwood had attempted to set for them to walk into.

How ironic- you had fallen into theirs instead. No longer the hunters, but the hunted.

You could only hope George had realised what had happened and was doing... something. Anything. At this point, you could barely think straight.

The man had continued to drawl on, and you forced yourself to try and focus on his words- anything to keep you lucid.

"See, princes-" he had been saying before he noticed your head lolling as you struggled to maintain consciousness. "Oi-"

A sharp pain burned against your cheek.

Your head had dropped to the side from the contact, and you managed to make brief eye contact with Lockwood.

One look in his dark eyes told you that things did not look good. At all. He was terrified. You were terrified.

Yet…

I’m not really here.

Strangely, in this moment, your fear seemed to have melted away. Your pain dissolved into numbness. Your heart no longer felt like it was being crushed, without breath. You felt… nothing.

You couldn't let this sicko win.

The man seemed to have lost his focus on you and instead began to walk back to Cliff. Until you muttered a few choice words that spun him right back around.

"Excuse me." He stated, voice lurking dangerously low.

You raised your head from where it had been lolling, before turning your gaze to him.

"I said-"

Thwack.

"I heard what you said, you stupid bitch."

A slight smirk ghosted over your face. You could taste blood. You could taste freedom.

He dusted his hand on his grimy trousers and proceeded to straighten up, as he raised his hand to prepare to strike again.

Your head hit the back of the chair with a crack.

crack.

cRAck

cr a c k.

He searched for the spark in your eyes as you blinked them back open. When you turned and spat at his feet, contempt coursing through you, he drew his fist back and let the full weight of it slam into your jaw.

Your head twisted under the force and whacked against the chair frame again. This time, stars danced across your vision and your ears protested, ringing loudly.

The room-

Room-

The room spun. You couldn't...

"Oi, lady-"

"She's losing conscious-"

"Look what you did to her face man, what the f-"

"Boss, maybe we should lay off..."

You couldn't..

It hur-

Wh-?

Hel-

No.

Don’t help-

-want to be free

Life should give you death,

surely?

Through your bleary eyes, you caught Lockwood's gaze. You wanted to tell him it was alright. You wanted to reach out your hand and intertwine it with his. There were so many words that were desperate to be said, but your mouth wouldn't open. Your voice lay dormant in your throat. There was nothing.

The room spun. The world stopped. Your heartbeat slowed. His eyes clouded with distress. Your body stilled.

It's dark.

It's dark here.

Cold.

Cold, here.

The world

stopped

bre at h i n g.

And you were-

no lon g e r

Here.

-- fictional-addiction (and all my grammar errors. we ❤️ chaotic writing)

-/-/-/-/-

ahh hey everybody!!

I'm back besties with more on the way (I'm being fr this time 🤍) can't wait!

do y’all want a pt3? idk if it needs one or not. if yes lmk what you wanna read in pt3! help me choose my ending cause I feel like it can go many, many different ways lol

so basically yeah hope you liked, hope it was worth a lil wait andddd check you next time :) keep sending in requests I'm starting off there!

byeee loves have a great day/night xx

taglist: @wordsarelife @cassiopeiia24 @superpositvecloudshipper @shampoocovers99 @fox-bee926 @ettadear @a-candle-maker @navznak28

(just ask if you'd like to be added to the taglist! sorry for those that aren't working I apologise :( )

#lockwood and co x reader #lockwoodandco #anthony bloody lockwood #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood #angst #hurt/comfort #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x you #anthony lockwood x reader #imagines #love you <3

[lady-ashfade]

New neighbor

Lockwood and co x fem!reader.

Characters: Anthony, lucy, George.

Plot: The team meets a new neighbor and falls immediately.

This is really fluffy and kinda a crack post, I honestly just wanted something funny between the team.

Warnings: Spelling mistakes, love stroke idiots. The reading being innocent and sweet.

The house was quiet, the team doing their own things by themselves. Lockwood was in the library reading, he found it almost peaceful and he needed a break. Lucy was in the addict looking through some boxes of her things, she needed to organize her clothes. Then there was, George.

George was on the kitchen floor scrubbing the floor to shine, the whole house smelled like cleaning products. Every dish was washed, each nook and cranny was clean. He was wearing gloves and his apron because he took cleaning very seriously.

The boor bell rings.

Upon hearing the ding George looked up and then at himself, he wasn’t getting up. “Lockwood! Someone’s at the door.” He screamed for his friend to hear. Lockwood sighed and put a book down and got up from his chair and made his way to the door. Maybe it was a new client.

The boy grabbed ahold of the doorknob and twisted it open and revealed who was he behind, and to his surprise made heart flutter. Standing at his front door was a lovely girl with a kind smile, she was very attentive and she looked so soft. Almost too cute for the charming boy to handle.

“Hello, how can I help you?” He threw on his most charming smirk. She looked at him and didn’t flutter, “Yes, hello! I just moved next door and wanted to greet my new neighbors, with something special.” Lockwoods gaze followed her as she bend down and he saw a wrapped basket, along with a few others.

“Just a few baked goods inside, I also listed everything on a note inside of all the ingredients so if anyone has a allergy that can know.” She picked up the pretty basket and held it out for him to take. She was thoughtful.

He could smell the sweets from here and he wanted to opened it but that would be rude, so he took the basket out her hands. “Theses are lovely, would you like to come in-”

“Who’s at the door?” They both turned around to see a boy walking closer to them, gloves and curly black hair. George looked up and locked eyes with the girl and felt his heart flutter. She seemed to have that affected on people. “Um, hello. Who are you?” He sounded so dry and rude.

Lockwood looked back at her, “Forgive him, as I was saying would you like to come in.” As lockwood spoke George came to the door and looked at the basket in his hands confused. The girl noticed his confusion and giggled a bit.

Their eyes widen at you coving your mouth and the sweet sound coming out. “I just moved next door, I wanted to meet the new neighbors so I brought bake goods- With a poorly wrapped basket.” She looked a bit awkward at the last part and rubbed her arm.

“And your name?” George asked. “Y/n.” She held out a hand for him to take but they both realized he had on gloves. “A wonderful name- George can you take this into the kitchen.” Lockwood shoved the basket into his hand and tried to make him leave.

“Why me?” George shouted a bit. “Because I said so, I am your boss-” he was cut off. “Don’t you dare give me that, you just want me to leave.” The girl looked between the two as they continued to have a small argument.

“What’s happened now.” Y/n looked passed boys and saw a cute girl with short hair at the end of the stairs. The girl looked back at her and smiled, walking over to the door. “Oh, I understand.” Lucy offered y/n a apology smile.

“Boys, that’s very rude to fight in front of someone new.” She scolded them and they rolled their eyes. “Lucy by the way, sorry for the boys. They have no manners.” Y/n laughed at her comment.

“No worries, I actually have to deliver some more of theses baskets but it was nice meeting you all.” They watched in disappointment when she picked up the rest of the baskets, “I hope to see you again.” And she turned around and walked down the steps.

Lucy watched for a minute and closed the door then looked between the two boys. Lockwood was staring at George who glared back at him, both annoyed with the other.

“Yeah, I call dibs.” The two boys turned away and looked at the Lucy. “No, I met her first.” Lockwood tried to reason but George laughed. “You were going to keep her to yourself, I made her giggle.”

“No, she was laughing at you.” George rolled his eyes. “Still counts!” He shouted. “No it doesn’t!”

“Boys! You made a fool of yourself, which makes my case way better.” Lucy snatched the basket from George hands and walked away. “Come back, this isn’t over.” The boys followed her.

“I say it is, so shut up.”

#lockwood and co george karim #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #Anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood and co lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle #lucy carlyle x reader #george karim #george karim x reader #poly lockwood & co #lockwood & co netflix #lockwood & co x reader #Lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix

[websterss]

𝐓𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇 𝐃𝐎 𝐔𝐒 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 — 𝐀𝐍𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐍𝐘 𝐋𝐎𝐂𝐊𝐖𝐎𝐎𝐃

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: okay so i’ve thought about sending requests your way and my mind came up blank except for a reversed-roles kinda thing for lockwood & co, in which that scene from the last episode where lucy goes to george to save him from the crazy lady (forgot her name) with the bone mirror, instead it’s reader but she doesn’t handle it as well as lucy and pass out or something (your choice, i just want angst) and although lockwood has been shot in the shoulder, he doesn’t care. all he cares about is if reader is gonna be okay 👀 (i just want some good ol’ angst written by you so i can die a little bit inside but also thrive in reading your writing 🥺🫶🏼)

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): angst, some fluff at the end

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4,214

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Anthony Lockwood x fem!Reader    

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it!

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

You didn’t quite know how you three had managed to end up locked in an underground cellar with Pamela. You couldn’t so much as put the fault onto George. He had put his sole faith and trust into their supposed friendship. He was too swayed by what he thought were good intentions, only to realize they were nothing but sick twisted purposes. Purposes that were going to put so many others at risk. 

“Please!” George begged. “Lucy, don't he’ll kill you.”

“Don’t you dare look, and whatever happens this wasn’t your fault. This was my choice.”

“Lucy, don't you dare.” You groan after having been jostled and shoved to the ground as George had. 

Lucy just turned to you, her features softening as she whispered with pure sincerity and concern in her voice. Her soft-as-the-sky eyes glowed in the darkness like twin lanterns and with a little sigh she replied, “…I have to.”

"No. You don't. We all get to make choices, and I'm making mine now." You walk up to her and hit her with the hilt of your rapier.  You hold your breath as she falls unconscious. You're quick to drag her over to George where he remains on the ground. "S-Shield her eyes, and whatever happens...don't look." You nod firmly at George.

George didn’t hesitate, shielding Lucy from the horror unfolding before them, but couldn’t help looking back to you. He seemed both concerned and terrified at the same time. “Lockwood won't like this!"

"He'll get over it!" You take your place in front of the mirror. Eyes flickering back and forth between Pamela and the covered mirror.

The air around you feels thick and oppressive. You feel sick and dizzy as the sense of impending doom and horror fills your body with a paralyzing chill. You look at the mirror, at Pamela, and the thought of what is to come sears across your mind.

