sohyuning

Bucky had a problem. A fascination. A need. He loved watching you. He liked the way your hair fell across your face, the colour of your eyes, the shape of your lips, everything. Although he noticed all your tiny details, you hardly knew him because you just didn't speak to him. He tried to make conversation with you but always failed. Being Avengers, you both lived in Stark Tower but he couldn't gather the confidence to speak to you, so he just stuck to staring at you. You were sat with the team of heroes, chatting away. You were watching Youtube videos with Pietro, with Steve glancing at the screen every so often. Bucky sat opposite you, a

“Stop!” You screamed sitting up in bed, the bright lights blinding you, your head pounding. “(Y-....-N),” you faintly heard your name through ringing ears. Your vision was blurry but you made out the shape of two people in front of you. A few second later you saw it was the Professor and Storm. “(Y/n),” he repeated. “You’re safe now.” When you looked around you saw you were in a room that looked like a hospital. Your arm was in a sling and your whole body ached. Images a the feral man flashed in your head and you grabbed your head. “What happened? He was going to take me? Why?

You could feel it in your bones; the raw provoked anguish that threatened to consume your sanity. Betrayal lingered on trembling hands, delicate fingers pursed on the trigger in your coat pocket. Concealing your trepidation would be a task which required minimal effort; your swift manipulation was the reason Sherlock Holmes first took interest in you, after all. But he would know; he would recognize the cold sweat threatening to form on your hairline, he would sense the chill prepared to drag it's bitter claws down your spine. Sherlock Holmes, the man that would so passionately die for you in any circumstance, would perceive your strife and d