darling baby, dark haired black eyed little boy with restless hands and scraped knees I'm sure, too restless for a nanny to stay, messy hair and ripped trousers. oh to be still is dull dull dull!!!! apple tree, up the apple tree, up somewhere your hands and mind can dance. how fun. what fun. all you needs a good sharp sword. nobody believes imaginative little boys. he's a smart little boy. too smart, too eager. jess, jess, hold him. ill never leave you, anthony. jess where are you? im gonna be SICK !!!!!!!!!
something something about the fact that marissa fittes had listening and tom rotwell had sight. something about how lucy and lockwood mirror them completely, with their talents. how lucy can talk to type threes. how lockwood can't. lucy 'you can't stand being my tom rotwell' and lockwood 'the reason you might be here is to shine the spotlight on someone else'. something something about how marissa left rotwell behind because he couldn't communicate with type threes, and yet lucy stays with lockwood and translates the skull for him. rotwell couldn't stand being in second place but lockwood comes to terms with it, for lucy
pairing ⋆ anthony lockwood x gn!reader. fluff with a bit of angst. fake dating.
synopsis ⋆ the three times you found yourself fake dating anthony lockwood.
warnings ⋆ swearing, reader is implied to be shorter than lockwood, being followed, kissing (written by someone without their first kiss send help). | wc: 1.4k
♫ - bad for business by sabrina carpenter
1. a walk home
“ladies first.” you snort at lockwoods comment as he holds the door for you to exit arif’s, a box of donuts secured in your hands.
“wow what a gentleman.” you joke making lockwood laugh a little as you begin your walk towards home, a comfortable silence falling between you two, a minute or so passes.
“someone’s following us.” lockwood says nonchalantly, you furrow your eyebrows looking at him, “he was standing outside arif’s when we went in, he was staring at you the whole time and now he is getting closer.” lockwood says looking over his shoulder, shuffling slightly closer towards you.
“well what do we do?” you ask slightly panicked.
“hold my hand.”
“i’m sorry?” you say, he failed to answer as he grabs the box of donuts out of your hands, using his free hand to intertwine your fingers.
“just trust me okay? maybe if he thinks we are together he will leave us alone.” lockwood clarified.
“o-okay, i guess” you mutter, a light blush painting your cheeks at the feeling of his thumb lightly rubbing your hand.
you were nearing portland row, you and lockwood standing closer together, you freeze up as he places a kiss on the top of your head to nonchalantly glance behind you two, “i see him, he is walking away. just… keeping holding on until we get home… just incase.” you nod, silently agreeing with him.
he didn’t let go of your hand until he placed the box of donuts on the kitchen table.
2. too close for comfort
lockwood had convinced you, lucy and george to go to this ‘ball’, you honestly didn’t know what to call it. it was a fancy building filled with agents dressed up and the adults that exploit their talents for money, celebrating nothing in particular and somehow, lockwood and co. got invites.
lockwood looked like he was at home, while george uncomfortably tugged at the collar of his button up and wandered off with lucy, leaving you and lockwood, standing in the middle of the ballroom.
“why are we here, lockwood?” you pried.
“why not? every agent in london is here.” he responds.
“that doesn’t mean we have to be.” you shot back, annoyed by a man who pushed past you, causing you to knock shoulders with anthony.
“it’s a good opportunity, to meet new people and get our name out there.”
“with our competition? yeah alright. i need something to drink.” you wandered off.
some time had passed, it included you leaning against the wall observing everyone that passed by, you had found george and lucy at one point where george had gave up and went home while lucy decided to investigate around for god knows what. you decided it was time to find lockwood again.
wandering around aimlessly you spotted him in the sea of tuxes, talking to a blonde girl, in a blue 90s like prom dress, inching closer and closer to lockwood.
you rolled your eyes at the sight, lockwoods charming smile seemingly working again, but it didn’t look like he used it on purpose this time.
“there you are, i’ve been looking for you everywhere!” you smoothly entered the conversation, linking your arm with his and his whole face seemed to light up.
“oh.” the blonde commented, squinting her eyes, “who’s this?”
“i’m-“ he cut you off, taking the lead.
“this is my partner.” lockwood replied, you smiled at the girl as she realized she misread the situation, quickly saying goodbyes and walking off.
“i couldn’t tell if you needed saving or not.” you explained, a hidden apology heard beneath your words just incase he was enjoying the girls company.
“no i did, thank you.” he said, making eye contact, “maybe we should head home now?”
“let’s find lucy first.” you suggested, and he sent you a grin.
that damn grin.
3. distraction
you had warned him.
you had told him there had to be a better way to get information that didn’t involve breaking and entering. but as per usual he used his charisma and webbed you into the whole plan.
and now, you two were running down alleyways, after being caught. ‘i told you so’ repeating over and over again in your head as you focused on running, and of course you reached another problem.
“shit!” you whispered, lockwood dragging you back behind a wall, your only escape had multiple body guards roaming the area.
“how the hell did they even get there.” lockwood said to himself.
“what do we do?? there are two other body guards about to block off the way we came from!” you panted out, catching your breath from running.
“i have a crazy idea.” lockwood made eye contact with you, he seemed nervous as he ran his hand through his hair.
“all your ideas are crazy, anthony.” you countered.
“just listen okay?” he whispers, you slowly nod, “if we can make it seem like, we have no idea what’s going on around us and that we accidentally stumbled up here maybe they won’t think it’s us.” you gave him a blank stare.
“what are you even suggesting right now lockwood?!” you grumbled, faintly you heard footsteps approaching.
“we do not have time for this, do you trust me?”
“do i have a choice?” you quipped, but suddenly the conversation was over as he cupped your cheeks and suddenly his lips were on yours. you froze up, you expected his plan to be anything but this, but then you heard the footsteps turn the corner and you needed to act just like him, quickly kissing back.
his lips were chapped, rough against your soft ones. as you brought your hands up to his face, his hands moved down to your waist, pulling you closer. it felt eager, like you had been waiting to do this forever, and it felt right.
“HEY!” you two snapped apart from the loud yell, breathless as you stare at the taller man infront of you “this is private property, you kids can’t be here.” his tone was threatening, making you tense up.