You take a deep breath. With shaking hands, you await her response. “Tell me everything you see, what you feel, and what you hear.” She yanks a pin out from her hair. Then points the recorder towards you. “Every detail.” She says as a final word, then yanks back the cloth. You turn around immediately, feeling a rush of air and suction claw on the back of your hair and shoulders. “Look, look, look. Damn you, look!” Pamela exclaims.

You gasp as you reach forward, grabbing the silver-glass jar, the skull, and hold it out behind you to look at the mirror in your place.

"If you can talk to it, tell me what it says.”

You groan, closing your eyes tightly, trying to fight off the urge to look into the horrid mirror. You growl as you yell back to the damned skull. "Talk...Take it all in and tell your master what you see." Lockwood and George, even Lucy had been astonished when you all discovered that you could also communicate and hear the type three ghost. Your heart plummets as you hear the skull begin to wail.

“No, no, no, this isn’t right! Something’s changed!” Your breath shudders upon the information he has given you. “They’re trapped!”

“What? What? What is he saying? Speak, girl Speak!” Pamela grips her recorder tighter.

“It says something is wrong!”

“More!”

“It’s a trap. We have to destroy it!” You begin to whimper as it all grows to be too much for you to handle. You hold your breath as glimpses of your past flash in your mind. Stills of your parents before your tenth birthday. Finding them ghost-locked after coming home from Fittes. Horrid wretched flashes and faces of previous visitors you and the boys were called on to take a job about. Being pinned by a type two. Your breath grows cold upon being nearly ghost-locked yourself. But the one vision that struck you the most, that made you lose your grip on making it through this was seeing yourself hold Anthony in your arms as his eyes were milky, his brown irises glazed over white and still. You could see yourself crying and begging him to come back to you. Your eyes shot upon with a startle. You could feel yourself loosen your hold on the jar before you took it down with you to the ground. All you could hear was a faint yell of your name before you slipped into the dark void that clouded your mind.

“Y/n!” George hadn’t even hesitated to get onto his feet to tackle down the stand holding the mirror. 

“No!” Pamela cries out. George ran back over to where you lay unconscious. His hands were still tied behind his back but he still attempted to check for your pulse. He visibly relaxed as he came to feel your pulse thump against his skin. 

“You’re alright, you’re alright now...Lockwood will come soon and it’ll all be over soon.” He flinched, looking over his shoulder as he heard shuffling to his right. Lucy groaned, clutching at her head as she pushed herself off the ground. 

“Blood hell...” She complained, but one look at your unmoving body had her scooting closer to the two of you. She reached forward, brushing a few strands out from your face. Her palm resting against your cheek. “Is she...” She raised a brow at George. Thinking the worst of the worst. Your death at the hands of Pamela.

“No. She’s alright. Assumed the mirror struck her energy a bit. It was too much for her to handle.” 

“Lockwood is gonna-”

“Kill us.”

“I was going to say put her on house arrest but sure let’s assume the worst reactions possible. 

“Before we arrived. He practically begged her to run off and call DEPRAC. She was top priority...” Lucy muttered to herself thinking back on what Lockwood debriefed before they came to face Pamela. 

“Top priority?” George questioned. “Y/n?”

“Before we left, he mentioned how the mirror came close to being our second priority. I asked him out of curiosity what the first priority was. He didn’t answer me.” Lucy looks down at you with a new sense of understanding. The bond you and Lockwood shared was one like no other. Two souls brought together by unfathomable circumstances. Orphaned from the same cause, the same path that lead your loved ones to be unalive. To halves that made a whole. Who understood what was put at risk every day you stepped out into London’s busy and haunted streets. You both knew the sacrifices that were the hardest to make, but you both took them on over Lucy and George having to. The little family you both found yourselves, you put your whole lives and trust into. You were everything to one another, and that was a risk in itself. “Lockwood is going to have our heads...” She breathed out in realization.

“I think he knows that already.”

“What?” George gestured behind her with a grimace. Lockwood was standing a few feet away, clutching his shoulder. His eyes rotated from Lucy and George and onto your unmoving form. 

“Shit...” Lucy swallowed nervously as he let his rapier clatter to the floor. 

“Is she?” Lockwood swallowed his words down, not having the stomach to contemplate whether you remained with them or if you had finally joined alongside your parents and his. Lockwood took a few more agonizing steps towards your motionless form, his expression looking both exhausted and afraid. His fingers reach out but fall back down to his sides. He was only thankful you couldn’t see him tremble, as he held back on the urge to break down crying.  

“She’s okay...swear it.” Lucy nodded, a timid smile on her face as her eyes watered. 

Lockwood's eyes began to water from the sight. For an agent, death would be nothing more than a common occurrence. However, this was a different scenario, as a few tears streamed down his face. Before he could take another step forward, George finally free from his zip ties, carefully lifted you in a gentle motion, trying to prop you upwards. Lockwood hurried forward then, hands trembling as he grabbed your shoulders and pulled you into a seating position. Your head lulling sideways at an uncomfortable angle. Lockwood's eyes darted all across your form, desperately hoping to find some kind of response from you.

"She took on the mirror...It was too much for her to handle. She fainted from it." George filled him in on what occurred.

Lockwood's breaths grew out of rhythm as he kept your body in place, trying to keep his hands from shaking. His fingers trembled at a furious pace as he placed his hand against your neck, needing to feel for himself for a pulse. To reassure him that you weren’t taken from him. It was a moment that felt like hours had passed. He spoke. “Did she look at it?” They could hear the panic in his voice.

"N-No. She used the skull." Anthony glanced over to where the type three ghost swirled around, displaying its very much livelihood. He wished the same for your state.

Lockwood's sigh of relief was palpable in the atmosphere. He withdrew his head from your shoulder and pressed his head gently against yours, his eyes closing shut. The only thing keeping him from losing it was the slight thump against his fingertips on your neck, it had his entire demeanor relaxing. Though it didn't calm his nerves. "She'll be alright," he promised George, who seemed to be on the verge of panic himself. "She'll be quite alright." He muttered softly as though the tiniest change in his tone would cause him to fall apart. 

Lucy was at a crossroads, her instincts screaming at her how badly she wanted to rush into Lockwood's arms to comfort him at this moment, but she had her priorities straight. You had taken her place. This wasn’t out of the ordinary for you and it angered Lockwood because you never stopped putting yourself before others.

"She knocked me out and took my place. I wouldn't have let her if I knew-" Anthony retracted from you and looked over to Lucy, having her own breakdown.

Knowing of your bond, she knew what losing you would do to him. The last thing she wanted was to add any more stress to his plate and his already heavy heart. “I know. It’s alright Luce...” Lockwood gave her a firm nod. He then turned back to you. Lockwood was staring at what you referred to as your imperfections, a freckle here, a scar against your temple there, and the crease in your brows, to him they were what made you simply perfect in his eyes. He couldn’t help the frown on his lips, the frown on your own lips not sitting well with him. Had you fainted in pain? Were you still in pain? It didn’t shake him as badly as your closed eyes did. He wanted nothing more than to peer into them again. Find a home in them once more. He willed and hoped them to finally open so that he could see that you were alright. 

He lied, your pulse hadn’t been enough, he needed to see you awaken for him to even function correctly. He needed his mind to think about anything else, something else so he asked.

“What marvelous object did she acquire this time...” He scoffed. “My first encounter with her was with the end of an umbrella.”

"The butt of her rapier," Lucy said. "Shit hurt..." She rubbed against the side of her temple.

“A rapier?” He breathed a small laugh. “I see you weren’t quite original this time...” A small smile appeared in Lockwood's eyes as he leaned forward again. His hand lowered to wrap around your fingers, all the while as he carefully placed your head upon his shoulder. His other hand brushed against your cheek, making note of your temperature. “Her hands are getting cold.”

"Is that bad?"

“Y/n. Can you hear me?” He lifted your head from his shoulder. “Her circulation is slowing. Our time frame for waking her up is shrinking.” It's always an internal struggle for him to remain composed, but he had to be strong for the lot of them.

"Where did Pamela go?" George began panicking. He grew weary seeing her hunched over the broken mirror.      

“Leave her, George!" Lockwood let out his frustration at the situation. “She’s not our priority right now.”

“You stupid boy. You broke it!” Pamela whined.

Lockwood turned to look back at Pamela, who was whining about the broken mirror as Lucy’s attempts to bring you back to consciousness were becoming more futile. Lockwood’s patience was wearing thin, and Pamela’s words were doing nothing but adding fuel to the flames.

“We need to go! Now!” Lockwood urged the two of them. As he was already attempting to pick you up, especially with his bad shoulder still bleeding out. The exhaustion hadn’t yet reached him, his adrenaline running rampant. 

Lockwood's words were cut short as he stumbled, dropping you to the ground. His bad shoulder had given way to the exhaustion that now began to consume him. He was losing his grip on everything. “Lucy...” he was pleading now. 

“We’ve got her, let’s go!” Lucy assured his panic, and swung your arm over her shoulder, George taking your other arm.

“Don’t drop her…” Lockwood barked out, as he struggled to maintain a standing position. The exhaustion finally started to take hold of him as his knees buckled beneath him. With his body starting to tremble and lose its grasp, he let out a deep groan, his breath shallowing from the physical exertion.

"Go!" Lucy ordered out of frustration. She admired his concern and care about you but not when their lives were currently on the line and a crazy bitch was staring into the mirror she tried forcing them to look into.

He didn’t want to allow any room for arguing.

-

Anthony had fallen unconscious as the lift back up. His body lay next to yours as George, Lucy, and Kipps adjusted the both of you. The last thing Anthony recalls was lightly pressing his hand on top of yours before he succumbed to the exhaustion that ransacked his body. He felt as though a train drove right into him, though at least now he could say he’s faced down the barrel of a gun and lived to tell the tale. You’d find it humorous. You always thought highly of his jokes and gave him a laugh when most never bothered. He’d give anything to hear you bubble out of joy. See you double over from the loss of air in your chest. He’d give anything...everything.

After the paramedics patched him up and reduced him to an arm sling, he hung back as you lay on the gurney behind him. He twisted in his seat, keeping a watchful eye on you, waiting, willing the universe to spare him and have your fingers twitch, or have you shift around. He needed some peace of mind.

