#q said im gonna scalp you and youre gonna like it and i said wow. wig

[angel-fire]

incoherent rambling in the tags because I got SHIT to say. q stands for queen as well as qlove of my life.

this is longer than my usual writings because i had to fit in the background lore. which still has a whole lotta holes but that’s not why you’re gonna read it, is it? 😅

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in which you and bucky get stuck in an elevator after he’s been dosed with something that makes him hungry for you. (includes friends to lovers, sex pollen-esque, dirty talk, praise kink, mild cockwarming, unprotected sex, light bondage and restraints.)

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The elevator shuts.

Although the metal seal of the door confirms the mission’s failure, you’re complacent. You’ve never liked the whole undercover job, and you especially didn’t like this one with the conjecture of the mission’s objective. 

Allegedly, there’s a new drug making its debut on the high-end scene of New York—a killer version of ecstasy. One of the hot-stops rumored to be this casino and hotel which you and your friend-slash-coworker Bucky Barnes are assigned to. Because of your begrudgingly talented acting skills and looks, and his biological resistance to drugs, you two make the perfect fit. (In more ways than one, you always think to yourself.)

As it turns out, there’s none; at least, none at the club you just finished infiltrating. While ecstasy was present, there wasn’t any behavior more extreme than what’s expected. Perhaps, it’ll show up somewhere else, but for now? You got nada. 

The only upside is that you’ve got to work aside your crush and see him all debonair in a black suit and trimmed shoulder length hair. 

Speaking of, you want to glance back behind him. The flashing lights hadn’t allowed you to really see like you wanted, but you resist the urge because you don’t want to weird him out. Instead, you revel in the fact you’re freed from the riotous music, intoxicated clubbers and sweltering temperatures. Your guard drops from your shoulders, and you step backwards only to bump into a hard chest. 

A smile upturns your lips, but a smart retort about personal space dies on your tongue when his arms cord around your waist and brace you strongly against him; in tandem, his nose is nuzzling into the crook of your neck and inhaling deeply. 

“Wow. You smell fucking good,” he groans, throatily teasing the sensitive zone. His arms slip lower, his hands grapple at your thighs, ruffling your dress up so he can knead at your bare skin. “You always smell so fucking good. Like vanilla and cherries. Like I should just eat you up.” His voice borders a growl before his tongue lulls out to just that: a long swipe following the curve between your neck and shoulder. 

“B - Buck—” you gasp with a violent shudder as heat flares throughout your entire body. It’s good, even better than what you’ve dreamed of. “What are you—what’re you d - doing?” 

“Well, you, in a second,” he purrs in your ear, nipping at your lobe. “If you let me. And you wanna let me, don’t you?” He’s pressing into your backside until you feel him hard in his pants, huge and grinding against the cleft of your asscheeks. One hand smooths up your inner thigh to slot between your hips, palming your panty-clad sex and the wet spot rapidly soaking through. “Hell, yeah, you do.” 

Your hands slam forward against the closed metal doors. Tingles prickle up your legs until you wobble, inadvertently bucking into his frenzied caress. “Oh, shit,” you moan. “Where’s this c - coming from?” You aren’t complaining—it’s about damn time—but you’re curious to know what happened to the annoyingly polite and almost shy Bucky you’ve come to know? 

“You kiddin’ me? I’ve been trying to get my cock inside you since the first moment we met, and every moment since then,” he growls, vaguely offended. “And this dress? Oh, baby, it’s doing somethin’ to me. Actually, it’s just you that’s doing somethin’ to me. Always drivin’ me wild.” 

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