“we are so sorry sir.” you replied sweetly, “we didn’t know, we will leave right away!” you grab lockwood’s hand and hurried towards the exit before the man could question you anymore.
you held hands all the way home, but didn’t mutter a word to each other.
4. overdue confession
it had been around a week since lockwood had kissed you. you hadn’t spoken. the house having an awkward atmosphere as you avoided lockwood like the plague.
you couldn’t avoid the knock on your door, unfortunately.
“come in.” you called out from your spot on the bed, expecting lucy to walk in but were met with lockwood.
he was wearing his usual suit but he looked disheveled, his tie loose, his hair slightly messy and he looked so tired, even more tired than usual, he was a mess.
“hey.” he spoke just above a whisper, scared any louder you would run away from him again.
“oh. hi.” you sat up in your bed, suddenly looking anywhere but him, fiddling with your hands.
“i want to apologize, i shouldn’t have kissed yo-“ he began.
“we wouldn’t have gotten out of there if you hadn’t, it’s okay.” you stated, sniffling slightly. your bed dipped as he sat down.
“then why won’t you talk to me?” you looked up to his eyes, “please talk to me.” he begged, you looked into each others eyes for a moment.
“i was avoiding you because of the fact that i.. i didn’t want the kiss to end.” you confessed, “i like you, lockwood, and i didn’t want to ruin anything so i thought avoiding you would be better..” you trailed off, the air was tense as he stared at you.
“oh thank god.” he laughed out.
“what?” your anxiety kicked in, as you stared at him.
“i was scared to confess, i’m glad you did first.” your eyebrows furrow at his response, “i really like you, i have since i met you. i didn’t want the kiss to end either.”
your eyes widened slightly, studying his voice for any sound of sarcasm.
“can i kiss you again?” he whispered, scared of your rejection, you just slowly nodded looking down at his lips, he lent in.
his lips weren’t chapped this time, they were soft and you took notice of just how well they fit against yours. this kiss was softer than the first, it washed your anxiety away, and the tense air disappeared. he pulled away and laid his forehead against yours.
“i thought i was being dreadfully obvious about my feelings.”
“you were not.” you laughed at him
“oh no i was, you are just oblivious.” he responded
“shut up.” you said, and he did as his lips met yours yet again.
In a miraculous moment of clarity, she realised what George was violently trying to communicate to her from behind Lockwood: play dumb.
”What’s a snow globe?”
George was positively beside himself.
a/n: the people have spoken so here is part 2 to buy me presents! am so sad i fell a little sick during the hols, threw a terrible wrench in my 12 days of fics plans for last year but i'm alr planning ahead for this year :))) yes its xmas themed but the vibes are close enough to valentines so shush. if i was in the l&co universe i would pay good money to see someone tell george to live laugh love, and i would tip extra if it was lockwood hehe. also I tagged a few extra ppl who seemed interested in a sequel!
warnings/tropes: lockwood x glassmith!reader, mostly fluffy, only a smidge of angst towards the end, clueless lockwood my beloved <3
word count: 2.6k!
buy me presents (pt 1)
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
When Lockwood had shaken George awake plenty of hours before, it had taken a while for George's brain to catch up to what was happening. By the time it did, he was worriedly watching Lockwood animatedly talking to one of the shop assistants from a nearby telephone booth.
"No idea what it is, or why..." he was telling Lucy. Lockwood was looking around for him. George nervously shifted behind one of the bars of the booth.
"Maybe he's just blowing off some steam?"
Lockwood was now wearing an aggressively tinseled Santa hat while wielding an identical one. George had a pretty good idea who that was for.
"Er, maybe. But perhaps you should come home too. Just in case."
Lockwood had finally spotted George and was frantically waving him over. George did not like the way the Christmas lights were reflecting in Lockwood's eyes.
"For the love of God, Luce, please come home. You can't leave with me...this."
With a bone-deep sigh, George regretfully hung up and emerged from the telephone booth, smiling weakly at Lockwood.
He was more than grateful for his presence of mind earlier, once they had reached Portland Row. Lucy walked in just minutes after Lockwood's unpleasant realisation about Nicholas and guffawed at the sight of the tiny tsunami of gifts.
"Brilliant," George said. "Your turn." He handed Lucy one of the last presents he had been holding and disappeared into the kitchen. She turned towards Lockwood incredulously, who was indignantly standing in front of the sea of presents with his hands on his hips. She raised her eyebrows.
"Oh, okay, I see how it is. I buy a few gi-"
"In what WORLD is this few-"
"- few gifts, and suddenly I'm the bad guy. It's Christmas, but I'm feeling a lot of negativity pent up here."
"Now you're just deflecting." Lucy rolled her eyes as Lockwood started fishing out some receipts from his pockets.
"Can't a guy spend...uh...three-oh. Oh. That's a lot of zeroes."
"Lockwood. How much did you spend?"
"...suddenly, I don't think I know any numbers past ten."
"Lockwood!"
"I couldn't figure out the installment plans! That's Y/N's job!"
George returned to the front door corridor and started picking up some boxes at random and shaking them experimentally.
"Yeah, a fine job you've left her to sort out your debts! No more shopping till Easter. And George, if you don't steal his wallet, I will."
He held up the present he was holding to Lockwood. "Listen, I don't think Y/N's going to want all of these, so how about I -"
"Absolutely not."
George made a rather rude gesture and disappeared back into the kitchen. Lockwood bent over to start clearing a path through the presents to the stairs.
"How was I supposed to know she was only kidding?"
"You know what her sense of humour's like. George and I would have picked up on it in a second."
A very unhappy Lockwood straightened out from under the avalanche of presents.
"What's that supposed to mean?"
A little before lunch, Lockwood knocked on the attic door. It was ajar, and she was reading in a contorted position, all twisted up with a blanket on her rug in the one patch of sunlight in the room, leaning against her bed. She nearly tipped over when Lockwood poked his head in, but caught herself in time.
"Hey."
"Hey."
