Gold On Your Fingertips | B. Barnes
Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Reader
Summary: Bucky lets you paint his nails in an attempt to cheer you up.
> Word Count: 1.9K
> Warnings: Reader is a bit upset for no specific reason, mentions of food and eating, other than that just a ton of fluff.
A/N: Not sure I love how this turned out, but I wanted to write it nonetheless. Title is from Billie’s song, Hostage. Thought it was fitting :) That is all- enjoy friends.
Main Masterlist
Roommate!Bucky Masterlist
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You weren’t having the best day.
That much was evident as Bucky went to leave the apartment around two in the afternoon, calling out to you that he was going to hang out with Sam and would be back later.
He stood by the front door, listening for your response before he left.
Nothing came.
Bucky sighed, hanging up his keys on the hooks you bought and nailed by the entry way before walking to your room.
Your bedroom door was cracked a bit, enough for him to hear you breathing. He peeked in, the door squeaking on its hinges enough to make him cringe.
To say he was worried was an understatement. You were fast asleep, a rare occurrence for you at two pm. You never took naps this early in the day, or rarely at all. He had heard you up and moving earlier that morning, which confused him even more. He could tell that something happened, his intuition never wrong when it came to you.
He tipped his shoes off before walking around the bed to where you were turned, crouching down and rubbing a hand over your shoulder.
“Y/n…” he cooed, stroking some fallen hair out of your face. He laughed to himself, the sight of you curled up under your massive comforter reminding him of a little butterfly in its cocoon.
You hummed lightly as you were pulled from your sleep, scrunching up your face when you felt his fingers trapeze across your cheek.
“You alright in there?” Bucky asked, his voice still quiet and soft.
A huff came from your nose, tickling Bucky’s arm. “Yeah. Fine.” You said, the words muffled and cracked.
The obvious lie made Bucky roll his eyes. He knew you too well by now to see right through your words. He fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, typing and sending Sam a quick ‘Might have to meet up a bit later if that’s alright.’ text before turning his ringer off.
“Scoot.” He said, standing up and sliding his jacket off, tossing it on the floor.
You were more awake now, groaning as you flipped on your back and pushed your body to the center of the mattress. Bucky was aware that closer physical contact comforted you, something he grew used to, and even fond of, over the years of being friends.
It came as a surprise to Steve when he first saw Bucky inch closer to you during a random team movie night, letting you rest your head in his lap. He always knew Bucky as reserved and against most forms of physical touch, save for the occasional hug or arm over the shoulder, but was glad to see his walls come tumbling down when he met you.
Bucky grabbed the edge of the blanket, lifting it and sliding under, maneuvering the both of you until your head was against his chest, legs tangled comfortably. His vibranium arm was snug under your head and he let his fingers trace gentle shapes against your back. Both of you stayed silent for a minute, just relaxing in each other’s presence.
“Are you wearing the cologne I got you? Y’smell good.” You asked in a whisper, smelling the fragrant amber and sandalwood floating into your nose, reminding you of when you dragged Sam to the mall to help pick it out before Bucky’s birthday.
He laughed, his chest rumbling and a smile forming on his face. “Yeah, I’m glad to know you won’t let me smell bad.”
“Mhm, never.” You mumbled into his dark blue t-shirt.
The two of you laid there for a bit longer as you fell in and out of sleep. Bucky was content just watching you, chuckling when the occasional snore drifted from your mouth. It was over two hours later when you started to rouse again.
“Hmmmm, what time is is?” You yawned into Bucky’s chest, stretching out your limbs with no regard to his body beside you.
“Nearly five, sleepy head. Ready to get up?” He poked at your sides, eliciting more tired and grumpy groans.
“Hmph- no.” You mumbled, your face buried into his arm.
He rolled his eyes again, this time accompanying it with a disapproving shake of his head. “Have you eaten today?” His tone was accusatory, knowing that since you’d been asleep for most of it — the answer was probably no.
A deep rumble of your stomach answered his question before you could.
“Yep, alrighty, up we get. C’mon.” He said rather cheerfully, an odd mood he would get into on his good days. It always made you laugh though, so you couldn’t complain. When you weren’t budging from under the covers he huffed, quickly scooping you up and into his arms, standing and leaving your room with you in tow. You didn’t fight him, still half-asleep and groggy from your long nap. “I’ll make your favorite for...” He peered over to the clock above the stove. “...early dinner.”
You peeked up at him, eyes bright with excitement. “Pasta carbonara?” You grinned, snuggling into the couch as Bucky dropped you from his hold.
“Pasta carbonara, sweet-pea.” Bucky confirmed, waltzing to the kitchen to begin his culinary escapade.
