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bigtreefest · 3 months

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Chapter 1: Digging For Gold

From: You Catch More Bees With Honey Series

Pairing: Mob! Bucky x Farmer! Reader

Summary: Bucky doesn’t always have to personally negotiate his business dealings, but what happens when one of them insists they’ll only deal with him? He heads out to the country to get it sorted, of course.

Word Count: 2,167

Content/Warnings: light mob themes, mentions of misogyny/ Bucky’s attempt at it, fem reader with minimal descriptions, minimal use of y/n, use of a pet name (Honey), Sam and Steve teasing Bucky and Bucky having none of it. Content below the cut.

Author’s Note: Well here it is— my first fic publication! I literally never write, but I’ve felt so motivated to get this down. Idek how I wrote this many words bc lord knows I’m not doing the same for school. Anyway, I digress. I hope you all enjoy. Comments, suggestions, asks, and reblogs are soooo appreciated!! Dividers by @firefly-graphics

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Bucky was used to being turned down at first. In the fact, he was used to being turned down two, three, four times before getting his way. He always got his way, until it came to you. He had been trying to seal this deal for what was going on months now. Usually by his fifth ask, his clients got some sense into them, and in this case, sense means a threat of lead through the heart by a henchman. But that hadn’t phased you at all. If anything, it encouraged you to keep pushing back. A real piece of work, this girl was. Each time someone went to negotiate, they came back with their head hung low, sending in their boss to deal with her next as she had requested. Just for that cocky bastard to leave and come back doing the same. Why were they giving into your requests? They couldn’t help themselves when you had that convincing way about you, and neither could Bucky, even if he wanted to deny it to everyone around him. After months of asking for the next boss, you had finally reached James Buchanan Barnes: the head of his mob. Known for his ruthless nature, no one had ever come out of a deal saying ‘no’ to him. If they said no, they didn’t come out of the deal, simple as that. No one had seen his soft spots, and his buttons weren’t to be pushed. Too many had found out the hard way. The only one who could get away with it was his best friend who had known him since childhood Steve. More like a brother, and his only family left, at that. But it looked like he had a soft spot for you, letting you get away with dismissing these meetings, which is exactly why he needed to go himself: to show he wasn’t soft. To show that he could close the deal and his men lacked discipline when they fell to your kind charm. He’d go to this meeting and then wash his hands of the issue, making the deal he decided he had wanted months ago. He got into the back of his black town car and shut the door, directing the driver to start the long journey to the farm.

As he sat in the car, he wondered why the partition was up, as he heard singing faintly coming from the other side. He pushed the button for it to come down, to be greeted by a familiar pair of blue eyes that belonged to his best friend Steve and the back of Sam’s head.

“Oh heyyy boss. Fancy seeing you here,” Sam said keeping his eyes on the road and turning down the radio.

“Where’s Gio?” Bucky barked back.

“Oh calm down. He’s home relaxing with his family. Sam and I gave him the day off. Figured you’d need our help,” Steve said with a small shrug.

Bucky grumbled to himself something about being the boss while Steve and Sam exchanged a quick glance in the front seat before Sam spoke up again.

“Listen Boss, she’s already been through both of us. Obviously we can’t tell you how to succeed, but we can tell you what to expect going in there.”

“Plus we can remind you what we’re really here for and give you back-up none of us had the luxury of” Steve interjected, “the fact that you’ve waited this long shows you’ve got a soft spot for her, and we can’t afford to push this deal back any farther.”

Bucky knew that. He knew it was coming down to the wire “First off, I do not have a soft spot. Not since I was little, and you know that. I’d have anyone else’s head for even thinking such a thing. And second, if it’s so easy, why couldn’t you two have sealed this deal last month when you went, then? Huh?”

At that, Steve snapped his mouth shut and Sam kept his head forward, not daring to glance back at the mob boss whose jaw was clenched with anticipation.

“That’s what I thought. But go ahead, speak now or forever hold your peace, because when I go in there, I need to come out with a deal.”

