Apples & Aftermath (part 1?)
When your car breaks down in the middle of nowhere, the last person you expect to come to your rescue is your estranged childhood best friend. Except the chubby-cheeked boy you once stole apples with is gone. In his place stands a man sculpted like a Greek god from the softest stone—beautiful, sharp-edged, and nothing like you remember.
At first, he’s kind. Familiar enough to make you think the years apart haven’t changed everything. But beneath the warm smiles and bubbly words lingers something unresolved—hurt that never quite faded.
And you learn quickly that not everyone is happy you came back.
▸ PAIRING: Mechanic!James Bucky Barnes x Fem!Citygirl!Reader
▸ WARNINGS: NSFW 18+, reader pov, angst, slow burn, friends to enemies to lovers, mean reader, kinda grumpy x sunshine, no use of y/n, mentions of abandonment, description of male body, mentions of fingering, slight miscommunication?
(image does not depict reader, i just put that for funsies because i love manchild and it kinda fit)
▸ A/N: This is my first time writing, all suggestions and corrections are welcome. Sorry for inconsistencies, if any. Also, should I make this a series?
You knew you shouldn’t have let your parents talk you into visiting them in the middle of summer. Every possible sign from the universe had tried to warn you.
First, when you bought your plane tickets on that “totally legit” website your cousin had recommended, only to find out it was a scam. Then your boss —who wouldn’t have approved your vacation unless someone held him at gunpoint— reluctantly agreed because you literally hadn’t missed a single day of work.
Yesterday your suitcase zipper exploded out of nowhere while you packed —seriously, how does a zipper just detonate?— so you threw everything into your backseat like a raccoon with a personal vendetta.
And now, your car had decided to die in the middle of the highway when you were so freaking close to home.
Your shirt clung to your back; the sun was so bright your eyes stung as you squinted at the faded road sign ahead.
“Perfect,” you hissed, shielding your eyes as you leaned over the hood of your very hot, very dead car. Maybe some sort of mechanical enlightenment would strike you like a divine vision.
All you saw was metal, wires, and a chaotic tangle of things you wished you’d paid attention to back when you used to hand your father his tools.
You tugged your phone out of your pocket—fine, you could call your dad or one of your neighbours— and unlocked it only to find… nothing.
“You gotta be kidding me,” you lifted the phone toward the sky as if the universe might reward your efforts. You took a few steps. Tilted it. Stretched your arm like you were trying to make contact with extraterrestrial life.
You were so focused on your mission to summon a single bar of service that you didn’t notice the blue pickup truck slowing to a stop beside you.
A man’s voice called out your name, low, surprised, like he wasn’t sure you were real, cut through the shimmering heat. You turned from your screen, frowning, only to meet a pair of bright blue eyes. “Holy shit, it is you.” he breathed out.
“Uh… can I help you?” you murmured, lowering your phone as the stranger parked on the side of the road.
“I’m James.” he tapped a hand to his chest. “We were neighbors. We used to make mud pies behind the Carsons’ barn, remember? And hide in Roger’s apple field whenever we skipped Sunday mass….” his smile faltered when you continued staring.
“Our families spent Christmas together for years.”
“Oh! Right– Hi” you chirped, maybe a little too brightly. Relief washed across his face instantly, his smile blooming as he stepped out of the truck.
The last time you’d seen him, he’d been shorter than you, with braces the size of a small fence and cheeks so round the grandmas of both families fought over who got to pinch them.
Now he stood a head taller, all long limbs and broad shoulders. The braces were gone, replaced by high cheekbones and a sharp jaw that could probably cut . The soft blue T-shirt clung to him like it had personally signed up for the job, stretching over muscle and revealing a sliver of strong forearms where the sleeves were rolled.
“Car trouble?” he asked, snapping you out of the blatant staring you were definitely doing.
You cleared your throat. Violently. “I– yeah. My car’s trying to kill me, actually.” You gestured helplessly to the smoking hood. “At this point I’m tempted to leave it here and walk the rest of the way.”
“Don’t worry,” his voice dropped warm and confident. “I can handle it.”
He went to his truck, opened the passenger door, and pulled out a red toolbox like it weighed nothing. Sunlight caught in his hair as he leaned under the hood.
“Didn’t know you were coming back.”
He murmured, shooting a glance.