Though the universe was not kind, your body remained lifeless in a state of deep slumber. Lockwood’s heartbeat grew heavier the longer he waited on the back of the ambulance, his mind flooded with the worst-case scenarios. That this would be the last time, that that smile of yours that could charm anyone with ease would be lost. If he was to lose you, then he had nothing left. Nothing and no one. His hand continued to shake as he felt himself become more and more of a wreck. He couldn’t breathe...he wouldn't be able to breathe...and he knew he’d whole himself in his room if you didn’t-

“Will the Mrs live to see another day?”

Anthony looked over at Inspector Barnes. He gestured to your stilified state. He had hoped his joke would upturn the tension but if presumed he hadn’t after Lockwood scoffed and rolled his eyes, adverting his gaze away and back where they longed to remain, solely on you.

“What’d the paramedics say?” He asked again.

“She’s alright...Nothing we couldn’t figure out ourselves. The pressure from the mirror exhausted her to the point of fainting. She’s stable...she’s surpassed every checkup they ministered with flying colors...”

“Yet...” Barnes trailed off.

“They don’t have the slightest clue as to why she won’t wake up. They already tried to but...” Lockwood didn’t want to say it out loud, but speaking it into existence confirmed his worst fears, that even though your vitals were good, and your body reacted well to the fluids they gave you, something was seriously wrong, if not physically, then mentally and that scared him more than anything else. “I have this inclining...”

"Lockwood-" Barnes began.

“I know what you’re going to say. Have hope. Remain optimistic as we’ll continue to observe her, monitor her vitals, hell test her blood. But what good will that do when we’ve done it already…” He paused, the exhaustion growing with every passing moment. “What if she never wakes up?” Lockwood’s breath shudders.

“You both know of the risks–“ Barnes tries to reason.

“We’ve been in the business of risk exposure for years. We don’t expect ourselves to survive from the first encounter. But this–this feeling...” Lockwood’s voice was breaking. He couldn’t keep himself contained any longer. “I’m aware!” Lockwood snaps, his voice breaking, his eyes reddening. “All too aware, but if I’d known this would happen I’d…” His thoughts trail off, unsure of what to say anymore. His eyes kept darting back and forth between you and Barnes. He’d succumb to begging. He would. Just to see you move a little. Any kind of movement. Just one would be enough to quell his panic. 

“Taken her place?” A small knowing smile reached Barnes's brows.

Lockwood couldn’t bring himself to deny it. He took a deep breath, as he spoke in a hushed and gentle tone “I would hand myself over to death without question. Any given day.” He didn’t hesitate. “I’d rather she lose me, than I her. So yes, I’d have taken her place.” Barnes's eyes slowly flickered past his shoulder with an easing smile. He looked down to the rubble. 

“Over my dead body-” Anthony had never turned his head faster. He instantly froze. The relief that had started to wash over him at seeing you had given way to embarrassment. His own injury was forgotten. You sat up and your eyes landed on him. “Hand yourself over to death, or you mad- What the hell happened to your shoulder?” 

“That would be my leave...” Barnes pointed to his left and swiftly left the two of you.

“My shoulder? Oh, it…I was shot.” He answered as simple as that, it contained no other details, nothing to ease your concern, which led you right into interrogating him.

“Shot?” You were taken aback by his nonchalant reply. “What do you mean, shot?” You exclaim. 

“Nothing worth troubling yourself about. How do you feel?” There was an air of tension between the two of you, where everything had become so fragile. After everything that had happened, a simple statement or action would break the illusion. You were awake and animated, and giving him a piece of your mind. It didn’t feel real in the slightest.

“I…” A wave of exhaustion was still coursing through your body, a result of the exhausting ordeal that you had just undergone. The ordeal had exhausted your body so much that your brain shut down. But your physical exhaustion also masked the emotional exhaustion you were feeling. You felt out of your element; overwhelmed by everything that was now around you. Everything felt unfamiliar to you, as though you had been transported into an unknown dimension, one where your mind felt trapped. Anthony’s ghost locked body in your arms. “I don’t know...I couldn’t wake up.”

"I know- The paramedics tried everything and-"

It was impossible to say what you did and didn't remember. But from what you recall, the events of the evening were a blur. "The mirror..." You attempted to scoot closer to him. Your hands grazed against Anthony's hair. Your eyes caught sight of his shoulder, wrapped in bandages and the sling that secured it together. Was it bleeding? But it wasn’t your primary focus. You just needed to feel him. “There were so many faces, so many faces.” You breathe out a gasp. Your eyes watering. “I saw you...”

“Me?”

"You were ghost-locked. I had lost you..." Your breath hitched.

"It wasn't real. I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. It wasn't real." Anthony reassured, pressing kisses against your temple.

"But what if it was...What if what the mirror showed me becomes true?"

He paused, taking a moment to contemplate your concerns. Anthony had already spent the evening playing out the worst-case scenarios, but to hear you state them verbally had somehow made them more palpable. However, a small part of him was curious whether you saw your future by the mirrors doing, or if it was just an illusion to break you mentally.

"Then I'll make sure that doesn't happen." He whispered. His voice was tinged with emotion. His hands reached for yours and intertwined his fingers with yours. A sign of his promise to you.

“You can’t promise that-”

Anthony looked down at your hands, his eyes flickering between them as he attempted to focus on anything other than the overwhelming amount of emotions swirling within him, the emotions threatening to consume him whole. So he focused instead on your hands being intertwined with his, and the sight warmed him in a pleasant way he hadn't felt in many months, as the thought of possibly losing you had him filled with dread.

He leaned over and kissed your knuckles. “Did you not hear my declaration of my love for you?”

“Oh, the one where you give yourself to death- Like hell!” You yank your hand out of his with a scoff.

“Hand myself over–” He corrected you. “I’d hand myself over to death.” He continued.

“I’m about to hand you a right hook.” You throw a playful punch to his bad shoulder, forgetting his injury and rippling with regret instantly. “Oh!”

“Ow.” He groaned. “What’s the big issue?” He laughed softly. “What’s wrong with giving up my life for yours?” He teased. “You know I’d die for you.”

"You don't have my permission." You mutter softly. Bringing a hand up to brush back his hair.

As your hand brushed back his hair, Anthony couldn’t help but smile at the small gesture. He grabbed the hand you used to brush back his hair and lightly kissed the back of your hand again. “If I wanted to I would give myself over to death this very instant. I’d do just about anything for you, you know.” He replied. His gaze was now fully on you. His eyes were a deep amber, shining like two gemstones.

"And that's what scares me the most." You hum.

“It shouldn’t.” He scoffed with a smile. “Besides, I thought you valued my loyalty.” He raised a brow playfully.

"Yes. When I'm not there to defend my word. That’s when I put my whole faith in your loyalty to me...but when death comes knocking. I don't want it." Your eyes soften.

He looked away briefly, then back at you with a teasing smile. “I wouldn’t give my life to save just anyone, you know.”

"Oh, I'm aware." You fight back an amused smile. He noticed it though, he caught the smile that you attempted to mask. You were never able to conceal much around him, and that was all right. He liked seeing your emotions on full display. You were your truest self when you let your guard down around him. It made you all the more adorable that way. “And you?” He asked. “Would you give yourself to death for me?” He teased, but you knew he was serious.

Your smile widened for a moment before you caught yourself, and answered without taking a beat. You would allow him to know your fears, for the fear of seeing him suffer on your behalf was the worst feeling one could endure. That was something you hated the thought of. You didn’t quite see yourself as the more vulnerable one out of the two of you. Deep down Anthony conquered his inner demons through you, shared his past, his troubles, and confessed his deepest fears to you. You’d help him without any hesitation. You would do anything for the bloke, even if that meant going as far as sacrificing your own life for the sake of him getting to keep his, you would do it, and you’d do it in a heartbeat no less.

“Any given day.” One glance into your eyes and Anthony knew. He knew you would keep that promise till death tethered on whose hand to take. When? Well, you’d never truly know for sure.

Content with your answer, he leans in and kisses your cheek softly. You relax into his touch, your lashes brushing down on top of your under-eyes. He pulls away with a stupid grin. His eyes filled with want and mischief, your favorite combination.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood imagines #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood oneshot #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #writings by juls #my gif

[aislinrayne]

[𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱] [𝔖𝔢𝔯𝔦𝔢𝔰 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱]

𝔖𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶: Anthony Lockwood makes it through a late and relaxed morning, a leisurely afternoon well suited to reminiscing, and the earliest part of a normal evening before his luck runs out.

ℜ𝔞𝔱𝔦𝔫𝔤: M

𝔚𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰: They're idiots, your honour, unrequited pining (it's requited, they're just stupid), language, canon typical violence, only proof-read while sick

𝔄𝔲𝔱𝔥𝔬𝔯'𝔰 𝔑𝔬𝔱𝔢: I love me a good miscommunication trope, and coming up with ideas on how to make long-term mutual pining work is way too much fun, so finally figuring out both angles of what these two lovebird's dynamic was going to be was a major driving force behind this re-write hehehe I'm not sorry This chapter fought me every step of the way, and I had to split it into two parts so it wasn't outrageously long, but in the end I'm incredibly happy with the result! Chapter three will take place only a few minutes after the end of this.

Since this is where the 'slight au' part comes into play, I'm curious to see what you guys think of the world building in this one! Please feel free to leave any comments or questions if I was a bit vague on something, or if you just want to know more about this little headcanon universe of mine

𝔚𝔬𝔯𝔡 ℭ𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱: 5.17k

⇠ 𝔓𝔯𝔢𝔳𝔦𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯

  The sun has only just begun its descent towards the horizon, but the chill on the wind already cuts to the bone.  In spite of the numerous layers of suit and coat, it bites into Anthony’s flesh.

 “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” a woman calls out to him, loud enough to be heard over the chorus of cafe patrons hiding from the cold behind steaming cups of tea and coffee.

  “I think I’d be better off not doing anything you would do, Luce,” he shoots a wink at her over his shoulder, holding the door open with his elbow to shoot a two-fingered salute at the ginger woman beside her laughing unabashedly at their playful bickering.

  Lucy mutters a retort under her breath, a particularly colourful string of insults if the swat on the arm it earns from her girlfriend is anything to go by.  