They stared at each other for a moment. It was the first time they had been alone since the morning's happenings, and it didn't feel as easy to laugh about it all when it was just them. Because the truth was, she didn't find it all that funny. Confusing, yes. Stressful, perhaps. But it wasn't that funny when all the emotions felt excruciatingly true. She closed her book, and Lockwood took another step in, leaning against the bannister.
"I'm sorry about the whole Nicholas thing. I was having a laugh, that's all. I never wanted to make you seem...foolish."
"I don't even remember Nicholas. I mean, that guy."
"Lockwood."
"Who's Loc- I mean, Nicholas? I'm Lockwood."
"Yes, I know."
"And I don't feel foolish. Do you think I'm foolish?"
She smiled at him with rheumy eyes, and his face twisted strangely like he was suppressing his own smile. His eyes drifted to the book in her lap, and the blanket swaddling her face.
"Er, reading?"
"Trying to. The sun's making me feel so sleepy."
"Then move out of the sun. Or take a nap."
She glared at him, scoffing incomprehensibly. "T-take a nap? What am I, 5? And we barely get any sun as it is, I'm trying to thaw my insides."
"Can you even breathe in that?"
She took a wheezing breath. "...yes."
Still, Lockwood sat down next to her, and after a bit of scuffling, she was tipped slightly to her side, leaning against him slightly. She was starting to regret using such a thick blanket through which she barely felt his shoulder. He picked up the book and opened it to the pages her finger was stuck between, and started reading. She closed her eyes and listened. It was some dream to be sitting next to him, without the usual inches between, to hear his honeyed voice ebb and flow, to watch his fingers smooth the pages and fiddle with the edges.
It was mildly disconcerting to hear the shape of his voice take on such a poetic form as if they were in some parallel universe. As if they were in some parallel universe where falling in love was easier than falling asleep.
A few hours later, she woke up on her bed with a jolt, writhing uncomfortably in her blanket. Once she had managed to peel herself out of it, the embarrassment of having fallen asleep on him sunk in. She needed something to take her mind off it and eventually decided to tinker in her workshop. Down in the basement, she had a small makeshift workshop set up for the occasional tinkering or fiddling with some spare parts. It helped her mind relax when her hands had something to do.
She spent a very peaceful hour regluing some tiny diamonds that had fallen off an old watch. That was, until a door banged open from somewhere else in the house, followed by frantic voices. She looked up in alarm as the footsteps drew closer, blinking owlishly behind her magnifying eyeglasses. Her door swung open and Lockwood walked in, closely followed by a barely suppressed silent, but very agitated, George.
“Y/N, look what I found in George’s suitcase.”
Between the panicked sirens blaring in her head and George’s epileptic hand gestures, it was a miracle she was able to process all those words in the right order.
“…oh?”
A frozen smile sat on her face as her eyes nervously darted between the boys’ faces.
“It’s a snow globe.”
In a miraculous moment of clarity, she realised what George was violently trying to communicate to her: play dumb.
”What’s a snow globe?”
George was positively beside himself.
Lockwood, on the other hand, looked alarmed and touchingly concerned.
“You...you don’t know what a snow globe is? Do they not have snow globes where you’re from?”
“Did you just ask me if they have snow globes…in Hackney?”
He looked slightly miffed, but she couldn’t stay annoyed for long with his foolishly good-natured intentions.
“Look, Lockwood, I’m a little busy here. Is there something I can help you with?”
“I just…wanted to see if you knew anything about this.” He turns it over in his hand, and even with the shelter of anonymity, she finds herself desperately seeking the approval in his eyes that she had been hoping for. “It’s...it's beautiful. When I first saw it, I thought…” He looks up from the snow globe at her, where she’s holding her breath, and she’s distantly aware of how suspiciously invested she must seem in his answer.
“I thought it had to be you.”
She has his answer, but she still hasn’t let go of that breath, as if keeping at bay all the emotions and hope that will come rushing in with her exhale. He watches her face, and she’s too scared to even twitch. Too scared to come right out and say everything the snow globe meant.
“You thought wrong."
George’s seizure-like convulsions returned with a new vigour. Lockwood continues standing there for another minute, and it makes her think he hasn’t heard her until he regretfully bows his head.
“I suppose. Well, I hope your work won’t keep you long. We'll be having tea soon. Let’s- good God, George, are you having a fit?!”
After their Christmas Eve tea, they exchanged presents, and to call it an awkward affair would have been an understatement. She passed Lockwood the pair of snowman socks. George grudgingly passed him the snow globe. The absurdity of the gifts and their donors made the four of them pause for a moment.
Finally, Lucy broke the quiet by handing out her gifts: mugs with pictures of Inspector Barnes accompanied with cheesy quotes. George's was 'live, laugh, love.' Lockwood's was 'keep calm and carry on.' But everyone was still looking far too solemn, so she nearly had an aneurysm holding back her laughter.
After they all retired to their rooms, she retreated into her chilly workshop. But instead of continuing with her work, she just sat at her desk, brooding a little. A few minutes later, there was a knock on her door as a rather breathless and pink-faced Lockwood poked his head in.
"Still working?"
She shook her head. "What are you doing?"
"Returning the presents." He turned to step out but hesitated. "Are you sure you don't want to keep any?"
"I'm sure that I would hate it if we went bankrupt. Do you need any help?"
"Oh, no, I'll be - yes. Yes, actually. These are a lot of presents. If you could spare the time...I'd really appreciate it."
So after she bundled up in her woollens and wrestled a scarf onto Lockwood, they somehow hurriedly carted the many slightly scuffed shopping bags into the cab, where they only had a brief break to catch their breath, given how close they lived to the shops.
After that, it was a race to hit all the stores before they closed for Christmas Eve. After a couple of rounds, they had developed the fairly efficient system of Lockwood lugging the gifts around while she spoke with the shop assistants. The one drawback to their fine plan, at least for him, was her glancing at the receipts and the too-long numbers at the bottom of them ("Jesus Christ, Lockwood, how did you not have to take out a loan for these? Honestly! Do you think we're made of money?").
Finally, their luck ran out at their very last store, which looked as though it had been closed for hours. She knocked and peered inside feverishly, clutching the very last gift stubbornly.
