Locklyle One-Shots

𝖂𝖊𝖙 𝕾𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖘 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕾𝖜𝖊𝖆𝖙𝖘𝖍𝖎𝖗𝖙𝖘

𝕾𝖚𝖒𝖒𝖆𝖗𝖞: Lucy comes home in the rain and Lockwood takes her to his room cause it's closer...

𝖂𝖆𝖗𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌𝖘: Mild Language

𝕬/𝕹: I'm American so I'm not sure what y'all English folks call sweatshirts, but I just went with it. Feel free to correct me if you know! Also I couldn't find a small enough gif of Lockwood in the sweatshirt so here's some fanart I did find! Credit to the Artist! Anyways, here's a little spicy (but obviously NOT smutty) one-shot with my OTP, enjoy!

𝖂𝖔𝖗𝖉𝖘: 3657

☞ ☜

𝕾𝖙𝖚𝖕𝖎𝖉 𝕲𝖊𝖔𝖗𝖌𝖊, Lucy's chattering teeth botch her vengeful hiss and what comes out is more of a pathetic shiver really. Stupid Flo, stupid fish and chips. After the fourth block, Lucy has decided to never eat fish and chips again. The mere thought of them turns her stomach. Actually, it's the accompanied thought of Flo feeding George fish and chips like an overgrown baby that sickens her. If Lucy's eyes weren't already squinted to slivers, she would've narrowed them to focus her eyes on what's in front of her face, not whatever lovesick restaurant rubbish Flo and George are up to. Stupid Flo, Lucy thinks again. She just had to show up when the rain began and whisk George away, leaving Lucy alone in the cold, pelted by winds and frigid droplets. They fall like knives through the sky, slicing open flesh and fabric. Lucy's arms have gone numb around her small body.

Why didn't I just stop at Holly's?

It was closer than crawling all the way back to 35 Portland Row...

Kipps.

Quill Kipps, that's why.

Ever since he and Holly met, they've been like a long lost married couple. The two of them act like bloody adults — though Kipps loves reminding her that he is in fact an adult. Technically, so is Holly...what with her being eighteen and all.

Still. They're awkward to be around.

For Lucy at the very least.

Must everyone be falling in love these days? She gripes, rounding one last corner before breaking out in a sloppy sprint for number 35. It's really a pain in her ass, having to watch Flo, George, Kipps, and Holly happily skip about, free to suck each other's faces off and hold hands and say silly things like, 'Pass the sugar, dearest,' or 'don't you look lovely, darling,' to each other. The exchange of endearments drives a hole in Lucy's gut, and every time she catches one of the happy couples lip-locked, she can't help but glance over at Lockwood, wishing he'd look at her the way she looks at him. But he's always bright red around the ears and buried in some magazine, almost like he's avoiding her. It's beginning to piss her off. So much, in fact, that Lucy hesitates on the doormat. Her frostbitten bones beg of her to just barrel inside the house and change into warm dry clothes, but her pride has other ideas, and before she can be smart and duck way from the downpour, her feet are leading her off the landing —

"Lucy!"

Oh thank God, Lucy's body groans.

Another part of her rolls its eyes, You've got to be kidding me...

She was this close to avoiding being alone with Lockwood. This close.

Huffing, Lucy turns back around, revealing her rain smudged face and stringy hair. Lockwood's dark eyes implode, darting across her sopping figure. "Luce," He gasps, "You're soaked!"

"No shit, Sherlock," Lucy grumbles.

"Where's George?" Lockwood blurts.

"We ran into Flo. They went for fish and chips and left me in the rain."