  The door swings shut behind him, abruptly cutting off the sound of Norrie chastising her partner about ‘publicly decent language’ and leaving him with a pep in his step as he wanders towards Regent Street in the general direction of his favourite rapier shop.  

  Something about afternoon tea with his best friend and her girlfriend always leaves him feeling reminiscent, the water-colour splashes in soft shades of orange across the horizon only serve to heighten the feeling.  His short walk to Mullet and Sons allows him some time to indulge.

  A lot had changed in the six years since Lucy had joined himself and George at Lockwood & Co..  For one, they’d gained quite the reputation.  Fittes and Rotwell were still most people’s first choice, but now you’d be more likely to hear their little agency recommended than Bunchurch or Tendy’s.   He’ll admit, initially it seemed as though they were going to become infamous rather than renowned; between the disaster at Sheen Road, the disaster at Combe Carey, the disaster at–

  Well, you get the point.  It hadn’t looked promising.

  Their luck had begun to change with the case of the Bone Glass, then eventually Aickmere’s, but it hadn’t felt like nearly enough.   Those days had been filled with anxiety.   Worst of all was the fear of his Talent fading, the uncertainty of what his life would look like without the thing he’d based every choice he’d ever made on.  How was he supposed to survive in a world in which he couldn’t See?  He’d been terrified of running out of time to achieve his dreams, petrified he would fail his family by never achieving anything worthy of their name.  It was safe to say he hadn’t been in the best headspace.

  The fear almost overwhelmed him as time rushed on towards his eighteenth birthday, made all the more unignorable by his experience watching Quill Kipps lose his own Sight.  And while they’d found a solution for the retired Fittes agent in the form of Fairfax’s Ghost-Vision goggles, there was no replacement for the real thing.

  And then the daunting milestone had come and gone with no discernible difference.

  George was the next oldest.   Over the course of that year his Talent faded slowly, then all at once.  He hadn’t minded overmuch, the library had become preferable to being in the field somewhere around their fifth arson-related-incident.  In his defence, Mrs. Manfield flying across her lawn like a bat out of hell screaming about her antique doily collection being smoke-stained would have been enough to traumatise anyone.

  The following year had gone quite flawlessly, if he did say so himself.  With George as their dedicated researcher, and Lucy and Anthony’s competitive spirits driving them to never fall behind each other in skill, they were capable of taking on a significantly larger number of cases.  If they needed additional hands in the field for any particularly challenging jobs they’d enlist either George or Kipps with the aid of the goggles.

  But by her nineteenth birthday, Lucy actually seemed upset that her Talent refused to fade.  The boys had been confused by this at first, and while Lockwood had the sense to leave it alone, George had continued to question her.  They’d found out the full story of how she’d come to be an agent when she’d finally broken down.     She’d never chosen this life, and even though she loved her time with Lockwood & Co., she’d always been comforted by the notion that this life of fighting and fear had an expiration date.  In contrast to his own relief and excitement at the prospect of never losing his Talent, she felt nothing but trepidation.  George was watery eyed by the end of her confession, his lips pressed tightly into a thin line to prevent them trembling.   Anthony felt like he might be sick.   By the light of the numerous mismatched candles on Lucy’s lopsided birthday cake, they made a pact to pretend as though her Talent was fading, and phase her out of the agency within a year's time.

  A few short months later, the first headline popped up in a small gossip rag. It wasn’t even one of his top five.  Someone had taken notice of his remaining Sight at his advanced age, but hadn’t yet noticed their attempts to fake Lucy’s waning Listening.

  In the days after the first article's publication, the obnoxiously loud business phone began ringing more often.   Then, another article in a larger paper.  Followed by another, then several more.

  Anthony had to restrain George from ripping the phone’s cord out of the wall after one too many interrupted naps.  The researcher moved in with Flo not long after, but still kept his room mostly furnished for the evenings he worked far too late to make it to their flat safely.

  By the time their story had been told often enough for the media to lose interest, they had gone from having enough cases to keep them busy to too many to keep up with in what had to be some kind of record time.   In light of the extra attention they had considered hiring another agent, but their options were slim and the thought of bringing in a child to fight their battles was surprisingly difficult to stomach.  Anthony made a mental note to apologise to Barnes after that realisation, gaining some perspective on the man who’d tried so desperately to keep them away from the front lines.

  Time felt more like an undefeatable foe in the six months that followed than it had at any previous point in his life.  How was he supposed to keep taking on cases without anyone to watch his back in the field?  Would he end up alone in this bloody house yet again?   Despite the thoughts that haunted his darker moments, he knew he would let Lucy leave without any fuss.  Even in the last weeks of her employment he knew he could never be selfish enough to ask her to stay.   Though, had he known–

  A street sign reading ‘Half Moon Lane’ interrupts him from his stroll down memory lane, heralding the end of his journey.   The old building slumps under the weight of time.  Even the paint on the window is chipped, almost removing the ‘Sons’ in Mullet and Sons.   Although the storefront's outward appearance borders on decrepit, they have undeniably the highest quality rapier’s in London.  The hinges shriek as he pushes the door open, alerting the proprietor to the presence of a customer.

  “Ah, Mr. Lockwood!  A pleasure, as always.  How can I help you, my boy?” emerging from the back room, the white haired old man beams upon recognising him.  

  “Mr. Mullet, please, the pleasure is mine!  I believe one of my agents placed an order with you recently?  I’m here to pick up for her.”  

  After confirming her name and the details of the order, the old man teeters his way back into the room he’d just come from.  When he emerges again, he does so with empty hands and a deep frown upon his face.  

  “It appears one of my sons has caused a touch of a mixup and sent your employee’s rapier home with another agent.  I can place another order with our supplier, but I’m afraid it won’t arrive until the end of the month,” his tone is apologetic, but Anthony still has to fight the urge to groan in frustration.  

  “Mistakes happen, Mr. Mullet.  We’re only human after all,” thankfully, he’s had plenty of practice schooling his tone over the years, “that being said… we’ve made commitments for this evening.  I can’t very well ask one of my agents to walk into a haunted house unarmed.”

  “Of course, I understand completely.  Since you’ve been doing business with us for so long, I’m willing to offer a percentage off of any of our in stock models as a token of our apology.”  

  It’s a gracious offer, one Anthony is happy to accept.  He defers to the expertise of the older man, allowing him to lead them from option to option within the dimly lit store.  

  Trying to choose such an essential tool for her without her input is a surprisingly daunting task, and he finds himself quickly overwhelmed.   Searching for something to distract him until he can ground himself properly, he lets his eyes wander freely over the different kinds of metal glittering from mahogany shelves before they fix on a single standing display across the room.  Driven by curiosity, he approaches the case to inspect its contents.  What he finds nearly steals the breath from his lungs.    Laying on a scarlet velvet cushion is the most beautiful rapier he’s ever laid eyes on.  It has a fine silver blade, connected to an intricate swept hilt inlaid with gold leaves that wind around the counterguards and down the central ridge.  When his eyes travel to the pommel and find her birth stone caged within golden vines, he begins mental preparations to re-mortgage the house.   Thankfully, when Mr. Mullet wanders over to find him staring transfixed at the weapon, he gives him a knowing smile and cuts the younger man a deal he almost feels guilty accepting.  

  When he departs the shop, rapier tucked safely into a cloth wrap, the sun is dangerously close to the horizon.

  Uttering a quiet prayer to the powers-that-be, he scans the area for a payphone.  Luck is on his side today and he finds one rather quickly, tucked into a nook beside a cafe a few shops down.   As he makes a beeline for it with purpose, he comes aware of the hairs on the back of his neck standing slowly to attention.  At first it’s easy to brush it off as a result of the temperature, but the closer he gets to the booth the more the sensation builds.  It feels like someone’s watching him.   Stepping into the silver-glass encased rectangle, he lifts the phone from the receiver before pausing.  Thinking quickly, he puts on his best thoughtful expression, pretending to have forgotten the number he needs to call as an excuse to let his eyes wander his surroundings.  The droning of the phone waiting for input makes the entire situation feel even more unnerving.  

  Nothing glaringly obvious jumps out at him; no nefarious stalker in a trench coat peers at him from some dark alley, no one stares at him over the top of an upside-down newspaper.  All his eyes can find is folks hurrying into their vehicles before the threat of darkness grows, shop workers locking their doors and flicking off their lights.

  Scoffing at himself for allowing his paranoia to get the best of him, he dials a night cab.  Though he’s quite certain he’d imagined the threat, he still refrains from mentioning his destination out loud.  He hadn’t made it as far as he had by throwing all caution to the wind.  Just… most of it.  Before he can waste too much time chastising himself any further, he slams the phone back into place and turns with purpose to wait for his ride in the safety of the cafe.  

  Honestly, it’s a good thing he’s so dramatic.  If he hadn’t insisted on doing the most theatrical spin, complete with the billowing of his coat as he exited the box, he wouldn’t have startled the man watching him from behind the corner of a nearby bookstore.     The balding head disappears as the body it’s attached to ducks behind the brick wall.  Anthony has several options, but very few of them are good.  He quickly decides his best course of action is to pretend to be unaware of the man’s presence, electing to continue on to grab himself a tea whilst he plans his next move.

  Watching the brilliant orange and scarlet glow of sunset, Anthony finds himself observing the comings and goings of vehicles outside the shop window.  There’s an unusual amount of traffic for this time of day.  He’d expect to see a large number flocking to their homes, seeking safety from the threats that come with darkness.  But to see even two or three vehicles stop to park alongside the road this time of night was unusual.

  The arrival of his cab shakes him from that train of thought, jumping the tracks straight to figuring out how to make it to Mrs. Roland’s house in decent time without being followed.  He hadn’t seen another sign of the man since, but he’s not convinced the danger has actually passed.  With a huff, he draws himself out of the comfortable chair.   The cold air is no more forgiving now than it had been before.  Allowing the warmth of the night cab to envelop him, he instructs the driver to begin a complex route to their destination in the hopes of losing those tailing him.  

  The sky is pitch black by the time they arrive, but his efforts seem to have been successful.  While he’d thought for a moment one of the cars that started up as he’d exited the cafe might have been following them at first, there’s no sign now of anyone suspicious following behind.

