PERFECTION And To Quote Taylor Swift: I Dont Want To Look At Anything Else, Now That Is Saw You

PERFECTION💛💛 and to quote taylor swift: „i don’t want to look at anything else, now that is saw you“

it’s never too late (to come back to my side)

one | two | three | FINALE

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader

content: a splash of fake dating, the ‘making out’ part of the summary has finally arrived, dancing! reader wears a dress + is implied to be shorter than him

word count: 11.2k

summary: in which you finally come back to his side

notes: i’ve been wanting to write this since i finished watching the show and its finally here!! @philliam-writes this is all for u <3 also special dt to this anon thank u sm for ur support :) enjoy

The room was relatively dark when you woke up, the sun’s rays barely passing through Lockwood’s curtains.

His side of the bed was cold, as expected. He was always the last to go to bed and the first to rise, never able to stay asleep for too long. Pulling his pillow into your chest, you were overwhelmed with a scent you recognized as the same brand of shampoo you had gotten for him months ago.

You couldn’t help but be a bit smug. No matter how hard the forces of the universe tried to pull you apart, you would come back every single time.

Yours, yours, yours.

Lockwood’s room was also sans a clock, which meant you’d have to go and find out what time of day it was for yourself. A bit reluctantly, you slipped out of the comfort of his bed and into the hallway.

You went down the steps, walking past the old pictures on the walls and skipping the step that creaked too loudly. Lockwood and Lucy were sharing tea in the kitchen, and you settled down in the chair next to him, resting your head in your arms. His mouth pulled up into a smile at the sight of your rumpled clothes.

“Afternoon,” Lucy greeted.

“Afternoon?” The confusion was evident as you tugged on Lockwood’s wrist to look at his watch. “It’s two in the evening,” you said with a frown. “Why didn’t you wake me up?”

Light was streaming brightly into the kitchen, illuminating the entire room with the afternoon sun. You fought the urge to go crawl back into bed again. There was just something about this house that had you all nice and tired.

You released Lockwood’s wrist a bit reluctantly. Maybe it was just him. Him and the overwhelming feeling you got from being in his presence.

“When I told you I was heading downstairs, all you did was mumble incoherently and go back to sleep,” he defended. With a nudge in your direction, he offered you the toast on his plate, which you accepted gratefully.

“I have no recollection of that, which means it didn’t happen,” you decided, taking a bite out of the bread.

“I take it you slept well, then?”

You hummed, stealing a sip from his steaming mug of tea. “That was the best sleep I’ve had in a while. I think the house could’ve fallen down and I still would’ve been out cold.”

He smiled amusedly, taking his cup back from you as a loud crash resounded from downstairs. The three of you gave each other a look before Lucy called out, “Is everything okay?”

“I’m alright!” came George’s muffled voice. His footsteps thudded up the stairs, sounding heavier than normal. The door swung open, and a bulging duffle bag was slung around his shoulder. It was stuffed to the brim and half zipped, the bag too full to be shut completely.

“Are you moving out, George?” You asked through another bite of toast.

He looked surprised at your existence in the kitchen. “Why are you three just sitting here?” He asked, disregarding your question. “We’re leaving in a few hours, and we all look like we’ve just woken up!”

“That’s because some of us have just woken up,” Lockwood said, gesturing in your direction.

Lucy moved to place her plate in the sink. “What’s the rush, George? Chiara’s house isn’t that far from here, is it?”

He sighed, dropping the bag to his feet with a loud thump. “It’s like no one in this house listens to me,” he complained as he took Lucy’s vacated seat. “We need to get there a bit early to account for traffic, and I assume you’re going to need time to figure out what you’re wearing,” he said with a pointed look to you. “I spoke with the Salvatores last night, and Amber’s sending someone over. They should be arriving any minute now.”

“Is that really necessary?” You said with a frown. The thought of some person fussing over you and your dress choices sounded a bit embarrassing. “I brought a dress I could wear, I don’t think we need a professional opinion on it.”

George narrowed his eyes at you before he stood up to move to the fridge. Held up by a ghost shaped magnet was a piece of paper, which he tugged off and gave to you.

It was the invitation for the ball, and you skimmed past all the fancy lettering until you reached the last line.

“Unless you have a gown stuffed into your backpack, it looks like you have an appointment with the Salvatore seamstress,” Lockwood said, reading over your shoulder.

“Ball gowns?” you lamented, slouching in your chair. “Lockwood, you have it so easy. You can throw on one of the eighty black suits you have and call it a day, while I have to try on a billion dresses for an hour.”

“That’s because Lockwood’s just there to make you look extra nice,” Lucy pointed out, “Like a decorative purse.”

George snickered. “She’s not wrong.”

Lockwood nudged him under the table, and you watched as the two of them got into an intense battle of trying to protect their own shins from the other's kicking.

Anthony doubled over the table, reeling from a rather well placed blow from George, when the doorbell rang. The four of your heads snapped in the direction of the door.

“Looks like I’m off,” you announced, giving Lockwood a sympathetic pat on the back. “Care to join me, Lucy?”

The girl perked up, the beginnings of a smile on her face. “I’d love to.”

—

The woman at the front door was the opposite of what you had expected her to be, much to your surprise.

The Salvatores were wealthy, it was no secret. They could probably buy an entire country using just Amber’s pocketmoney, if they ever felt the need. You assumed this seamstress of theirs would be the best of the best, probably an old woman who had been working in this field for at least three of your lifespans. You were already dreading coming face to face with an evil and curt old woman who would snap at you until you stood up straighter. Thankfully, that was not the case.

Cynthia, as she insisted you and Lucy call her, was a twenty year old ex-Rotwell agent who had been working in the field until last year. She was a Listener before her Talent faded, which she and Lucy began to bond over.

“Oh, I miss it more than anything,” she nearly wailed, tossing a poofy red dress over the folding screen. “You better not take your Talent for granted, you know.”

The three of you had set up in the attic, Lockwood and George suspiciously disappearing when Lucy had asked for help dragging the multiple boxes up the steps. Cynthia had come with a seemingly never-ending supply of gowns, all stuffed into a multitude of crates.

You had no idea literal pieces of fabric could even be this heavy.

“Becoming an agent wasn’t my own choice,” Lucy admitted, “but I’ve grown to love it. I really can’t imagine my life without it.” She held up a lilac dress for Cynthia to see. “How’d you go from Rotwell to working for the Salvatores?”

She made a face at the frills around the neckline, directing the dress into the pile of rejects. “My grandmother is the Salvatores’ actual seamstress. I’m working under her while I find out what I want to do now that my time at Rotwell is over. She forced me into this apprenticeship, honestly. I’d much rather be out fighting Visitors.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I’m glad you’re here instead of your grandmother,” you supplied as you wrestled off a blindingly yellow dress. “I was worried I was going to be strangled with a corset by the time this was over.”

She laughed loudly at that, and you watched as another dress made its way into the try-on pile. “You’re not far off. My grandmother’s the type to make people real life pincushions.”

“Oh, this one’s gorgeous,” Lucy said in awe. You stuck your head around the partition to see her holding up a dark blue silk dress, her eyes shining.

“You’d look so pretty in that, Luce. You should try it on,” you said as you slipped a red dress over your head.

You couldn’t see the face she was making, but you could tell she was making one. “What for? I’m not going to the gala.”

Cynthia hummed, giving the fabric a quick glance. “My grandmother won’t notice another dress missing. If you like it, it’s all yours, even if you aren’t going.”

“Really?” she asked, still skeptical.

You nodded even though she couldn’t see you. “Why not? The Salvatores won’t care, and you could use it for future jobs.”

“It’s also just fun to have a nice dress,” Cynthia added.

You couldn’t help but agree as you did a small spin in the mirror to look at the back of the gown you had on. With Cynthia and Lucy, you were enjoying this process much more than you thought you would, a bit excited to find a dress you liked.

Lucy’s voice got further away as she moved to the small bathroom, presumably to change into the dress. “I’m not sure this dress would get much use with you around to go to all our fancy jobs, though,” she said lightly.

You paused. You and Lockwood had made up, of course, but you hadn’t had any time to discuss anything. You had no idea what your plan was after this job. Would you be back at Fittes by tomorrow afternoon, or would you be sitting around the Thinking Cloth eating dinner, finally back home?

You forced out a laugh, your voice trailing off at the end. “Yeah.”

Sensing the hesitance in your voice, Lucy asked, “What’s wrong?”

You didn’t know what to tell her. Frowning in the mirror, you wanted to pretend it was because of the dress, but it was far from the real issue. Tugging it off a bit harshly, you tossed it haphazardly back over the divider. “Me and Lockwood, we… Haven’t exactly talked about that.”

The silence hung heavy in the room, the other two girls going silent.

“Sorry!” Lucy added hurriedly. “I shouldn’t have assumed—”

“It’s okay,” you assured, absently picking up the next dress from the pile. “I know he’d have no issue with me coming back, I just… Don’t know if I should.”

“Sounds heavy,” Cynthia quipped from the other side of the room. “If you’re making a hard decision, just choose the option you’ll regret the least. Works out for me every single time.”

Not wanting to divulge your soul, you kept quiet. Going back to Fittes would definitely be the safest option. Steady life, steady income, steady future. But here…

Portland Row was what your heart was telling you. You wondered if you could get your brain to agree.

“Thanks, Cynthia,” you said softly, hoping she could hear you. The girl’s gasp was what you got in response, and you stuck your head around the partition to see what the issue was.

There was no issue at all. Lucy had stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in the beautiful gown she had chosen prior. She was staring in the mirror, eyes wide.

“Lucy,” you gushed, walking over to her, coming to stand behind her in the mirror. “You look beautiful.”

Anyone could see how gorgeous Lucy was. It was one of the first things you noticed about her at Arif’s, when you had walked over to the group’s table. Her short hair framed her face nicely and her bangs were perfectly cut for her face. Her blue dress did nothing but add to how stunning she looked. It was a simple dress that came down to her mid-calf. “I could say the same to you,” she said sweetly, moving over so you could see yourself in the mirror too.

Too wrapped up in your musings about Lockwood and your future, you hadn’t had time to look at the gown you had put on, a dress in a nice emerald color that almost kissed the floor as you moved. You would have no issue running in it (if it came to that), and the straps crossed in the back nicely, which you liked.

“Would you look at that,” Cynthia said from next to the mirror, a smile on her face. “Is this the one?”

Stunned, you spun to the side, taking in all sides of the dress. The gown was insanely comfortable, unlike some of the scratchier dresses you had tried on earlier. You found yourself nodding, your own smile taking over your face. “I love the color.”

