wade x peter : only you

33; ribs

major dysphoria trigger warning, also trigger warning mention of suicide.
stay safe my angels, if you need anything you can message me. <3

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Peter was sat on the cold tile floor, his nails clawing harshly at the bruised skin underneath his binder. He felt disgusting. Everything about himself made him want to die. Cold eyes from his reflection were staring at him. The reflection had no emotions, but at the same time looked like he would break down into tears at any moment.

Oh how he hated that reflection.

How it made him want to die.

Every single feature was just so disgustingly feminine. His face. His cheeks. His jawline. All the way down to his thighs, his ass, his hips. His knees. Everything. His hands were too small. Hips too wide. Waist too tiny. Shoulders not broad enough. It's like his brain was picking apart every single thing about himself, even though it wouldn't help.

On the other side of the door stood Wade, worried sick. His soft knocks turned into harsh, loud thuds. "Peter, please.." He pleaded, for what felt like the one hundredth time. The man let his body drop to the floor, leaning against the bathroom door. He was so worried. So scared. Was it his fault?

[Oh god, it's our fault, it's our fault. It's our fault.]

[Calm down please. Get that fucking door open, before anything happens.]

[What if it's too late already?]

[IT'S GONNA BE TOO LATE IF YOU DON'T GET THE FUCK UP AND GET THAT DOOR OPEN. NOW.]

A warm fluid snapped the brunette back to the reality. His hands were covered in blood, and so was his side. He'd scratched open the skin underneath his binder. The brunette stood up, taking a closer look in the mirror. His hands moved from underneath the top, to his face. His face with the oh so soft features. The hands started clawing at it, roughly. He was filled with rage. The spider kept scratching until his face was bleeding too. A soft sob finally escaped his lips.

Peter wanted to let Wade in. He really did. But how could he? In this state? How could he even utter a single word anymore, when his voice was so disgustingly high pitched, so soft, so.. feminine.

Wade was still banging on the door, near the edge of just breaking it down. It was quiet in there. Too quiet for comfort. Finally, the brunette gave in. He stumbled over to the door, unlocking it before collapasing on the cold, tiled floor.

The Merc nearly fell through the door, worried sick. He saw his boyfriend, on the floor. He looked miserable. "Oh my god.." Wade mumbled, eyes going wide and a lump forming in his throat. Oh how he wished he could take Peter's pain from him and feel it himself, just so his baby could be happy.

"Peter.."

"I'm sorry." Peter sobbed out.

Wade leaned down, scooping Peter up into his arms, before carefully sitting him down on the toilet.

"Shit shit shit shit shit." He mumbled to the voices.

[How could we let this happen oh my god.]

[Shit.]

[We have to make sure he's okay.]

[HE'S BLEEDING YOU FUCKING MORON.]

"I'm so sorry.." He kept on sobbing, his breathing speeding up. "I'm so-" His breathing stopped, not allowing him to say anything else.

"It's okay. You're gonna be okay. It's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay it's okay. You're gonna be fine." Wade mumbled over and over, more to himself than to Peter.