!! Taehyung

!!   taehyung

[ event masterlist ]

dilf/dilf

pets are in love and so are they

“bet me twenty dollars.” / “no.” / bet accepted.”

!   tags: their kids are jimin (~5) and jk (~2) bc choosing baby names is hard work, model!tae & freelancer!reader, they’re married <3, mostly food-based nicknames

“cherry… hm… we have to get the kids.”

you continue to pepper his face with kisses, cupping his rosy cheeks. “they can sleep in a little. i want to spend a few more minutes with my gorgeous husband.”

taehyung hums, the shirt he planned to wear halfway up his arms. he smiles, the corners of his soft pink lips cutting up into his cheeks, and giggles as you press a light kiss to the tip of his nose.

“you’re the gorgeous one,” he replies cheekily, smoothing his hands down your bare chest. “i’m lucky to have nabbed you.”

you scoff and push his face away, finally turning around to rummage in the closet for some clothes. “yeah, yeah. i’m not the actual model here. i should be saying that about you, honey.”

“and yet you aren’t,” he says, positively glowing. “that’s why i love you so much. you’re good for my ego.”

you glance over your shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a small quirk of the lips. “really? i can cook, drive, and do mental quick maths, and you married me not for those, but for my awful communication skills?”

“yes.”

he beams. you can’t help but smile in return and he giggles softly, reaching out and making grabby hands.

“come back to bed. we don’t have to leave just yet – i can think of a thousand things for you to do in this room. i want to hug you, cherry.”

you give his topless figure a good scrutiny. he pouts and beckons. you tear your gaze away, rifling through the closet.

“nope,” you pop the ‘p’, “not much to do here. anyway, weren’t you the one saying we should get the kids up?”

“i thought you’d appreciate it if i agreed with you.” he huffs. “now you’re so eager to get away… why? am i no longer your gorgeous hubby?”

“yeah, i’m over the honeymoon phase. you’re actually horrific to look at.”

silence greets you. then a pillow greets your face.

Keep reading

@aroseinvelaris @azsazz @bubbles-for-all-of-us @violet-shadows @azrielscrown @fieldofdaisiies @writingsbychlo

What do you guys think?

I just imagined the bat boys in Traditional Indian attire and;

HOLY SHIT.

I just melted.

What I would do to see Azriel like this.

Cassian wearing this, WHEW.

Rhys, Our Dear High Lord, he would definitely be cocky wearing this.

Just WOW

meet my eye & vow to be true

pairing: cassian x reader

summary: what is sent through the bond is sacred, the most honest of all things - isn't it?

author's note: based on a request made by @horneybeach1, the first one i have ever received - i hope i did your request justice, and i apologize for the delay <3

warnings: brief description of injuries

word count: 2,789

As you pull your blade from the body in front of you, the nameless male falling to the ground, you see the end. The end of the carnage that has filled this camp for countless hours before the sun began its descent in the sky.

All that surrounds you now is the slow movements and utter quiet of the army that had defeated those laying at your feet. A combined Night and Autumn Court unit, formed for the destruction of one of the last of Hybern’s holdouts.

You instinctively begin searching for your family, scanning the area around you for some reassurance of their safety. You had seen Azriel and your mate hours before, both with their siphons ablaze, carving a path through your enemies.

In the time since, you had tugged at the bond, seeing to the safety of your mate. Cassian responded to each of your tugs with one of his own, conveying what you needed from him; he was safe and unharmed.

You had only caught glimpses of the other members of the Inner Circle and knew you would only settle once you had seen for yourself that they were safe.

It doesn’t take long for you to realize that none of them remained close, you had ended up on the far edge of the battle, one of the last areas to cease fighting. It is your name that pulls you from your forming list of possible locations of your family.

“Lady Y/N, what a relief! When you didn’t show up at the healers’ tent everyone became worried. The High Lord sent us in search of you.” It is one of Cassian’s captains approaching you. Thalien, a loyal male you had known for centuries.

“The healers’ tent?” You give him a puzzled look. “Why would you expect me to be there?”

“The entire Inner Circle is gathered ‘round it, no one knows any exact details about what happened to him.”

“Thalien, out with it. Who is so injured that it has the entire leadership of our court concerned?” The worry and anger replacing your curiosity leaks into your response and has the captain stumbling over his words.

“It’s…I thought you would have known…The General M’Lady, he was injured during the battle. No one knows how long it was before he was found.”

“Anything else?” Your words are grated, anger moving solely to the forefront of your emotions.

“That is all I know, I swear it.”

Although you know the captain is not at fault, you can’t help the look of contempt you throw his way as you take off past him without another word.

----------

Nesta is the first you see as the healers’ tent comes into view. You can tell by the way she steps into your path and raises her hands that your emotions can be clearly read.

“Y/N…he needs calm. They’re doing everything they can for him. Wait out here with us, it’ll be better that way, I promise.”

“Nesta…please.” Your voice breaks as you say the words.

You can tell by the way she looks at you that she knows there is no stopping your entering of the tent. She exchanges glances with her sisters, Mor, and Amren, all remaining vigil with her outside of the tent. After a moment Nesta steps to the side, the two of you having always understood the stubbornness of the other.

You move past her and pass through the opening of the tent. As it closes behind you, your breath is stolen form you.

Cassian, the imposing force of a mate that he is, is laying unconscious on a table in the center of the tent. His wings having fallen slack on either side, resting on the dirt floor. Blood covers the floor surrounding the table and you trace it to a wound on his abdomen so massive it would have meant death for any one other than an Illyrian.

The upper half of his leathers has been removed. Madja and several other healers work in tandem in what could only be described as controlled chaos.

You feel a hand grip your elbow and you realize for the first time that Azriel and Rhysand stand inside the tent with you.

You meet both of their eyes and see your worry reflected back at you. Rhysand knows the question that lays in your eyes and moves to put his arm around your waist.

“He was found in the woods; it would appear he was going after a group of fae being held captive. From what we gathered the men holding them captive ambushed Cas…they’re weapons laced with faebane. We don’t know how long he had been out there before he was found.”

You gave him a silent nod, doing everything you could to keep your tears at bay.

“What of the captured fae?”

“Already on their way to Velaris, Eris has also offered them sanctuary should they choose it.”

Venom leaks into your voice with your next question.

“And the men?”

It is Azriel who answers as he comes to stand at your other side and brings his arm across your shoulders.

“They’re dead. Somehow Cas remained conscious long enough to tear them down, allowing the captured fae to escape.”

You expect no less from your mate. His heart had always been his greatest attribute, his role as protector outweighing all others he donned.

The three of you fall into a tense silence, clinging to each other as you watch the one male you never thought you would see fall fight for his life.

