Punk (Chap. 9)
Summary: You’re head over heels for your best friend Bucky and hate the nickname he gave you as it doesn’t exactly scream romance.
Word count: 3423
Warnings: Language, mission/war related violence and gore, shooting, enemy deaths, i think that’s all…*shrugs*
A/N: Chap.9 finally, I know! This is a it of an information dump/setting the rest of the story arc up chapter. I tried to dial down the angst since you lovies all told me how you cried on the last chapter :( and put some action and humour in instead. I hope you like this one and I CAN’T WAIT to give you guys chapter 10 in a few days so please stick around through this one! it’s worth the wait!
**I’m actually legit terrified that i peaked with the last chapter and nothing will ever be as good, especially this chapter, but i hope to give you guys a good story for the rest of the series.
Feedback fuels my life btw….and the picture is from google…i searched for beautiful things… ;]
“Kiddo, wake up we gotta go.”
Clint’s rough, scratchy voice woke you from an uneasy sleep. Your head was pounding and your eyes felt sticky, as if they’d been glued together in the night. “Mmm, wha—w’as happ’nin’?” you mumbled, rubbing a hand down your face.
“Problem in Brooklyn, we gotta go. Get dressed,” Clint replied. He smacked your leg and the bed bounced as he got up and walked towards the closet.
“What about the desert? Nebraska?”
“New Mexico,” Clint clarified with a snort. “There’s no desert in Nebraska. Remind me to get you a map for your birthday. Now, get—up.” He ripped the blanket away from you, causing you to squeal as cold air rushed over your legs.
“Gah! I’m up!
I’m up!” You jolted upwards and
scrambled out from the bed.