He’d never let anyone besides his right-hand and number three men know how on edge he was for this meeting. He looked out the window hoping for the best and that his hard outer persona wouldn’t crack today as Sam and Steve started with their briefing.

When Sam pulled off of the pavement and onto the dirt driveway, Bucky’s eyes absorbed the rolling hills and abundant trees. It was beautiful, but nothing like his city. He enjoyed the tight spaces and routine rigidity of concrete. This was a different world. Her land was sprawling, far further than the crop fields sat. Acres for the cattle to graze and others that laid fallow. It was built over old mines. That’s why he wanted it all: for the tunnels. It would be so much easier to store and move his product, cutting transportation time and having discreet underground facilities if he could just strike a deal, but he’d finally met his match without even meeting her yet. A woman just as stubborn as him, but opposite in every other way.

Sam pulled up in front of a beautiful farm house. Modest, but chic and well cared for. Leaning against one of the posts that framed the front porch was her. Hair hidden under a cowgirl hat, well worn from work-filled days and in a flannel shirt, jeans, and boots showing even more mileage than the hat. Bucky looked out the window and let out a deep breath.

“Wish me luck, boys”

They both just nodded. A more than sufficient acknowledgment in their line of work. Bucky opened the car door and his red bottoms crunched the rocks beneath his feet as he sauntered over to her.

“Ms. Y/L/N. This has been a long time coming.”

“Indeed it has. Good to see you Mr. Barnes. And please, call me Y/N.” Her voice twanged.

Then she flashed him that smile, ugh how he hated that. She wasn’t even trying, but it made him feel an odd warmth that started deep in his chest. One that almost made it seem like it made his heart melt a little. A heart that was stuck in an ice age for as long as he could remember. Still, he couldn’t budge. He had to set an example for his men. How could he push an agenda he couldn’t fulfill? His thoughts continued to race as he stepped up to the bottom of the wooden steps leading to the porch. Not a good start with her literally having the high ground.

“Do your drivers want to come in? I don’t mind gettin’ them some refreshments while we chat.” She offered kindly. How was she so smooth? Bucky glanced back and Steve and Sam gawked at you though Steve’s window. Bucky made a mental note to have that tinted more so no one could see them embarrassing him and themselves in the future.

“No. They’re fine.” Bucky coldly, borderline spat back. “And you can call me by my name, as well, if we’re not doing last names. That’s mostly what I do with those I work closely with”

Bucky wanted to have a firm hand in these business dealings, but he wasn’t a total monster, plus, he knew in most cases, the more comfortable a client was, the more likely they’d give up benefits, sweetening up his own end of the deal. See? He was still working on wrapping you around his finger. He had this down, even if Steve and Sam didn’t think so. At least, that’s what he tried to convince himself as you nodded with a soft smile on your face and led him inside.

Bucky followed you past a living room, flanked by a functional and methodically laid out kitchen. That gave him a better idea of who he was working with: someone who meticulously planned their work environment. Someone who cared for every aspect no matter how small. Everything had a place and made sense. Nothing unnecessary was present and it seemed ergonomic, yet modern and classy, like everything about you. His gaze lingered as long as he could until he had to pull his head forward to continue following you down the hallway to your home office. Once again, practical and functional, with a few papers strewn around a laptop and your other useful desk features. You had everything you needed in arm’s reach, no need to tuck it away in drawers if you were constantly using it and you kept it organized enough that it wasn’t a stressful mess. You gestured for Bucky to take a seat on the couch across from you as you sat in your desk chair and flashed him a smile. Ugh there was that smile again, and this time it got him good and he couldn’t help but dopily smile back, not even aware of what his body was doing.

“James” oh how he hated when you called him that. Sure, it was his formal business name, but the way you said it made him grimace. Yeah, it sounded beautiful from your lips, but its use meant your weren’t close. And that’s all he wanted. Was for you to be close. Up against him, on top of him, engulfing him, drowning him. And he would happily accept that fate. Heck, he was drowning right now in these thoughts about you, but he clawed his way to the surface and shook his head to refocus as you said his name again, noticing his attention had drifted in favor to a blank stare at your lips. He knew with that slip-up, he had to regain control and take charge.