"No, no, we were so close! Now what do we do?"
"We can come back after the holidays. Or," he gently pried the box out of her fingers, smoothly lifting the top, "you could keep it."
It was a silver charm bracelet, with rapier and lavender charms dangling from the central chain, much like the ones they laid out on jobs. It was beautiful. But she couldn't take it.
"You already gave me a present."
"Have another. A little special something for a special someone."
His cavalier attitude, his foolish smile - in that moment, it was all too much. Her terrible temper flared and she shoved the present into him, forcefully enough to make him stumble a little. She turned and started walking home briskly, fuming silently until he and his long legs finally caught up to her.
"Wha - was it something I said? Y/N? Y/N."
"I don't know, Lockwood." She was sick of his carelessness, sick enough to be a little careless herself, let her tongue run loose. "What have you said? Or haven't said?"
"Y/N, you know I'm terrible at riddles."
"Well, maybe Belinda can help you."
That stuns him enough to make him stop in his tracks. She slows down and, after steeling her fraught nerves, turns around.
"...what does Belinda have to do with anything?"
His hopelessly clueless expression, which typically soothed her anger in their worst fights, only served to infuriate her further here. She walked towards him angrily.
“I didn't want to give you the goddamn snow globe because Belinda exists. All right? Because there are a thousand different girls out there who you’ll like better than me.” There’s a sudden tightness in her chest. With some difficulty, she turns away from him, lightly pressing her sternum. “I can’t compete with them, Lockwood. I won’t let you make me.”
She hears the crunch of the snow under his shoe as he takes a step towards her.
"Belinda is...amazing. She might even be perfect. But even she's just a friend, because...because you exist. And-and I could find...the most perfect girls out there, but the image of you would still be breathing in some corner of my mind. It wouldn't be the same with anyone else. It never is."
She sniffed gently. "This might be the right time to tell you that the snow globe...was from me."
She can't decide if she hates or loves how she can hear the smile in his voice. "No. Really?"
She turns back around, smiling sarcastically at him. "Ha-ha. But don't get too excited about it. I made little figurines to represent the four of us at Portland Row, but you can't even see them from the outside. It's ridiculous."
"It's okay. I'll know they're there."
At that moment, she felt a rush of gratitude towards Lockwood. He made everything a little easier, a little sweeter. They were standing so close that she could see a tiny snowflake on one of his eyelashes. She didn't dare breathe.
"There really never was any competition."
"I know."
"Then why does it sound like you don't believe me?"
She frowned. "I do believe you."
"I don't think you do."
"...do you want me to not believe you?"
"Y/N."
"What?"
"There's something you should know."
"Lockwood, I am going to throttle you."
"You're standing under mistletoe."
She glanced upwards, and it was as though all the air had been stolen from her lungs. Against the pitch-black sky and the gentle dusting of snow, a soft white sprig of mistletoe was curling out of the edge of a branch. She lowered her eyes back to Lockwood's, and her eyes fluttered shut as he leaned over.
As impossibly close as they were before, they were even closer now, and it still felt like they would spend their whole lives trying to get close enough to each other. She kissed him the way she loved him - desperately, with her whole being. When they broke apart, the tip of his nose and cheeks were tinged pink, and there was a light dusting of snow on his hair. In that moment, all she remembered thinking was that none of his presents made a better gift than he did.
As they walked home with fingers tangled together, she realised that they didn't need some parallel universe. In every universe, they would somehow, somewhere, find each other, and dare to love.
A/N: jealous!lockwood, gift giving (lockwood's version), I like to think I'm funny hehhe, maybe maybe veeery borderline crack fic? this is MY christmas present to myself and I WILL indulge in my favourite tropes so if you saw me kicking my feet like a thirteen-year-old, no u didnt. (I needed a concrete holiday for this so i used christmas but its all the same hehe) I've thrown the schedule out the window, it'll be a christmas miracle if all 12 fics even get written so happy holidays!!!!! wc 2.6k!!
TAGLIST | MASTERLIST
She was sitting at the kitchen table, agonising over the horribly organised financial records of Lockwood & Co. As tedious as it was, she enjoyed the work the most out of the four of them, and had taken on the extra role of being somewhat of an accountant. She had lightly teased him about receiving a boost in her pay until she saw their dismal financial situation. The joke stopped being funny alarmingly quickly after that.
Lucy was hurrying through some last-minute packing, while George was trying to locate their train tickets, sporadically yelling through the house for Lockwood. She didn't have quite the heart to tell him that Lockwood had unfortunately escaped hours ago, winking at her as he had shrugged his coat on while she had been looking particularly ragged in the sea of receipts.
She hears the front door open, and after a minute or two, Lockwood walks into the kitchen, rosy-cheeked from the brisk morning air.
"How are the accounts?"
"Terrible. The only thing more astonishing that these bank statements is the fact that we somehow haven't gone bankrupt..." she presses a few more keys of her calculator. "...yet."
George yells again and they wince in unison.
"How long has that been going on?"
"Long enough. He's going to leave you here if you don't find him soon."
He sighed. The three of them were getting ready to leave for the holidays. Lucy was going back North to visit a friend, Lockwood and George were headed to George's for the holidays. She would have come to, but they were already at the max capacity and she had waved off their worries smoothly, since she had spent most of her Christmases alone as an agent. So, as much of a fuss Lockwood kicked up about it, she'd be celebrating Christmas in a cheery if empty 35 Portland Row.
"Are you sure you'll be alright on your own?"
"One of us has burnt a house down and it's not me. I like my chances."
"Still. Christmas, all alone?"
George yelled again, his voice entering a new octave.
"Christmas with peace and quiet, more like. You know, maybe they'd have space for me if you weren't bringing your mountain of hair products for you fancy hair."
He pulled his gloves off with a lazy smile.
"You think my hair's fancy?"
She rolled her eyes as Lockwood revealed a small delicate pastry box, sliding into the seat in front of her. She had had a feeling it was coming from the way he had been lingering in the kitchen.
"What's this?"
"Red velvet doughnut with those tiny candy cane sprinkles you like."