---------

You aren’t sure how much time passes before Madja steps back and approaches the three of you.

“He is a fighter; he is only still with us because he willed it.” She meets your eyes and ensures you hear her words. “Your General will rise and fight another day. Give him time, he will wake.”

You can’t help the tears that fall with your next words.

“There are no words of thanks I can give you Madja that would repay what you’ve done today.”

“Your thanks would be wasted on me, my dear. You lot are more important to me than you could ever know…no matter how neglectful you all are in following my advice.” She pins the three of you with a glare but can’t help the small smile that crosses her face.

You return her smile, knowing that she is a vital part of the foundation on which your family stands.

A moment of silence falls between the four of you before you find the courage to ask her your small hope, grasping Madja’s hands in your own as you voice it.

“Can we…can we bring him home? He’ll want to be at home when he wakes.”

Madja glances behind her at your mate and you can see her considering her answer before she voices it.

“For you, my dear Y/N, I will make it so. Give us time to prepare him.”

---------

Cassian can hear the questions Rhys is asking Madja about his recovery, can hear the shit Az is giving him about letting mere mortals get the best of him, but all he can focus on is his mate. His strong, fearsome, beautiful mate, standing at the edge of their bedroom like a stranger, as though she doesn’t belong right by his side.

He has been looking past his brothers and the healer since he awoke, hoping to catch your eye. Only when Madja ends her examination, and you offer to escort her out do you finally meet his gaze. What he sees in your eyes outweighs any physical pain he has ever experienced.

He watches the door as it closes behind you, feeling nothing as he reaches out to you through the bond.

“Cas, she’s –”

“Az, don’t. I’m the one that fucked up, she has every right to feel how she does.”

“And how exactly did you fuck up brother? By almost getting killed?”

“I lied…through the bond.”

Both males fell silent, waiting for Cassian to continue.

“We had been sending waves through the bond throughout the battle, making sure the other was safe. After…After what happened, happened, I may not have let her know the extent of my injuries.”

“You made her think everything was fine, didn’t you?” Cassian’s failure to respond was answer enough. “You absolute dickhead, how foolish can you be? I could kill you myself, I certainly wouldn’t blame Y/N if she did.”

Rhys let out a low whistle from where he stood, his eyebrows raising higher than Cassian has ever seen them do so before.

His expression hardened a moment later.

“Never have I seen Y/N so terrified Cassian. For three days she hasn’t left your side, no matter how often we begged her to eat, to sleep. You’re right, you fucked up. Fix this or injuries inflicted by mortals will be the least of your problems.” The room began to darken with each word spoken by the High Lord. “Do. You. Understand. Me?”

Cassian could do nothing but nod, words failing him.

The two males gave him a look of disdain and turn to leave.

“Will you two at least help me up so I can find her?”

---------

It doesn’t take long for Cassian to find you.

The library at the House of Wind had always been the place you found solace. You found peace within the stacks of books.

He comes upon you in the furthest corner of the library, returning a book and undoubtedly searching for a new one.

Cassian knows by the whitening of your knuckles around the book you are holding that you hear him approach.

“Y/N/N, I know –”

“Cassian, don’t.” The anger in your voice is anchored by the tears he sees in your eyes as you look up at him. “There is nothing you could say that would excuse what you did. So please, do us both a favour and go back to bed. Then maybe you’ll actually be okay the next time you tell me you are.”

“Let me explain.”

“Explain what? How you used what connects us at our cores to deceive me? Or how you almost died, alone, in the woods because of your refusal to tell me the truth?” Cassian can’t help but recoil at your words, knowing each one is truer than the last. “There is no explanation you could give that is good enough. No reassurance you could give me that what you did was right. Leave, now, for both our sakes.”

As you turn away from him, he can’t help but reach for you, letting out a cry of pain as he does, having overextended his injuries.

Your hands are at his sides in an instant, helping him remain stable.

“You damn fool. You’ve likely undone Madja’s work, and you’ve only just woken up.”

Cassian can’t help but hold his breath as you begin to undo the buttons of his shirt; the two of you having been in this exact position under very different circumstances.

You both grow quiet as your hands skirt across his abdomen, checking the state of his bandages, refusing to meet his eye the entire time.

You let out a disapproving noise, “You’ve split your stitches. Our bathroom…now.”

You put his arm across your shoulder as you lead him out of the library and up the stairs.

---------

Cassian settles on the bathroom vanity as you gather the first aid supplies you both decided long ago to keep close at hand.

You step between his legs as you bring a cloth to clean the blood from his wound. He can tell that even in your anger you are as gentle as you can be.

And it’s your quiet apologies as you fix the stitches he tore, that he realizes it’s not your anger he should concern himself with.

Cassian grabs your hands to halt your movements.

“Y/N, please. You can yell, scream, say whatever vulgar words I undoubtedly deserve, but please, my love, at least look at me.”

You don’t make any movement, Cassian takes your chin between his fingers and tilts your face upwards, so your eyes meet his. He finds no trace of anger, finds nothing but immense pain. His next words come out broken, barely above a whisper.

“Talk to me…please.”

Cassian watches as your eyes search his.

“I was so scared, I thought…I thought I’d lost you.” Your voice breaks and he can see you give yourself a moment before you continue. “The thought of losing you steals the breath form my lungs, turns my world black. You were okay, you told me you were okay, and then I see you on that table…”

You choke back a sob as Cassian’s hands come to settle on either side your neck, resting his forehead against yours.

“What do you feel Y/N?”

Your hands come to rest atop his.

“Your hands, the…the callouses from training.”

“Good, what do you smell?”

“You, my mate. The coolness of the winds coming off the Illyrian mountains, and the crackling embers of the fire inside the cabin.”

“And what do you feel?”

“Safety and love, my home.”

“I am here Y/N, I am real. I’m not going anywhere, not now and not any time soon if I have anything to do with it. I will fight the Mother, the Cauldron, anyone, or anything to stay by your side.” He pulls back enough to look directly into your eyes. “I will spend the rest of our days showing you how truly sorry I am. I swear to you, never gain will I use our bond to deceive you. Never.”

You both wince at the same time with the voicing of his vow. Cassian watches as the mark appears on his lower sternum, knowing the same is appearing on you.

“Cauldron boil me, that definitely could have waited until my other injuries healed.”

You both let out a small laugh at his words.

“This doesn’t mean I’m not angry, you have a lot of groveling ahead of you General.”

“Hmmm…trust me when I say I will be on my knees before you the first chance I get.”

Cassian leans forward and captures your lips with his, quickly deepening the kiss as he leans your head back.

You rest your hands on his thighs and press further into him. Cassian breaks the kiss with a hiss of pain.

You’re quick to check him over, worrying about causing him further pain. Cassian once again takes you hands in his and leans in to kiss you again, pulling away a few moments later.