“Listen Honey, you’ve essentially been exterminating every guy I send in here and I don’t like it. All you are is sweet but somehow you’re turning down this deal like a bitter old man would” His sudden stern and almost condescending tone was a huge juxtaposition to the wonderland face you had noticed moments ago. You didn’t like that one bit. Being an independent woman who ran a successful business, you were used to men trying to stomp on you until they had their way. You didn’t stand for it with all of Bucky’s underlings and you weren’t going to stand for it now. You’d regain control and keep your calm demeanor, because you’re that much better than all these other mediocre men in business you dealt with all too often.

“First off, James. Let’s not get into extermination or pesticides. That’s far too complicated of an issue for right now, especially if you don’t understand the simple terms I so graciously asked you for. And if you wanna call something honey, you better be referring to my beehives on the south side of the property. Now, I just want to talk to you so you can see where I’m coming from” you said was a sickeningly sweet smile. He could see it didn’t reach your eyes, still filled with fire and not backing down. But dang if your tone still didn’t match the new nickname he’s given you. Sweet and thick. Bucky for the first time found himself listening to demands from another. He settled down into the couch cushions as you pulled out the contract you’d drafted yourself.

Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, fine. By all means, let’s get down to business. I wanna see what’s been giving all my men such a hard time that you’ve had to come directly to me.”

Bucky leaned forward to grab the contract from your hands. He flipped through the pages, most of it was identical to what he’d drafted, besides you inflating the numbers. He could handle that, but the last line he saw made his neck muscles go limp as he dropped his head.

“James Barnes will work and stay at the farm for one month’s time, uninterrupted, to learn the gravity, value, and hard work associated with operations.”

He should’ve known, but what was one month? If he was going rn use the mines, he may as well see all the land and livestock that could be affected if things went awry. He’s been doing this job for years, anyway. Maybe he needed the break. He’s sure Steve could control everything else, right? He wouldn’t have waited so long for this deal had he not needed the mine shafts. Your smooth voice broke him out of his thoughts.

“So… what’ll it be, James?”

He looked up at you through his lashes with a smirk you couldn’t quite read as you returned your own smirk, knowing what this meeting meant. Knowing that he wouldn’t have come in person unless he really wanted to make a deal happen.

“Sure Honey, whatever you want”

Next>

#bucky barnes #steve rogers #catch more bees with honey #catch more bees with honey chapter 1 #digging for gold #mob bucky barnes #mob Bucky #mob bucky x reader #mob bucky au #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky barnes #mafia! bucky x farmer! reader #mob! Bucky x farmer! reader #sebastian stan #chris evans #Sam Wilson #anthony mackie

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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

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Hello! I would like to request Lockwood x Fem!Reader best friends to lovers based on gold rush <3

Gold Rush - Lockwood x Reader

A/N: I’ve always looked at gold rush as an enemies to lovers song so this was rlly interesting!!! Will update wc once I wake up 😴😴 (2.8k!)

It was the morning after one of the most tiring cases Lockwood & Co. had had in a while. Beyond the sheer size of the mansion, there seemed to be a new kind of Type Two waiting for them in every room. It was the type of case that left you too tired to complain at the end, but for whom the frustration carried over to the next morning.

“I’m charging them double at least. It’s one thing to bend the truth - they used it as a skipping rope!”

The four of them were in the kitchen, having breakfast. When she had come down, there was only George sipping his tea in the one lit corner of the kitchen. Lockwood was usually the first one up, so his absence was testament to his exhaustion. She had sighed, not realising that she had buttered some toast for him until she was done. George looked suspiciously invested in the newspaper. “And- oh, you’re too sweet, Y/N.”

Lockwood had found the plate of toast, which she had hoped would disappear. He shifted behind her, making some tea, absent-mindedly grazing her head with his fingers as he walked past. Her grip on the cereal box tightened, and she raised it, reading the ingredients with newfound interest. She swallowed, feeling her cheeks burn behind the cereal box, hoping no one would notice. Lockwood certainly didn’t, because he had moved on to that night’s Fittes gala, but Lucy’s gaze lingered on her a bit too long for her to be fully in the clear.

