My body is a trail of blood marks, cigarette burns and ravenous ferocity down your throat because you once kissed, courted, and tantalised death for the sake of painting cyclones and hurricanes on the blank slate heart you thought I had. I'm a poison ivy growing, tangling, twining around your star crossed future I was erotically, maniacally, co-dependently in love with. I spit serpent tongue and baby spiders onto your hipbones just so you could turn into a haphazard maelstrom and toxic wasteland and see that I'm merely a pigtailed child tethered to a bedpost and you are the mural showcasing my feral tantrum.
I miss you
Seeing you and feeling like I'm walking on ice
I never know when I'll fall in.
I can't say too much, but neither can you
Without the ice cracking more.
What do we do now?
Loki x Reader: Bittersweet
:bulletgreen: Loki x Reader: Bittersweet :bulletgreen:
Actions. Scrambling, swatting, ripping.
Tears of countless nights staining paled cheeks. They came from eyes that had seen too much and yet so little, and it broke his heart as he raised his hands in surrender.
He wanted nothing more than to hold her close, but that was impossible now. She wasn’t herself, and his words had not reached her. Not yet.
“(F/n), you must calm yourself.” Even to his own ears, the words sounded broken, but he continued anyway. “Dearest, you are not well . . .”
“Look who’s talking, freak,” the woman spat angrily