Those Ocean Eyes and That Charming Smile

163

I fucked myself and no, it's not a dumb fucking metaphor. I'm being so serious. I woke up with the biggest set of eye bags, they could be on the next Prada line but it's nothing a little concealer can't fix so I hobble my way to the bathroom to take a shower and get dressed for the day after seeing it's four in the afternoon because somebody- me, decided to stay up all night, fucking herself with every toy she could find in her room and make the biggest mess on the bed before she had to move to the floor then the shower. Last night has been on my mind all night and morning because why wouldn't it? Having a man like that grind on you and ask several times to go upstairs sticks in your head and I can't remember if he was serious but I don't care, it seemed real enough to me and that's all that matters.

"Dammit." I mutter a sigh when feeling a slight throbbing headache as I walk to my closet

Not the biggest hangover I've had but my title carries a little lightweight right now.

I spent this morning scrubbing and scratching my chest and neck to get the feeling of Bucky's lips off of my skin and sure, it was fun last night to remember each wet kiss he left on my collarbones and cleavage that fueled my hands in doing a more sinful way of God's work as the stubble that left a small trail of feeling behind stuck in my head along with the big hands that seemed to know every place where I liked to be touched but like he said, it was just a mission with no feelings involved.

I know his weren't.

I get dressed in simple, casual, comfortable clothes from not feeling like actually dressing up this morning and my hair is feeling the same when the long brown strands are tossed in a tangled, trashy bun on the top of my head that gets me ready to walk downstairs to see some Avengers out and Steve cooking so I make my way over to him.

"Whatcha doin?" I ask with a smile and Steve returns it as he looks to his side where I am

"Making Bucky eggs." Steve says before flipping the cheesy omelet he's frying up. "He has a bad hangover." He tells me and I nod

"Oh." I hum. "But, aren't you hungry?" I ask and he sighs a nod

"Starving." He rolls wide eyes back to the pan. "Just got out of training."

"Then, you go and take that and I'll heal Buck's hangover." I suggest and it doesn't take twice for Steve to slide the food on a plate and shut off the stove

"I'll clean it later." He mutters and picks up a fork, already eating as he makes his way to the private living room. "Thanks, Y/n!" He calls through a mouthful of food

"No problem." I chuckle and turn to walk over to Bucky who is laying on the couch

He has his hands folded behind his indeed throbbing head that has a cold washcloth on his forehead and eyes. He's taking smooth deep breaths under his thin t-shirt and sweatpants that match mine only, mine fit me like his do but that doesn't matter when I reach forward and take the washcloth off his head to see his eyes squint and blink open to get used to the light.

"Hmm?" Bucky hums and lifts his head in confusion before he sees me. "Oh... Hey, sweetheart." He sighs in a gravely voice before resting his head back on his hands and closes his eyes

"Good morning." I smile even though he can't see it. "Well- technically, it's the afternoon." I shrug and set the washcloth on the glass coffee table

"Like how much after noon?" He asks while keeping his eyes closed

"Uh, almost five." I guess and play with my hands to avoid my own awkwardness he doesn't seem to feel in the air

"Damn." He mutters. "Did Steve make my eggs yet?" He cracks an eye open to look in the kitchen