  Stepping out of the cab onto the curb, he takes a deep breath and tries to sort his thoughts before he dares to step foot into the house.  Why, precisely, would somebody have him under observation?  For once in his life, he can’t think of anyone who would have reason to.     Pulling up the sleeve of his coat to check the watch on his wrist, he curses under his breath at the time.  There’s going to be a lot of grovelling in his very near future.  It’s nearly thirty minutes past six.  She’s going to kill him, and he can’t even fault her for it.

  He’s about to rush into the house when a set of headlights comes into view at the top of the street, nearly blinding him before cutting to blackness at the sight of his silhouette.  

  Bloody hell, that is the final straw.  He’d done quite a fine job feigning ignorance until this point, but he has to draw the line at this level of obviously shady behaviour.  If they’re this incompetent he can get to the bottom of the matter without the need for secrecy or strategy.    He straightens to his full height, setting his jaw and turning to walk with confidence towards the sleek black car now parked roughly a hundred feet ahead of him.

  The sound of glass shattering fills the quiet night air before he can make it more than halfway, stopping him dead in his tracks as he listens for any further sign of danger.  Usually, the thought of his associate in any form of peril is more than enough to send him spiralling into an – admittedly unnecessary – protective frenzy.  However, considering all elements of the present situation, he finds himself torn.  Their interview with Mrs. Roland prior to the acceptance of the case had left them both confident the Visitor is a Type One, which she’s more than capable of handling herself, and if he doesn’t chase this lead down now–  

  An unholy shriek echoes down the street, sending chills down his spine.

  Sketchy stalker-mobile be damned.

  He turns on a dime, long legs carrying him across the lawn as if chasing his own shadow as the headlights behind him reignite and light his path.  The golden beams veer away, the car pulling a sharp u-turn to flee the scene.  If he wasn’t so worried, he’d probably be frustrated.   He almost can’t stop fast enough to prevent himself from running face-first into the door when the handle refuses to turn.  Swearing loudly, he jiggles it again to ensure it isn’t just stiff before he risks causing property damage.  The screaming is making it hard to think, but he can’t quite put his finger on what about it is making him feel so unnerved.  When it finally hits him, property damage is the least of his concerns.  Barely audible beneath the unnaturally shrill sound, her scream is hoarse and pained.

  He takes a full stride back, rocking his weight back on his left leg and lifting his right.  His foot hits its mark directly beside the lock, the full weight of his panic-aided-strength sending it flying open.  He can’t help but wince at the crunch of drywall, likely from the knob on the far side embedding itself in the wall, but he doesn’t waste any further time on it before striding into the house.   Dead ahead, an electric lantern sitting on the kitchen counter bounces light off of the shining tiles covering the majority of the space.  To his left is a small dining room with only a mid-sized table, four chairs, and a plethora of obnoxiously colourful paintings on the walls.  Deciding having both hands free will be more conducive to survival, he dumps the cloth bag containing her new rapier on the table and rushes towards the commotion.

  Between his relief at seeing her unharmed and the sheer comedic value of the expression on her face as she slides around the corner with arms flailing, he almost bursts into hysterical laughter.  Thankfully, his self preservation instinct is strong enough to encourage him to duck behind the wall while he gets himself under control.   Under normal circumstances he would let her exit the house rather than practically jumping out at her, but he can’t be sure there isn’t someone still waiting outside.  And as a small bonus, if she’s already mentally signing his death certificate, he can’t make it any worse by making an entrance.  He feels a grin spread across his features despite a valiant effort not to enjoy this too much.

  “Sorry it took me so long, darling.  Traffic was atrocious,” he has to bend to wrap an arm around her middle, but that doesn’t stop him.   Instead of lashing out or screaming again, she catches him off guard by completely relaxing into his hold.  A spark of protectiveness flares beneath his breast as the back of her head falls to rest on his collarbone and she lets out a shaking breath.  In stark contrast to her usually unflappable nature, she trembles like a leaf.  There’s no way a simple Type One put her in this state.

  It takes all of his willpower to peel his arm from her waist, to offer her the only shield he can by tucking her safely behind him.  He takes a deep breath in through his nose, exhaling slowly through pursed lips and drawing his rapier.  It’s not enough to eliminate the intoxicating effect of her proximity, but it dampens it enough he can think clearer.

    “Anthony John Lockwood, you fucking asshole!  The sun set half an hour ago!” the rage in her tone fills him with relief, not even the impact of the flat of her hands against his back can take away from it.  He’d obviously prefer if she were calm, but he’ll take anger over despair any day.

  “Any idea what kind of Visitor we’re dealing with?  Or what the Source could be?” he breezes past her outburst, not having to look over his shoulder to know if looks could kill he’d be dead on his feet.  

  He knew this routine like the back of his hand.  She’d be angry at first, call him every name in the book, and then they’d move past it and get the job done.

 Except there’s no scoff, no retort, no rapid fire insults, no reply of any kind.  The silence is deafening.  Taking back every scathing remark he’s ever made about Orpheus’ lack of restraint, he caves to the impulse and glances over his shoulder.   He’d been right about the look, at least.  The incredulous fury painted across her face might have been comical in another place, on another day.  But there, just beneath the surface, was something he hadn’t expected to find; betrayal.

  Shit.  He’s really fucked up this time.

  “Y’know what?  Figure it out yourself,” the venom dripping from her tone feels like knives in his chest, “you would have had to if you’d been a minute later anyways.”   Time comes shuddering to a halt.  His pulse is deafening as it thunders in his ears.  If he’d put her life in legitimate danger – regardless of the circumstances – he’d never forgive himself.

  “What do you mean?  What happened?” he manages to choke around the lump in his throat that feels suspiciously like his heart, turning to face her fully and reassure himself by searching every visible inch of her for any sign of injury.  The urge to reach out and touch her, to feel her body beneath his hands and know for sure she isn’t being stubborn enough to hide some kind of fatal wound from him, is so strong his fingers burn.

  After a few incidents involving him turning into a lovesick moron at the slightest touch from her early on in her employment, she’d gone to great lengths to avoid any form of contact with him.  He’d come to terms with this, resigning himself to the idea of a life spent admiring her from arms length.  So while she hadn’t seemed too opposed to having him in her personal space tonight, he had no intentions of pushing any farther and making her uncomfortable.

  That was the plan, at least.  But when screaming pierces the air once more, the colour drains from her face, and he watches her cave in on herself in an attempt to hide; he feels like this counts as extenuating circumstances.     He takes a single large step forward, arms reaching towards her in unison.  Her hands are over her ears, head tucked into her chest, elbows tight to her ribs.  He allows his upper body to curl at the edges and cage her against him, hugging her head to his chest to muffle the noise.

  Then, it stops.  It’s hard to decide if the ghostly howling or ensuing silence is louder.  

  “You okay?” he murmurs the question, reluctantly releasing her to rest his hands on her shoulders and leaning down to try to catch her gaze in the low light.   There’s merely inches between their faces when her unfocused eyes finally lock with his own.  It’s hard to breathe without acknowledging they’re breathing the same air, but he files that thought away for later.  He concentrates instead on tracing every one of her features with his gaze, every tensed muscle and line that may offer him some insight into her condition.   She squeezes her eyes shut, blinking like she’s just woken up.  When she finally focuses on him, her pupils blow wide as dinner plates.  Her lips part, her small gasp the only disturbance in the air as he involuntarily holds his breath.  

  A sharp stab of heartbreak courses through him as she steps back abruptly, raising her palms in surrender.  His poor heart stops dead for the umpteenth time today when he spots the dark spot on her hand.  She tries to drop her arms, to move to put more distance between them, but his sense of urgency outweighs his better judgement as he grasps her tightly by the wrist.  The chill of her skin beneath his does nothing to assuage his concerns as he pulls her across the kitchen to the light, ignorant to her protests through the haze of his anxiety.   Their proximity to the light confirms his fear, and the crimson red of fresh blood staining her skin has his stomach rebelling against him.  As soon as he drops her wrist she pulls it away and clutches it to her body, glaring daggers at him.    He makes a mental note to beg for her forgiveness later, reaching for her face and watching shades of red begin to decorate her flesh as she reaches new levels of infuriation.  Her skin is sinfully soft beneath the fingers that turn her towards the light and brush against her cheek, tucking the hair behind her ear to give him a better view.     A cold blanket of righteous fury settles over him at the sight of the narrow crimson river running sluggishly down her neck, using his thumb to swipe it away.  Murderous thoughts fill his head at the sight of the stain left in its wake, doubling in intensity at her expression when he shows her the smear of red highlighted by its contrast against his pale skin.

  “Now will you tell me about it?” any attempt at a playful tone is harshly undercut by the tremor of rage in his voice, but she still laughs with less nerves than he’d expected.  

  She studies him closely, but he stares right back, too focused on making the bloody thing pay for hurting her to be self-conscious under her scrutinous gaze.  After a short minute of this, understanding blossoms across her face.  

  “Through the living room, down the hallway - mind the runner, it’s slippery - the primary haunting is in the bedroom.  Husband’s name was Harold Roland.  There’s a painting on the left wall, initialed ‘H.R.’, psychic imprint like I’ve never seen.  Twenty quid says that’s the Source,”  she pauses, lost in thought with her eyes fixed on the ground, “Oh!  And it’s probably obvious by now, but it’s definitely a Screaming Spirit.”

  He can feel the corners of his lips quirking up as she drops the stubborn attitude.

  ‘Good girl,’ he wants to say.

  “Your rapier is on the table,” he says instead, turning his back on her under the guise of watching the direction they’d heard the screaming from.  In reality, he’d just needed an excuse to hide his blush and re-centre himself.

  He’s so busy shaking the offending thoughts from his head and cursing himself out for allowing his mind to wander into unsafe territory that he’s completely blindsided by the burst of other-light lighting up the living room like a flash bang.  He’s still blinking the blind spots from his eyes when rapid movement in his peripherals alerts him to the potential danger.  The ringing of iron fills the air as he draws his rapier, muscle memory taking over despite his still spotty vision as he slices clean through the centre of the spectre mere inches from his face.

  Behind him, the sound of her drawing her own blade drains anxiety he wasn’t aware he’d been feeling.  As she takes her place beside him he admits to himself that nothing in this world feels more natural than having her at his side, trusting him to keep the Visitor at bay whilst he trusts her to strategize.