"I'm.. just visiting." You said, crossing your arms as you watched him, definitely interested in the car insides.
He glanced at you over his shoulder for a moment, the blue of his eyes vivid against the sunlight. It was different—and strangely unsettling— being under his gaze now for some reason.
“How long you’re staying?” He asked, disappearing back into the engine.
“A week, maybe two,” you replied, shifting uncomfortably on your feet. James knew you better than anyone here, more than your own damn family at times, or at least he used to.
But the silence between you somehow felt heavier than the heat.
He came out again, wiping a layer of sweat from his forehead with one arm and holding up a grimy tool in the other.
“Your alternator’s dead.” he informed you.
He huffed a laugh, leaning over the hood again as he dug back in with the tool.
Your eyebrows arched. “You’re an expert car savior now, huh?”
He shrugged. “A lot of things changed while you’ve been gone. "
The statement hung in the air for a moment. There was something behind it, a thinly veiled accusation you couldn’t name.
“Right.” you said, suddenly uncomfortable. “I’ve only been gone a few years, James. What’s that supposed to mean?”
He paused whatever he was doing, straightened up to his full towering height, and turned back to you. Something close to a scowl darkened his features.
“You really need me to spell it out?”
A beat of silence settled in. He didn’t say anything more, but the sudden tension in his jaw said enough.
You’d left—you’d left for a reason, and you’d said your goodbyes. But somehow this new, sharp-edged James had you faltering more than the old one.
“I didn’t have much of a choice, James,” you finally broke the silence. “Everyone knows there’s no future here for people like me. I…” you swallowed dryly. “I had to leave.”
He snorted. “No future, huh?” his tone changed, mocking. “You sound just like your daddy.”
It felt like a slap more than any words could’ve done. All the air left your lungs, and the words spilled out angrily, without thinking.
“You mean the one you love? The man you practically worshipped?
James’ jaw clenched as the accusation hung in the air, heavy and damning. He took a step closer, towering over you. You tried to hide any sign of weakness, but your hands shook.
“Worshipped.” he echoed. “You think I worshipped the man that took my best friend away from me with a goddamn suitcase?” James’ voice rose, angrier than you’d ever heard.
Your eyes widened, but if he saw it he didn’t care. He took another step closer, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he leaned down to meet your gaze.
“You think I didn’t know you were leaving for months before you decided to tell me?” he hissed. “You could’ve been anywhere. But you left me here.”
The confession hit you like a punch, knocking the air out of your lungs. “I… tried to tell you….” you struggled to get the words out, but he shook his head, the anger making the blue in his eyes seem brighter.
"Forget it." He scoffed, before returning to fix your car.
You stared at him for a moment, mouth open in shock. He ignored you as he leaned back into the engine, shoulders rigid.
You crossed your arms, trying to control the swirl of emotions. He’d never been this angry with you before, never accused you of leaving him here. What the hell was his problem?
You tried to swallow the hurt as you leaned against the car, silently watching him.
His hands moved with practiced efficiency, tightening and adjusting. For a moment, you focused only on the way his fingers handled the tools, almost admiring.
You shook your head at the sudden thought.
Who the hell thinks about hands at a time like this?
You closed your eyes and let out a breath, trying to push away any confusing thoughts. As if he could feel your gaze on him, James straightened, grabbing the hem of his shirt with one hand and wiping his brow.
The strip of exposed skin revealed his waist—narrow, all muscle and strength.
Your cheeks flushed a beet red and you fixed your gaze on your shoes.
You waited in silence for a while, the heat nearly intolerable and the tension still heavy between you two. After what felt like an eternity, James finally finished up with the engine, closing the hood with a decisive slam.
His eyes flickered to yours. “You should be good now.”
You blinked, still trying to recover from your brain’s very inappropriate train of thought. “Oh. Good.” You cleared your throat, avoiding his gaze.
He was silent for a moment, and when you dared to look up, the sharp edges were gone from his expression. He looked almost tired.
“It’s on the house.” he muttered before turning, toolbox in hand.
Your mouth opened then closed. "That's not.. I'll pay of course.. you don't need to do that." You said. He didn’t turn, just raised one shoulder in a half-shrug.
“Don’t worry about it.” with that, he tossed the box into the bed of his truck, not once looking at you.
He was actually just leaving? Like that?