When she felt that she had calmed down enough, she lowered the cereal box, her eye instantly drawn to Lockwood’s limp yet perfectly neat hair, each strand naturally settled in place. Even when most relaxed, there was something artificially manufactured in every wave in his hair, every crease of his face, but in a way that didn’t aggravate but enticed: ambrosia incarnate.

George made some intimation about heading tor the Archives to finish up the research on their next job, and purpose rushed back into Lockwood, broken out of his early-morning sluggishness. Lucy left for more rapier practice as well, but George hung back before leaving. He stared at her, which was normal George behaviour, yet a part of her felt compelled to justify her earlier preoccupation with the cereal box. It was so redundant - it wasn’t like he could read her thoughts (though sometimes she would suddenly remember how smart he truly was and how piercing his gaze could be, at which she would decide to try to not take any chances; it was only a matter of time), and even if he could, there was nothing noteworthy. Just…perfectly normal thoughts about her perfectly normal boss.

“Did you know…that Froot Loops don’t actually have different flavours?”

“Do you know that you’re eating pure sugar?”

“…you’re no fun.”

————————————————————————

Every year, they were always invited to the same gala hosted by the same Fittes agency, yet the preceding afternoon was almost always as stressful as any ghost-hunting job. Scarves hung on every surface by Lucy, who never wore any of them, shirts thrown down the stairwell as Lockwood dramatically proclaimed that none of his shirts would do, and George yelling at everyone to quit making so much noise until Lucy grew sentient enough to wrestle him into something semi-formal.

This year was no different. The four of them flitted from room to room like moths, contributing to more than one clumsy collision. Now, she wandered out of the attic into the hallway forlornly, clutching two different shoes. She liked fancy galas as much as the next person, but sometimes it felt overwhelming to get ready for them. “I’m not sure if I should come.”

“No!” That was Lockwood, rifling through a box of multi coloured cloths, somehow still pristine even when half-dressed. “You have to come. Lucy and George are too morally upright to gossip. I’ll be bored to tears without you.” Her heart stupidly fluttered, the corners of her mouth twitching despite herself as she watched him drape a bow tie around his neck. But of course, Lockwood wasn’t Lockwood if he didn’t have his signature ability to put his foot in his mouth.

“Besides, all of Fittes will be there, all of Rotwell will be there. We all need to go.”

“Of course.” Her harsh tone made Lockwood pause his flurry of activity, looking as though he wanted to fix what he had said. But he hesitated too long and now Lucy was barreling down the corridor, trying to find her boots, and the two of them awkwardly shifted away. She hadn’t meant to sound so bitter. What did she even have to be bitter about?

Before either of them could give it any more thought, they heard a dramatic gasp from George’s room, where they found Lucy blackmailing him into coming by holding one of his dusty old books hostage. George looked like he was about to burst a blood vessel. But the blackmail worked, not that George let Lucy off the hook for the rest of the night, grumbling and bemoaning the (temporary) loss of his beloved friend. Other than that, they reached without much fuss, and Lockwood was quick to get to business.

“How about we do some networking?”

“What, with other agencies?”

“Connections couldn’t hurt.”

George shared a knowing glance with Lucy, but it was so brief that it was quickly forgotten, especially in light of his comment. “That’s just as well. I spy a couple Fittes agents who wouldn’t seem to mind, er, connecting with Lockwood.”

Lockwood frowned, but she didn’t pay attention long enough to see his full reaction. George had nodded towards this cluster (really, only three of them) of Fittes agents who seemed to have a particularly high propensity for giggling. They huddled even closer together when the four of them looked over, and they began furiously whispering into each other ears, eyes still intent on Lockwood. She hadn’t been much different when she had first joined the agency, and it certainly was amusing how oblivious he was to how ridiculously attractive he was, only showing a hint of awareness whenever he turned on the charm for particularly difficult clients. So polished, so shiny, so cool above the hot struggles of the ordinary folk he surrounded himself with, breezing through life. She would have resented him if he weren’t so darling.

