Game of Thrones
Fan art//Digital Art
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19 - “Stop talking about love for a minute and help me with this bullet wound.”
“This is all your fault (Y/N)!”, Wade snapped next to you. You raised your eyebrows in surprise as you cocked your gun and fired at one of the hired thugs firing at you, “Wilson I think you’ll find this is all your fault”. You heard the mercenary scoff, “You have no proof! Besides I played nice like you wanted and look where it’s got us!”, he growled.
“Played nice?”, you hissed, “That’s hardly what I’d call it, more like being a prick like you always are”. Deadpool gasped and stopped fighting, he placed a gun across his chest in mock hurt, “I am not a prick, not all of the time”.
“Wade now isn’t the ti–SHIT”, you screamed out. You had focused all of your attention on the man in the red suit next to you and not your enemies, as a result of your carelessness one of the men was able to land a shot directly on your exposed arm. You dropped your gun and dropped to the floor, clattering down next to the discarded weapon you cried out in pain.”(Y/N)? You okay buddy?”, Wade asked timidly as he shot the man who’d shot you.
“Fuck no! I’ve been shot”, you whined. You risked lifting your hand off the wound and instantly regretted it; red seeped from the hole staining your uniform and your hand.
“WHAT? WHERE?”, Deadpool suddenly screeched bending down next to you, although you couldn’t see it, his eyes widened in fear behind his mask, “Sit tight sweetheart, I’m making these fuckers pay”, you watched as he stormed off and silence finally fell around the compound you’d been raiding.
Deadpool stalked back to you, he sheathed his katanas back into their straps and flopped down beside you once more.
“How bad is it?”, he asked gently. You gave him a glare in response, “Alright, alright, don’t go dying on me I’ve got so much I need to tell you. I’m not good with all that mushy-gushy shit (Y/N), but you make me want to be good with the mushy-gushy shit. Like I love fighting by you, I love hanging at yours and eating chimichangas with you and I–”.
You cut Wade’s rambling off with a tired, irritable smile, “I’m not going to bleed out from an arm wound now stop talking about love for a minute and help me with this bullet wound”.