“As much as I would enjoy continuing our current activity, I think Madja was right when she said I need rest. Lay with me?”

You look up at him though your lashes as you give him a nod. You keep a hand on his arm as he stands from the vanity, and you help him slowly make his way to your bed. Helping him settle against the headboard.

“You know, if I could, you would be on top of me, gripping the headboard…it’s oh so lonely here by myself.”

“You’ll just have to make it up to me some other time, now, won’t you?”

He makes sure the look he gives you shows that he means to live up to your challenge.

“Let me change and I’ll join you.”

He gives you a small smile as you enter your shared closet and can’t help but push love and adoration down the bond when you emerge in the red silk pajamas he had gifted you on your latest name day.

Cassian watches as you grab your book off your nightstand and settle into your side of the bed.

“Read to me?”

---------

It isn’t the first time Cassian has asked this of you, and you know it won’t be the last. He had said once that your voice brought him comfort like nothing else. The wonder in which you fell into books being his favourite.

You motion for him to rest his head in your lap. He moves as slowly as possible, wincing only once as he settles his wings on either side of you.

You brush your hand through your mate’s hair and stare down at him, giving him the most loving of smiles, him giving you one of his own in response.

You lean down, ghosting your lips across his forehead and begin reading, watching as he quickly falls into a much-needed sleep.

You realize, in that moment, that your anger has dissipated, knowing nothing is as valuable as moments such as these with your mate.

 The General needn’t know of this realization though.

For he is oh, so good at earning your forgiveness.

Is there anybody on here who writes requests for House M. D...???

Because I have requests I would like to send in

just another love song

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader

content: almost six thousand words of yearning and fluff. everyone sees it but them trope! reader is implied to be shorter than him, reader neglects her personal health for a sec, but u can skip the acts of service section if this bothers u!

word count: 5.6k i have a problem

summary:

you dont believe you and lockwood are in love with each other. george and lucy prove you wrong.

or,

you and lockwood through the five love languages

notes: title from lovesong by beabadoobee its so fitting bc i can not stop writing about this boy. thank u anon for ur request i hope its ok i took many creative liberties with it lol!!

“Lucy, you’re insane.”

“I’m insane? You’re the one who’s in a relationship and doesn’t even know about it.”

The roll of your eyes was nearly automatic.

The both of you were sprawled out on Lucy’s blue and yellow sheets while you helped her paint her nails. She was complaining earlier about how she sucked at painting with her nondominant hand, so you offered to do it for her.

You probably would have changed your mind if you realized she was going to corner you about your apparent relationship with your best friend.

Lucy’s face was half pressed into her blanket while her hand was propped up on one of her pillows. You were only halfway done, but you fought the urge to leave the rest of her nails unpainted as a form of protest.

“C’mon, you really can’t see it?”

“See what?”

“The way Lockwood’s in loooove with you.”

“He’s not.”

“He is.”

“He’s not.”

“He i—”

Lucy immediately went quiet at the sound of a knock on her door.

“Who is it?” She called out while you put another coat of black polish on her index finger.

“It’s George. Lockwood sent me up here to tell you he’s starting dinner,” he voiced through the door.

“He’s in the kitchen?” Lucy asked.

“No, he’s getting dinner ready in the library,” George responded sarcastically. “Yes, Luce, he’s in the kitchen. Why?”

“Perfect. You mind coming in and shutting the door behind you, Georgie?”

Your confusion only seemed to grow, but Lucy did nothing but wave you off as the sound of George ascending the steps grew louder. He took in the sight of Lucy face down on her stomach while you painted her nails, a disgruntled look on your face. He sank into the mattress next to Lucy, prompting her to speak.

“How long would you say Lockwood’s been in love with her for?”

“Lucy!” You scolded, blood rushing to your face. “George, don’t listen to a thing she says, she’s crazy.”

“For as long as they’ve known each other, probably,” he said matter-of-factly. “Why?”

That shut you up rather quickly. The girl next to you let out a rather evil sounding cackle.

“She doesn’t believe it when I tell her they’re practically dating. Oh — and get this! She doesn’t think he’s in love with her.”

George blew air through his nose, one of his quiet laughs.

“That’s funny.”

“I know, right! And—”

“I’m literally right here, you know.” You cut in, aggrieved and a little embarrassed.

George tilted his head to look at you, genuine curiosity swimming in his eyes. “Well, why don’t you believe her?”

“Because he doesn’t like me like that,” you said simply. You ignored the way your heart oddly constricted in your chest.

You tugged a bit harshly on your necklace that now felt like it was choking you, missing the way George took note of the movement.

“What even led you two into thinking that we’re madly in love with each other?”

Lucy rolled over onto her back, effectively stopping you from painting her nails.

“I’m so glad you asked, because I can name a few.”

“Oh, can you?” You challenged.

“She’s been planning this intervention for a while,” George added.

You rolled your eyes again.

Lucy leaned over to rifle around in her drawer, careful of her wet nails. From it, she procured a bright pink magazine, the color nearly blinding your eyes. She rifled through it before finding the page she was looking for.

“Lockwood’s been a passenger on the Love Train for so long, he’s past the point of just having one or two love languages. He manages to hit all five. Daily.”

You had to admit, you were slightly impressed with how prepared she was, already knowing which page to turn to.

You couldn’t help but ask, “Just how long have you been thinking about this?”

“A while.”

The look on your face made George laugh. “Believe us, if you were around a couple like you and Lockwood for this long, you would go a little insane too.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully before leaning closer to the magazine Lucy had pulled out.

She pointed to a bulleted list on the center of the magazine page. The title, The Five Love Languages, was written in frilly cursive and surrounded by hearts and a drawing of Cupid.

You read on.

Want to know how to love your significant other better? Find out what their Love Language is! This article was written by Tammy, our resident love expert!

“I’m so glad we’re getting a real professional opinion on this,” you deadpanned.

Lucy jabbed a finger at the first bulleted point. “Suspend your disbelief for a second, alright?”

“Acts of service,” she began. “We all know how much Lockwood loves those.”

—

It wasn’t unusual for case research to stretch on for multiple days. With some visitors going back centuries, it was actually very normal. Records could be hard to find, which meant spending many late nights. Oftentimes, the four of you would be poring over documents under the light of the moon until it gave way to early morning sunrise.

There was nothing quite like finding the piece of information that made all the pieces fall into place, and you were clearly committed to finding it. You had been running yourself ragged over this job, scarily determined to find and secure the source.

Ms. Church was a kind old lady who pinched Lockwood’s cheeks and offered you all caramels from her bag. This particular visitor had been tormenting her for weeks. Terrified and unsafe, she came to seek Lockwood and Co.’s help.