—

Lucy had offered to walk Cynthia to the front door while you finished wrapping up upstairs.

The older girl had enveloped you in a hug before leaving with a very excited, “Knock ‘em dead!”

“I will,” you promised, pulling away with a laugh.

Lucy called your name, her head popping out from the staircase. “Are you nearly done? George says we’re leaving in a few.”

“I was just heading down,” you answered, giving her a little spin before walking over.

Her grin widened as she took in your attire. “You look perfect. Lockwood’s going to—” she cut herself off, her grin growing even bigger.

“He’s going to…?” You pressed, waiting for her to finish.

She did nothing but smile knowingly, turning around to head downstairs. “Lockwood’s going to look like a great decorative purse.”

Lucy was right, you noted with glee as you reached the bottom of the steps.

She was correct in the way that Lockwood looked great, less so in the decorative purse part. Dressed in one of his nicest suits, you wondered if you would be the decorative purse tonight. He and George were discussing something at the door, and you noticed the former’s face was tinted a bit red. Neither of them noticed you and Lucy’s descent, so you had a rather great few seconds as you were given the time to study his side profile.

His arms were crossed in front of his chest and over his tie, which was surprisingly not askew. You found yourself unable to stop grinning, admiring him unabashedly. His jaw was set, and you simply couldn’t bring yourself to stop staring openly at your best friend and the way he was leaning against the front door. You were suddenly very glad that you had been invited to be here.

“Your tie is too short,” you said in lieu of a greeting as you spun him around to face you. His eyes widened at your sudden appearance, and you moved to adjust the already perfect lapels of his suit jacket.

His gaze was a bit unfocused while he took you in for the first time, but he still had enough brain cells left to joke with you. His hands went to hold your own where they were messing with the collar of his suit before sliding down to grip onto your forearms. “What have they been doing to you at Fittes? I had no idea they made you into a ballroom attire professional.”

“I passed Ballroom Attire 101 with flying colors, actually.” You teased back as you appreciated how he looked even more gorgeous up close. “You clean up just as nicely as I remember.”

He nodded a bit absently, his hands sliding over your arms again, a silent way of saying thanks. “You too. I should send a gift basket to the Salvatores,” he said without elaborating.

Your head cocked slightly, but your response was cut off by George’s cough from behind you. The two of you didn’t concern yourselves with backing up from each other, just moving apart enough so you could face the boy. He gestured an arm dramatically to the door, like a gameshow host revealing a grand prize.

“You two are going to be walking to the manor if you don’t hurry.”

Realizing with a start that you were the only two still in the house, you tugged on the edge of Lockwood’s sleeve to pull him out the door. “Sorry, George,” you apologized, squeezing his shoulder affectionately as you passed.

Parked on the curb was a beat up black car, which was definitely older than you were. You wondered if it was even capable of holding itself together until you got to the manor.

“Since when did you have your license, George? And since when did we have a car?” You asked, worry creeping into your tone.

“Since forever,” he said defensively, heading for the driver’s side.

Lockwood opened your door for you, revealing Lucy lounging comfortably in her seat. “Don’t worry, George is a great driver, minus his speeding and sharp turns.”

“Don’t forget about his routine traffic violations,” Lucy added with a grin. After noticing the look on your face, she made sure to say, “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to it.”

You, in fact, did not get used to it.

After Lockwood had settled into the passenger seat, the car jerked away from the sidewalk, and George directed the four of you to the motorway.

His driving was exactly like Lockwood and Lucy had described it.

“I don’t understand why we couldn’t take a cab,” you complained after thirty minutes of being pushed into Lucy whenever the car eased around a bend. The car stopped suddenly, and you had to catch yourself on Lockwood’s chair to keep from slamming forward.

George huffed. “Sure, because your average taxi driver would willingly agree to drive our getaway car.”

“Getaway car?” You asked, confused. “I doubt it’ll come to that.”

He whirled around to face you, and the car broke out into havoc as the car nearly drifted into another lane. Remembering he was the one driving the car, George fixed his focus back on the road. George signalled to make a left turn and sighed a bit dramatically.

“Yes, but we have to be prepared for anything, and I mean everything. We shouldn’t have to do any Visitor catching tonight, but I brought the kit in case anything goes wrong with the source. We also took the car and not a cab if the both of you do end up getting caught and we need to leave quickly.”

You felt a bit like a scolded child at his words. It made sense, but you didn’t want to entertain the idea of you and Lockwood being caught. “I can’t think about a case my team at Fittes has done that was this intense.”

“Well,” Lockwood said simply, “Welcome back to Lockwood & Co.”

“Don’t tell me that’s Chiara’s mansion,” Lucy gasped, nearly pressing her face to the glass. “It’s huge!”

After getting off the motorway, the car had entered a more wooded area, surrounded by thick greenery. Outside the window was a massive stone structure, protected by a wrought iron gate and even taller stone walls. It was less of a house and more of a castle. Gargoyles perched above doorways and windows, giving the entire estate a rather eerie feeling. You got the chills just looking at it. The house disappeared from view as the car continued down the road, being blocked by trees that were as tall as the castle itself.

“That’s the neighbor’s house,” George corrected as you rumbled onto a paved road. “This is Mossbank Grove.”

The manor put every other building to shame. The driveway leading up to the mansion was insanely long, giving everyone that drove past a nice view of the house. Even from a distance, the building loomed over everything else, making you feel like the size of an ant. The front of the mansion was perfectly symmetrical, and it looked like a massive clock was built into the pillar above the doorway. There were windows as far as the eye could see and what looked like a flower garden behind it. Perfectly manicured trees lined the road, and a grand fountain was erected in front of the courtyard, complete with beautiful lights that changed every few seconds.

Cars had already pulled up at the front doors, dropping off partygoers, and more were heading back your way. George pulled the car into a shaded area near the gate before unlocking the doors.

Lockwood furrowed his brows. “I thought you were joking when you said you were going to make us walk half a mile up to the entrance.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” George said. “It’s maybe an eighth of a mile.”

“Even better,” you sighed, as you leaned into the front row of the car.

George ignored you, instead choosing to pat the roof of the car. “I love her, but I think Trooper’s going to stick out like a sore thumb among those limousines up there. Best for her to stay back here.”

“Please tell me you didn’t name the car Trooper,” you pleaded as Lockwood swung his door open before getting yours too.

Clearly peeved, George was ready to defend his beloved scrap of metal before Lucy cut him off.

“Good luck, you two,” she said through your open door. “And remember—”

“Make good decisions?” Lockwood asked, eager to leave.

She winked at the both of you. “Yes, but also have fun. But not too much fun, alright, Lockwood—”

Cutting her off again, he promptly shut Trooper’s door in her face. You smiled at her apologetically before Anthony began tugging you in the direction of the trees that lined the road.

The plan was for you and Lockwood to blend in with the other party attendees before slipping off to look for the ring. George and Lucy were on standby in case there was a problem with the source, and of course, Trooper was there as your means of transportation, and/or escape.

Back at Portland Row, the idea of combing through the mansion for an object as small as a coin sounded difficult, but doable. But as you and Lockwood began your trek towards the house, it was beginning to look near impossible. The house only seemed to grow in size as the two of you continued through the grass, the ends of your dress hiked up around your calves to protect it from dirt and mud.

Your face twisted, a nervousness you hadn’t felt in so long beginning to take over.

Everything had to go right today, because it just had to. You had convinced Lockwood to let him take you on this job, and if you didn’t deliver…

You wondered how he would react. Would he scream at you? Tell you never to come back? It had happened before and it could happen again.

Your innate need to not disappoint him was getting into your head.

You knew Lockwood would never do that again. If there was one thing you were sure of, it was that. But you couldn’t fail again. Maybe it was dumb, but you felt the need to prove yourself to him, make sure he knew you were capable of getting things done, and done well.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be fine,” Lockwood said suddenly.

You turned away from the manor to look at him, confused. “I’m not worried.”

He tutted, a smile on his face. “You looked pretty worried to me.”

“I did not, you liar.”

“I’ve known you for all my life. I think I’d know something as simple as the face you make when you’re nervous.”

You stumbled a bit, surprised, and he caught your arm to stabilize you. The revelation that he noticed something as small as that had heat rushing to your face. It was quickly worsened by the fact that his hand didn’t leave your arm, even after you had regained your footing.

“Hole in the grass.” you explained, as if it wasn’t the most perfect lawn you’d ever stepped on.

If he didn’t believe your lie, he didn’t show it, nodding along casually.

The way he made it seem like such a basic fact about you had your heart beating a bit faster in your chest. It seemed like he was talking about something as simple as your favorite color, or the color of your hair. But he knew you better than anyone else, and he didn’t even think anything of it.

You felt your steps slow, wanting to make this walk last a lifetime. He matched your slower pace without saying anything, just holding onto you and letting you rest your hand in the crook of his arm.

The two of you walked in silence for a while, watching the house grow bigger and bigger before you were almost at the fountain in the center of the courtyard.

Upon further inspection, you noticed it was in the shape of Chiara herself. Sculpture Chiara was wearing a fitted leotard and a tutu, and it was carved so delicately that the frills on the skirt looked real. From her stone mouth, she was spitting water out continuously into the pond.

A rather… interesting choice.

“So,” Lockwood began, rolling his shoulders. “We get in, split up, find the ring, meet up at the powder room on the first floor, and then we leave.”

“And dance,” you added helpfully.

He made a face. “The only way you’re getting me to dance is if I have to win a dance battle against Chiara for the source.”

“Please,” you nearly whined. “We’ll look more like people who were actually invited if we dance. Literally everyone dances at these events.”

“That’s perfect.”

“How so?”

“If everyone dances, then no one will be able to tell that we haven’t.”

You fought the urge to shove him, because the two of you were nearing the steps up to the grand doorway. Lockwood smiled at another couple exiting their car, and you tried for a smile too before you caught something that nearly made your eyes bulge out of your head.

“Is that a horse-drawn carriage?”

Out of his inner coat pocket, Lockwood procured the invitation and passed it to the security guard at the front door. He looked over it briefly before waving you in. The man had a full length beard and did not bother acknowledging you when you told him to have a good night.

“Ready?” Lockwood asked as another smiling security guard opened the door for you both.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied. Your shoes clicked quietly on the marble floor, and you tried to suppress your gasp of shock as you entered the foyer.