Every time he wandered a bit too close to her, she braced herself for his touch. Because that was definitely what she was doing: bracing herself. Not like she wanted him to touch her or anything. And she definitely wasn’t repeatedly dying a slow and painful death as she replayed his brush at breakfast. And of course, Lockwood was too engrossed in his conversation with some stuffy bigwig to notice anything. He was gesturing around them with the air of someone far richer than he already was.

“We operate differently at Lockwood and Co. Glamour and glitz has its place, but personally we might have gone for something more…elegant. More…tasteful, perhaps.”

She snorted into her champagne a little more aggressively that she had intended. For someone so beautiful, Lockwood could be so full of shit sometimes. She smiled apologetically, and Lockwood helped fix things with that smooth laugh of his, but the disconcerted look in his eye told her he wasn’t going to forget about that anytime soon. Eventually, the bigwig needed to talk to another bigwig, so they excused themselves and turned to hunt for their next prey.

“What was that?”

“Oh, please, like I’m just supposed to stand and watch you and lie that blatantly. You’d sell your soul to have a gala as big as this tied to your name. You were so convincing, it’s almost impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“I said ‘almost.’”

He swooped down to the shell of her ear. “Good enough for me.” She frantically stamped out the butterflies in her stomach. Stupid Lockwood and his stupid warm breath tickling her ear and his stupid devastatingly appealing indifference towards morality. She pulled away from his magnetic field, thoughts tangled in her irritation.

“Y/N,” she stopped fuming long enough to realise Lockwood had dragged her to a quieter part of the party, but his words still bounced off her numb mind inconsequentially. “Are you alright? Was it-“ he grimaced uncomfortably. “Was it what I said back home? Because I didn’t-“

She was vaguely aware of her reaching out and holding his hand, trying to find the right words. The warmth of his hand anchored her even as she was drowning in it. It was dangerous, having him so close with a mind so willing to delve into nonsense. She could see herself tiptoeing out of his room, on wooden floors she only knew of through creaks far too late at night, her sweater dangling on the doorknob-

All of a sudden, he was gold under her touch. Gleaming and perfect, perfectly solid and assured as the riches that entrenched on him now consumed him: the perfect sculpture. And yet his eyes still hummed with the unmistakeable fervour of life, of spirit, of the adventure he so recklessly indulged himself in. She was slowing her breath, he was pulling her under, and she was dizzy with it, dizzy with him. It wasn’t normal, but they were never normal. Lockwood would beckon, and she would succumb, and each time common sense caught up to her just a little bit later than the last time, leaving her dangerously close to diving into the whirlpool that was Lockwood, inhibitions forgotten.

But then the music swelled, and laughter grated on her ears, and she remembered where she was. She let go of his hand almost spitefully, and walked away, ignoring his attempts to get her to stop. It was all so unnecessary and so saddening.

They left soon after, the can uncharacteristically quiet as two out of the four members tried to beat their hearts into submission. As they hung up their coats near the front door, Lockwood paused, and she was sure he was going to say something, but then the moment passed again and she was left climbing the stairs frustrated and wholly dissatisfied.

She kept the door to the attic a crack open, watching as much as she could of Lockwood drifting to the library, not looking away until she heard the soft click of the door. She closed her eyes, burning every memory and image of him into her retinas. Flashes of Lockwood danced like bright spots as she undressed: the bow tie left desolate around his neck, the champagne that blended in with his skin under the golden lights, the unscrupulous charisma that radiated off his too-bright smile…it was unhealthy how drugged she felt on the high that was Lockwood. But tonight had been too real, too visceral: she couldn’t bear dreaming about him for another second.

It was only twenty-four hours ago that she had been wandering near the coast with him while looking for the Source. The air was dizzy with salt and Lockwood’s eyes danced a bit too merrily for either of them to feel too burdened by the hunt for the Source. It was just as well that Lucy and George had found it, because she and Lockwood were utterly useless, getting drunk of each other’s laughter, stumbling in the shifting sand and gravel. She wondered if he thought about that night the way she did, if his breath caught too as he was swept up in the memory of the innocence they shared, blazing as they brazenly ambled foolishly for no one’s eyes but the moon’s and the seas’ who witnessed a love as pure as theirs for the first and last time.

