The-Little-Massacre

It was 3 days after I met Jack I knew he was a keeper. I was having a bad day, mentally and just a bad day in general, so I came home and as I slammed my door shut with a grunt, I stomped to the hallway about 20 feet from the door and punched a hole in the wall. I saw blood slowly emerge from my knuckles, so I fell back against the wall, and slide down, tears falling down my face.  Bing! I pick up my phone and see a text from Jack. On my way there. I'll see you in about 15 minutes  Crap! I forgot I invited him over. I quickly wiped my tears from my face and went to the bathroom to clean my bleeding hand. I hissed as I put it under the ru

"Come on, Cap! Don't make me pick your lock!" you shouted through the door, giving the hardwood another sharp rap with your knuckles. You balanced a bag of muffins, a cup holder of two large coffees, a tourist book for Washington DC and Steve's newspaper in one hand and knocked on his door with the other. "Cap!" Finally, the door swung open and he stood there with one arm against the doorframe and the other dangling at his side, hair disheveled and face adorably clouded with sleepy confusion. You glanced down, noticed his lack of shirt, and immediately forced your gaze back up to his face. You grinned brightly. "Mornin', sunshine." "One, wh

"Ah, c'mon, Bucky, slow down, would ya?" Steve panted, bent over with his hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. At thirteen years old, he was skin and bone, barely the size of his friend's younger cousins, and not to mention a head shorter than everyone else. Ahead of him, Bucky Barnes paused and turned back, rolling his eyes at his best friend. "You and that asthma," he teased, stuffing his hands in his pockets and walking back. He patted the small blonde on the back, laughing at the look Steve sent him. "Sorry. Insensitive, right? You poor lad, you." "Shove off," Steve grumbled and straightened, taking one last deep breath b

"Are you sure about this, sir?" "What about the things I just said makes you think I'm not?" "Nothing, sir, it's just that...the last time he saw me...he broke through a wall and pushed a lot of people down." "That was the situation, not you." "But still, what if he associates my face with that and whatever he was feeling at the time? He could hate me." "I don't think 'hate' is in his emotional dictionary." "There are few arguable cases for that, sir." "Now you're just purposely straying from the subject. Are you accepting your mission or not?" "Of course I accept, sir, I'm just hesitant to believe that Captain Rogers is going to like

Steve shot up in bed, his skin soaked in sweat and his breathing ragged, the distant ring of gunshots still filling his head. He shoved a hand through his hair and put his elbows on his knees before letting his head fall into his hands. He pressed his palms to his eyes, trying to stop the onslaught of memories that assaulted his brain, but the stubborn nightmares lingered. Wood splintered as bullets whizzed past his head, hitting the trees and stirring dust from the ground, momentarily blinding him, but he kept running. He could hear their shouts at his side, replied with broken commands of his own, and he could see his face at his side, sme

Note: No spoilers for Jiwoo route. This is just a work of fiction based on my imagination and some in-game reactions. Enjoy your reading!  Disturbing Jiwoo from his reading seemed like a crime. He was sitting quietly on the sofa, reading a romance novel he was addicted for days by now. An evil smirk crossed your lips as you saw all the conditions were perfect to pray a prank on him — only the two of you at home, Saturday, all the animals claiming they’d come home late that night, and a quiet atmosphere.  — “Dangerous Game”, uh, Jiwoo? Another novel? — You said reading the cover.  Jiwoo d