Straight ahead was a staircase that nearly reached the heavens. You had to tilt your head directly upwards to see the top, and the ceiling seemed nearly a mile above your heads. This was the grand staircase you and Lockwood would be navigating later.

The rest of the hall was practically golden and glowing. Paintings and art pieces that looked hundreds of years old lined the walls, reminding everyone that walked in just how rich Chiara Salvatore was.

There was a suited woman who waved you over with a bright smile.

“Hello, there! Welcome to Mossbank Grove!” she said with a blinding grin. “To your right is the coat check and bag room, and you can continue up your steps and to the left to the main hall!” Her pearly white teeth were arranged in such perfect rows it was actually a bit frightening. She then pointed to the green hat on her head. “If you need help with anything at all, just look for one of these hats! Everyone wearing one of these is a guard who will be more than happy to serve you!”

Her smiling was infectious, and you found yourself grinning back at her as the both of you moved to head up the steps. Up close, the staircase looked even nicer, if that was even possible. Instead of the usual vertical dividers on the handrails, a piece of metal had been wired to depict a scene from something you couldn’t recognize. Mossbank Grove was mind blowingly beautiful, and you couldn’t help but gawk at it.

You were still on Lockwood’s arm, so he had to duck down slightly to whisper in your ear.

“She’s like a robot,” he pointed out after you were out of earshot of the lady in the foyer. You peered back at her as you watched her ramble the exact same speech to the next group of partygoers. You watched as she even pointed to her hat in the exact same way.

“Chiara must run these guards like the Royal Navy,” you said, a mix between shock and respect.

Another man in a green hat opened the great hall door for you, and you didn’t bother hiding your exclamation of surprise.

The great hall was beautiful. Windows lined both sides of the room, and you could only imagine what it looked like a few hours ago at sunset. It was exactly like the charcoal drawings you had taken from Fittes, and you applauded the architect’s vision. The multiple chandeliers bathed the entire room in a bright light, and you could nearly see your own reflection in the shiny marble floors. The entire ceiling was taken up by an array of gorgeous Renaissance paintings. It looked like Chiara had hired Michelangelo to come paint it himself.

The entire center of the room had been cleared out for a dance floor, which was clearly well loved by the attendees. The party was already in full swing, couples dancing around in practiced motions. Candles illuminated the multitude of tables around the room, where other visitors were sitting and talking jovially. More green hatted workers in their black suits moved around the room, at everyone’s beck and call.

You and Lockwood took refuge against the wall, slightly behind a large marble statue.

“So,” you huffed, turning to face Lockwood so no one would be privy to your conversation. He leaned against the wall, and lifted a glass off a tray from a passing Green Hat. “I know George said to split up, but I think it’s better if we go together.”

He swirled the drink in the cup, watching the amber liquid spin before downing it in one go. He placed the empty cup on another passing guard’s tray before picking up another one.

You frowned. “Are you seriously drinking on the job?”

He offered the full glass to you amusedly. “It’s apple cider. But, about splitting up,” he said a bit blankly, his eyes fixed firmly on something behind your head. “I don’t think that’s going to be an issue anymore.”

Narrowing your eyes, you chanced a look back behind you, seeing absolutely nothing of interest. “What are you talking about?”

He placed his glass on the base of the statue next to you, which you were about to berate him for, before another Green Hat came and scooped it up immediately.

“How many of these people are there—”

Lockwood’s hands slid to your waist and he leaned in close, as if you couldn’t hear him clearly already. Turning you in his grip, he redirected your line of sight to a woman in the center of the dance floor, who was spinning around in a bedazzled pink gown. She had a wide smile on her face as she practically floated from partner to partner on the dance floor. Her hair was perfectly styled as well, not a brunette strand out of place of her precise updo. Two gems the size of rocks — diamonds, maybe — shone from her ears.

Chiara.

And the cherry on top was strung around a pearl necklace on her neck. The ring.

The source of an extremely dangerous Type Two visitor, and it was looped around her neck like a cute charm on a friendship bracelet. And somehow, you and Lockwood had to leave this party with it in tow.

You leaned back against Lockwood’s chest, slumping a little. “Oh, goody.”

You could feel his breath on the back of your neck when he laughed lowly. “Looks like you might be getting that dance out of me after all.”

Spinning in his grip, you couldn’t control the smile that started to take over. “What are you planning?”

He had begun to sway to the music slightly, taking you with him. “We aren’t getting that ring by asking nicely, as I’m sure you know.”

“How unfortunate.”

“So, it looks like we’re going to have to take it ourselves.”

You froze in his grip, but he did nothing but keep swaying, the Anthony Lockwood Smile™ on his face.

“You’re not kidding.”

“Nope.”

“So, your grand plan is to do what, exactly?” You dropped your voice to a near whisper. “Bump into her and snatch the pearls straight off of her neck in front of half a million people?”

“No, we aren’t going to bump into her,” he said, as if that idea was beyond absurd. He looked up, deep in thought. “We’re going to dance, pretend like we were actually invited, and when we switch partners during the waltz, then I’ll snatch the pearls straight off of her neck.”

“That plan doesn’t sound any better.”

“Well, bumping into her directly would leave too big of an impression,” he explained, as if it were obvious. “She’d be more likely to remember one of our faces if we collided with her and caused a fuss. But she’s already danced with at least ten people since we got here. I can successfully take the source from her while dancing. She won’t remember the face of one man she danced with tonight.”

“You’re a man now? Let’s not be hasty with our words.”

He swatted your side. “What’s with your opposition to this idea? You were begging for me to dance with you a couple minutes ago.”

Not meeting his eyes, you reached over and drained his glass of apple juice. “For one, it’s a stupid idea.”

“And?” he pressed.

“And I don’t want to split up,” you mumbled into the rim of your cup.

He frowned, setting your empty glass off to the side so you could have a proper conversation.

“We’ll be in the same room the entire time, though.”

“I know,” you groaned, covering your face with the palms of your hands, embarrassed. “I just don’t want to see anything bad happen to you. What if you get caught? I’ll be able to get out, but what about you?”

“I understand what you’re saying,” he said, as he tried to pull your hands away from your face. “I get what it’s like to be worried about your best friend, trust me, I know. But you just have to trust me, okay? If I did get caught, I’d be able to make it out just fine, you know that.”

“I do.”

“You just have to have faith. And stop thinking so negatively. My plans work out great most of the time.”

“Most of the time,” you repeated in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’ve survived this long without me. Stealing a source directly off of someone’s neck has to be one of the most stupid plans you’ve ever come up with.”

“Well,” he said, deep in thought. You could tell you would not like the next words to come out of his mouth. “There was that one time me and Lucy jumped off a building and swam in the Thames.”

“The one time you what?”

“In our defense,” he said quickly, “it was that or get sliced to death by a man who was out to get us. It was simply the smartest choice.”

You pulled away from him this time, giving him a hard look. “I’m never letting you out of my sight again. Next thing I know, you’ll be swimming the English Channel,” you grumbled.

He pulled you against his chest, and you felt his laugh from where you were pressed against him. “So, any other great ideas? Because if we’re rejecting mine, we have a total of zero plans.”

“Oh, please.” You groaned, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. “This plan of yours is so bad, it’s…”

He grinned, quirking his head at you. “It’s?”

“It’s basically in the negative of plans.”

“Ooh,” he sucked air through his teeth as if he just witnessed something particularly disturbing. “Run out of witty quips, have we?”

“Ha, ha.”

“I got you there, admit it.”

“My response was great, and I’m sorry you didn’t appreciate it for how great it was.”

“It doesn’t even make any sense.”

“Yes, it does,” you insisted.

“‘In the negative of plans’? What’s that even supposed to mean?”

“It means the plan was so bad, it doesn’t even count as a plan. It’s just that bad.”

“Not as bad as that explanation of yours.”

“Oh, whatever,” you sighed, changing the subject. “Another song is about to start. Are we doing this or not?”

“Thought you said my plan was in the negative of plans.”

“Lockwood,” you groaned, tugging him off the wall. “I trust you. And I trust your judgment more than anyone else’s. If you think we can do it, then let’s do it.”

He looked a bit stunned at your words, searching your face for something. Then, he flashed a grin at you. “I got it, don’t worry. Even though we grew up in that cushy house, I learned a thing or two. I’m more than just a nice face to look at.”

“If even that,” you teased.

You were lying through your teeth. Lockwood had more than a nice face to look at, you knew that more than anyone. You had spent nearly all your life memorizing the slopes and lines of his face and the way it changed as you both grew older. His beauty was written all over his face in the form of his strong jawline and perfectly sculpted facial features, and you were so jealous of the way he was the top winner of the gene lottery.

“Didn’t think you were much of a pickpocketer,” you said, suddenly. There was a time and place to admire Lockwood’s flawless face, and this very high-stakes mission was not one of them.

He held something shiny up at you, the object catching your eye before you realized it was your ring.

Or, his ring, if you wanted to be really technical about it.

Your thumb went to the empty space on your ring finger, and you felt the smooth skin there for what felt like the first time.

“Hey—”

He cut off your protest by bowing at the waist and extending an arm with a flourish.

“My lady, may I have this dance?”

You rolled your eyes at his dramatics, before accepting his arm and letting him lead you towards the center of the room. “Sure, Mr. Darcy.”

“Does that make you my Elizabeth Bennet?” he asked as he slipped the ring back on your finger with a smile.

The two of you assumed your positions around the circle, and you noted Chiara on the opposite side. There would be about five switches until Lockwood would get his chance.

Your breath hitched when you felt his right palm landing on your waist. He took your right hand in his left gently, and you swallowed hard. Lockwood fixed you with a stare that had you squirming in place.

“What?” you asked, trying to keep your voice steady.

Briefly, he removed his hand from your hip to nudge your arm up from where it laid limply at your side.

“Keep that arm straight up. Did Miss Shannon teach you nothing at those lessons?”

You let out an awkward chuckle before getting into the correct position. “Sorry.”

He gave you a weird look before tightening his grip at your waist. “I’ll lead, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you affirmed. “Try not to step on my toes this time.”

He smiled, and the band began to play. The group sounded even better up close. You had never danced to live music before, and the real life piano and violin were otherworldly. The other groups around the circle seemed to be having a great time, laughing and dancing easily together.

Muscle memory really did seem to be helping you through this. Lockwood spun you under his arm and then outwards before tugging you closer to him, easy and practiced. You found your feet carrying you through the steps before your mind could even tell your body what to do, and you could laugh at the absurdity of it all.

You had finally gotten Lockwood to dance again. (Even though it only happened under these very specific circumstances, it still counted.)