  Despite being the newest member of their agency, Anthony trusts her instincts more than even his own most of the time.   He’d figured out not long after she’d joined that she had a particular balance of empathy and intelligence - and a sixth sense he couldn’t really explain - that made her an asset in the field.  Of course he’d never been dense enough to phrase it like that to her face, not after sticking his foot in his mouth with Luce all those years ago.

  Her posture shifts almost imperceptibly, but it’s enough to tell him she’s finished piecing together a plan.  All he can do now is hope she’s feeling generous enough to let him in on it.

  The crisp clean sound of her new rapier sliding into its sheath suggests he might be out of luck.  He’s considering whether or not it’s worth asking her directly when his brain sputters, then stalls.   She steps back far enough he has no warning of her proximity until she presses herself completely against him, the surface area of her chest displacing against the back of his ribs in a way that leaves him feeling a little dizzy.  As much as he really, really enjoys her hands dancing along his sides and hips, he can’t help but question her truly terrible timing as he fights to keep his blade in the air to ward off their ‘friend’.

  “Follow my lead,” she says.  It takes a while to filter through the dial-up connection that is his mind at that moment.  He regains his composure just as she hurls the salt-bomb over his shoulder, realisation dawning on him in a flash similar to that of the silver fulminate as it collides with the ghost before him.  So that’s what she’d been up to.

  She’s off like a bullet the second the apparition dissipates, shooting past him and into the other  room.  In a rather impressive manoeuvre, she tucks and rolls to land on her side parallel to a horrifically sunny loveseat before shoving her arm beneath it as though searching for something.  Of all of the things he could possibly expect for her to retrieve, a silver-net was not one of them.  He adds that to the list of questions he has for her once they get this situation under control.

  She’s back on her face and hurdling across the house like a bat out of hell when Mr. Roland decides to make another appearance in the form of a pair of ghostly arms emerging from the white walls.  A stone drops in his gut when he realises there’s no way he can reach her before the grasping arms of the apparition wrap around her shoulders.

“DUCK!” he hollers, an iron taste filling his mouth.  She immediately dives for the floor and–

  He loses sight of her past the walls of the hallway.

  The pounding of his heart drowns out the noises that follow, his legs carrying him across the house on autopilot.  The cold air stings every inch of exposed skin as he closes the distance to the active haunting, but it’s not nearly as cold as the blood in his veins when he spots the telltale sparkle of silver on the rug outside the bedroom.     He ducks to grab the net and sweeps through the doorway just in time to watch her body fly across the room.

  Even the brutal screaming had paled in comparison to the sound of her head hitting the bed frame. 

𝔑𝔢𝔵𝔱 𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 ⇢ ℭ𝔬𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔬𝔬𝔫…

taglist (if your name is in bold, it wouldn't let me tag you!): @tessas4 @chloejaniceeee @shakespearseclipse @ettadear @kassandra1000 @stardust611 @ell0ra-br3kk3r

𝔉𝔬𝔯 𝔱𝔞𝔤𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱 𝔪𝔞𝔫𝔞𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱, 𝔱𝔞𝔭 [𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔢]

#aislin writes #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x you #lockwood x reader #lockwood x fem!reader #lockwood x you #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood & co netflix #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood and co x you #lockwood & co x you #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood & co fanfiction #no y/n #no use of y/n #reader insert #x female reader #x reader

[g1rld1ary]

just blurry ; anthony lockwood x reader

➻ synopsis: you accidentally get lockwood drunk and have to walk him home from the pub where his drunk rambles disguise real feelings

➻ word count: 1264

➻ warnings: getting drunk

➻ had my first uni orientation today!! made a friend :)

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Since you and the rest of Lockwood & Co had turned eighteen, you all loved a good drink after a case. It eased all sorts of pain inflicted during your missions — physical and emotional. Whilst you mostly drank together at home because of the bizarre hours you usually worked, when it was appropriate you’d all taken to a quaint little pub named The King’s Court. It was only a few blocks from Portland Row which was ideal for getting home in the middle of the night, and almost always had a table for the four of you. Plus, you were pretty sure George had a crush on one of the bartenders, but you couldn’t be certain.

Tonight was one of the nights you’d wrapped up a case early enough for you to get a seat, but that didn’t mean it was an easy fight. It was a particularly aggressive poltergeist, your personal least favourite ghost to face. Invisible and aggressive, someone almost always ended up getting hurt. Tonight was no exception. Lucy had been gifted a rather long — but thankfully shallow — cut all the way up her arm, and the rest of you were physically exhausted from fighting. Yet when Lockwood cheerfully suggested the pub, no one had the heart to disagree with him.

You’d all had a bit to drink, which made Lockwood giggly, George loud and Lucy tired. You personally felt fine, not having had quite as much as the others. One of you had to be able to get the key into the front door, you figured.

George and Lucy left first, George becoming transfixed on her injury despite her protests, and wouldn’t rest until he was allowed to bandage it up. You’d stayed with Lockwood after he’d whined about wanting to stay out later, in a way not unlike a petulant child. You didn’t mind though, he was always fun to talk to — even more when he was drunk and giggly.

You gossiped for a while, Lockwood telling you stories of adventures the company had been on before meeting you, and in turn you told him about growing up in your own small town and the small group of friends you had out there. Lockwood, on top of his perfect eloquence, was also a great listener. You found yourself spilling secrets without even meaning to, spurred on by his eyes locked on yours, slightly glazed over with admiration as you spoke.

Without realising it the two of you had stayed until closing, and the last bartender working waved you out apologetically, a sympathetic glance to you as you supported Lockwood’s weight. You apologised for the both of you staying so late and tried to coax Lockwood into working with you, dragging his stumbling frame down the street. You really should have cut him off a few drinks ago.

While the rest of his body worked at half speed, Lockwood’s mouth was running at a million miles a minute. He blabbered on about whatever came to mind; the weather, what he might have for breakfast, an argument he was having with George before. You listened dutifully — there wasn’t much else to do while you struggled under his weight.

Taking a break you pushed Lockwood up against a ghost lamp, two hands on his shoulders both to pin him upright and take the pressure off your poor legs. Usually when you were carrying an injured agent you had assistance, and Lockwood was rather tall and gangly, making for a very awkward trip. However comfortable the position was for you, it did put your faces very close together.

You and Lockwood were inadvertently gazing into each other’s eyes as you caught your breath, and he suddenly noticed all the variation of shades in your irises. He looked down at you in utter amazement, all the minuscule details he’d never had the chance to see before coming into focus.

“You’re really pretty,” He breathed, a moment of tense silence hung between you, the only sound the faint buzzing of the lamps. And then Lockwood giggled, light and airy and ridiculous enough to dissolve whatever moment between you had been beginning.

“Alright, it’s time we get home,” You said, disregarding his previous statement, but Lockwood wasn’t having it. As you both stumbled home he couldn’t be silenced.

“No, I really mean it! You’re so pretty. Your eyes and your hair and your face, when you stick your tongue out to concentrate…” You didn’t know anyone noticed that. “Plus, you’re so funny. And nice. And you always put up with my stupidity. You’re so great.” If you didn’t know better you could have sworn you’d seen little hearts floating above his head.

“You’re really drunk right now,” You settled on replying, “I don’t think you’re gonna remember any of this tomorrow.”

“I’m not drunk at all! You’re just blurry.” Without even looking at Lockwood you knew exactly what expression he had on. Seeing the charming, lopsided grin would only heighten your own feelings further and so you locked your gaze down the street, where Portland Row seemed both so close and yet so far. You entertained his gushing until you made it to the doorstep, where you were grateful for the excuse to put distance between you. You weren’t sure how much longer you could resist him when he was saying such sweet things while pressed up to your side.

You finally sent him up to his bedroom with a promise to go tuck him in in a minute (you weren’t sure if he was joking or just got really honest when drunk), and headed off to the kitchen, fetching him a glass of water and some painkillers.

Knocking lightly on his door you found Lockwood sitting cross legged on his bed, absolutely adorable in his worn out pyjamas. He looked up at you again with those eyes and you imagined that was what a younger, more innocent Lockwood might have looked like all the time. Your heart ached for a moment when you thought about it, a quick yearning for a time when the both of you could have been just kids. You shook the thought off as soon as it came, aware of Lockwood watching and analysing your expressions.

“Well, come on then, get in bed,” You said, and Lockwood clambered under the sheets in a way that made you laugh softly. “If I only knew it would be this easy to get you to go to sleep, I would have gotten you pissed a lot sooner.” Lockwood only smiled, shaking his head.

“If you want me to go to sleep you just have to ask, I’ll do anything for you.” You hesitated for a moment at his confession, but wrote it off as drunk ramblings. You needed it to not mean anything to push back the warmth glowing inside your chest.

“Goodnight, Lockwood. Come get me if you need anything.” You pressed a soft kiss to his cheek before you could talk yourself out of it. The second your face retracted from his Lockwood’s hand was touching his cheek, a dumb smile creeping onto his lips.

You were out the door before he could respond, but standing outside to regain your composure, you could definitely hear his inebriated giggle through the door and smiled softly. He might be a drunk idiot, but you guessed he was pretty cute like that.

#giasfics˚ ༘♡ ⋆｡˚ ❀ #anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #fluff #lockwood and co #love #lockwood and co fanfiction #netflix #save lockwood and co #lockwood #lockwood netflix #locknation #renew lockwood and co #jonathan stroud #george cubbins #george karim #lockwood and co netflix #lucy carlyle #lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood fanfiction #anthony lockwood fluff #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x you #cameron chapman

[ms-fade]

We all have needs.

Anthony lockwood x Fem!reader +18 drabble.

Disclaimer: The “Readmore” sign has been causing glitches with my fics so I apologize if it happens again.

Warnings; Anthony being a little shit, smut, dirty talk, smut book talk, chocking, dominance, him trying to embarrass you and of course, you being embarrassed. And spelling mistakes.

You felt so embarrassed that your body was on fire, your cheeks puffed out and your eyes glaring at the man in front of you. You had been chasing him all over the house and now you two stood in the kitchen, him on one side and you on the other. Each time you threaten to move so did he, and you two have been running in circles for too long already.

