i would love if u wrote about anthony falling for a fem!reader who’s sweeney’s assistant? she doesn’t do much except write and convince his victims to attend the barbershop, but he was whipped for her the moment they met. please and thank you!!
favor me with your glance. ୨୧
☆*･ﾟ pairing. anthony hope ♡ reader
☆*･ﾟ rating. safe for work
☆*･ﾟ contents. fem reader, fluff, meet-cute, technical hand holding, dark comedy, mutual crushes
☆*･ﾟ word count. 2k+
☆*･ﾟ ao3. link.
It was another overcast morning in Fleet Street. Grey skies, smog in the air. Nothing short of the usual doom and gloom of London that you had grown accustomed to during all your years spent here. You were alone in Mrs Lovett’s shop, and it was eerily silent save for the distant chatter of people walking the streets outside. You presumed that she and Toby were yet to rise for the day, as they typically preferred to sleep in. You and Mister Todd, however, were always early to wake and perform the morning routine that you had fallen into.
As your proprietor readied his parlor for the workday, you did the same downstairs. Albeit it was rather minute tasks you would perform, such as straightening up the kitchen or dusting off the utensils or going down to the bakehouse to make sure that ‘supplies’ were well enough stocked for Mrs Lovett to bake into a days’ worth of her renowned pies. It didn’t take very long, so you often used the remainder of the morning hours to fetch yourself some breakfast or just take some time alone. Today, you had decided on the latter, and had leaned against the countertop, lost deep within your own head.
Your work was relatively easy. You ran errands for Mister Todd if needed. You helped to set up shop. Once everything had fallen into place, you took to the streets, lingering around the street corner and trying to convince passersby to stop in for a shave. On occasion, you were summoned to clean up the aftermath of a client — wiping blood from the floors or the window as swiftly as possible. You didn’t care much for that aspect of the job.
It was a decent workload, but it wasn’t all that bad, especially not in exchange for housing and fair pay. It was certainly better than what most people your age had to do to get by. You’d take this over the harsh conditions of a factory, or having to resort to selling — well, worse things. You didn’t like to dwell on those possibilities.
You were pulled out of your thoughts by the soft jingle of a bell. The door had opened — rather suddenly, you might add — and in the entrance stood a young man. He looked familiar, but you didn’t believe you’d ever properly met him, nor even spoken to him. He was tall and thin, perhaps a bit lanky, with wavy blond hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. Certainly not a face you would forget.
His blue eyes, wide with surprise upon being faced with a stranger, seemed to study you for a few moments. “Oh! I’m sorry, excuse me, Miss. I hadn’t meant to intrude.”
“It’s alright,” you murmured, subconsciously straightening your posture and crossing your arms over your chest. “If you’re here for a pie, I’m afraid we aren’t open until half-past ten.”
“Yes, that’s right…” He mumbled, perhaps more to himself than to you. His voice was soft. Pretty, even. “I know it’s early — and I do apologize — I’m just here to see Mister Todd. Is he in?”
“He’s upstairs. I’ll go and speak to him.” You walked around the counter, starting towards the door that led outside.
“Thank you,” said the stranger, a gentle smile on his face. As you reached the exit, he scrambled to hold it open for you. “Ah — here you are.” A gentle smile.
It was polite of him. You weren’t used to gestures like that, and certainly not from boys you’d never met before. He must not have been from around here. You fought a smile of your own that threatened to tug at the corner of your lips as you brushed past him.
Making haste, you jogged up the stairs and knocked on the door to Mister Todd’s parlor. You knew that he had a particular distaste for people barging in without permission.
“Come,” his gruff voice commanded from inside, and you were quick to oblige. Your employer stood, a cup of tea in hand as he gazed out of the window. Surprisingly, he did you the favor of turning around to face you as you spoke to him.
You offered the older man a quick, respectful bow before you stated your business. “Morning, sir. There’s a boy downstairs asking to see you.”
“A customer?” Sweeney grumbled, as if displeased by the prospect of dealing with someone this early.
You shook your head. “I don’t think so. It’s a young man, um, about my age. He asked to see you personally.”
His eyes widened ever-so-slightly in recognition. “Anthony.”
“Ah…” you rocked awkwardly on your feet. It was undeniable that your employer made you nervous. Perhaps that was for the better, given what knowledge you held about him and Mrs Lovett. You always did your very best to walk on eggshells around him. You played an expendable role in this establishment, and one could never quite be sure when he might snap and it would be your throat he was slashing. “You know him, sir?”
“He’s a…” His cold gaze faltered. The word ‘friend’ seemed to die in his throat. “An acquaintance of mine.”
You nodded stiffly in understanding. “Shall I send him up, then?”
“No.” He turned away, his focus shifting back to the window. “Tell him I’ll be down shortly.”
“Right away.” With that, you spun on your heel and exited the barber shop, your heart racing a bit faster than you cared to admit. In your defense, you never claimed to be brave. You made quick work of the staircase, listening to it creak beneath each step and hoping the old, rickety thing wouldn’t cave beneath your weight.
As you stepped back into the pie shop, you were met with the sight of Anthony sitting at an empty table, his hands clasped on the table in front of him. He looked up at you as you entered, the kind smile still on his face.
