Harry was beautiful. Tom knew that much was true. Harry was beautiful in his rage, in his happiness, in his sadness, in his pain, in his hurt. And Tom wanted to be the one to make him feel. Feel everything and anything.
Tom wanted Harry to be his and only his.
Tom wanted to make Harry feel everything. Pain, pleasure.
Tom Riddle wants Harry Potter.
Tom Riddle wants the world.
Tom Riddle wants to watch the world burn .
Tom Riddle wants.
And Harry? Harry needs it. He needs Tom, and Tom knows this.
"Harry," Tom purred, relishing in the way Harry shivered.
"Yes, Tom?" Harry asked sweetly. Tom licked his lips. Harry tasted like honey whenever Tom kissed him, and Tom wanted to kiss and lick and bruise those lips until Harry was begging Tom for more.
Until Harry was writing underneath him.
"Tom." Harry spoke again.
"Yes, darling?" Tom cooed. Harry said nothing, but he opened his arms, a clear invitation for Tom.
To do what, perhaps, to any outsider, it would be to hug. But Tom knew what Harry was really offering. Himself. Harry was offering himself to a god, and Tom was all too glad to accept this.
Harry whimpered underneath him. Sweat beaded his forehead, and he squirmed again, forcing Tom to tighten the grip he had on his hips.
"No moving, baby boy. Stay still, you only get what I give you." Harry moaned, breaking off the moan into a whimper.
"Tom," Harry cried out, and Tom preened, pleased to be the cause of such a tone of voice in Harry. "More, please." Harry begged. Tom clucked his tongue.
"Only what I give you love," Tom leaned in. "You know the rules." Tom curled his fingers, pumping them in and out of Harry's hole. Harry moaned, arching his back, desperately trying to get more of Tom's fingers inside him.
"So needy," Tom murmured lowly. Harry blushed and bit his lip.
"Only for you, daddy," Tom pulled his fingers out and traced the length of Harry's cock with them, still covered in lube and Harry's slick.
"Ah, ah, ah," Harry whimpered. He bucked his hips up again. "More, more, please, daddy,"
"Oh, baby boy," Tom purred. "I'd give you the world ," Tom started to finger Harry again, curling his fingers as he moved his fingers in and out.
"Are you ready?" Tom asked, and Harry nodded frantically.
"Careful, love." Tom said. "I'll go slow." Tom promised.
"Uh," moaned Harry eloquently. Tom chuckled.
"Precious boy," he said, running his hands
Tom pressed inside, and both of them hissed when Tom was pressed full inside him. Both Tom and Harry groaned at the feeling.
"Tom," Harry moans softly. "More,"
"How do you ask for something, baby?" Tom purrs.
"Daddy, please, more," Harry mewls.
"Look at yourself. Such a whore, begging for daddy's cock," Tom says and Harry whimpers.
"Oh, baby boy," Tom says. "You have no idea how much I love you."
My heart's aflutter!
I am standing in the bath tub
crying. Mother, mother
who am I? If he
will just come back once
and kiss me on the face
his coarse hair brush
my temple, it's throbbing!
then I can put on my clothes
I guess, and walk the streets.
I love you. I love you,
but I'm turning to my verses
and my heart is closing
like a fist.
Words! be
sick as I am sick, swoon,
roll back your eyes, a pool,
and I'll stare down
at my wounded beauty
which at best is only a talent
for poetry.
Cannot please, cannot charm or win
what a poet!
and the clear water is thick
with bloody blows on its head.
I embrace a cloud,
but when I soared
it rained.
That's funny! there's blood on my chest
oh yes, I've been carrying bricks
what a funny place to rupture!
and now it is raining on the ailanthus
as I step out onto the window ledge
the tracks below me are smoky and
glistening with a passion for running
I leap into the leaves, green like the sea
Now I am quietly waiting for
the catastrophe of my personality
to seem beautiful again,
and interesting, and modern.
The country is grey and
brown and white in trees,
snows and skies of laughter
always diminishing, less funny
not just darker, not just grey.
It may be the coldest day of
the year, what does he think of
that? I mean, what do I? And if I do,
perhaps I am myself again.
SMUTTTT✨💅😫😩
poem: Mayakovsky, Frank O'Hara
So watching the Super Bowl for me was an exciting experience, especially since black people, my people, were performing the half time show. The way I was rapping with Kendrick Lamar and singing with Mary J was just so powerful. I sincerely hope you guys enjoyed it as much as I did.
The commercials too were awesome. I've already geared myself up for the new Dr. Strange movie.
Happy Valentine's day, and don't miss Harry's interlude too! I updated twice today :)