She traced the box longingly, feeling torn. "I thought Arif was fully booked with Christmas orders."
"He made an exception for you."
She raised her eyebrows.
"I might have...tipped him extra."
"Lockwood."
"You're going to be alone for the next week. It's the least I could do."
She looked at him sternly. Lockwood had the particularly bad habit of impulsive spending. She had carefully broached the topic of gift-giving with him before; namely, after the time he purchased an ornate decorative set of glass robins which she had casually expressed a vague interest in in passing. She tried to explain how gestures like that made her feel obligated to him, and he tried to explain it was the least he could do, given how much of their accounting work she shoulders. They never reached a satisfactory conclusion, and though he did tone it down afterwards, she would still come across the occasional trinket adorned with a frilly bow in her belongings.
It was this very spirit, in fact, that had inspired her to tediously and secretly work on creating a snow globe of 35 Portland Row for him. She couldn't find anything commensurate to the loving thoughtfulness behind each of his gifts, so the next best thing was one decent, homemade, meaningful present. Even though he was going away, she still wanted him to receive it on Christmas, so she had passed it to George. It had been a bit of a nerve-wracking decision, especially if she was being too forward, and she had a pair of snowmen socks at the ready for a backup, but now the snow globe was tucked safely in George's trunk and there was no going back.
"The least you could do is save your limited funds for things that actually matter." She pointedly flips her notebook close.
He reaches out towards her face but gets interrupted by Lucy yellnig at him from somewhere in the house for blocking the stairs with his bags. He scrambles off apologetically, nearly tripping over himself as her threats grow more vivid.
Their reserved cab, courtesy of George ("flagging down a cab one week before Christmas? In this economy?"), arrives and the four of them start piling way too much luggage in it. Just as they're about to leave, Lockwood hesitates and turns to her.
"It's not too late for me to stay."
She pushes him out the door, waving to the others as Lockwood stumbles clumsily down the steps.
There's a lot of commotion at the other end of the line. She had been waiting for them to call the past few days, and was eagerly settling down to hear all about the festivities. She can hear a thousand different sounds overlapping and the thuds of footsteps criss-crossing, mixed in with some familiar threats from unfamiliar voices. Huh. Though it did make sense that of all the things George might have inherited from his family, it would be this.
"Just a moment." She hears the kerfuffle die down and the crinkle of the telephone wire shifting. "Sorry, had to find a closet. Now, where were we?"
"Sounds busy."
"Oh, it is. But it's nice, meeting George's family. Had to fight them off with a stick to get to the telephone, though."
He hears the smile in her voice. "I can see that. So what have you been up to?"
"So much. Too much. Y/N, you cannot repeat this to George but...they take Christmas far too seriously."
"Really?"
"We spent an entire day picking out the tree. I am sick of Christmas cookies and it's only my second day here."
She frowned. "I told you to pace yourself."
"My fingers - oh, my poor fingers - worn down to the bone stringing popcorn and cranberries together."
"What's the popcorn for?"
"Hell if I know! They make Christmas look like an extreme sport."
She tried to suppress her smile, putting on a grave voice. "You have my sympathies."
"Good. Though I suppose it hasn’t been all bad. I liked the ornament painting. Plus, Belinda’s been helping me loads.”
“…Belinda?”
“George’s cousin. George’s somehow even busier than I am and I haven’t got a clue what’s going on sometimes, so she’s been a real help.”
“That’s nice,” she says bitterly. An uncomfortable silence follows.
“So, I was just saying, earlier, that I hope you're not feeling too lonely."
She lets him trail off, unhappily aware of how the only life and excitement the house had seen in the past three days was emnating solely from the telephone. She hadn't expected it to be this difficult to have a quiet Christmas.
"Oh, I'm fine." She stares at the Santa Claus figuring opposite her cynically. Saint Nicholas, indeed. "Just having a whale of a time with...Nicholas, here."
"Nicholas?"
An impulse brews in her head. It's a poor one, but she's got nothing to do, and it's Christmas.
"Yeah, Nicholas. I met him at the Christmas market. He's amazing, really."
"...Nicholas."
"Yeah."
"Never heard of him."
"He's a little bit older. I wouldn't expect you to know him."
"Hm."
"Anyway, I've hardly even noticed you've left, since we hang out together so much."
"So, you're spending time...with him?"
"Oh, he's not here right now. He's been a bit busy today at his..." she cast her eyes around wildly, landing on a a porcelain figurine of some grinning elves. "...workshop."
"Workshop?"
"He carves wood. He's a wood carver. You should see some of the ornaments he makes. He's great with his hands."
"I'm sure he is."
Lockwood gets too irritable to continue the conversation much further and they hang up soon after. By the time they were done, the sun had set and the house was in complete darkness: the perfect atmosphere for brooding. So what if he'd rather spend Christmas with girls like Belinda? She didn't care. Good...riddance.
A few days later, she collects the mail and finds an envelope addressed to her in Lockwood's narrow, slanted handwriting. She rips it open like a kid on Christmas morning, but her smile twists when she sees the Christmas card inside. There's a picture of George's entire extended family-and-friends, and Lockwood's hunched over in the corner, next to a girl with effortlessly pretty hair. They're wearing matching sweaters. Not the whole family, just the two of them. While she had always reluctantly accepted the occasional gift from him with an appropriate amount of embarrassment, nothing could have prepared her for the sight of undeniable proof that he just might do the same for others. Picking out a present, spending his money, on her? Disgusting.
It's enough to make her jam it forcefully under the telephone. Next to it, she spies the slip of paper with George's personal telephone number jotted down, in case of an emergency. She drums her fingers impatiently while the phone rings, eyeing the clock while she adds in the time difference. She feels so stupid over the snow globe now. What on earth had possessed her? If she's lucky, Lockwood might have gone to bed by now and she just might catch George-
"H'llo?" Lockwood's sleep-roughened voice strains through the static hum.
"Nothing, go back to sleep."
"Y/N?"
"You're dreaming. Hush now. Good night-"
"Y/N." He sounds wide awake now, and she can hear him start to sit up. The plainness in his voice starts to fade as he gets steadily mroe assertive. "Is something wrong?"