Lockwood spun you again, and you realized you were approaching the partner switch.

“See you on the other side?” He offered.

Your lips quirked up into a smile, and you squeezed his hand. “See you. Good luck, Lockwood.”

He winked before passing you off to the next man in the circle.

“Hello, Miss,” the man said kindly. He was tall and had bright red hair, and you had to crane your neck up to look at him.

“Hi,” you greeted. This man was probably around Kipps’ age, and if you squinted, he kind of looked like him, too. When he went to spin you, you nearly tripped with the force of it, which had him frantically apologizing and you laughing loudly.

The next man was much shorter, and also much older. He was probably in his fifties, and had short gray hair. He looked like he’d rather be anywhere than here, but you found your heart warming when you saw the woman he had come here with. She was wearing a nice flowing purple dress, and had shoulder length gray hair. she was practically glowing, and was laughing loudly with the young man she was dancing with. When she turned in your direction, she winked at the man you were dancing with and he straightened up immediately.

Your next few dances went by quickly. You didn’t think much of any of them, too busy trying to catch glimpses of Lockwood and Chiara from over their shoulders.

She was getting closer and closer with each second, and you felt yourself nearly seize up when everyone switched once again, and she finally arrived at Lockwood’s side.

Your dancing partner was a boy not older than fourteen, who was clearly unsure of the dance steps. You didn’t mind leading him through the moves, and did nothing but smile each time he stepped on your shoes. It was like a younger version of Lockwood was in front of you again, the same one who would cut up fruit for you when you were sad and help you with your school work.

The real Lockwood had started up a conversation with Chiara across the room. She was practically glowing from the words he was saying, and you realized she looked even prettier up close. You saw her shining necklace gleaming from her neck, close enough to see each individual pearl.

You wondered if you were hallucinating when Lockwood went off script and dipped her suddenly. It elicited a loud laugh from her that reached the other side of the circle, causing other dancers to look over and do the same. Your partner gave you a look that made it clear he would not attempt the dip.

When Chiara came back up, her neck was bare. The necklace was gone.

This time, you were the one to stumble over your partner’s shoes, shocked to your core. Lockwood had done it. He had actually done it.

You gave your thanks to the boy you were dancing with—who looked very surprised at your fumble—before you switched partners again.

The band drew the song to a close before you ended up back as Lockwood’s partner, and you found yourself matching the funny smile on his face that he gave you over a girl’s shoulder.

Everyone clapped politely for the violin and piano players, but you couldn’t help but speed walk in Lockwood’s direction, unable to keep the smile off your face.

Throwing your arms around his shoulders, you exclaimed an excited, “You did it!” into his ear.

“I did it,” he echoed, pressing a hand into your back.

You felt the outline of the cool pearls through the fabric of your dress, and he slipped his hand into yours to pass them off to you.

He leaned down to whisper in your ear. You feigned a laugh to make it look like you guys were doing anything except planning your escape from the building.

“I’ll leave a few minutes after you,” he mumbled into your hair. “It’s fifty yards through the forest until the car, remember?”

“Be safe. Don’t trip in the dark,” you reminded him as he patted your lower back. You slipped the necklace into one of the pockets Cynthia had offered to stitch in for you.

“I’ll be right behind you.”

You squeezed him tightly before turning around, where you were met with the sight of Chiara being helped onto a table by a woman in a green hat.

Oh no.

“My pearl necklace,” she nearly wailed, sounding like a petulant five year old. She had taken off her gloves, and they now flapped sadly from her right hand as she gestured wildly. “It’s gone! It looks just like this,” she cried, holding up a crumpled piece of paper.

Around you, suited workers began to weave in between the massive throngs of people, distributing the same paper. One guard thrust a copy into your hands, and you unfolded it to reveal a headshot of Chiara. She was still looking perfect as ever, but her big pearl necklace was the main event of the photo. Your pocket seemed unnaturally heavy now.

How she managed to mass produce copies of this picture in such a short time was beyond you, but there was nothing you could do about it now. Everyone in this room now knew of its absence, so you had to get out of here as soon as possible. As long as you made it out of the room without face planting, you would be in the clear. Lockwood placed his hand on your back.

“Go.”

And you did.

Weaving through the crowd was easy, as you were used to speeding through the city and Fittes’ hallways. You smiled politely to people you passed, trying your best to look easygoing. The closest exit was just down the hallway, and you walked briskly over to the door, marked with a stone bust of a young man. You were about twenty feet away from it when you noticed most of the partygoers beginning to grow disinterested with Chiara’s necklace, wanting to dance again.

The crowd was sparse towards the outer areas of the room, and you offered more nods of courtesy to strangers as you went to push the heavy wooden doors open.

However, it seemed that you didn’t account for obstacles out of your line of vision. Something caught onto your dress and you were stopped from continuing forward.

You looked around, seeing everyone deep in thought over the case of this stolen piece of jewelry or encouraging the band to start playing again.

“Miss, I like your dress.”

You snapped your neck downwards to the voice coming from very low to the floor. Diverting your attention to the ends of your dress, you saw a wide eyed little girl at the end, gripping onto the green fabric in a fist.

“Thank you,” you said quickly, trying to untangle her fist from it.

A woman that looked like her mother came rushing over, ready to apologize on behalf of her daughter. You smiled awkwardly up at her, still trying to get the little girl to unhand you. She refused to budge, holding tight. “Sorry, sweetheart, but I have to go now, so I need you to let—”

One more harsh tug from her had you surging forward, knocking hard into her mom, nearly knocking her over.

The necklace clattered to the floor at her feet.

You couldn’t tell if the music screeching to a stop was in your imagination or not. You froze in place, staring at the girl’s shiny shoes, and the pearls sitting directly in front of them. Your neck craned up slowly to look at her horrified expression.

Two options presented themselves to you.

One, you could play it off casually, and claim you were taking the necklace back to Chiara. But this woman had clearly seen you making a quick exit from the room. There was no way she would believe it.

Two, you could pick up the necklace and make a run for it.

Lockwood was somewhere on the other side of the room, living in peaceful bliss. To him, the plan was going great, and both of you were headed back home, necklace in possession. You had to succeed, if not for yourself, then for him.

Your only option was to go for the second plan.

Scooping up the source, you shoulder checked the girl as you shoved your way through the doors.

You heard the woman scream out, “Thief!” and then heard the loud gasp of Chiara that had your heart rate skyrocket. Almost immediately, you could feel footsteps behind you, so many that they nearly shook the floor. You careened around a corner and shot down the hallway.

The next time you saw George, you were going to have to kiss him. Seeing the house blueprints and memorizing its nooks and crannies made this mansion feel like it was your own. You knew exactly where to go.

The footfalls of the guards behind you had you moving your legs even faster. You wouldn’t be able to outrun these guards who probably ran marathons in their free time, and you knew that. Your eyes scanned the hallway, recognizing each doorway and window. Whipping around a corner, you tore open a door that you knew led to a lounge room. You pressed yourself against the wood and listened as the wave of people ran right past you, splitting up at the hallway intersection.

Your chest rose and fell rapidly, adrenaline coursing through your veins. With shaking hands, you fumbled to see if the necklace was still in your pocket, only relaxing when you felt it still sitting there. You wished you could sit in this room until a miracle happened, like they gave up looking for you, or you magically gained the ability to teleport. You wondered what Lockwood was doing.

The moon shone on you through a window across the room, and you already knew there was a fifty foot drop to the ground greeting you if you attempted to escape through the window. The only way out was through, unfortunately.

Centimeter by centimeter, you worked the door open and looked through the open sliver. The hallway was silent. Everyone seemed to be gone.

You respected Chiara’s scary ability to mobilize her guards so quickly, the echoes of their footsteps behind you ringing in your head.

You slipped into the hallway as quietly as you could, before hurrying in the direction of the nearest exit. The red crosses drawn on top of the blueprints were practically embedded in your mind, and you knew where the closest one was. You only had to get down two hallways and make a right, and you would be in the clear.

Thankfully, your shoes made no noise on the floor. While you had been running for your life, you didn’t have any time to take in the halls, but they were exactly as gorgeous as you thought they’d be. What was once a blur of gold now revealed itself as more intricately designed walls and glimmering chandeliers. The house was big enough that you could probably hide here and never be found.

You were coming up on an intersection, and you pressed yourself against the left wall, checking to see if anyone was coming on the right.

“I look away for one minute, and suddenly you’re being chased by a sea of people with green hats on.”

Fighting your first instinct, which was to punch the danger in the face, you settled for violently flinching away from the boy next to you.

Lockwood held his hands up in surrender. “It’s just me, don't worry.”

Not bothering to ask him how he found you, you slumped against the wall. Your legs were shaking from the temporary scare, and you were forced to lean on something to catch your breath. “I’m literally never running again.”

He smiled at your dramatics while his eyes flitted up and down, checking the state you were in. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, placing a hand on his shoulder to urge him forward. “We have to go. Guards are crawling over every inch of this house.”

The footsteps seemed to be coming from each hallway now, the guards having spread out even further. You hurried down the empty hallway, Lockwood watching your back while you checked for clear pathways.

“There’s an exit to the right,” you said quietly after the two of you had passed the second intersection. This hallway was on the far side of the house, and was completely free of guards. Lockwood followed after you closely, and the two of you were nearing the turn before a voice had you backing up.

“Think I heard something from down here, Marvin!”

Your feet seemed to be frozen in place, your mind shutting completely off. You were so close. The exit was right around the corner, maybe fifty feet away, but more voices from behind you let you know that you were trapped.

Thankfully, Lockwood still seemed to have his wits about him, because he had the mind to drag you behind him to a stone statue. It was the only spot in the entire hallway that provided a form of cover, which was barren of rooms or closets. You would be completely out in the open if someone were to turn the corner.

“I can leave the necklace somewhere, and when they catch us, we can just come back for it later,” you offered frantically, getting ready to pull it out of your pocket.

But Lockwood didn’t respond. He caught your hands to stop your movement and pressed you even closer to the wall. He was crowding around you now, and you couldn’t see anything past him, just the dark color of his suit and the line of his jaw.

The voices seemed to be getting closer, now, and your heart hammed hurriedly in your chest. There was no point in hiding when you would be caught at any second now. It was over.

Lockwood’s soft murmur of your name brought your attention away from your impending doom and back to him. He was surrounding your line of vision, making you unable to focus on anything else. He leaned in closely before he whispered a single sentence, low enough so you could barely hear it.

“I’m going to kiss you now.”