“He says he’ll be down to see you in a minute,” you informed him, unsure of what to do with yourself. Should you leave? Return to your place behind the counter? Make conversation? You weren’t suited for this in the slightest. You did just fine with luring in Sweeney’s clients, but not with talking to handsome, friendly strangers.
He replies, “Alright, then. Thank you for checking.”
It caught you off-guard all over again. You weren’t used to people thanking you simply for doing your job. Actually, come to think of it, you weren’t used to people thanking you at all. “You’re welcome,” you say, blinking away the surprise.
As if he somehow read your mind, Anthony spoke up again. “Would you like to come and sit? I’m sure you could use the rest.”
An array of excuses immediately sprung to your mind. But then it occurred to you that you had nothing better to do, and that you would actually quite like to sit and chat with him. After all, he was the most polite person you think has ever graced Fleet Street with his presence. And, well… He also happened to look like a beautiful prince straight out of the stories you were told as a child. But you were no princess, just a lowly barber’s assistant. You were sure that a boy like him would certainly want nothing to do with you. But that didn’t matter — you could at least stop and have a conversation with him.
“I’d like that,” you replied, brushing nonexistent dust off of your coat before walking over to sit across from him. Something about him was making you all… fidgety. “So…” you began, hoping some of this sudden nervousness would fade in time. “I was told your name is Anthony?”
“Yes. Anthony Hope. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss.” He extended a hand across the table for you to shake. “What’s your name?”
Reaching out to oblige him, you told him your name. His hand was warm, the fingerless knit glove soft against your palm. Even after you’d shaken it, he seemed almost reluctant to let go.
“That’s a very pretty name.”
“Um, thank you.” You thought for a second that you could feel your face burning. “Your surname is… it’s very pretty as well.”
His eyes fixed on yours. They were pretty. They reminded you of the ocean. “Do you work for Mister Todd?”
“Yes. I was hired earlier this year. I’m his…” The word ‘accomplice’ springs to mind. “His assistant. And you? What’s your occupation? If you don’t mind my asking.”
“I’m a sailor,” he answered, his face lighting up with excitement. “I work on a merchant ship called The Bountiful. Transporting goods and things of the sort.”
You couldn’t help but grin at that. He reminded you a bit of a puppy. “That sounds like a nice job to have. I’d love to travel around and see the world.” You mused. You had never left London before. You quite liked the thought of seeing what life was like outside of the dark, dreary place you called home.
“I’m quite fond of it,” he confessed almost shyly. And then, seemingly before he could think better of it, he blurted out, “Perhaps I could show you aboard sometime? If you’d be interested.”
Your lips parted, eyes widening in surprise. That was quite the offer to make to someone he hardly knew, but admittedly… the thought of it made your heart flutter.
His eyebrows furrow, afraid he’d said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. Was that too forward? My apologies, Miss, really, I just—”
You shake your head. “No, no, it’s not that! I think I would, actually. I’d quite like to see.”
“Ah, yes, that’s good to hear, then…” Anthony looked down, appearing a bit bashful after making such a proposal. Admittedly, you felt the same.
Hoping to break the ice, you reached toward the teapot in the center of the table. You’d used it to make Sweeney a cup this morning, but hadn’t used the rest of the water just yet. Perhaps it would be rude not to offer some to your guest. “Would you like — oops!—” You cut yourself off as your hand accidentally brushed against Anthony’s.
Before you could yank it away at breakneck speed, both of his hands took yours, cradling it gently. “Your hands are freezing!” He exclaimed, concern seeping into his voice. In truth, he was exactly right. It was rather drafty in the shop, particularly at this time of morning, and you didn’t have any gloves to keep your hands warm. Much to your astonishment, Anthony had begun removing his own, and then slipped them onto your hand, the soft black fabric warming your skin almost as much as his touch did. “Here. You can have these. You need them more than I do.”
You began to stammer, your face heating up. “Oh! No, y-you don’t have to do that! I can find some gloves of my own, I—”
“Not to worry. I have many more pairs. You can keep this one.” He flashed a reassuring smile. Reluctantly, you offered your other hand, and he guided the glove on. “There you are. Do you feel any warmer?”
“Yes… That’s… much better. Thank you, Anthony.” As he replied that you were welcome, you had half a mind to grab his hand and hold onto it. He was so warm, so inviting, and something in you wanted nothing more than to cling onto him.
Startling the both of you, the bell on the door jingled again, and Sweeney stepped in, his expression grave as always. You couldn’t help but feel disappointed that your time with the sailor boy was being cut short.
“I should hope to see you again sometime soon,” Anthony told you as you slid out of the booth.
This time, you didn’t bother suppressing the smile that crept onto your face. “I hope so too.”
With a wave goodbye, which he was eager to return, you decided to give the two of them some privacy, slipping out to head to the living quarters. You couldn’t help but notice Anthony’s eyes on you even as you disappeared from sight and Mister Todd took your place, your heart still beating rapidly in your chest. One thing was for sure, you’d be counting the hours until you could see him again.
are you taking proper breaks between studying, and taking care of yourself? i'm worried about you! don't overwork yourself, grades aren't important! coming back with more asks later, i've been busy
-🧬
breaks ? yeah , i haven 't overworked myself , dw .
taking care ? uhh ..... not so well but i 'm trying ...
thank you for your concern anon ! i missed you , you should also take care btw , and take your time , no rush !