Nobody could deny that Bucky was a good cook. A great cook, in fact. He told you that growing up he liked helping his mom cook dinner with his sisters, learning from the best of the best. In the years that he’s been on the team he started re-learning how, even coming up with his own recipes for him and his friends favorite dishes.
As he began working on dinner you turned on the t.v., flipping through the channels until you came across something you liked. Unfortunately nothing piqued your interest, just a bunch of old re-runs playing today. You thought for a moment before you glanced down at your hands, grimacing at the state of them. You stood from the couch, tip toeing to the bathroom and grabbing one of your toiletry bags before going back to sit, this time on the floor of the living room.
The air filled with the salty scent of bacon, green peas, pasta made from scratch, and the light garlic creme sauce. When it was done he piled the meal into two ceramic bowls, sitting them in front of your respective places at the countertop bar. Your back was turned to him as you hunched over something on the floor, apparently deep in concentration as you didn’t hear him call your name.
“Y/n? What are you doin’?” Bucky asked, a brow raised as he walked over to you, finally seeing what you were focused on.
Laid out in front of you were six bottles of nail polish, a file, and a bottle of acetone. You were dipping a brush into a dark red bottle, getting more polish on it before bringing it up to your nail to even out the edges.
“Ew, that stinks. Put it away and come eat.” Bucky glared at you as you reluctantly tightened the cap back on the bottle, blowing on the fresh coat in hopes of it drying faster.
“After dinner can I paint yours?” You asked after you stood, sitting on the barstool next to Bucky before taking your first bite.
He chuckled. “No way in hell.”
You pouted, a mouthful of pasta making it hard. “C’mon, Buck. Pleaseeeeee? You’d look so badass with your nails done.”
Bucky groaned, shoving more of the delicious pasta in. He could normally stand his ground, keeping his decisions firm and final with everyone else.
But with you? One look at those ridiculous puppy dog eyes and he was a goner, willing to give in to anything you asked of him.
Sam had called him whipped, even though the both of you were just friends.
Steve said he found it endearing how much Bucky cared for you, but only after Bucky was well out of ear-shot.
“Fine,” he mumbled through bacon bits, “but none of that bright red shit you’ve got goin’ on.” He motioned to your half painted nails.
As long as Bucky could get you to smile he didn’t give a rats ass what he had to do.
Maybe Sam was right after all.
The two of you sat and finished up the meal, small conversations drifting in and out between bites. When you were done he put the dishes in the sink, slowly walking over to where you resumed your position on the hardwood floor. He plopped down with a loud grunt.
He wore an unsure expression on his face as he looked over his color options, slowly settling on a shiny black and pushed it into your awaiting palm.
You frowned. “This one wont show up well on your other hand.”
He swore his heart grew a size or two from just how fuckin’ sweet you were to him. Of course you had wanted to paint both of his hands. Why would you only paint the five nails of the fleshy one when he had ten in total to your artistic disposal?
You looked at all the bottles, picking up a golden metallic one to show Bucky. “What about this? It’ll match the gold on your arm...” You offered, just hoping he’d pick any color at this point.
He was lost for a moment in the tenderness of it all, quickly regaining his train of thought. “Yeah, sure, that one... that ones great, sweet-pea.”
You grinned up at him, his own smile growing at the sight of yours. You shook the bottle to mix the paint, the soft rattle of the ball inside sending tingles down Bucky’s spine. The chemically smell Bucky wasn’t fond of crawled out of the bottle as you popped it open, leaning his head back a bit in hopes of escaping it. You chuckled, holding out your palm so he could lay his hand down. It was soft, just as always, and you hummed along to a song you had stuck in your head as you started his manicure. Luckily, Bucky had pretty big nail beds, so it didn’t get as messy as he was expecting. You set his hand on his knee gently when you finished, warning him to not move an inch until it completely dried.
Once again, his heart nearly burst as he watched you pick up his heavy, bionic, Wakandan-tailored arm, being just as gentle and taking the same amount of time to paint similar-sized golden nails onto the finger tips. It only took a few minutes total, but Bucky knew this moment would never leave him.
When you were finished with both sets of nails you screeched at him to stay still, running in your room to grab your phone. You knelt back down at Bucky’s side, snapping a few pictures of your work — much to Bucky’s dismay.
“I promise, Bucky! They’re only for me...” You giggled, assuring him as he whined about not wanting the team to see. You scrolled through the few good pictures you got before he started squirming, smiling at them before turning your phone off.
“Oh yeah, I’m sure.” He said, totally not trusting you.
To be fair, he had the right to not trust you.
Thirty minutes later Sam texted him, one of the pictures you took attached to the message.
‘Damn, boy. What did I say? W. H. I. P. P. E. D. Hope you enjoyed your day at Y/n’s nail salon. Now hurry up and get ready, Steve’s driving me crazy and the game is about to start. Oh — have Y/n come too, and bring the polish ;)’
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