And you guess he did, because then his lips were on yours, and you found it increasingly harder to start a stream of thoughts that wasn’t just Lockwood Lockwood Lockwood LockwoodLockwoodLockwood.

He didn’t bother going slowly, pressing himself as close to you as humanly possible. His right hand was planted firmly against your face, nearly covering the entire expanse of it as he kissed you fervently. His left arm coiled around your waist to pull you even closer and…

Well.

You wondered how on Earth he learned to kiss like this.

All of your worries about the guards and the necklace and Chiara were officially put on the backburner. The kiss was heated from the start, his mouth burning directly against yours. You hoped that your heart wouldn’t give out, but if it meant that Lockwood kept kissing you like this…

You guessed you didn’t mind it that much.

Your hands trailed up his shoulders and into his hair, something you had done countless times before. The stark difference between the action now and then had you feeling warm all over. Lockwood grinned against your lips after feeling you reciprocate, and your knees nearly buckled on the spot. One hand slid down from his messy hair and to the nape of his neck, and he made a noise in his throat that sounded a bit like him choking.

He pulled away for a second, and you stared up at him, your chests heaving in sync. Your heart stuttered in your chest at the sight of his eyes. His pupils were dilated, and you could just barely make out the brown of his irises against the black of his pupils.

“Anthony,” you breathed out, trying to get his attention.

It had the opposite effect.

He captured your lips again, beginning to trail his kisses down to your jaw and then across the bare skin of your neck.

The kisses he left there were slow and open mouthed, and you couldn’t help but tug a bit harshly on his hair when his lips hovered over your pulse point. He pressed his mouth to the skin there and watched as bruises began to form in his wake. You cursed quietly at the feeling, prompting him to press a couple softer kisses there as an apology. You had just tilted his face back up to you before he turned away abruptly, effectively dodging your kiss.

He straightened to his full height and flattened you further against the wall as he grumbled out, “Can we help you?”

It was only then that you realized that there was a man standing almost right next to the both of you. You didn’t expect Lockwood to sound so casual, like the security guard checking for a stolen necklace was nothing except for an inconvenience for him. Lockwood was standing so closely to you, near enough so the man definitely wouldn’t be able to see your face and recognize you. The perfect distraction.

You wanted to kiss him again.

The man cleared his throat awkwardly, shifting on his feet. Lockwood was the picture of pure dishevelment, his hair sticking up from you running your hands through it and his tie loose around his neck. It was glaringly obvious what the two of you had been doing before he had shown up.

“Excuse me, sir, but I’m… I’m going to have to ask you two to make your way back down to the main hall.”

You watched as Lockwood smiled sardonically, and you swear you watched the man shuffle back a little. “We just got caught up back here. We’ll head down in a bit.”

The guard coughed, nodding slowly. “Yup. Don’t linger around.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Lockwood called to his retreating back as he frantically ushered him and his fellow guards away from the scene.

Your heart was racing. You wondered if it was from the kiss or the adrenaline from almost being arrested.

If the way your heart nearly stopped when Lockwood looked down at you told you anything, it was that your palpitations were not from the adrenaline.

You had it so bad.

“Come on,” he said softly, fixing the strap of your dress that had fallen off your shoulder. “We’re almost there.”

You nodded, letting him take your hand and lead you down the hallway. If another guard stopped you, you would be much too out of it to remember, your head still spinning. It felt like you were half awake, drowsy from the kiss and the adrenaline crash.

The chill of the outside air woke you right up. It was like you were being dipped in an ice bath, and you gasped loudly, as if coming back to yourself for the first time.

You were in the clear. No one moved to follow you, and once you made it through these woods, you would be home free.

Something heavy and dark was placed over your shoulders, and you were surrounded suddenly with the scent of cinnamon. Lockwood’s jacket.

“You’re shaking,” he said, running his hands down the length of your arms and back up again. He was trying to raise your body temperature when you hadn’t even realized you were cold. “Let’s get to the car.”

He was standing in front of you in his white dress shirt and no jacket just because he didn’t want you to be cold. Your heart was doing leaps in your chest, pure longing poured into every beat. You tugged on his sleeve to get him to stop walking.

You didn’t want to wait anymore.

“Lockwood, I want to come home.”

It was freezing outside and you were in the middle of nowhere, but you were confessing to your best friend all the same.

He was confused at your words, rightfully so. “We are going home.”

You shook your head, tugging him even closer, just because you didn’t want to stand so far apart. “I don’t want to beat around the bush anymore. I missed you when I was gone, and I miss you right now.”

You gave him a watery smile.

“Lockwood, I want to come home to you forever.”

I love you.

He processed the words slowly, before his entire face lit up. He was smiling softly at you, his real smile, the one you hadn’t seen in months.

“I’ve been waiting for you to ask.”

I love you, too.

Then, he leaned in closer, like he was going to tell you a secret. Whispering lowly, he said, “I didn’t want to get my cast cut off.”

You squinted a bit, wrapping an arm around him to share your warmth. “What do you mean?”

“The cast I got from our last job together,” he clarified. “I had it on for three extra weeks because I kept pushing back the appointment. Getting it cut off meant I’d lose the last thing I had of you, and it only came off because George finally made the appointment for me. I’ve been in love with you for a while. Since before you even left.”

Your heart swelled, and he pulled you in again to press a kiss to your forehead, and then to your lips.

“I might’ve kissed you as a distraction earlier, but it was also because I’m selfish and couldn’t help myself.” He trailed off, running a hand along the fabric at your hip. “Your dress is the same color as my ring. And I nearly kissed you earlier in front of George and Lucy when I realized it.”

You looked down at your intertwined hands, where his ring with the viridescent stone was sitting, next to the material of your matching gown. You looked up at him with all the love in the world and wondered why it had taken you both so long to get here.

“I have a stack of newspaper clippings in my room,” you admitted. “Whenever I saw you mentioned in the papers, I would cut it out to keep. I’d look at them whenever I missed you, and they’re all sitting in my drawer right now. Kipps wouldn’t let me live it down when he found them.”

He pulled ran his thumb over your knuckles. “I’ll give you a real ring one day,” he promised, peppering kisses all over your skin like freckles. “I’ll make you mine forever.”

You pulled him down to kiss him properly again, a tender and soft press of lips. “I’ve been yours since before you even gave me this ring.”

—

When the two of you got into the car, you blamed the wind outside for Lockwood’s flushed cheeks and your messy hair.

—

“I have something to show you,” Lockwood said out of the blue one day.

It had been two weeks since the Salvatore job. That meant two weeks since all members of Lockwood & Co. were paid generously for their work, and two weeks since you had moved back in.

You ended up making a compromise between both of your hard choices. You would keep working with your friends as a researcher for Fittes, while still being able to come home to Portland Row.

“And when will I find out what this surprise entails?” you asked, not looking up at him, flipping to the next page of your book.

“Right now, if you get up and come with me.”

You put down your copy of Frankenstein that Lucy had given you, openly intrigued.

“There she is,” he said by the doorway, nearly bouncing on the balls of his feet.

You smiled softly at him and the excited look in his eyes.

It had also been two weeks since the two of you had confessed.

Or, as close to a confession as the two of you were going to get.

The two of you were in love. You had both known that for a while, and you didn’t need a public declaration with tears to make it clear. Your talk on the hill outside Mossbank Grove just marked the start of your official forever.

You got a little giddy thinking about it sometimes. Neither of you were surprised at your confessions. It was instinctive in the way you both just knew.

Pushing up off the couch, you trailed after Lockwood to the kitchen, where he picked up a long black bag on the table. Although you were confused, you followed him out to the backyard.

It was nice out, the sun just beginning to set and painting the sky a beautiful array of colors.

Something metal clinked inside the bag as you went down the steps. “Is there a shovel in there, Lockwood? Have you finally done it? Are we burying someone?”

You could practically see the way he was rolling his eyes at you. Once he successfully led you out to the center of the grass, he dropped the bag on the floor and turned around to face you. “Open it.”

“Awfully suspicious, Anthony,” you said, prodding the sack with your shoe. “You trying to get my prints on the bag? I can’t be an accomplice, I’d miss Lucy too much if I went to jail.”

He did nothing but continue to smile at you, still buzzing with excitement. “I might just call up Barnes to arrest you if you don’t hurry up and open the bag.”

“I’m going, I’m going,” you said, giving in. You unzipped the duffle, and came face to face with…

A rapier.

“Anthony,” you said, surprised. “This one’s gorgeous. It’ll look great in your collection.” You pulled it out of the sheath, feeling the way it was the perfect weight in your hands. Not too light, but not too heavy. “I might just like this one more than the one you use right now.”

He shook his head. “No, my rapier is inside.” He pointed to the one in your hands. “That one’s yours.”

You frowned. The feeling of a weapon in your hands was one you hadn’t felt in a long time. You shifted it from your left to right hand, a bit awkwardly. “I haven’t used a rapier since I left, you know that. I don’t know if I even remember how.”

“I know,” he replied. “I got it for you if you ever decide that you want to relearn.”

You looked down at where your hand was gripping the handle of the sword, and you spun the blade around, trying to remember what it used to feel like.

You missed it, undoubtedly. The rush you got when picking up a rapier, the adrenaline coursing through your veins when securing a source. And the memories you made alongside your friends, fighting off ghosts. You wanted it back.

You paused. “Would you teach me again?”

Lockwood was watching you with a smile on his face. “Of course.”

He came closer, and adjusted your grip on the handle while fixing your stance. A familiar feeling shot through you.

You looked up at him then, a smirk on your face. “Bet I’ll be able to beat you once I relearn.”

His face split into a grin. “We’ll see.”

—

It was dark out, and George and Lucy were downstairs in the kitchen.

They were having some late night tea and splitting the last donut from Arif’s. George had just finished the book they were reading together, an old classic that both of them had been interested in. He had called Lucy downstairs to talk about it, and she was scribbling one of her favorite quotes onto the Thinking Cloth as George rambled on about how terrible the ending was.

“The characters infuriated me so much,” he complained, throwing the book down. “Don’t even get me started on—”

A loud crash from outside cut off his speech.

“What was that?” Lucy asked, shifting her attention to the window.

George got up to peer through it, confused as to what was causing a ruckus outside so late at night.

You and Lockwood fighting was the last thing he expected to see. The both of you were trading blows faster than he could keep up with his eyes. One of you would gain ground on the other before losing it immediately, and he watched in awe as you seemed to read each other's minds, able to predict where the other one would strike and being able to defend flawlessly.

George’s eyes widened when he watched you get a hit on Lockwood’s chest with the blunt end of your sword.

