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
All you can think of is Bucky. You want his lips to burn every part of your flesh they can reach, you want burn marks to prove you have been touched by a god amongst mortals. You want him but it seems no one else wants you to.
Everywhere you go, every corner you turn your face the look of judgement on people's faces and it's all because of the motorcycle driving, leather wearing, tall, dark and handsome man of your dreams and their nightmares. They don't see what you see, they don't see the man who can make the devil jealous, the man whose very name makes you want to moan it whilst he takes you over and consumes you. All they see is what they want to.
You know it's only a matter of time before the rumours reach your home and you'll never be able to look upon Bucky again in all his sinful glory. You'll have to pray aimlessly to a man you've made your God with no avail wondering when he'll finally let you see him, all of him. The reality you live in is cold and harsh like winter but like the changing of the seasons, it is inevitable.
You're walking down the streets of the small town you call home and everyone is staring at you, you can hear the faint whispers of those around talking about how they saw you get on Bucky's bike and drive off to God knows where doing God knows what. You know what they're thinking and you wish that it was true, you wish your darkest fantasies about Bucky had come true that day. You were one step closer but now you're talk of the town and it seems like your dreams that leave you dripping might never come true.
You walk quick avoiding their looks of concern and judgment trying to get home before you stay too long and are met with their cruel words. You know you can't handle what they have to say without blowing up and defending the man who has managed in the space of weeks to become your sole desire. Your feet move faster than you're accustomed to as you hear an elder lady say, "Look at her go probably running off to that piece of filth boyfriend of hers. She better realise soon that he's just like the rest of his friends on those stupid motorbikes nothing but trash. They're all scum and I'd hate to see a pretty girl like herself be ruined by a man like him."
You know how she thinks he's going to ruin you but you want it, you want him to take you roughly, take you slowly, take you however he pleases, however you want. You want to him to do every single thing with you in the bible that is sinful, you want God to look down on you with disgust as he makes you moan and scream; as you make him moan deeply.
You shake your head slightly trying to get rid of the thoughts that leave your breathing harsh and heavy but like always you can't find escape from Bucky and his devilishly handsome looks that you breathless. However, you can find escape from their looks and words in him, in his eyes the colour of blue that makes the word stand still, the blue that renders you speechless, the blue you want to be shielded in. In that blue of his eyes, you see the world you want to live in – his world.
You walk with him in mind hoping that when you reach home your liaisons with him will only exist on the streets and not in the home that frowns heavily upon you being anything and anybody else that isn't the good little girl. You want to the be good girl but you want to be his good girl.
Home is the only where you feel safe from everybody else and their ideals that you refuse to conform to. You feel trapped, however, the more you stay inside afraid of the impending storm the more you feel as if you cannot go on. You need a saviour, someone to pull you from your house and away from the incoming storm of the town's people and their judgement. You know only one person who can manage to pull off such a thing but you haven't seen his bright blue eyes in days and you're not sure you can live without seeing the fire you mistake for the sun that makes you shine like diamonds.