Everyone knew you were insanely sympathetic. And when you saw the suffering of this sweet woman caused by this specific visitor, you would not let yourself rest until it was dealt with. Quite literally.

After the first late night of research, Lockwood had walked you to your room, ensuring that you actually got in bed. After months of working together, he was well aware of your working tendencies.

“Go to sleep,” he reminded you. “I know you’re eager to close this case, but get some rest first, alright? We’ll start early in the morning if you’re so eager.”

Your laughter was muffled by your blankets. “I can’t believe the champion of sleep deprivation is telling me to go to sleep right now.”

He gave you a fond smile. “I’ll only get some rest if you promise to as well, so you better close your eyes.”

An exaggerated sigh spilled from your lips as you turned over. “I suppose I’ll sleep. G’night, Anthony.”

He flicked the lightswitch off. “Goodnight,” he said into the darkness before swinging your door shut. You could hear the creaking of the floorboards get further away as he retired to his room too.

You shut your eyes as promised, and waited for sleep to take you. After being focused on a case for hours, it was near impossible to shut your brain off. You tried counting sheep, but found them morphing into visitors instead. Case facts tumbled around in your mind like clothes in a washing machine.

Groaning, you sat up in bed. If you were going to think about the case, you might as well look over the actual documents.

You made your way to your desk with all the stealth of a fox, wondering if Lockwood was awake. His room was just across the hallway, and you couldn’t help but feel like you were doing something wrong by staying up.

Why were you even worried about what he had to think? You weren’t a kid, you could do whatever you wanted.

Nevertheless, you made sure to keep as quiet as possible. When Anthony slept, he would either go into a sleep state similar to Ghost-Lock, or a sleep state that had him waking up at sounds half a mile away. You hoped that tonight was not one of the latter days.

It’s not even that late, you justified, looking at your clock. You promised him you would get some rest, but never said how much.

You could keep your promise to him while still doing something with your overactive mind. Sleep would come in a couple hours when you got tired, you were sure of it.

It did not.

Without you realizing, the clock was showing you a time you definitely should have been asleep by. A glance up from your papers showed the sun already risen through your window.

Oops.

You tried to reason with yourself. Against your will, you had nearly dozed off about a hundred times that night. Those brief moments of sleep had to have added up to at least an hour. Technically, you hadn’t gone back on your promise. Not really.

It would have to do. You pulled the documents into a pile, and made your way downstairs to make something for the four of you to eat. One by one, your friends trickled down the steps. Lucy was first, looking rather nice for someone who had just woken up. She lit up at the sight of the breakfast you had prepared and gave you a kiss on the cheek in thanks.

George was next, looking like the epitome of a good night’s rest with his ruffled hair and wrinkled tee. His dimples popped up when you handed him his special plate.

By the time Lockwood arrived, the three of you had finished your meals. The boy looked the complete opposite of the well rested George. The dark circles under his eyes were prominent as always, and you wondered if he also hadn’t slept. His face pulled down into a frown at the sight of you already filtering through papers this early in the morning.

Anthony took his usual seat next to you, studying your face carefully. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine,” you said honestly. Although you hadn’t gotten any sleep, you felt unaffected by it. If anything, you felt more energized than you were normally.

“Did you eat?”

“Yes, I had some biscuits and tea.”

“And you’re feeling alright?”

“Of course,” you assured him. “After I made breakfast, I went through our remaining files and divided them equally between the four of us. This way, we can be as efficient as possible.”

You motioned to the individual stacks of papers you, Lucy, and George were leafing through. His pile was sitting on the counter behind him, while his usual breakfast plate was placed in front of him.

He hummed. “Thank you.”

He began to eat, but you could feel his gaze on you from your peripheral vision. Glancing up at him, you found that you couldn’t read the expression on his face.

He was studying you like one of the crosswords in the paper he loved to do. You swear he was an old man in a teenager’s body.

The time ticked by steadily as he slowly finished his plate and the rest of you made your way through your piles. After a few more minutes of this, you excused yourself to get a pen you forgot in the other room. Lockwood didn’t take his eyes off of you until the kitchen door swung shut behind you.

As if he had been planning for this very moment, he put down his fork and slipped about a third of the papers in your pile into his.

George guffawed. “Looks like we know who the favorite child is.”

Lucy could not help but join in on the teasing. “You mind taking some of my pile too, Lockwood? Seeing as you’re being particularly kind.”

Lockwood shrugged, unashamed.

“Just trying to make things easier for her. She didn’t sleep last night.”

You burst through the door a few moments later, and dived right back into work, completely unaware of your missing papers. This did nothing but affirm Lockwood’s suspicions. On any normal day, you would’ve called attention to the difference immediately. Your sleep deprivation was getting the better of you.

He huffed, a little bothered. He wasn’t upset with your dedication to work, in fact, he admired it. He just wished that you would take care of yourself a little better. You wouldn’t know what a healthy life and work balance was if it hit you in the face.

Of course, he wasn’t any better, but at least he was self aware.

Looking over a rather interesting photograph, you took no notice of Lockwood washing his dish in the sink and rifling around for something on the top of the pantry. Your attention was drawn to him when he placed something in front of you.

“I picked these up for you yesterday.”

Trying to focus your eyes, it took you a moment to realize it was a tin of your favorite cookies.

He knew you so well, it made you want to explode.

You beamed up at him. “Anthony, thank you, thank you, thank you! Where did you find these? The corner store has been out of stock for weeks!”

“Found them at a little store in Piccadilly Circus,” he lied. He had taken a thirty minute cab ride to get these, but you didn’t have to know that.

Giddiness written all over your face, you got up, ready to squeeze the life out of him.

Instead, you became a victim of gravity immediately. The room went dark and you had to grip the table to keep from falling over.

“Woah,” you breathed out on shaky legs. Your hands went to hold your head, your vision still swimming. Lockwood grabbed onto your shoulders to stabilize you.

“Are you alright?”

He looked concerned, you think. You couldn’t really see that well. George and Lucy looked up from their documents, everyone now aware of the fact that you were not alright.

“I’m fine, I swear. I think I just got up too fast.” You rubbed your temples, trying to bring back your sense of sight.

Lockwood was not having any of it. His frown deepened.

“No, you’re tired and running on no hours of sleep. You need to get some actual rest,” he admonished you, guiding you to the door.

Thoughts about the job disappeared from his mind completely. You were now the only thing he was concerned about.

Already halfway up the steps, he missed the knowing look your two friends shared.

Instinct carried your feet towards your door, but you let yourself be led away when Lockwood steered you towards his own room.

“I take it you broke our promise, then?” He asked as he corralled you into his bed.

“Sorry,” you said into his sheets.