You were grinning wildly despite the obvious exhaustion from your fight, and Anthony clapped you firmly on the back, pride written all over his face despite his defeat.

George turned away from the window with his own smile on his face.

“Looks like she’s finally home.”

notes: and it’s over??? omg… thank you guys so much for following their little adventure they r so in love. here is my masterlist if u want to read thousands more words of my love for lockwood. feedback is of course appreciated bc this series is like my child!!!!! thank you again for all of your love and support on this series i will be writing much more for him don’t worry

@fox-bee926 @meg-the-second-greatest @deadsnothere @this-is-mycrisis @wordsarelife @vividvioletta560 @simrah102 @always-spaced-out @myxticmoon @maraschinomerry @adajoemaya @gayandfairycore @iovaki @belovedviola @zzoz942 @unwanted-15 @bilesxbilinskixlahey @idkbubs @frogmanfletch @novausstuff @haileybugulug @for-writing-shit @pr3nt1ss @danis-stuff-is-here @tayswiftlovebot @breadbrobin @theamuz @mywellspringoflife @pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @lovemss @ettadear @elizabeth-anya-knight @mellowarcadefun @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @venomsvl @tigerthealien @tattoo-of-a-bird @tom-foolery-time @imaginebeingmentallystable @m4rreads @batknot @sociallyinepludi @omnipotentruleroftheuniverse @blueoorchid @bunny24sstuff

could i get a george x reader where the reader is an agent from like texas or smth, and is rlly bold and brash and straightforward

—i knew you were trouble

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

summary: reader expressed her likeness for george all the time.. seems like he finally gets it

warnings: a bit flirting but nothing suggestive, fluff

note: hope you like it! couldn't really add anything texas related, not really an expert!

"there she comes, Georgie" you could hear Anthony Lockwood mock the moment he laid eyes upon you. ever since he had found out that you had expressed interest in his researcher, George wasn't safe from being the victim of Lockwoods relentless jokes.

"hey, Georgie" you said smiling and Lockwood send George a knowing look, like he was trying to say that he had predicted it.

"h-hi y/n" George always stumbled over his words when you were around. Lockwood found it embarrassing, you would find it endearing

"Lockwood" you greeted, nodding in the boys direction.

"hey, y/n" Lockwood smiled and watched while George tried to find his coolness. wherever it had gone this time

"so what do we have here?" you asked, looking around the old house in which Lockwood and co had just finished another case. you were the primary supervision ever since they had burned down a house. Lockwood and Barnes had agreed upon a DEPRAC agent closing and overseeing the missions for atleast a year.

Lockwood was totally against that at the beginning, but since he met you, he didn't really mind. you were young and nice, not stuck up like most of DEPRAC's agents, and he loved that you were quite possible the only person George got startled by.

"Lockwood knows the most about-"

"I'd like to hear it from you, sweetheart" you smiled at George. the boy grew red as a tomato and Lockwood giggled.

"can't wait to tell Lucy about this" he called in your direction

"maybe you could also ask her to sit down George and teach him how to flirt. he's not doing very well at the moment" Lockwood raised his finger and pointed at you, fully agreeing to what you were saying, but laughing too hard to actually say anything

George gulped "eh, returning back to the case"

"yes" you nodded eagerly "returning back to the case" you interlocked your arms and walked him inside the house, listening intensively to what he was telling you, or more trying to tell you. it was a bit hard to tell through his stutter and the little moments in which his eyes would just linger on your lips

Lockwood was absolutely sure that George was utterly in love with you. not that you would mind, you had been trying to score a date ever since you had met the boy. you had to agree that George was quiet hard to crack. not because he was particularly good at masking how he felt, but more because he would turn red and break into a stutter at literally everything you said, even in the moments you really didn't intend to flirt.

but that made you like him even more. you knew that he wasn't a douchebag that would just play with your feelings, like the many boys you had dated before stumbling upon this very endearing one.

"so, y/n" George clamped his hands together, while you both made your way outside, after discussing the case and you formally declaring it as closed.

"yes, George?" you asked smiling

"maybe, I-" he stopped himself before he could stumble over his words again "do you mind going out with me some time this week?"

"really?" you beamed surprised. he was never that straightforward normally, you had probably rubbed off on him

the boy nodded his head, unsure if your reaction meant something positive

"of course" you answered quickly, as you noticed George's growing insecurity

"great, maybe I could get some flirting lessons from Lucy before"

"I mean if you want to" you agreed "but that was just a little joke, I like how flustered you always are. and I don't think you need to flirt, its not even possible for me to like you more than I already do"

"really?" now he was the one that wad surprised

"of course" you giggled "you haven't picked up on that?"

"no, not really" he shrugged his shoulders "I thought Lockwood was just messing with me"

"well, I liked you very much and nothing that you do or don't do would change anything on that matter" you assured "let me know if Lockwood is mean to you again, then I might sit him down and teach him how to behave"

"I don't think he would like that" George grinned happily, he seemed relaxed as he reached out for your hand and interlaced your fingers

"even better" you giggled

so amazing!! big recommend!!! 👀👀❤️

heart eyes!

as seen by george karim

series masterlist

pairing: anthony lockwood x fem reader

content: suggestive content and like a bunch of silly jokes bc… theyre teenagers

word count: 3.5k

summary: the one where george wishes he could time travel

notes: the final part!! she’s here!! i do hope u like it lolol

Lucy claimed she had done something to fix you and Lockwood, and somehow, it had worked.

(Perhaps a little too well, Future George notes.)

George loved you, of course, but in the week you had been ignoring Lockwood, you had been using him and Lucy as an outlet for your need to give affection. As a result, he had probably received more hugs in that single week than he had in the past two years of his life. Your affection was always nice, but George wasn't sure how many more surprise hugs he could take.

After that week, his respect for Lockwood had grown tenfold. He wasn’t sure how anyone could like spontaneous touches and impromptu hugs, but Lockwood had welcomed their return with open arms. It was nice to see him not moping, and George thought it was nice to see you two back to normal, but it was also nice for the heat to be taken off of him for once. He made sure to thank Lucy by letting her sneak an extra biscuit during the usual rotation, and that was that. You and Lockwood were glued back together again, and all was right in the world.

But it seemed that whatever Lucy did had done nothing but make you and Lockwood ten times clingier. Gone were the nights where George could enjoy his alone time with you, as Lockwood always seemed to be on your tail.

Once a week, you would offer to help George with dinner. It was a big help, and was a great way to spend time with you. Lucy and Lockwood were helpless in the kitchen, and he would much rather have a literal elephant help him crack eggs into a pan than either of them.

“Alright, George,” you said, pulling on one of his aprons. “What would you like me to do?”

The apron you put on was the one you wore every time you cooked with him, and it was basically yours now. Lucy had gotten it for him last Christmas, and ‘Kiss the Cook’ was printed along the front next to a cartoon lipstick stain. It was your favorite apron, solely for the reason that Lockwood would pepper kisses on your cheeks whenever he happened to catch you wearing it.

“Could you please cook the rice?” he asked, nodding in the direction of the pantry. He blew an unruly curl out of his eyes as he continued to stir the contents of his pot. His hair was getting much too long.

“Yes, Chef,” you teased, heading to retrieve the rice. George could hear you humming quietly to yourself while you scooped a few cups into the pot. “What are we eating tonight?”

“Ghormeh sabzi,” he said, moving to fetch the cilantro and parsley as you headed to the sink.

He could practically hear the smile bleed into your voice when you spoke. “Lockwood’s going to be so happy. We haven’t had it in a while.”

George hummed an affirmative as he moved to get the knife and a cutting board. Your words were definitely true, but he wondered if you ever stopped thinking about Lockwood. He didn’t doubt that the boy was the same way about you, though. For every ten thoughts he had, you made up about nine of them.

You rinsed off the rice, making sure to wash it well before you headed over to the rice cooker. You popped it in the pot and took over the chopping for him while he started preparing the meat.

George loved cooking with you. It was nice to not be alone in the kitchen for once, and although it was mostly quiet, it was nice. The two of you were perfectly in tune, and you were able to understand exactly what he needed you to do despite your lack of cooking knowledge.

“It smells great, George,” Lockwood said, appearing out of thin air.

George flinched, his wooden spoon gaining a life of its own as it jumped out of his hand. With terrifying aim, the spoon arched upwards before hitting you hard in the shoulder. The sauce splattered against the ceiling and all over your unsuspecting self as the spoon clattered sadly on the floor.

Lockwood whistled, picking up the now dirty utensil before dropping it in the sink. He got a towel from the rack and opened the faucet, dampening it slightly, and you immediately drifted over to him. You let him pull your face into his hands, allowing him to wipe off the remnants of the sauce from the side of your face and neck.

“Sorry,” George said genuinely to you, but you just waved him off, much more interested with the way Lockwood was standing so close to you. “Lockwood ought to be more careful with who he sneaks up on.”

The boy laughed at his words, but still did not take his eyes off of you. “I’ve been in the kitchen for the past thirty minutes, George, you just didn’t notice. Even though you refuse to believe it, I am capable of not talking.”

George rolled his eyes. It was like he was a dog with separation anxiety. He couldn’t leave you alone for an hour so you could help cook?

Neither of you cared, but Lockwood was still lightly wiping at your skin with the towel even though it was clear there was nothing left. You were mumbling something to him about the vegetables, and he was listening with rapt attention. George soured upon seeing that distracted look in your eyes you got whenever Lockwood was around.

“Alright, Lockwood, now stop distracting my sous chef if you even want to think about getting a second helping of ghormeh sabzi.”

The threat seemed to sober him up immediately, because he planted a parting kiss on your cheek before backing away. “I’m leaving, I’m leaving,” he assured. “Had to kiss the chef first, of course.”

George wondered if you would hate him if that apron somehow went missing.

“Get out of here,” you said laughing, still clearly in a Lockwood induced trance. He winked at you before slinking from the room.

Things settled back down after that, you helping him wrap up the meal in your usual silence. But George would sometimes look over and see a little smile on your face, and he knew exactly who you were thinking of.

George picked up a clean spoon from the drawer before scooping some of the stew onto it.

“Try this,” he said, pulling you away from where you were readying the plates on the table. You tasted it eagerly, always excited to try his cooking. Almost immediately, you brightened up.

“This might just be the best ghormeh sabzi you’ve ever made,” you said, moving to get some more.

George swatted your spoon away from the pot. “Not until later. And you say that every single time I make this.”

You laughed, throwing your head back. “And I mean it every single time!”