“She dripped onto their shared sheets, her thighs burning with passion and desire-” You rolled your eyes as he spoke the words to the book in his hands. It was your book, one that you thought you could read in peace but Anthony had other plans. He stood with a proud smirk and his face was too cocky, he was having the time of his life embarrassing you.

“Anthony, stop.” Slamming your hands onto the table separating you. He looked up at your harsh tone and raised a brow. “Why? It’s getting good. Here, listen.” He laughed and looked back to the page.

“His wet muscle dragged through her folds, she was already so wet for him and dripping with aroused. The moan she left out when he finally got-” you had enough of his teasing and decided to try and take him down or get to him fast. You hopped onto the table and didn’t care of it would hold you, you just had to get to him.

He looked at you and stepped back to get away from you. “Y/n!” He laughed as you got closer to him. “Give it back.” You demanded while walking closer, he didn’t have much room until he backed all the way to the counter.

“Give it back.”

You shouted again and went to grab the book but before you could make it to the book his hand caught your wrist. Anthony tugged you forwarded and moved out the way so you were the one to hit the counter. His grip on your wrist left but was replaced by his body weight onto your back pressing you to the counter.

He was against you. He was pinning you so you had no way to escape, his arm was now around your stomach and bringing you closer but also to hold you still. You felt weak as you realized what was happening, how close he was- How close his mouth was to your neck. His hot breath hit your hot skin, but even though you couldn’t see him you knew he had a smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t finished.” He whispered closely. “Don’t be embarrassed, y/n. It’s just a smutty novel, I mean we all have needs don’t we? I know i do.” He chuckled. The grip he had on you tightened and he pressed you harder into him. “Anthony-” He shh’d you. He kissed your ear and his teeth nibbling the area softly, you let out a soft gasped.

“And, I know you do, y/n. When you think we all leave, or it’s late at night when everyone should be sleeping. I hear your pretty little gasps, just like the one you just did. I can only picture you rubbing your clit to get some release, each moan or pray to the god above.” Fuck- He heard you. Of course he did, just for him to make fun of you and use it against you.

“But what you don’t know is I like to stroke my cock to your moans, I imagine how you would feel around me.” He started to kiss down your ear and onto your neck and then to your shoulders. Your brain froze at his words, he did that- He wanted you back, he thought of you while he pleasured himself.

“And why didn’t you tell me- Lockwood.” Trying to ask him a question he had to shut you up with bitting into your collarbone. You moaned his name and closes your eyes, trying to back up into him for anything.

You were so needy.

“You want me to fuck you now? Like how he does her in your book, probably so rough and sensual. Tell me that you want my cock.” You jumped as he slammed the book on the floor. Squealing in surprised as he turned you over to face him, his hand quietly wrapping around the lower part of your neck.

He wasn’t chocking you but having ahold on you, just to hold you in a more dominant way. But he did make you look up at him and into his eyes, he wanted you to beg. To beg for him. And you wanted him so bad, everything was aching for him now within you.

“Please,” you whined out and tried to get out the words, “Fuck me.” There it was, the words he needed to here.

“Then I will, darling. I’ll make you scream only for me, and make you see how useless books are when you have real cock pleasing you from the inside.” That’s when his hand closes around your throat and brought you forward to meet his lips with a kiss.

Thank god you decide to read that book in the open.

#anthony lockwood x reader #lockwood & co #anthony lockwood #smut #Anthony lockwood smut #lockwood smut #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #lockwood & co netflix #lockwood & co smut #anthony lockwood x fem!reader

[reidrot]

just him and his iconic scarf jacket w lockwood’s outfit combo against the world he looks so soft i wanna hug him so badly🥹 I JUST KNOW THAT HE’D BE A NICE HUGGER ok im crying

#my baby #sometimes a babygirl can be a man #hes so lana del rey #like #i keep seeing edits of him to unreleased lana songs on tiktok and all i can say is YES. #hes also a bit of the nbhd or 1975 #ok imma shut up now #anthony lockwood #lockwood and co #lockwoodandco #cameron chapman #lockwood and co netflix #anthony lockwood x reader #locklyle #lockwood and co fanfiction #lockwood x lucy #lockwood & co #l&co #lockwood and co x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #anthony lockwood x y/n #anthony lockwood x you #incorrect lockwood and co #lockwood x reader #lucy x lockwood

[fox-bee926]

3 times you and Anthony Lockwood caught each other sleeping, and the 1 time both of you said “screw it.” 

Anthony Lockwood x fem!reader

PART 4 (Finale)

 Hi y’all! So, I finally finished the last chapter of “Screw it,” as I am now shortening it to. I’m not sure if I’m going to change the title officially or just the title in the masterlist, but that can be figured out at a proper time of day. I wanted to get this out to you guys as soon as I saw it fit to post. Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged the parts of this fic. You have no idea how much it all means to me, so thank you <3

Without further ado, I present to you: the fluff.

(Also, please cut me some slack on the House scene. Im not the best at writing fight scenes but im going to try and improve. :) )

TW: murder, abuse, momentary talk of abortion, more cursing than in previous parts, lack of communication, significant fluff.

Word Count: 3.5 K Taglist: @galactidiot

part one part two part three part four

“Guys, guys, guys, I figured it out!” The downstairs members of Lockwood and Co. were not sure you would survive going down the stairs at the speed you went. You half ran into the table, out of breath from zooming two flights of stairs.

Lucy held out her hands to steady you as you caught your breath. “Whatever you’ve figured out can’t be more important than not breaking your neck on the stairs, yeah?” You both gave out a laugh at that. George and Lockwood looked at you two from their places at the sink.

“Sorry about that, but this couldn’t wait,” Lockwood silently set down a cup of tea in front of you. “Abigail’s mother was pregnant when she killed her husband. That’s the reason she made the decision to kill him. She had her youngest child almost exactly 8 months after his death. Her doctor ordered a pregnancy test days before she killed her husband.” You sipped your tea and sent a look of thanks to Lockwood. He only turned and returned to George’s side.

George’s face scrunched together as he thought. “Even if you’re right, how does that help us figure out what the source is?” Your smile went wide as you held up a finger then ran off to the living room. 

“This,” you came back and set down her financial records on the table. “She made a significantly larger purchase than usual only days before the murder. I think they were baby things. Like diapers, toys, a crib, the whole lot.” Everyone, even Lockwood, looked at you skeptically. But then, George grinned.

“You think the source is something she bought for the baby.”

“It would make sense! If she killed her husband to get a better life for her future family, what better place to decide than looking at something that represents that future?” You looked down when they still looked at you like you were crazy. “I know it’s a long shot, but what else do we have?”

Lockwood pressed off from the counter and crossed his arms. “We can do a full sweep of the house again, check everything with a new perspective. Lucy, you said you couldn’t hear much, maybe it’s because we weren’t listening for the right sounds.” He patted George on the back, and grinned at Lucy. “We can go tonight. Better to get this over and done with, and move on.”

His demeanor seemed cold in some ways, despite the warmth he displayed for George and Lucy. Your intuition told you that something was bothering him, and you had a suspicion what it was. As he left the kitchen, you tried to catch him. Your hand brushed his forearm but he only maneuvered farther out of your reach. The feelings that were expressed last night had had quite the effect on both of you, apparently one more than the other.

____

“Alright everyone, stay sharp. We don’t want a repeat of last time.” Lockwood opened the doors of the house and you all went straight inside. It was decided that you and Lockwood would take one half of the house, Lucy and George the other. Thanks to Flo Bones, both teams finally had radios. Although you weren’t sure how much help they would be.

They had found out the husband had held a lot of pent up rage when Lockwood and Lucy had initially investigated the house. Lockwood became temporarily ghost-locked, and Lucy ended up getting literally thrown out of the house when she saved him. It was not an experience anyone wanted to repeat to say the least.

You always hated the sounds of a haunted house. Sometimes you were thankful for the sound of all the salt bombs and magnesium flares in your duffel bag. Though you weren’t so thankful when the ghosts found you ten times faster because of it. 

You and Lockwood wandered the halls of the house, checking each room. Your rapier was uncomfortably strapped onto your right side, with your tool bag hanging from your arm. While you couldn’t wield your rapier as well as you used to, you compensated for having a Listening talent that was on par with Lockwood's’ Sight.

Your footsteps echoed softly throughout the house. “Are we going to talk about this morning? Or last night?” Your voice was only just above a whisper when you turned to Lockwood. The only sounds you two could hear were the doors creaking open and the wind rushing through some of the open windows. You hated it. It was like the ghost was trying to bide its time. You thought of no better time than the present to have some mind altering conversations.

Lockwood returned to the hallway as you continued your path through the house. “No. We are not. Last night shouldn’t have happened. I was an utter fool, and-”

“Stop.”

“No, it has to be said, I shouldn’t have made things complicated-”

“Are you going to break my heart or actually fucking listen to me and stop talking?” Lockwood tensed up at that. He hadn’t seen it as breaking your heart, merely saving himself the heartache of rejection. But he reconsidered his decision when he saw the anger on your face, and the tears welling up in your eyes. 

You turned back around to face the next three doors in the hallway. Energy pulsed around you and suddenly there was no more creaking or rushing, there was just nothing.

“Someone’s crying. It’s coming from the room at the end of the hall.” You and Lockwood move slowly towards the door. Both of you were getting increasingly worried that there was no activity from the ghost, nor radio chatter from Lucy and George.

You entered the room. There was no furniture in the room, but it had an air of warmth. An air of comfort. The only sound Lockwood could hear was the movement of the curtains. But you heard differently.

“It’s Abigail. She’s crying. She’s just ran out of the room. Her mom yelled at her, but she didn’t mean it. This was going to be the nursery. All the baby items are in here. She feels overjoyed, but scared when she looks at them.” You walk slowly into the room as Lockwood listens and keeps watch. 

He knew how Listeners could get when a haunting was this powerful. Despite all the words he said to you, he is worried. You had invested yourself so deep in this case. Lockwood was worried that you wouldn’t like what you heard in this room. Be careful, darling. I don’t think my heart could take it.

You spoke softly, but the distance in your voice told him you were not fully present. “Now she’s crying. For a moment she considers ending it. She heard of home remedies for this particular ailment from her neighbor. But the rattle. The rattle was rolling towards her. The rational part of her mind said it was the wind, but it could be more. It was her child calling to her.” You sink down in the middle of the room, facing said window. You could feel the warmth of the sun on her face, despite it being the dead of night for you. “She knew what she had to do. She wouldn’t let another one of her children witness their fathers violence.”

