Wade Wilson

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CW: Self harm


You wake up in the middle of the night with tears in your eyes. Your breathing is harsh as you remember the dream you just had. You run your fingers over your scarred arm, it felt so real. You lay in bed staring at the dark ceiling wondering when Wade will get home from his latest job. Rolling onto your left side you bury your head in the pillow.

Your day has been shit before your dream, all you really want is to cuddle with Wade. Dysphoria is a bitch. You let a few tears slip down your cheeks silently. You feel so uncomfortable just being in your own skin. You curl into a fetal position letting yourself cry.

That's when the voice starts whispering in your ear. Telling you all these things that you can't help but believe. It tells you what you need to do to feel better, a part of you doesn't want to; you've worked so hard to stay clean. But then your dream replays in your head making the urge impossible to ignore, you need it. It will make you feel better.

You slip off the bed, grabbing a small bag from under the bed. You pull out a small double edged razor from said bag. You just sit there staring at it. Did you really want to throw away all the work you put into staying clean? Were you so weak that you couldn't push the urges back enough to ignore them? You shook your head, tears blurring your vision. You were weak. You needed this.

You press the corner of the blade to your arm. You let more tears fall as the familiar sting washes over your body. You relax instantly. But one wasn't enough, it never is. You lose yourself in the beautiful pain as your arm is painted red. Just one more. That's what you kept telling yourself as you made more and more cuts. Once your arm is successfully covered with the physical reminder of your pain, you let the blade fall to the floor.

You know you should get something to clean the blood up, to wrap your arm up with, but all you could do was sit there and cry. You felt so pathetic.

"(Y/n)?" You jump looking in the doorway. Wade is standing there in his suit, holding his mask in his hand. His eyes hold worry and sadness seeing you sitting there crying and bleeding. He drops his mask quickly walking to you.

"Come here, sweetheart." He says quietly sitting next to you, opening his arms.

"It's okay, I'm here. You're okay. You're safe." He soothes, carefully holding you while rubbing circles on your back, letting you cry into his chest.

"Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?" His voice is soft as you run out of tears.

You just nod your head, your throat is a bit sore from all the crying. He kisses your forehead before walking into the bathroom, he comes back with a first aid kit. With a damp washcloth he wipes the blood that started to dry off your arm so he can see the actual wounds.

"These are rather deep..." He whispers as he sanitizes them.

"I'm sorry." You whisper looking to the floor ashamed by how weak you are. He reaches out, lifting your chin up looking into your eyes.

"Don't be sorry, it's okay not to be okay sometimes." He gives you a small sad smile before going back to addressing your wounds.

Once he wrapped your arm up in gauze, he helped you into bed. He wraps his arms around you carefully, holding you against your chest making you feel safe; loved.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" He breaks the silence.

"Not really." You're exhausted but you don't really wanna sleep.

"If you decide you do, I'm right here, baby boy." He kisses your forehead.

"Thank you." You're grateful that he's not going to make you talk about it.

"Of course, darling. I love you, you know." He holds you tighter, but not painfully tight.

"I love you too." You smile, closing your eyes, taking a deep breath through your nose letting his cologne relax you.

"Try and get some sleep, okay?" You nod nuzzling into his chest.


So, I wrote this as an attempt to distract myself, but I didn't think it through cause now the urges are only worse lmao

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