"No, everything's fine. I didn't realise it would be so late for you. Listen - is George there?"
"He's helping with the caramel apples."
"Ah. Do you think you could tell him to phone me when he has the time?"
"Oh, no worries, I'll see him at dinner later. I can pass the message."
She swears internally. "Oh it's nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, see how he was doing."
"He's doing fine."
There's an awkward silence. She can tell he's barely convinced, and the discomfort from the Christmas card prickles at the back of her neck.
"Get anything in the mail?"
"I haven't checked," she lied, clenching the card in her hand. Stupid, lousy card. It was ridiculously childish but really; her acquired expensive taste was his fault for encouraging it in the first place. "I've just been so busy with Nicholas, you know."
"I see."
"Why? Did you mail something over?"
"Just a Christmas card. No big deal."
"Aw. Thanks." She wants to curl up and die. The snow globe was most definitely overkill. She should have gone with the socks.
"Did Nicholas get you anything?"
"He really only goes by Nick."
She can hear the distaste in his voice. "A nickname. How...quaint."
"We went to see The Nutcracker, and took a walk in the park, if you really must know." It had been more like her sitting alone in the park, miserably tossing the pigeons with small kernels of roasted chestnuts.
"Oh. Did he...get you a gift?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I don't. He just sounds like a..." His voice changes and she can tell he's pulling some kind of face. "...like an interesting person."
"He is."
"Good."
"Great."
"Glad we cleared that up."
They fume at each other through the phone for a while.
"I talked to George, by the way. He doesn't remember a Nicholas either."
"Yes, well, that's because...he doesn't stay here. In London. No, he's part of a, whaddyacallit, travelling group with the, er, Christmas market."
"Like...a circus?"
"...yes."
"Well. As long you're having fun..."
"I am. So much fun." She had a white-knuckle grip on the telephone. Why was she tearing up?
"Merry Christmas, Y/N," he whispers. His voice somehow still manages to sound soft and measured over the telephone, as if he were sitting right next to her. And even through the telephone, he sounds sad.
"Merry Christmas Lockwood."
She pulls the card from under the telephone, staring at the family picture. She flips it and sees a short message scrawled hurriedly at the back.
'Thinking about things that matter. Thinking about you.'
She wakes up suddenly the next morning, and she can't figure out why. It's so cold and quiet that it takes her a minute to remember that it's Christmas Eve. She has approximately two seconds to wallow in self-pity before the racket starts back up. Someone's knocking firmly at the door, loud enough to make her head pound, interspersed with some heated yet unintelligible conversation with someone else.
She opens the door and almost immediately gets the wind knocked out of her. It's Lockwood, wearing a ridiculously tinseled Santa hat, hands full of shopping bags. There's also a majorly peeved George standing behind him, carrying their bags and, surprisingly, even more shopping bags.
Lockwood hands her one of the bags, which she numbly takes, before pulling her in for a hug, and it all happens so quick it takes her a minute or two for her mind to catch up with what's happening.
"L-huhh? George? Wha- Aren't you supposed to be -"
"Surprise! Couldn't bear the thought of you having to spend Christmas all alone. Close the door behind the presents, George, you're letting the cold in."
George grumbles something about his mother never letting him live this down and where he can stick the presents. She gapes at the presents in alarm, dizzy at the sight of the avalanche of multicoloured bows.
"These can't all be for me. Right? Right?"
Lockwood bulldozes past her as if she hadn't even said anything. "Unless, of course, Nicholas is here! Is he?"
"Lockwood, wai-"
"I wonder if he got you these many presents. I'm sure he tried his best, of course, poor chap."
"Will you stop, for a minute?"
"That's his jacket, isn't it? He stayed the night, didn't he? Wait." He stops so abruptly and looks so crestfallen that something tugs at her in her chest. "He stayed the night?"
"Lockwood." A lot had happened in the past minute, but she was finally caught up. Even though she knows it's her fault for making him up in the first place, she never meant for it to get this far. "Nicholas isn't here, because there is no Nicholas. It was a joke. I'm spending Christmas all alone, I had to do something. I made him up for kicks.
George throws his head back and starts laughing, dropping the shiny shopping bags around the two of them, laughter fading as he wades his way to the kitchen. Now that he's calmed down, even Lockwood has enough decency to look slightly embarrassed.
"Dear God, don't tell me you came all the way back over Nicholas."
"I...I didn't. I had...all these presents..."
It's a lame excuse, and even he realises it when he looks at her face. He stands there for a very long minute, and then very suddenly walks to his room, leaving her surrounded by the sea of bags and frenzily wrapped presents. He turns stiffly at his bedroom door with a mildly stern, completely unabashed expression on his face. She has to bite the inside of her cheek to stop from grinning.
not unrequited love not mutual pining but a secret third thing: 'we both know we love each other but we're too afraid to throw away this friendship to try something new that might drive us apart. so we tip-toe in the in-between neither friends nor lovers but something ours. i don't need words to show you my love but they're still burning me alive. you mean everything to me and i know you feel the same. i'm dying to tell you. and i want you to tell me. but we can't. not yet.'
summary: a meeting goes wrong, feelings come out. you’d like to be sedated again, please.
a/n: so this started as part of “leave the door open” but then i decided i wanted something different (hence the wound dressing scene) but i really liked what i wrote there so here’s an entirely different fic! wow enjoy
wc: 2.5k
warning(s): reader gets stabbed, quite a bit of blood, couple death jokes, mention of not eating, hurt/comfort, fluffy ending tho
There was a saying in Lockwood & Company, courtesy of its namesake, that, if you had enough confidence, you could dazzle any ghost into submission.
Nothing but facetiousness of course, but it was true in a symbolic sort of way. If you didn’t believe in yourself, in every slash of your rapier and every circle of filings and every salt bomb measured to perfection, then there was no use showing up at all. You might as well sit down and wait for the ghost-lock to set in.
Lockwood’s words kept coming back to you every time you doubted yourself, his charming smile and eyes popping up in your mind, twinkling as he made you laugh.