George smiled, moving to take your spoon from you before you made any speedy dives for the pot. But his eyes caught the exposed skin of your neck and he frowned.

“Did I do that to you with the wooden spoon?”

“Do what?” you said, still smiling as you reluctantly gave up the utensil.

“Give you that bruise on your neck.”

You froze, the grin sliding right off your face. “What? What do you mean?”

He picked up a shiny pot that was hanging on the rack, flipping it over so you could see yourself in the metal. “When I accidentally threw it, I think I might’ve bruised you.”

You were staring wide eyed at your reflection, your hands zeroed in on the discoloration around the area where the spoon had landed on you.

“Sorry about that,” he said, moving the pot of stew to the center of the table. “I should really ban Lockwood from the kitchen.”

Snapping out of your weird daze, you nodded hurriedly. “You should really get on that, George.”

You clamped a hand down over the bruise, nodding in the direction of the door. “And I’m about to get on— Uh, I mean,” you stammered, oddly horrified at your words. “I’m going to go get Lockwood. And Lucy. I’m going to go get them for dinner,” you said, as if George needed clarification.

“Okay,” he said, tilting his head at you. He went to get the forks from the drawer as he waved you out. “Bye?”

You smiled awkwardly, and quickly turned on your heel to flee the room.

When you returned back downstairs, the bruise on your neck was gone. George assumed you covered it up with makeup, and he immediately felt bad about the accidental injury. The guilt only worsened when you dutifully did not make eye contact with George throughout the rest of dinner.

He gave you a weird look that you didn’t notice, because you absolutely refused to look at him. Girls could be so weird.

—

Whatever had happened in the kitchen that day had clearly rattled you.

You were always on edge, giving George wary looks from across the room that you thought he didn’t notice. Every few minutes, he would look up and you would stare off in the distance, pretending you hadn’t just been staring at him.

He didn’t understand what your issue was. You had been perfectly fine until he had pointed out the massive bruise he had given you, and although it had been an accident, you seemed pretty upset about it. Just after your week of ignoring Lockwood had been over, it seemed that your week of ignoring George had begun. He couldn’t even believe he was saying it, but he was… missing you. He wasn’t sure what to do, so he went to the one other person in the house that could help.

“Lucy, you better prepare yourself. After this week, you’re next up on her chopping block.”

She snorted. “As if she would ever ignore me.”

“You never know,” he grumbled. “I didn’t think it would happen to me, and look where we are. I doubt Lockwood expected it either, but he’s a victim, too!”

Lucy was clearly amused. “Why don’t you just ask her if she’s okay? That’s what I did last time, and it fixed everything between her and Lockwood.”

George frowned. “That’s it? That’s all you did to fix it?”

“Yep.”

“You made it seem like you had done something actually helpful to get them talking to each other again.”

She glared at him. “Don’t make fun of my methods until you test it out yourself.”

“Yeah, yeah, thanks, Luce.”

“Of course,” she said, ushering him from her room. “Let me know how it goes.”

Shutting the door of the attic quietly, George began the trip down to your room.

“I’m sorry, please forgive me,” George mumbled to himself, practicing his apology. Suddenly, he frowned.

He wasn’t even one hundred percent sure what you were mad at him for, what was he even apologizing for?

He was about to find out, though, because he was now at your door, his hand raised in a fist to knock. George could hear you shuffling around inside, which meant you were definitely in your room. He rocked on his heels, nervous for what your reaction might be to him outside your door. Would you scream? Slam the door in his face? Probably not, but it was always a possibility.

There was more rustling inside, and George felt him grow impatient. Were you ignoring him?

He knocked again, much louder this time. There was no way you didn’t hear him. His raps against the door increased in speed and volume as he continued, but there was still no response.

Suddenly, there was a loud crash, like something heavy had fallen to the floor. He pressed his ear to the door, trying to listen to see if you were alright. After a second, he could hear a muffled curse from inside. The concern he had for you outweighed his fear of your anger, and he pushed the door open.

As the door swung inward, the contents of your room were revealed to him one by one.

He could see your box of trinkets had fallen off your desk, spilling your knick knacks everywhere.

And then he could see you, sitting on your desk, the papers and other belongings that were usually kept neat now strewn about messily, like they had been pushed to the side.

(If Future George could intervene on a single point in his life, it would be this very moment. Future George would tell Past George to slam the door and just let you ignore him. But unfortunately, Future George could only look back and cringe.)

Because the moment he pushed the door open an inch further, he saw Lockwood. And he really wished he didn’t.

He was standing in between your legs, his arms wrapped around you, which wasn’t anything new to George. What was new was the way he was kissing you. On the mouth, and down your jaw, and down your neck.

George nearly keeled over. “What the fuck?”

Your senses of hearing immediately returned, because the both of you jumped away from each other in shock. You snapped your head in the direction of the door, seeing George standing there with his mouth opening and closing over and over.

“What the fuck?” George repeated in shock. He wasn’t sure what else there was to say.

“George,” you gasped out, sliding off the desk and moving in his direction. Grabbing him by the wrist, you tugged him into your room before shutting the door. “What’re you doing here?”

From up close, he could see that your lips were swollen from kissing, and your hair was looking particularly messy.

“What am I doing here?” he echoed in disbelief. He jabbed a finger into Lockwood’s chest. His usual neat white button up was now wrinkled, the tie missing and top two buttons undone. “What are you doing here?” He turned back to you. “And are you not even going to address what I just walked in on?”

“You’re asking me what I’m doing here?” Lockwood asked, offended. “In my girlfriend’s room?”

“Girlfriend?” George nearly screamed. He felt dizzy all of a sudden. Had he fallen down the steps on his way down here? Was this all a dream?

You shushed him immediately, pointing in the direction of Lucy’s room. “We were going to tell you both, I swear! But then it got so hard to bring up, and the timing was never right, and—”

“There’s no way,” George managed, shaking his head. “This is a prank.”

Lockwood laughed. “Far from it.”

You threw your head back as you groaned, exposing the skin of your neck to the light in your room.

George couldn’t help it. He screamed again.

“What happened to your neck?” he shrieked.

Splattered all over the skin were small bruises, starting from your jawline and continuing past the collar of your sweater.

“I threw wooden spoons at her,” Lockwood joked. “What do you think happened?”

George’s jaw dropped at the reference. He whirled on you, and you inched closer to Lockwood. “That bruise on your neck… It wasn’t from me accidentally hitting you,” he said slowly. He narrowed his eyes at Lockwood. “It was from you?”

“Congrats, George, you have it all figured out,” Lockwood deadpanned.

You planted your face in your hands, humiliated.

“Is that why you were ignoring me?” George asked, frowning. “‘Cause you were embarrassed?”

“I thought you knew, and I got scared!” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up. “What kind of wooden spoon leaves hickeys?”

George gave a full body shudder.

“Have you never seen people kiss before, George?” Lockwood jested, leaning forward to leave his chin on your shoulder.

“Of course I have,” he grumbled. “But this is the first time I’ve seen someone kiss like they were possessed by a vampire, so forgive me for expressing surprise.”

“That’s not my fault. What happened to knocking on people’s doors?” he asked boredly, like he hadn’t just traumatized George for life. “Did we just forget how to do that?”

“I’ve been knocking for the past minute. You probably couldn’t hear over the sound of you going at her neck—”

“Okay!” you said, clamping your hands over your ears. “That’s enough, please.”

George wasn’t done. He reached over to prod at one of the marks on your neck like he was poking at a laboratory experiment.

“If she’s your girlfriend, shouldn’t you be nicer to her? These look like they hurt.”

Lockwood laughed, and George regretted saying anything.

His mouth pulled into a wide grin. “Trust me, I’m always more than nice—”

You firmly clamped your hand over his mouth, your jaw hung open. Swiveling around to face George, you shook your head repeatedly, like you were begging for him to believe you. “That was a joke, George.”

“Sure it was,” he answered, trying to suppress his mortification. “My room is just down the hall, do you better keep it down when—”

You hit him with the closest piece of fabric you could find, which happened to be Lockwood’s discarded tie.

George backed up, pressing himself to the door. “Don’t touch me with that thing.”

Lockwood rolled his eyes. “It’s just a tie, George.”

“I can tell that much,” he scoffed. “Who knows what that thing has seen? Especially with…” He gestured at you. “You know.”

“Do you really still believe in cooties?” you huffed, crossing your arms in front of your chest.

He pressed his lips in a thin line. “That’s not what I was talking about.”

Lockwood laughed at that, but you seemed to find it anything but funny.

“You’re terrible,” you groaned.

“Why are you guys being so loud?” another voice said, joining the already noisy room. Before you could warn George to shut the door, Lucy had already pushed it open, knocking him out of the way. “It’s nine in the— Woah, what happened to your neck?”

You hid your face against Lockwood’s front and he patted your back in sympathy. “This is a nightmare.”

“Ouch, Luce,” George groaned, pushing the door back in her direction. “Couldn’t have knocked as a warning?”

“George Karim, I never want to hear you ask about knocking ever again,” you hissed, spinning back around. His retort was cut short by Lockwood clapping his hands together once.

“Alright,” Lockwood said authoritatively. “Can everyone just kindly get out of my room?”

“Your room?” you scoffed. “This wasn’t your room when I asked you to help me clean up the crumbs that you left—”

“Did you lose a fight or something?” Lucy continued on, her question aimed at you.

George snorted. “If the fight was against Dracula, then yes.”

You snapped your head in his direction, moving forward to probably strangle him, but Lockwood caught you around the waist.

“Lockwood, please control her,” George said, now pressed even closer against your door.

You tried lunging at him again, but didn’t make it very far. “I’m his girlfriend, not a feral animal.”

“Girlfriend?” Lucy gasped. She squinted at you and Lockwood. “You’re dating?”

George snorted. “Who did you think the vampire was?”

Lockwood was not quick enough to stop you from throwing the nearest object at his head, which happened to be an eraser. George pushed Lucy out of the way and fled the room before you could reach for the stapler on your desk.

Lucy laughed, finally getting the memo that leaving the room was probably for the best. “You better tell me everything later,” she said pointedly to you.

You waved her out, disgruntled. “Whatever.”

The door swung shut and Lockwood finally released you from his grasp. You groaned, walking over to your bed to collapse into your pillows.

“I can’t believe you forgot to lock the door,” you complained.

“Didn’t have time when you were dragging me inside,” he teased, settling down next to you.

You let out a strangled noise. “This is so embarrassing. I can’t believe this happened.”