“Don’t apologize. Truthfully, I didn't get much sleep last night, either.”

He pulled the covers up to your neck, and you held back your comment about how much of a mother hen he was.

“Actually get some rest this time.”

“What about you?”

The chair at his desk squeaked as he pulled it out.

“I’ll be here until you fall asleep.”

“You need rest too, though. You didn’t sleep either.”

He smiled warmly. “I’ll be fine.”

“Then we can stay up together.”

“We can’t help our lovely Ms. Church if half the agency is dead on their feet.”

“That means you need sleep, too. Lay down with me.”

“I’ll fall asleep before you, and who’s to say you won’t escape my evil clutches and go back downstairs?” He was settled into the chair at this point, one leg kicked onto the ottoman.

“I promise you that I won’t.”

“Because our last promise turned out so well?” The incredulous look on his face had you backtracking.

“Fine, I won't promise, I’ll swear it to you. Make a vow, I don’t know. If you really doubt your ability to stay awake while we lay down, then read a book or something. Just don’t sit in that rickety old chair. You’ll get back issues, you old man.”

That seemed to convince him enough to get up. He peeled back the covers and rolled you onto your stomach when you wouldn’t move off his side of the bed. Your hair now obstructing your vision from his manhandling, you could only hear when he opened his drawer and pulled something out.

Well, how were you supposed to sleep when you were this curious?

Rolling back over to face him, you felt the oxygen leave your body.

He was propped against the headboard, a hardcover book in his hand. He refused to read softcover books, and called them annoying repeatedly. The novel was one you had got him last month.

Anthony wasn’t doing anything remarkable, just lounging next to you and reading. But love made people act funny, and rather interesting thoughts started swirling in your head. You wouldn’t mind if you had this for the rest of your life, the two of you in one house forever.

“Can you read to me?” You asked before you could lose the courage.

Wordlessly, he dropped his right arm so you could rest your head there, letting you see the words on the page. Leaning on his shoulder and his voice in your ear, you fell into the best sleep you had in ages.

—

You smiled affectionately at that memory. Since that day, Lockwood had got on your case about selfcare whenever he could. If he even thought you were close to pushing your limits, he would cut you off immediately, forcing you to take a break.

Lockwood cared a lot, there was no doubt about it. But you were still rather unconvinced.

George cleared his throat, and you could practically feel the teasing that was about to ensue. “Lockwood left me and Luce all alone downstairs after that. What were you two even doing up there? Just sleeping, I hope—”

“He read me a book,” you said, amused. “And then I fell asleep. That’s all.”

Lucy continued to smile evilly.

“And that brings us to our next point. Quality time.”

—

George thought that the most interesting thing in the house was the piano.

It was interesting to him solely for the fact that no one ever played it. When he had asked Lockwood about it, he had claimed he was out of practice and didn’t know how to play anymore.

(He was a little liar, by the way.)

George tried convincing him to pick it back up again by listing off all the benefits of playing an instrument. Lockwood rejected him each time.

“Between running my very successful psychical agency and gracing you with my presence, I’m a little pressed for time.”

George reluctantly let that slide.

Lockwood was caught in his lie when George and Lucy had come back from a trip to Satchell’s. They had been low on flares for weeks, and this upcoming job forced them to actually go out and get some.

George had volunteered immediately, already planning his side quest to the grocery store to pick up snacks. Lockwood was such a by-the-list shopper, much to George’s dismay. If it wasn’t a necessity on the list, it wasn’t getting bought.

For someone who loved eating George’s biscuits, Lockwood sure had a lot to say about getting ‘unnecessary things while shopping.’

Lucy volunteered to go with him, not wanting to make him go alone.

This left you and Lockwood alone at home, left to do whatever two people who were in a relationship but not dating did with their free time.

He was really at his wit’s end with you two.

Weighed down by the supplies and very necessary snacks, George nudged the front door open with his foot.

The sound spilled out of the house immediately. It was the beautiful sound of the piano.

Lucy looked just as shocked as George was. The sound of the instrument was unfamiliar to hear inside 35 Portland Row. To the two of them, it was the first time the piano had ever been played.

The song was easily recognizable as your favorite, a tune you hummed under your breath all the time. They had no idea you could play as beautifully as this, and you were obviously extremely talented. The song continued on as the two entered.

The four of you spent almost all your time together, and neither George nor Lucy had ever seen you go near the instrument. Trying to be respectful, George chanced a quick look into the room.

The bags nearly fell from his hands.

At the piano bench wasn’t you. It was Lockwood.

His hands flew up and down the keys, clearly a natural. Lucy would’ve thought it was a trick of the light if she wasn’t witnessing this with her own eyes.

The song came to an end and it was only then that George noticed you standing at the end of the piano, smiling in awe. You began speaking animatedly, probably praising him for his great playing. He could see that your eyes were filled with nothing but adoration.

Lucy thought it was sickeningly cute.

The same look was evident on Lockwood’s face as well, pure fondness in the way he looked at you. He got up from the bench, giving you room to sit down. You sat down in the spot he just vacated, and he moved to stand behind you, a perfectly practiced motion.

He spoke slowly as he talked to you about the instrument, and you tentatively placed your hands on the keys before more notes sounded from the piano. You played the first half of the song before tapering off.

Standing over you, his arms came around your body as he placed his hands on yours. The rest of the song began to fill the room, although it was at a slower tempo.

Still frozen in shock, Lucy nearly dropped a bag on her foot when Anthony spoke directly to her and George. His eyes didn’t leave the keys the entire time.

“Would you two like to sit in on our lesson?”

George showed no signs of embarrassment at being caught. Dropping everything in his hands, he bounded right over to the nearest armchair and got comfortable. Adding her bags to the growing pile, Lucy took a seat on the armrest, only a little sheepish.

“Anthony’s been giving me lessons for a few weeks,” you explained, a giddy smile on your face. “He’s basically Mozart, you should’ve been here to hear him play.”

He smoothed a hand over your back, his eyes crinkling. “Chopin should watch out for you. It took me months to master what you’ve learned in a few weeks.”

You shifted on the bench, embarrassed by his compliment. Lucy piped up with a music request, a song from a couple of decades ago that all four of you loved. You made space for him on the seat, and the three of you watched, gobsmacked, as Lockwood played the song from memory.

So much for not remembering how to play, thought George.

—

You did nothing but shrug at your two friends. “I mean, caring about me and spending time with me? Those are things that we do,” you said, motioning between the three of you. “We can’t possibly all be in love with each other. So what’s the difference between me and Lockwood?”

Lucy grumbled, growing a bit frustrated at your blindness. She pointed to the next two things on the list. Words of affirmation and gifts.

“Lockwood doesn’t exactly wax poetic or spend hundreds of pounds on me and George, now does he?”