And those words were certainly echoing through your ears as you stumbled through Portland Row’s door, a hand still pressed to your abdomen when you collapsed. Your rapier, still holstered, clattered against the floor.
George called your name from the kitchen, cheerfully oblivious to your joy. “You’re finally back! How did the meeting go?”
When you could only groan in response, he emerged into the hallway and his eyes instantly widened. “Oh my god— Lockwood!”
He rushed over and helped you up, propping you against the wall as his eyes darted all over. He took one hand away to push up his glasses, and you noticed he already had some blood on your fingers. “What in the world happened?”
“The meeting didn’t go well,” you grit out, sucking in a breath as a sharp column of pain shot through you.
“I could gather that,” George said wryly, and when you heard footsteps, you both looked up to see Lockwood taking the steps three at a time.
“What in the world happened?” he asked brazenly, a wild look in his eyes.
“That’s what I asked—” George said, and your breathy laugh was interrupted by a grimace.
“The meeting didn’t go well,” you repeated.
“I need actual details,” Lockwood called as he went off in search of the medical kit.
“Everything was fine,” you grumbled. “But as it turns out, our lovely source Mr. Pallworth was more skilled in getting into trouble than actually being an informant. He was in debt to some even lovelier relic men.”
“Oh, god,” George muttered. You winced as he put more pressure on your wound, having taken over for you. “I’m sorry, but this is so you don’t bleed out.”
“Did you get into a fight or something?” Lockwood marveled, bounding back over with a white box in his hands. “Because it looks like you were stabbed.”
“One point for Anthony,” you said groggily. “Mr. Pallworth ran off the moment he could, leaving me to deal with his mess. I was indeed stabbed. Only once, somehow. The relic men deserted when the police showed up, and I wasn’t far behind.”
Lockwood knelt down next to you, and he looked at you for permission. You nodded, and he pulled your shirt up to expose your wound. He did a good job hiding his grimace as he began to gently wipe away the blood, but it was still there. “Why did you come here and not immediately to the hospital?”
“I don’t know if you remember, Lockwood,” you breathed, “but this job that we’re doing is not exactly legal.”
“I don’t care,” he enunciated. “This is above our paygrade, and your life will not be on the line because of our lack of medical knowledge.”
“We either have to help her here or get her to a hospital,” George said, “because if we sit here bickering, she’ll bleed out before we make a decision.”
“I’d rather die here than a hospital,” you said.
“You’re not going to die here,” Lockwood said harshly, and his hands opened and closed into fists. You could almost see the gears turning in his head. He eventually let out an annoyed sigh and glanced at George.
“Phone 999,” he said. “She’s not dying because of her stubbornness.”
George nodded, grimacing at the blood on his hands—your blood, you supposed, which made it worse—and he ran off.
“I knew I shouldn’t have sent you there alone,” Lockwood grumbled as he started taking things out of the medical kit.
“No, you didn’t,” you said. “We had no reason to believe anything like this would happen.”
“Well— I should have known!” Lockwood’s voice rose, and his jaw clenched as he got himself back under control. He continued to clean out your wound, and you could hear George rattling off information in the distance to the authorities.
“You’re cute when you’re determined,” you said.
“I am determined to not let you die in our foyer,” Lockwood said.
“The foyer.” You mimicked Lockwood’s voice. “So posh.”
“If she’s being this annoying, she can’t be doing too bad,” George said dryly.
“Loopy from the blood loss,” you said offhandedly. You frowned as it sunk in. “Maybe I should go to a hospital.”
Lockwood heaved a very dramatic sigh as he continued to keep pressure on your wound. “At least you’re coming to your senses now,” he said dryly. He was still kneeling next to you, his hands covered in your blood, that wild look in his eye. “What the hell took so long?”
“I’m not…” you blinked the black spots out of your vision, “good with hospitals.”
“Well, I’m not good with you dying,” Lockwood said.
George came back over. “I’ve called the police—an ambulance is on the way.”
You groaned, half from the pain and half from the thought of the police. “We’re going to have so much explaining to do.”
“Leave that to us,” Lockwood said. For some reason, you found yourself grabbing his hand. He didn’t hesitate, his throat bobbing as he laced your fingers together. “Just hold on for a bit longer.”
You nodded, your mouth going dry for a moment when you looked at him— really looked at him.
There was unbridled fear in Lockwood’s eyes, the slightest glimmer of tears. If you weren’t slowly bleeding out, if the black spots weren’t taking over your vision, if your grip on his hand wasn’t loosening, you might have been embarrassed at his closeness, at his doting.
But apparently, you weren’t.
“You’re beautiful,” you murmured.
And then everything went dark.
-
You were assaulted by a barrage of lights and beeping, too-bright fluorescents and the sterile scent of disinfectant alerting even your still groggy mind that you were in a hospital.
There was something in your arm—multiple somethings, actually. A tube with a lot of red in one arm, and another with clear liquid in your other arm. Blood and an IV, you guessed.
Right. You were stabbed, and one does not just walk away from a stab wound without a few problems.
You weren’t dead, though, and that surely counted for something. You would have to thank Lockwood later, for his stubbornness beating out your own.
“You’re awake,” a voice breathed, and you realized it was just the boy you were thinking about.
Lockwood sat next to you in a chair pulled up at your bedside. His tie was undone, hanging around his neck, and he’d draped his jacket on the back of the chair. His eyes were slightly red, but there was undeniable relief sketched into his face.
“I am.” Your voice was raspy from disuse, and you grimaced at the soreness in your lower chest. “How long has it been?”
“A few hours,” he answered. He cleared his throat and moved to the edge of his chair, and your eyes followed the movement. He was holding your hand— he’d been holding your hand. “You— um, you had surgery. A small one, it didn’t take too long, but—” Lockwood’s voice broke, and he laughed mirthlessly as he shook his head. “It was scary. Terrifying, actually, but…” he managed a smile. “You came out the other side. You always do.”
Your breath caught for a moment, and your grip on his hand tightened subconsciously. “I’m so sorry.”
“What are you sorry for?” Lockwood asked wryly. “It’s not your fault you were stabbed. You did a rather excellent job fighting them off, actually. It could’ve been much worse.”