You stared at him then frowned, annoyance mixing with hurt. “Are you seriously just going to ignore—”
James interrupted, the soft sound of your childhood nickname tumbling from his lips. You were stunned momentarily as he finally looked up at you. He shut his eyes for a second like he was gathering courage, and the look on his face was something you’d never seen on him before.
“Can you just… not.” he muttered. “Just please don’t.”
Your throat burned at the nickname, jaw working, before pride mixed with annoyance.
"Fine. Be that way." You muttered, before going back to your car and taking off.
If he said anything more you didn’t hear it. You got into the driver’s seat and slammed the door, turning the key to start the now-functioning engine.
You didn’t wait for James as you pulled back onto the road, away from him and the uncomfortable feeling in your stomach.
You couldn’t get his voice out of your head.
”A lot has changed since you left.”
He couldn’t seriously expect you to stay here. In this town where you knew everyone but they didn’t even know you. Where you were forced to be the version they wanted you to be instead of the person you’d always been.
No, leaving was the right choice. You knew that.
So why the hell did you feel so damn guilty?
"It's not my fault this shitty town has nothing." You scoffed to yourself.
You drove the rest of the way with your thoughts in a tangle and the music blasted loud enough to drown out any lingering words. Even though your AC managed to work properly now, you kept the windows down, hoping the summer heat would somehow burn away the heavy feeling in your chest.
You almost missed the sign towering over the side of the road.
You slowed as you entered town, scanning familiar buildings and landmarks. The grocery store, the small movie theater. The park where you played as a kid.
Most people were heading home from work or running late afternoon errands—the ones you recognized did double takes when they saw you. It annoyed you for some reason, the way they stared.
Finally, you pulled into the familiar parking lot of your childhood home, noting the flower beds your mother had planted years ago and the curtains she’d put up just last week.
You switched off the engine and sat for a moment. Your parents knew you were coming, and you were already dreading the questions you’d have to deal with during your visit.
Not to mention you’d have to tell your father about the damn alternator.
You groaned, gathering your things and shoving open the car door.
Your gaze flickered once to the Barnes household next door, before shaking off your thoughts and walking up the steps.
The moment you opened the front door and saw the living room, the tension in your shoulders relaxed.
Nothing had changed in the years since you left. The couch was the same, photos on the mantel were the same, even those damn fake flowers from the early 2000s were still there. You shook your head, taking off your shoes as you called out.
You were immediately attacked by what seemed like a lump of yarns, wet kisses being planted all over your cheeks.
You grimaced with a laugh. "Alright mom, you can calm down now." You chuckled.
"My baby is finally here! Oh how I've missed you. I'm so glad you came to visit your old ass parents." She said, leaning into the dramatics.
You rolled your eyes. "Someone's gotta be the good guy I guess." You shrugged, before both of you fell into a fit of giggles.
"Okay, okay.. enough chittering missy, you go rest in your room and unpack.. or unload, I'll get something going." She said, briefly eyeing the lack of a suitcase.
You saluted her before walking up the stairs with half your clothes in your hands. You dumped them on a chair before plopping on your bed, staring at the ceiling fan.
Thoughts of Bucky crawled into your head again, unwilling, you told yourself.
James. You reminded yourself. He wasn't the lovely, chubby Bucky you knew anymore.
He was annoying, self centred, arrogant and full of biceps and long hair and wait- what were you thinking again?
You groaned and laid on your stomach.
Just as you were about to rant to the gods, a loud roar of a lawnmower interrupted your thoughts. "Who the hell-" you muttered, turning over, staring out the open window, and your mouth went dry.
Outside was possibly the most attractive human being you’d ever laid eyes on. He was standing next to a lawnmower, shirtless in the summer heat, his jeans riding low on his hips.
Your brain malfunctioned for a few seconds as the man ran a hand through his long hair, revealing a set of abs that looked like they’d been sculpted by some talented artist.
He was tall and muscular, his shoulders broad, his arms flexed as he leaned down and pushed the mower forward a few feet, a sheen of sweat covering his torso like some sort of hot, hot greek god.
You felt heat rising in your cheeks as you watched him move. His back was to you, but you were sure with a body like that, his front was just as good as his back.
You really needed to stop staring.