—

It had been months of you and Lockwood’s gross yearning, and frankly, George was sick of it. You denied the dating allegations fervently, but George was unconvinced. You two were lying to his face, he was sure of it. All he had to do was catch you in the act.

George was just leaving the bathroom when he heard Lockwood’s voice from inside your bedroom. The door was wide open, the both of you clearly uncaring about whoever was going to be subjected to whatever relationship business you two were up to.

“Hey,” he heard Lockwood say softly.

Wow. George had never heard someone say ‘hey’ so affectionately in his entire life. Clearly this was more serious than he previously thought.

“Happy one year, Anthony,” you said, just as quietly.

George’s jaw hit the floor. The makings of a grin pulled at his mouth.

He knew it.

You two were liars! He could not believe you guys thought you were being oh so secretive about your relationship. He guessed that your freaky affection could not be helped. Although smug at this revelation, he was still happy for the both of you. The love was evident whenever you interacted, and George was just glad the both of you had come to your senses a year ago.

However, he wondered why you were so adamant on denying it. Probably just trying to avoid the favoritism accusations.

Lockwood laughed. “I can’t believe it’s already been one whole year since you moved in.”

You’re kidding.

The self-satisfied look got wiped off of George’s face immediately.

One year since you moved in? You weren’t celebrating a relationship milestone at all.

George felt the need to rinse out his ears with soap. He could not believe what he was hearing. With the way you two were speaking, one year of marriage would have made more sense.

“It’s been the best year of my life, you know. Living here with my best friend.”

“Oh, I’m glad you like living with George.”

The boy in question made a face. He could hear you hit Lockwood on the shoulder.

“You know what I mean. I’m just grateful I know you. And… I couldn’t imagine doing this with anyone else. You’re incredible. And one of my favorite people in the world.”

George suppressed a gag. Love was unfortunately in the air.

“I like you too, I guess,” Lockwood said stupidly.

Your laughter rang out into the hallway. “Come on, I pour out my heart and soul for you and I only get an ‘I guess?’”

“No, you get this, too.”

There was the sound of paper rustling, and then your shocked gasp.

“Anthony, I can’t accept this.”

He laughed lightly. “Yes, you can.”

“This must’ve cost you a fortune. How much was it? I promise I’ll pay you back eventually, just name the price.”

“There is no price. You’ve already paid me back tenfold by putting up with me.”

“I’m serious, Anthony.”

“So am I.” His voice lost the joking lilt to it. “To know you is to love you. And to be able to love you is the greatest gift anyone could ever receive.”

You were stunned into silence for a moment before you spoke again. Your voice was watery. “You’re the most important person in my life. I love you so much.”

“I love you too. You’re my best friend.”

The next day, you came downstairs with a shiny necklace around your neck. George tried not to slap his hand to his forehead.

You and Lockwood had officially made the words “best friend” lose all meaning.

—

“It’s a cute necklace, by the way,” Lucy teased.

Your face was on fire, and the piece of jewelry around your neck felt heavy suddenly. “George, you really heard all of that?”

He rolled his eyes. “That’s what you get for professing your undying love for each other with the door wide open.”

You pressed your face into one of Lucy’s blue pillows, not able to face them.

“It’s not like that.”

The call of your name made you shoot up off Lucy’s bed.

“George? Lucy?”

It was Lockwood, probably finished dinner downstairs.

“We’re coming!” You yelled down, eager to escape the room (and the conversation).

Lucy’s smile only seemed to grow. You feared for your life.

Lockwood was waiting for the three of you at the bottom of the stairs, his eyebrows raised.

The pleasing aroma of his cooking permeated the air.

“Smells nice,” you greeted, your voice coming out breathless.

His hand skimmed over your arm as you continued past him to the kitchen.

Throughout dinner, you found yourself psychoanalyzing every single interaction you had with Anthony. From the way he pulled out your chair for you and the way he gave you his biscuit when George had his back turned.

He just violated the biscuit rule for you. You wondered if this was love.

You even found yourself questioning his cooking decisions. Tonight’s dish was your favorite, and Lockwood knew it. You gave him a scrutinizing look when his back was turned, much to Lucy’s delight.

You found yourself cursing your friends. You could barely function around him on a normal day, and these thoughts they planted into your mind weren’t helping.

You nearly collapsed when he brushed a strand of hair out of your face. He was just looking at you, and you could feel about eighty emotions rush to the surface.

This had to be love. You were so deeply in love with him.

Much too soon, the night was over. The leftovers were packed away, and Lockwood was at the sink, washing the dishes.

The thought of marriage never sounded sweeter.

Uncaring at this point, you wrapped your arms around his back, frustrated. Your thoughts were all jumbled. His body relaxed at your touch, and then he squeezed one of your hands at his front tightly. You didn’t even care that he got your hand all soapy.

You watched from over his shoulder as he finished drying the last dish and placed it on the rack.

Prying your arms off of him, he managed to loosen your death grip around his waist just enough to spin around and face you. His chin rested on top of your head while his own arms came to rest around your shoulder blades.

“You’ve been quiet. Everything alright?”

You made a noise into the hollow of his throat. “Just thinking.”

He leaned the both of you back against the counter. “Figurative penny for your thoughts?”

Being with him like this was like taking a blanket straight from the dryer and cocooning yourself in it. You felt like a cat resting in a sun spot. Encased in warmth all around.

Your sheer love and care for the boy in you arms made you so soft. This was love.

“George and Lucy made me realize something.”

“Yeah?”

Your knees nearly buckled at the sound of his voice. It was deeper than normal, and the way his voice raised slightly at the end made you feel a little insane.

With a start, you redirected your thoughts. He said a single syllable and it reduced you completely to mush. There had to be something wrong with you.

“What’d you realize?”

“That I’m in love with you.”

Your heart was racing. That six word confession had turned you into a bunch of nerves and clammy palms. Lockwood was quiet, beginning to rub circles into your shoulder with the heel of his palm.

He hummed, a sweet sound that had your heart doing flips in your chest.

“Was wondering when you’d figure that one out.”

If your hands were free, you would’ve hit him hard against the chest. Too reluctant to pull back from him, you settled for pinching his side. You tilted your head to the side and pressed your ear against his chest. His heartbeat was loud and only a little bit erratic. He smiled against your hair.

“I’ve been in love with you for longer, I bet,” he mumbled, always making things into a challenge.

“Really?”

“Definitely.”

“You wanna prove it?”

He leaned back, and you both looked a little shocked at how forward your words were.

“Uh, unless you don’t want to—”

He smiled, and the sight of it was infectious. His face got closer to yours and you had to swallow the enthusiasm that was beginning to bubble within you. His next words were practically breathed out into the silence of the kitchen.