He rubbed a circle into your back, humming in agreement. “At least we don’t have to tell them now. The worst part is officially over.”

You flopped over onto your back, giving him a sad look. “Do you think they’re ever going to let us forget this?”

He smiled. “Probably not.” Lockwood pressed a wet kiss to the spot under your jaw, and you pinched him lightly.

“Woah, you really are like Dracula.”

“If George was dating you, he’d understand why,” he said, pulling you deeper into the warmth of your bed. You wrapped your arms around him while he rested his head on your chest, letting yourself relax. Suddenly, he shivered. You tilted your head in question, and he said, “Sorry, I just imagined you dating George and got scared.”

You laughed, and Lockwood thought about how lucky he was to be able to hear it. Ever since you started dating, he had been thinking a lot about how lucky he was.

From his spot on your chest, he stared up at you with the most lovesick look on his face. Usually, you would tease him about it, but now, you just smiled back as you pressed a kiss to the crown of his head.

For the next few minutes, you sat in silence, just resting on your bed. George had effectively ruined the mood with his inability to knock, but you didn’t mind when it meant you could play with Lockwood’s hair and try to get him to catch up on well needed sleep. Breaking the silence, you finally spoke.

“Do you think they’ll believe us when we tell them we’ve been secretly dating for the last few months?”

Lockwood hummed, pretending to think about it as he shifted over you. He pressed another kiss to your left collarbone before the kissing turned heavy, and there was another mark blooming on the untouched skin there.

“Nope.”

notes: i hope u enjoyed the final part! surprise lol they’ve been dating for a while, i imagine they got together sometime between the events of barnes and kipps’ parts. this series was so much fun to write!! i loved getting the chance to write shorter works bc i so rarely write anything under 4k lol. lmk what u thought and thank u for the support!!

@pansexualwitchwhoneedstherapy @a-candle-maker @2guysonascooter @amo-a-los-postres @anxiousbeech @dontstopxx @wordsarelife @cassiopeiia24 @cupiidsriot @philliam-writes @criesinlies @writtenontheport (just ask to be removed/added!!)

HII i love your writing. Can I get an order of 15, 16, and 18 from your prompt list with Lockwood x reader :D

—delicate

pairing; anthony lockwood x reader

summary: some flirty banter in a near death situation

note: sure thing, thank you so much, that means a lot!! i’m sorry this is so short

prompts: are in cursive :)

"so do you wanna explain what happened?" Anthony Lockwood asked, while you swung your rapier at the two ghosts in front of you both

"yeah, eh-" you paused, stepping back as one of the wraiths snapped at you "switch sides, please" Lockwood made a quick turn behind your back, so that you were now facing the ghost he had been fighting before. "there was this old lady and she was all alone, and she had so many groceries-" you paused, feeling the unamused look Lockwood was throwing your way

"so you just decided to take off without another word, you could've at least told me, then I wouldn't have to save you in the middle of the night"

"I forgot sorry" you muttered and took a swing to the left, before the wraith could touch you. "do you have a flair?" you asked, running away seemed to be your most promising option

"I think I do, actually" Lockwood began searching through his pockets with his free hand. "luckily I know what a dumbass my girlfriend can be, so I always have one with me"

"haha" you repeated sarcastically, "of all people, you are in no position to criticise my life choices"

"as your boyfriend, yes I am" he smiled suggestively "could you lend me a hand and search for it, I can't find it while fighting"

"but I can?" you asked, nodding at the ghost you were holding just a mere foot away

"I'll take care of them, just be quick"

"okay" you shrugged, knowing that those weren't any empty words of his, if he said he could deal with them both, then he could.

"now" Lockwood called and you stepped behind him, handing him your rapier in one swift motion, before you began to feel along his coated body

"woah, you've never been that rough before" he joked, clearly hinting at your quick motions, because you would normally take your time. well, that was, under totally different circumstances of course.

"why are you always flirting in near death situations?"

"turns me on, the thrill" he shrugged his shoulders and you snorted

"sure, baby" you shook your head in disbelief, wondering how he was always able to joke around in these situations

he ignored your words "are you taking this long on intentionally?"

"of course, because I like feeling you up more than surviving"

"wouldn't put it past you"

you slapped his side and something rattled, your eyes grew bright at the recognition that it was the flare you had been searching for. "I got it" you let him know quickly

"good" he repeated a bit out of breath "mind activating it?"

without another word, you threw the flare, taking back your rapier and Lockwoods free hand in a swift movement, before you both started running. to your own luck, you weren't far away from portland row, which made it easy to twist the key and get inside, before the ghosts had caught up to you

you were both leaning against the door with your backs, breathing heavily, when Lockwood turned his head at you "would you like to continue in the bedroom?"

you snorted in disbelief "don't tell me this seriously turned you on?"

"eh, maybe a bit" he shrugged "I can't help it with you and your hands"

"you're an idiot"

"is that a yes?"

"obviously"

Lockwood x sibling reader, with prompts 4, 5, 10, 15? Maybe a mission went badly, reader got hurt and Anthony felt helpless? Love your fics by the way <333

—seven

pairing: anthony lockwood x sibling!reader

summary: a mission went badly, but you and your brother console each other

warnings: near death experience, but apart from that none

prompts: in bold

when you and your friends entered your home on portland row you swore that you had never felt this exhausted before. not just physically, but emotionally as well.

you sat in the kitchen, drinking tea and trying to calm down from the mission that had nearly costed you your life. you all were silent, no one uttering a word. you watched as George and Lucy excused themselves and it was only you and your brother.

"it's late, Anthony, you should be asleep" you muttered, without raising your eyes to look at him. they were fixated on the cup before you. you could hear your brother huff

"you should be asleep as well, n/n"

"I don't think I can sleep tonight" you said quietly and you could feel his eyes soften

"what happened today was scary, if not the scariest thing that has happened since mum and dad.. and I feel worse than ever before, thinking that I could've prevented it"

"it wasn't your fault" you shook your head, your mind going back to the window and your hand, holding on for dear life, before Lucy and George had caught you the moment you had slipped. there wasn't as much as a cut on your palm, but it felt like there was a big scar this night had left on you, at least emotionally.

“don’t act like i’m just some stranger” he said, noticing your discomfort and that there was something else you weren’t telling him “it’s just me, you can tell me”

you breathed deep, noticing that there wasn’t any chance you could lie to him, he just knew you too well

“it’s just-“ you paused, thinking how to phrase it “i always feel so guilty, about being in dangerous situations, i know that i’m the only one you have left, you shouldn’t have to lose me too”

Anthony smiled softly “i feel the same all the time” he confessed “and i think that’s good, it gives us motivation to do all that we can to stay alive, because our life matters to other people. every time i’m out there, in those situations when i think it’s over, i think about you, George and Lucy and that helps me to keep going. no matter how bad a situation is, it would always be worse if i didn’t make it out”

“i’m sorry about what happened today” you said

“no one’s at fault, i’m just glad you’re still here”

“me too”

he leaned forward and hugged you, kissing you on the forehead “i’ll always make sure you’re safe”

“i will do the same for you” you promised “i’m glad you feel similar, i just feel so much better now”

“that’s the goal”

“i’ll keep away from windows from now on, god forbid i fall through one again”

“yeah, just imagine the funeral cost i’d have to tackle” you were glad that no matter the situation, Anthony was always able to slip back into his funny nature when the moment came

“you’re an idiot” you laughed slapping his hand away “when you die i’m gonna bury you in the garden”

“i’ll come back to haunt you if you do that”

“i’d like to see you try” you giggled, rushing out of the room, followed by your brother.

you were glad how everything went tonight. and that inside the walls of portland row, you would always have a family to think of before you went out and got in danger.

if you’re thinking of writing anything w regulus black x reader 💓💞 like hc’s about what he would be like in a relationship (would he open doors for u, tie ur shoelace etc etc, restaurant dates) or where reader is all like enemies to lovers with him ?? thank u bby

—dating regulus black

pairing: regulus black x reader

summary: headcanons of being in a relationship with regulus black

warnings: none

authors note: did it a bit different than you asked, let me know if I should do a prequel or anything!!

reading your favourite book to him on the astronomy tower, while his head rests in your lap and you're combing through his hair

he's more of a listener, so when you're having dinner in the great hall, you engage in loud conversation, while he just sits and listen, holding your hand under the table

picnic dates where you swap previously read and annotated books and lay on a blanket all day reading them

brought you a record player from hogsmead, that he keeps in his dorm, so you can listen to your favourite songs while you're spending time with each other

he sometimes dances with you in the dark of the astronomy tower, the first time he had said that all the lessons he took had to be good for something at least

swapping love letters or just short little poems you read and wrote down that remind you of each other

regulus is a really thoughtful person, you sit next to him in class and he often brings you quills and paper, because you often forget them. he has always an extra set for you

you're always wearing one of his rings, at the same time he never takes of the little friendship bracelet you had made for him even before you started dating

you're the only one who's allowed to call him 'reggie'

on those evenings you can't sleep, or everything just gets too much, he stays awake with you and reads your favourite chapter of your favourite book, waiting until you eventually fall asleep in his arms

he often buries his head into your hair, because he loves the smell of it. you never stopped buying the same shampoo after you had noticed that

as stated before, he doesn't talk much around other people and he's not really a big fan of pda (he's more of an behind closed doors kinda boy and generally a very private person)

but what he does is say little phrases of encouragement, during school or just sometimes when he deems fitting. for example: "keep going, baby" or "you can do it, sweetheart"

he's used to you so much, that sometimes he just knows when you need time to cool off, so he keeps quiet and combs through your hair

he thinks its funny when you get mad about something someone else did, you're a big ranter. he just watches you, smiling, as you run around the room and utter different sentences in disbelief

occasionally when you do that, you will turn to him and ask him things like: "do you believe they've done that?" and he will answer: "that's really shitty of them, baby"

honestly, he doesn't even care about the others (obviously he does when anyone hurts you etc) but he could listen to you rant for hours

you go to every single one of his quidditch games, enjoying just watching him play

after the games, you often find yourself in the slytherin common room at the piano (just imagine they had one there) while he teaches you note for note how to play it right

every time regulus shows you how to do something (like dancing or playing the piano) he's very patient with you, never rushing or raising his voice when it takes you longer to figure something out

overall you have a super healthy relationship, because you’re honest with each other and talk a lot about your feelings. that wasn’t easy for regulus at first, but you grew up in a pretty loving and open household where you regularly discussed you’re feelings so you helped him learn how to do that. at least that way you could teach him something too.