As Lockwood sees you kneel on the floor, he starts to see the faint start of a death glow. “Darling, we have to hurry. We know what the source is now, we just need to know where to find it. I know you can do this, but hurry.” He had never had much worry for his own life in these situations, but for you he was terrified.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the Shade of a small child crawl towards you. You made no movement, so he dove to swipe at it with his rapier. As soon as he moved from the doorframe, the door slammed shut. This was the ghost’s plan all along. 

He tries to go for the radio attached to his belt, but the ghost starts to fly towards you. Lockwood slashes at it but you look none the wiser. You both had been so absorbed in the situation that you had dropped the toolkit outside of the room. He realized all the two of you had were the bombs on your belt and your rapiers.

“Okay, come on now, snap out of it!” Lockwood threw a bomb at the ghost and the sound had you take in a gasp, coming back to the present. As soon as you processed the situation, you stood up and drew your rapier. 

“Perfect timing! Where’s the source?” Lockwood yelled as he heard banging on the opposite side of the nursery door from Lucy and George. This ghost was powerful, and he doubted they could get in without having secured the source first. 

“Draw it away from the closet, it’s under the floorboards so it might take some time.” 

“Do it, I’ll handle the ghost.”

You gave a quick nod and went to work. You pried the door to the closet open and started pulling on the floorboards. The ghost immediately noticed and lunged for you once again. You turned away from your efforts and drew your rapier, but you were too slow. The ghost pushed you back against the wall with its force. Fortunately, the impact had done a number on the floorboards and revealed the source. You just had to reach it. 

But you were still trying to bring the air back to your lungs. 

All you could see was the ghost hovering above you. As you tried to cough, you realized the ghost wasn’t just hovering over you. It had ghost-locked you. You could see Lockwood out of the cover of your eye trying to open the door to let Lucy and George through. Until he turned around and saw the ghost above you. He knew your fear stricken face would be etched into his mind, his nightmares, forever. He did the one thing he knew best to do. 

“Hey!” He threw a salt bomb at the ghost and waved his rapier mockingly. “No wonder your wife killed you if you’re hovering over other girls, eh?”

In hindsight, this was probably not one of his best plans, seeing as though taunting an angry Type Two was the only step of the plan he had thought out.

In a blink, everything happened so fast. The ghost screamed in a rage and went towards Lockwood. It took all your will not to run for him and defend him from the ghost, but you knew you had a more important job. You reached into your pocket to grab a small silver netting you had bought just for times like these. Before you could cover the rattle, there were two loud crashes. The first was Lucy kicking in the door. The second was Lockwood being thrown out the window. 

As soon as you dropped the netting on the rattle, the room became silent.

“We missed all the fun, didn’t we?” Lucy laughs, mostly out of surprise that you two were alive. But you were more focused on the groaning that came from outside. George advanced towards the secured source as you quickly got up and ran to Lockwood.

You reached out for his arm. His jacket and shirt were ruined, large cuts made by the glass were slowly oozing blood. Lockwood let out a quick “ow” when you squeezed his wrists far too hard. He realized you had the same look on your face as when you thought you were going to die.

He reached up and lifted your face from his arm. “Look, I’m fine. Just a couple of scratches.” Once you had processed his words fully, that fearful face was replaced by one of very harsh anger.

“I got the source properly contained. We should all get one of those pocket nets, that was quite handy.” George smiled, but Lucy grimaced when you stomped out of the room. Lockwood sighed and decided to just go around the house as he was already outside. 

“Those two don’t get it, do they?”

“Oh, I think they will soon.” Lucy walked over to George and placed the source in his bag. On the ground was a small piece of paper, aged by the water and mold that seeped into the old floorboards.

“To whom it may concern: I’m not sorry.”

___

Everyone sighed as they entered Portland Row. It was the only place they ever felt truly safe, at least from ghosts. Feelings on the other hand, no one was safe from. You put away the rapier at the door, and promptly went upstairs to your room. You hadn’t said a word to anyone on the cab ride back. Lucy sent a pointed look to Lockwood.

“You. Go talk to her.”

“I didn’t do anything wrong, why should I talk to her?”

Lucy points an accusatory finger at his face. “I can see all over your face that even you don’t believe what you said was true. Now, off you go or you don’t get any of the biscuits George bought from the store.” She sends him a devious smile as she turns and walks to the kitchen.

Lockwood paced the hallway, considering his options.

Upstairs, you have never wanted to punch him more than you do right now.

___

You reach your hand under your bed and pull out your first aid kit. “Reckless, idiotic, suicidal...” You pause in your mumbling to open the kit and make sure everything has been newly stocked. “...irrefutably obnoxious, fucking insane-”

“I probably deserve all that.”

You gasped. Anthony leaned on the door frame, pointedly on the uninjured shoulder. “Lockwood! What are you doing here?” After you processed the initial surprise, it was almost as if you had to remember you were mad at him. “Shouldn’t you be out and about, being a martyr for every hopeless girl on the street?” Venom laced your voice, but he knew it was well deserved. “Plus, you said you had ‘made things complicated,’ so I’m making them uncomplicated.”

“Darling, I’m sorry.”

“No, no! You do not get to come in here with your smile, and your cut up arm, and your beautiful, pleading eyes, and tell me you’re sorry. Do you know how hard it was for me to watch you get thrown out of a window for the umpteenth time? Do you know how hard it is to sit there and watch you risk your life for mine?” The tears spilled over onto your cheeks. You let out a sob and bring your hand to cover your mouth, but quickly recover. 

Anthony had half a mind to wipe them from your face and stare into your eyes for the rest of his life. But he thinks that would be a bit too much to say right now.

You grab a tissue from your desk and wipe your eyes. You pointed to the bed vehemently. “Now, Anthony John Lockwood, you are going to sit right here and shut the hell up while I fix your arm, is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Your jaw clenches at how effortlessly charming he seemed, even when both of you look like you’re about to start sobbing.

“Good.” You work in silence as he settles on the bed, arranging the tools in the first aid kit so they’re easily accessible. “Take off your shirt. And if you have any mind about making a joke, be aware I have multiple things I can stab you with directly in arm's reach.”

His eyes move to yours as you both try to stifle a laugh. No matter what state either of you are in, you can appreciate a good dirty joke. You put on the latex gloves as Anthony unbuttons his shirt. He winces as he takes his cut arm out of the sleeve. “Be careful.” You mumble as you put ointment on the gauze in advance. 

The rest of the process is done in silence, other than a few sounds of discomfort from Anthony. As you finished taping the gauze down on his arm, he slowly reached up to hold your hand. It wasn’t like when he was dragging you on the streets of Portland Row to Arifs, or pulling you from danger. This was a boy, trying desperately to find words that neither of you knew how to say.

“When I called you my world, Anthony, I meant it. I would be nothing without you-”

“That’s never true, darling-”

“Would you let me finish for once? I amend, then: My heart would feel nothing without you. I was a girl trying to escape her home town for something new, and there you came. I didn’t know I could even feel these things before you,” You grasped his hand, gently rubbing your thumb against the back of his salt covered hand. 

Tears welled up in your eyes, but this time you didn’t bother to wipe them. “I love you, Anthony Lockwood. No matter how much you push me away, no matter how many times you get thrown through a window for me, I love you. Before you leave this room, I need to know if you love me too.” You squeezed his hand, and then went to pack up the first aid kit. It was as if you hadn’t confessed your love to your employer, but more importantly, your friend.

It was silent as you walked over to your desk. You looked back, and Anthony just sat there. There was no megawatt smile, no fidgeting of the hands. Just you and Anthony, plain as could be. 

It was too much.

In an instant, you left the room. You heard the echoes of Anthony calling for you down the stairs, but you had to get out from the grasp of the stifling air in your room. You had taken the silence to be a refusal, but Anthony meant for it to be a scapegoat. He was waiting, almost begging for you to say it was all a joke. A prank to get back at him for being so careless. He couldn’t let himself imagine what you said to be true.

You went to the only room in the house that you could think was safe, the library. You closed the door softly as to not wake Lucy and George with your modest screams of frustration. You had bared your heart to him and he looked at you like you were a wall of drying paint. 

“Darling please, talk to me.” Anthony opened and closed the door behind him. You paced the short width of the library, not looking at him. 

He looked down in shame. His shirt was already buttoned back up, thank god, but it was haphazardly tucked. He fidgeted with the ring on his hand, not sure what to say. Not sure how to convey years of pining, yearning, love, into something so insignificant as words.

He whispered, cruelly, “How could you ever allow yourself to fall in love with someone like me?”

You turn your face towards him. Anthony thought it funny that it looked as if you had glitter on your face from the way the light hit your tears. He ought to compare it to the stars in the sky, but maybe at a later date.

You turn your entire body towards him. He wasn’t wearing his grand facade of confidence or wit. He looked like a man who would get on his knees to beg your forgiveness. You have never wanted to see him like this, nor want to again. 

“How could I not, Anthony?”

He crossed the room in a mere four steps. “Screw it,” and he kissed you.

His hands made their way to your waist, pulling you against him. He put every single ounce of love he had since the moment he met you into that kiss. Your fingers reached into his hair, pleading for him not to let go. 

Regrettably, you pulled away to catch your breath. “That wasn’t so hard, was it?” You laugh as Anthony smiles that lovely smile.

“No, not in the slightest.” He said softly as he cupped your cheek. Your laugh sounded throughout the room, and Anthony started laughing too. The hilarity of it all didn’t escape them, of course. Two teenagers, having grown up in a world where they were faced with death every day, were most stressed by how to confess their love to each other. 

There would be ghosts, nasty Type Two’s. There would be murderous people who were hell bent on destroying Lockwood and Co.. But for now, Anthony was content to think that the only sounds that existed were you two laughing. The only sight was your eyes crinkling with joy, and tears that were finally not of distress.

That night, you both learned that your love couldn’t easily be put into words, and that was okay.

#anthony lockwood #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x fem!reader #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood #xreader #fem!reader #fluff #so much fluff #fics by foxbee #fic #fanfic #fanfiction