“I’m going to kiss you now, alright?”

Not bothering with an answer, you leaned forward and planted your lips against his.

It was even better than you thought it’d be.

You had no idea how long you sat there, his face in your hands while you made up for lost time. A loud cough had you both springing apart.

Your face was burning up and Lockwood’s chest was heaving, but his smile was as smug as ever.

Lucy was grinning.

George looked disgusted. “Please don’t do that so close to the plates we eat off of.”

Neither of you were allowed to leave the room without about five more minutes of teasing.

As you made your way up the steps, you were stopped by a hand on your sleeve. It was Lockwood, and he pulled you back in to press another kiss to your lips.

“I love you,” he said, and his words sounded like your favorite song he learned to play on the piano just for you.

“Love you too,” you echoed back. Those words had been exchanged between the two of you countless times, but this was the first time it held the weight that it did. As you climbed up the stairs, you found that you had a smile permanently etched on your face.

“You know, we didn’t talk about the fifth love language earlier.”

Lucy was at the top of the next landing, a cheeky smile on her face. Less evil than before, her grin was now more amused than anything.

“What were you going to say?”

“I was going to tell you about the time Lockwood bribed me to switch seats with him so he could sit next to you at the cinema. But I think we just had a great live example of how much you two like physical touch.”

Lucy’s laughter resounded throughout the entire house as you chased her up the steps.

notes: ahh the tangledinlove special! pining and yearning that makes me want to collapse. he needs to be real… jonathan stroud what have you done to me.

as always: please leave feedback if you enjoyed!

im a sucker for lockwood x reader angst and i mean angry confessions, miscommunication and the “go ahead and leave then. everyone does, it wouldnt be a surprise if u did too” 😩😩😩

a/n: AHHHHH yes!! i'm so sorry this has taken so long to be written, and the fact I've been inactive for a week or two - it's been assignment week so i needed to focus on that unfortunately, but i hope you enjoy this! angst is my favourite thing to write lol. unfortunately, there's not much miscommunication in this, but i hope I've ticked the other boxes :)

warnings: angst, language gn reader

"Will you say something?"

You keep your head turned, staring out of the night cab's rain-covered window. Your heart is pounding, filled with rage, and you're worried that if you open your mouth, it'll come spilling out and you'll say something you'll either regret or get fired for.

Lockwood was an idiot during your case. He was reckless and impulsive, and it meant that the two of you narrowly finished it with your lives and all of your limbs in good health. You would've forgiven him if it had been a one-off, but he does this almost every single time, and it's becoming a big issue.

So here you sit, arms crossed over your chest as the cab speeds along, biting your tongue. Lockwood sits across from you, watching you with those dark eyes of his while a cut oozes blood on his forehead. Any other day, you would've patched it up immediately, but tonight he'll have to cope. You've had enough.

It doesn't take long to reach Portland Row and the taxi has barely stopped when you jump out and storm off towards the house. Lockwood is delayed a few seconds, having to pay the cabbie, but he catches up easily.

"(name), come on. Talk to me."

Wordlessly, you unlock the front door, half tempted to slam it shut in his face, but this is his house. He's got more right to be here than you.

You make to angrily climb the stairs and hide out in the attic to await Lucy's return and rant to her about Lockwood, but his hand wraps around your wrist as you reach the second step, stopping you.

"Please, (name). I can't stand it."

For a minute, you just stare at him. The blood from his cut has been smeared across his forehead, and the bags under his eyes have become a little more pronounced, but your usual sympathy has disappeared, eaten away by fury.

"What do you want me to say, Lockwood? Oh, it's okay that you almost killed yourself being so reckless tonight. You're my knight in shining armour. Or, how about: I know you promised to be reasonable tonight to make amends for all the other times you've almost killed yourself, and you didn't end up being reasonable, but I forgive you."

He looks at you, his gaze soft. His eyes are desperate, but he's got you talking which was his goal. It seems that the context of the conversation doesn't matter all that much to him.

But you don't care.

"Every single case," you say, trying to keep yourself from raising your voice, "has ended the same. We almost die or get seriously injured because you get reckless. I get it. You're trying to save us, and, believe me, Lockwood, I'm grateful for that, but what would happen if you died? Who would protect us then? Because all of this - you throwing yourself in the face of danger for us - will mean nothing if you die."

"I'm not going to let you guys get hurt," Lockwood says, and there's an undertone in his voice that gives you a clue to how he's feeling. He's getting irritated.

Good.

"And I thank you for that," you say. "But this is constant. Do you ever stop to think what we'd feel if you died? We'd be lost, Lockwood. Not to mention jobless."

"What am I meant to do? Let you get hurt? Not a chance!"

His rising anger is feeding into yours, and soon it'll be a raging fire, ready to burn everything in its wake. You have half a mind to let it loose, to tell him exactly how you feel about his stupidity, but you reign it in for now.

"Don't you hear me? I said I'm grateful that you try to keep us safe, but not at the cost of your own life!" You tear your wrist out of his grasp, breathing heavily. "Just take a minute to imagine this: you die on a case, and we have to deal with the body. We have to watch you die, and then we have to ignore the grief to not only finish the case but also make sure your body is taken away safely, that you're given a funeral. After that, a lifetime of grief and regret and denial, hoping you step through that fucking door one more time! Of all people, I thought you'd know what that kind of thinking does to a person."

His gaze hardens. "Watch yourself."

The laugh that escapes your lips is humourless. "Right, okay. I forgot. We don't talk about that topic because you're not ready, and that's fine. But it'll be me that has the burden when you die. Then George and Lucy will have to figure out how to cope, too. But we don't have a room to hide your memories away in, Lockwood. We live in a house surrounded by you."

You climb up a few stairs and point at a photo on the wall. "These pictures? They can be stashed away, but the feeling of you can't. Your soul has practically been embedded into the walls, the floor, the ceiling. Nowhere we go in this house will allow us to escape the memory of you."

His face is a little red as he watches you. He's angrier than you've ever seen him.

"So leave then."

The words feel like a punch to the stomach. "What?"

"If you're so sick of it, if the thought of my possible death is too much, then leave. Everyone does. It wouldn't surprise me if you did."

It takes all of your willpower not to scream at him. Instead, chest filled with the pressure of your fury, you make your way back down the stairs until you're eye to eye with Lockwood. He's breathing heavily now, too, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he watches you, eyes blazing with anger but also something else... Guilt?

"You don't get to say that," you growl. "I have been here for you since the beginning. I helped you set this company up. I helped you get it licenced, and I was the one who sweet-talked our way into getting full DEPRAC insurance. I have supported every stupid decision you've made. I've questioned you, but I never pushed. And yet, you still have the gall to say that you wouldn't be surprised by me leaving?"

