MARVEL & DC IMAGINES

] s i x feet under 2 [

summary: you meet him at church, he might just be satan | au

pairing: biker!bucky x reader

word count: 2749

warnings: smoking, mentions of religion, swearing

a/n: tags are at the bottom. also if you wanna be tagged just ask and i'll add you to the list :)

previous parts: part one

Sky the colour of exhaled cigarette smoke greets you as you walk down the street, you look up eyes fixated on the grey clouds that remind you of plumes of smoke. It seems as if everywhere you go a reminder of the leather-clad man follows you. You can't help but gaze up at the skies praying to the God your mother made you both fear and love that Bucky would return and when he did he would finally press his chapped lips to your own soft pink ones. He's temptation walking and you'd do anything to give into it, give into him.

Your thoughts full of leather jackets and motorcycles turn into a reality when the deep bellow of pure American muscle rings through the air; it's so loud you're sure the entire population of the small town you reside in must be able to hear it. You turn your head painfully quick to the road beside you hoping to see the devilishly handsome man of your dreams but instead, you see the religion to which he belongs to.

Ladies on the side of pavement stop and gawk beside you at the sight, a gang of men in leather jackets and vests on motorcycles. It was like something out of a movie, the sight was glorious to behold but others around you did not think the same way. "Can you believe them? Who do they think they are?" A slender blonde woman beside you asks and it's only then to do you realise you're as stationary as the gossiping lady.

Your eyes never leave the smoke fumes exiting exhaust pipes as the blonde woman's friend replies, "A bunch of criminals and thugs, that's who they are. It's despicable men like them who have done things like they have, shouldn't be allowed anywhere near civilisation." You recognise that voice it belongs to one of your mother's friends from church, Cecilia.

You don't bother to look up at the women beside you who are still chattering away about the mysterious group of men on bikes sauntering around the town. You only want to look at the glimmer of polished black zooming about the streets.

Bucky pops into your head again, you can imagine him driving you to freedom and blue skies, showing you the hellfire he was sculpted from. You know you want whatever it is that man has to offer, even a simple touch of the hand would be enough to make the same hellfire burn brightly inside of you. You can imagine the tarnished Adonis gripping the bars of his bike tightly, his knuckles going white as his long hair flaps around in the wind. You can imagine him pulling over just to light one up, smoking until the sky is as dark and captivating as he is.

You're still standing on the pavement eyes locked on the road when you hear the roar of an engine, you turn your head quickly in the direction of the sound and the sight you see is both heavenly and hellish. It's him, it's Bucky riding down the streets like he owns it. He owns you, you're sure of it, even more, when he spots you on the pavement and pulls up beside you.

You don't think it's possible to feel what's inside of you, it's indescribable the effect he holds over you. You know one thing and one thing only, Bucky will be the death of you. Six feet under and you're sure every part of you would still belong to the mystery that he is.

Chatter starts up again all around you as Bucky smirks, his eyes never leaving your form. His gaze rakes over your exposed legs and he hums in appreciation. "If it isn't my babygirl," he says eyes stuck firmly on the small cleavage from the white sundress your wearing. He thinks you look beautiful in white, so innocent but Bucky knows he would love to see you in his colour: black.