“I’m sorry for putting you and George through this,” you murmured. “I worry about the two of you every second of every day, and most of the time it doesn’t come to fruition. This—” you laughed, which immediately turned into a wince— “I’d say this is fruition.”
“I’m just glad we got you here in time,” Lockwood muttered. He looked at you, his eyes boring into you with equal parts concern and desperation. You used to hate that about him, especially when you joined, how it always felt like he could look at you and know every single thing. “You said the police showed up in the fight. You were obviously injured— why didn’t you get them to call an ambulance? Why did you risk it all to come back to Portland Row?”
“I told you. The job we took on was illegal, and I felt it was going to be a much bigger mess than we needed to deal with.”
“I don’t care how illegal it was,” Lockwood said stiffly. “You were hurt— you were in danger. That comes before anything else, alright? You come before anything else.”
The intensity of his voice made you pause, unable to do anything but… look at him. His hair was tousled, no doubt from running his hand through it endlessly as he was wont to do whenever he was stressed. His undone tie and discarded jacket, his eyes, red from… from crying, most likely. He cried over you.
When your hand tightened around his this time, you did it on purpose.
“Thank you,” you murmured. “You’re probably the reason I’m alive.”
Lockwood managed to crack a smile. “It wouldn’t look good for the agency if my employees started dying. I don’t have very many to lose.”
That got a genuine laugh out of you, and you tried your best to ignore the subsequent wince. “Of course. That’s why I pulled through, to make us look better.”
“Your efforts are much appreciated,” he said, that small smile still on his lips as he rubbed mindless circles on your hand with his thumb.
The door creaked slightly as someone pushed it open, and a smile broke out on your face when you saw it was George.
“I was wondering where you were,” you said.
“Tea,” he said, lifting the drink holder with one hand and a box with his other, “and donuts.” He looked at Lockwood pointedly. “You’ve got to get something in you. It’s not exactly healthy, but the sugar will help.”
You looked at Lockwood. “You haven’t eaten?”
“I was preoccupied,” he said dryly.
“That’s no excuse,” you said. “Eat your donuts, and as soon as we get home, George is cooking you something.” You looked up at him. “Right?”
“Right,” George agreed. He handed Lockwood one of the cups and set the box on the table, and he smiled as he took a seat across from you. “You look much better. You’re bossing everyone around again—I take it you’re doing better too?”
“Much,” you nodded. “Thanks for getting me here, by the way. I’d probably have bled out if it weren’t for you.”
“Of course.” George took a donut from the box. “I can’t let you leave me alone with him.”
“Oh, I would never,” you said wryly.
“I’m surprised you’re willing to be alone with him after what you said,” George said offhandedly, and both you and Lockwood stared at him.
“George—” he started.
“What do you mean?” you interrupted.
He made that funny little expression where he knew he said something he probably shouldn’t have, and he busied himself with his donut. “Nothing.”
“George,” you deadpanned, “I’m the one in the hospital bed. I have pity points. Tell me.”
Lockwood sighed and leaned back in his chair, though you noticed he still didn’t let go of your hand.
“I’m guessing you don’t remember what you said,” George said slowly. “Before you blacked out, I mean.”
“No.” Your eyes darted between the two of them. “Why? Did I say something awful?”
“Not awful,” Lockwood said, still looking away. “Pretty far from it, I’d say.”
“Why are you two acting so weird?” you asked. “Spit it out!”
“You called Lockwood beautiful,” George finally said, and you just about died right there. “Right before you went out, you said he was beautiful.”
You blinked. Looked at Lockwood, who didn’t seem to be the slightest bit embarrassed—god, was he smiling?—looked at George, who was this time busying himself with his tea.
“You’re kidding,” you said.
“...He’s not,” Lockwood said, tilting his head to the side. “You did do that.”
“Looked up at him, said ‘you’re beautiful’, passed out.” George shrugged as he took another sip of his tea. “Quite dramatic, I’ll give you that. It drove Lockwood absolutely insane, too.”
“George,” Lockwood said sharply, “don’t you have a phone call to make?”
He chuckled. “Yeah. How could I forget?”
You weren’t even able to watch him as he walked out of the room, leaving you alone with Lockwood. You wanted to melt into the bed. This was the absolute worst way for your feelings to come out, feelings that you were content to let sit forever and never really reveal. Apparently, you couldn’t even almost die with dignity.
“It’s alright,” Lockwood said. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.”
“No, I do have to be embarrassed.” You stared up at the ceiling. “I do have to be embarrassed, because my last words could have been ‘you’re beautiful’.”
“Why?” he asked. “Do you not think I’m beautiful?”
You groaned, and if you hadn’t been practically immobile, you would have buried your face in the pillows. “Get a nurse to sedate me again, please.”
Lockwood flashed that irritatingly pretty grin as he took your hand again. You hadn’t even realized he’d let go. “Relax. I think you’re beautiful too.”
You raised your eyebrows. “Even now?”
“Even now,” Lockwood said. “Always.”
“At least you’re not saying it half-conscious and dying,” you mumbled.
“I think it’s better I’m saying it now,” he said. “You know I mean it.”
You looked him in the eye. “You really do?”
“What did I just say?” Lockwood chuckled. “Always. Forever.”
You felt the heat creep to your cheeks. “I can’t believe this is what it took to get you to admit your feelings.”
“It took this for you to admit your feelings,” he countered. “It took you admitting them for me to admit them. I never really knew you felt the same way.”
“I guess I have a flair for dramatics,” you said wryly.
“It seems so,” Lockwood said. “How about after all this is done, when you’re good and cleared by the doctor, I’ll take you out for tea. My treat.”
“You pay my salary,” you said. “Everything is practically your treat.”
Lockwood grinned. “Do you want to go on a date with me or not?”
You smiled, and you pulled your joined hands closer. You pressed a kiss to his knuckles. “I’d like that a lot.”
“Excellent.” He smiled as well, a breath of relief coming out of him, and he leaned closer. “Just remember that you don’t have to get stabbed to get me to ask you out on a second date.”