The anger is so strong that tears threaten to cloud your eyes, but you push them down. You will not cry.

"I've tried my hardest to make sure you stay alive." The waver in your voice is embarrassing, but something in Lockwood cracks at the sound of it. "All I do is make sure you stay alive because you're all I've had for years. I've always cared for you. I've sat and patched you up night after night because I care about you - shit, I love you, Lockwood! I always have! So, don't you even dare suggest that I would ever leave. It's as good as insulting my parents' graves."

At that, you turn on your heel and storm up the stairs, leaving Lockwood standing at the bottom.

It takes a while for you to calm down.

After cleaning yourself of all specks of blood and dirt, you change into clean clothes and sink down onto your bed, closing your eyes and trying to slow the thrumming of your heart. Your hands are shaking from a mix of rage and sadness, but they lie on your chest, easing as your heart rate slows.

It takes all of your willpower to try and not think about one of the last things you said to Lockwood - that you love him - but it proves to be harder than it should be. You didn't lie. In your years of knowing Lockwood, you've grown close to him, something that had been hard originally because of your lack of trust in people, but he charmed his way right into your life. Every smile, every touch of your fingers left your heart racing and your mind hoping, begging, that he felt the same.

Now, though, after that argument, you're almost entirely convinced that he doesn't.

When George and Lucy arrive back at the house, you trudge downstairs to the kitchen where everyone awaits to discuss the cases. Lucy's already made you a cup of tea that you accept gratefully as you sit down at the far end of the table.

Away from Lockwood.

The change in your seating is noted by everyone, your usual chair left empty beside Lockwood's at the head of the table. George frowns, glancing between you and Lockwood, and Lucy gives you a look that you ignore.

"It was a phantasm where we were," you say, scribbling away at the thinking cloth. "Well, there was that, and then there was a very angry Wraith as well. Murder victims. We dealt with them quickly."

George's eyes find the plaster on Lockwood's head, much less neatly applied than it would've been had you patched him up.

"Rawbones for us," Lucy says, sipping her tea. There's a patch on the sleeve of her jacket that smokes slightly, burned by plasm. "George found the source - a manky old mug. Made no sense. Skull was no use, either. I think he's mad at me."

"Again?" Lockwood asks. His voice isn't entirely there. "What did you do this time?"

"I didn't do anything. He's just a little prick."

You bite your tongue to stop yourself from making a snide comment. The others are watching you carefully, easily picking up on your mood, but they don't bring it up.

Lockwood's eyes haven't left you this entire time. He's trying to communicate in that silent way you both developed after years of friendship, but you tear your gaze away from his, pushing down the re-emerging fury in your chest.

"Well, we're all alive," Lockwood says, laying emphasis on the final word. "Let's get a good night's sleep. We've got a meeting tomorrow with another client."

Lucy and George get up immediately as if they were waiting for a cue to leave. They're gone in seconds, closing the kitchen door behind them. It makes no difference. You silently sip your tea, still scribbling away. Your little mess of lines has turned into an angry face.

"(name) -"

You stand, making to leave the kitchen with your mug in hand, but Lockwood blocks the door.

Staring up at him, you scowl. "Excuse me, Anthony."

There's a little smirk playing on his lips. "Using my first name? I suppose I am in trouble."

"It's nice that you think this is funny, but I certainly don't. Now, let me get past so I can go to bed. I've had enough of today."

"Please, wait." He looks down at you, his eyes soft. He doesn't seem angry anymore - that makes one of you. "Can we just... talk?"

Against your better judgement, you turn and sit back in your seat, placing one of your feet on the seat and resting your head on your knee. You're tired. Not just from the case, but from being angry.

"I'm sorry, okay?" Lockwood says, and you know he's genuine. "I saw that Wraith coming for you, and I couldn't just stand there and let you get hurt."

You sigh, more exhausted than mad now. "That's not the problem, Lockwood. You do this in every single case, even when there's no need to. Half the time, I'm not sure whether it's because you want to protect us or if it's because you want an excuse to die." Your voice catches a little.

He falters, not expecting that. Part of you wants to feel good about catching him off guard, but the topic quenches any of it. You've spent countless nights worrying that you would get up in the morning only to find Lockwood not there or scared that you'd end a case leaning over his dead body.

No one should ever have to think like that.

"I care about you a lot," you say, running a hand over your face. "You know that. But I don't think it has ever occurred to you how badly it'd affect me if you died. And, I know, I'm being selfish, but I don't want to have to live in a world without you in it."

He's silent for a moment. "I'm sorry - about what I said earlier. I didn't mean it."

You barely have the willpower to shrug. "We were both angry. People say stuff they don't mean when they'd angry."

"So, you don't mean what you said? About loving me?"

It's hard to not look at him, but you focus your gaze on the thinking cloth, tracing the messy writing and doodles with your fingers. There are a few coffee and tea stains covering it.

"I meant it." Your mouth feels dry, so you take another sip of your tea. "I meant everything."

The only sound is of both of your breathing and Lockwood's foot tapping rhythmically on the tiled floor. He's nervous.

"I don't expect you to feel the same," you clarify. "To be honest, I hadn't meant to say it right then. If I had my way, I wouldn't have said it at all unless I was sure you felt the same. But, it's out there now."

Lockwood's chair screeches against the floor and, suddenly, he's kneeling beside you, moving so that he can catch your eyes. That stupid grin of his has parted his lips. His hand grasps yours softly, and you can feel his pulse faintly. It's faster than it should be.

"Don't look so smug," you grumble. "I don't forgive you, so I don't see what you have to be cocky about."

His grin only widens. "I'll show you what."

And then his lips have captured yours.

It's a short kiss, no longer than a few seconds, but it's enough to have your stomach performing a whole gymnastics routine. The anger in your chest slowly fades away until it's nothing but a small prickle, still there but nowhere near as powerful as it was.

His lips are startlingly soft, but, really, you wouldn't put it past him to be applying chapstick every waking second. He always wants to be camera-ready. Your eyes have fluttered shut, and, by the feeling of his lashes brushing your cheeks, it seems his have also. You wonder if his brain is throwing a party, too.

When he pulls away, you find yourself wanting more. Instead, you press your forehead against his, shutting your eyes tightly for a moment.

"If that wasn't enough to convince you to stop being so self-sacrificing on cases, I honestly don't know what will."

He laughs, and the sound has your heart soaring. "I'll try my best, but if you need saving, I'll most definitely come to save you. I am your 'knight in shining armour' after all."

His gaze is already locked on yours when you open your eyes again. The darkness of his eyes entraps you, and it's impossible to look away.

"Will you forgive me?"

A sly smile curves your lips. "Maybe if you kiss me more."