————————————————————————

She woke up feeling painfully brittle from the previous night. She slept restlessly, too preoccupied to wade through her thoughts with much precision, until she finally heard enough movement downstairs. Lockwood was surprisingly already fully dressed, staring a hole into the wall with the case file of their next job in front of him. But his ironed clothes were jarring rather than refreshing, especially when contrasted against the bruises under his eyes and his translucent skin. Good. He was too disarming when he was well-rested anyway. All her resentment towards him dissolved at the sight of a stack of meticulously buttered toast and cup of tea: an Anthony Lockwood peace offering if she ever saw one. It made her want to cry, but it wasn’t the time for it, so she settled for a gnawing in her stomach.

From the boys’ stilted conversation, she gathered that Lockwood had already been to the site that morning and there was clearly something about it that their clients weren’t telling them. From the look she shared with George as they started discussing their clients’ possible secrets, it was clear that he too was slightly troubled. It wasn’t like Lockwood to go out for walks alone, especially before dawn. She nearly upset the milk jug when her heart swooped as she thought about Lockwood staying up alone, slowly bleeding into the shadows of the house that threatened to inhale him. It made her feel funny.

“Hm?” Lockwood turned, tuning back in only at the tail end of the conversation. She hated how adorable his half-confused expression was and how it made her forget how to breathe. She scoffed, leaving her toast but begrudgingly taking her tea with her, mumbling something about Anna Karenina. She was properly put off her breakfast. As if lingering in the edges of her mind wasn’t enough, he just had to disrupt her appetite too.

“Hey.” He had found her hiding away on the floor of the library between some bookshelves. Not that she was actively avoiding him.

“Hey.” Sleep deprivation wasn’t a good look on anyone, but Lockwood still managed to pull it off. Still, he looked miles more unkempt like this than in a regular, cotton shirt.

He uselessly gestured towards the plate, looking less than the perfect cool he typically maintained. “I brought your toast.”

“I’m fine with my tea, thanks.” She fixed her eyes back onto her book, painfully aware of him watching her. He sighed and sat down in front of her.

“I know you felt it too, last night. I don’t know why you’re mad at me when you’re the one going around lying through your teeth.” She snapped her book close. Enough was enough.

“Because we’ll never be anything more. You’re this…this craze, this bug that’s infected everyone that’s slowly sucking the life out of me, you…you hedonistic disease. You’ll hold my hand and brush your fingers against my head but you’ll never kiss me. And why would you?” She nudged her tea further behind; she couldn’t tolerate even glancing at it. It reminded her of the waves that teased their soles, brimming with awe, a memory that was steadily sinking into the grey of her unpleasantly cold tea. “You have so much more, so much better to choose from. Everybody wants you.”

“Who cares about everyone else?”

“I care! Normal people care! How can you expect me to just stand here, knowing that I will never be good enough for someone like you?”

He looked so genuinely lost that she almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You know what it means. Someone as iridescent, and perfect as you.” She spat out that word with disgust. If she weren’t so upset, he would have made some stupid quip about her finding him perfect, but that was a bone to pick for another time. He reached out, holding her hand to his chest.

“Y/N…no one could be more perfect than you.”

She snatched her hand back. Now he was just mocking her. “Don’t! Don’t say that when it isn’t true.”

“But it is!”

“Anthony Lockwood, you are made of fibs, half-truths and tall tales. You bend the truth! You bend, and you bend and you bend until you snap me right in half.”

She was crying by this point. God, could she be more embarrassing? Lockwood shuffled towards her, wrapping an arm around her and speaking into her hair. The exact same spot his fingers had brushed and ignited this chain sequence of events.

“You’re right. I’m a vagabond. A no-good…charlatan. But,” he adjusted his head to look into her eyes, and now all she saw were faint tendrils of gold dust sprinkling in his irises. “I’m your charlatan. Don’t you think?”

And with eyes like those, how could she say no?

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #evermore #gold rush #requested

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