But you couldn’t rip your eyes away from him. He was pushing the lawnmower with all his weight now, and the muscles of his shoulders, back, and arms flexed in a way that made you want to fan yourself.
Your face heated up even more as he suddenly reached up to pull those black hair away from his neck, and you stared unabashedly at the way his bicep bulged.
You were in so much trouble.
Before you could fantasize more, he turned. Your mouth hung open, because there stood James.
Once again, you were sharply reminded of how much he had changed. There was barely a trace of the round-faced childhood best friend you remember, replaced by this man. A man who looked like he’d stepped out some hot fireman calendar while you’d been away, all strong muscles, jaw with a rough shadow of beard, and abs you could’ve made a religion out of.
Your eyes dropped from his face to travel down his chest, taking in pecs and abs that looked like they’d been chiseled by a master. They were dripping with sweat, and his jeans were just too low, exposing the top edge of his black boxers.
His skin was tan, smooth and flawless and perfect, and for a second you wondered how it must feel to touch him.
His face looked just as good as the rest of him… maybe even better. His lips were full, his jaw chiseled, that jaw that was still sprinkled with a layer of dark stubble.
You licked your dry lips involuntarily, hand itching to reach between your legs.
He took off his cap with one hand and ran his fingers through his sweat-soaked brown hair, cursing under his breath at the heat.
Your legs turned to jelly as you watched him rake the hair back, revealing a brow with a sheen of sweat, eyes sharp and focused ahead.
His jaw was clenched, and for a moment you wondered what he was thinking about before your eyes drifted to the strip of skin just above his jeans and you suddenly forgot what your own name was.
And somehow, things got worse.
He reached back to pull his shirt from the grass and slipped it on, giving you a perfect view of those arms flexing. A second later that delicious torso was covered and you tried desperately to control your breathing.
He walked over to his lawnmower, giving you a full view of his ass.
What were you witnessing right now? Was this some sort of hallucination? Some fever dream?
He turned back to his task, running a hand through his hair again, and you nearly collapsed into a heap. The muscles of his arms flexed again, and you wondered what kind of torture he put his body through to get that sort of muscle definition. Whatever the hell he was working with, it was doing things to you.
In the back of your mind, you felt ridiculous. Your first day back, and already you were getting flustered over a boy.
Even as you forced yourself to tear away from the window (only because his gaze flicked up once), the image followed you into your dreams the next day.
His face was the first thing you saw as you opened your eyes, and your mind immediately went back to the sight of him from the day before.
Those arms, his abs, the sweat on his biceps that had you practically drooling…
You squeezed your eyes shut again, trying desperately to shake away the memory.
It was just the heat messing with you.
Your thighs still felt sticky, sweat or uhm.. other things, you weren't sure. You huffed and trudged into the shower.
The cool water helped clear your head, and you were finally able to control your brain enough to think of something else… anything else.
You weren’t a kid anymore, you reminded yourself. You were a grown ass woman, for gods sake. You couldn’t still get flustered over a boy you hadn’t seen in ages.
You frowned at the obnoxious products on the shelf. But there wasn't much choice so you shrugged and hoped it wouldn't kill your hair. You washed the long strands with the strawberry shampoo, honey body wash scrubbing into the soft skin.
It took an insane amount of willpower to not let your hands wander as you washed, the image of him in your head and the memory of his sweat-slicked abs still burned in your brain.
You groaned in frustration and shut the water off. This was ridiculous.
You were drying your hair, dressed in shorts and a tank top, as you wandered into the kitchen.
"Mom, is there any-" you were cut off when a chuckle sounded through the kitchen.
Your mother’s surprised laugh was the first thing that registered, and then your jaw dropped.
James Barnes was standing in your house, his arms filled with food containers and a gallon jug of milk.
He looked just as good in a grey t-shirt as he did yesterday, only now his hair was tamed and combed back.
His blue eyes widened as he caught sight of you, and his hands froze where they currently were setting down the groceries.
“Uh….” he said intelligently, mouth opening and closing uselessly. His eyes ran over your face, your neck, and lower, taking in the bare legs he used to be so well-acquainted with.
“Good morning hun!” she said, clearly trying to break the sudden tension. “We have a… guest.”
"I can see." You murmured, shooting her a look.
You swallowed dryly and turned back to James, who was still staring at you.
“James.” You said stiffly. “Hi.”
