FLORICIDE| tom riddle

undici

"What do you want from here?" she asks one day.

"Why do you care?"

"Curiosity." Agnes watches him for a while and then heaves. "Just don't get me directly involved in whatever it is you're doing it. You're up to no good and I want nothing to do with it."

"You hurt my ego," Tom says mockingly.

"Good."

She doesn't bring up the topic ever again.

Two days go by and Agnes wishes nothing more than for her to stop existing. She believes she is going crazy and every time she sees Tom, she wants to rip her hair out. But of course, he'd like that. His satisfactions begin and end with people being hurt, and she has had that figured out for quite a while now. 

The next day she sees him, she pulls him close and kisses him, if only to make her feel something. He kisses her back with just as much passion as she puts in. 

And now he's standing in front of her, and he buries his head between her legs and Agnes gasps and moans and all she can feel is stardust and stardust and stardust and coats of emerald and veins threading and making her clench, in and out, in and out. Her fingers tug at his hair, her moans inflicted with his name, his breath emitting clandestine murmurs in her womanhood. 

She feels something, alright. It makes her feel alive, and she does not wish to be as half dead as she wanted to. In this moment, she is doing what she is good at doing. 

His mouth travels her, every inch of her body as if she is a familiar song. 

Tom Riddle knows how to make himself wanted, and right now she wants him and he is aware of that. But he wants her too, and she knows that. And he knows that, however little he is willing to admit that. 

Her mouth takes in the whole of his manhood, and now he is at her mercy, and every time he moans her name as if she were some kind of god, she closes her eyes to take it in. He is at his weakest, she believes, when he is like this. Because this is when one's primal needs are aimed for fulfilment and this is the only time he allows himself to be needy. And each time his lips gasp out her name, telling her she's good, he needs her, Agnes, good girl, yes like that, god, Agnes!

This is when she loves herself. This is when she feels good about herself. This is when she feels like a god. 

This is when Agnes is blissfully aware of the fact that men, when broken down to their primal needs, are weak and vulnerable. 

Tom Riddle is an exception. But she is fine with that. She finds comfort in the knowledge that this is the time when both are equal, when they are shattered mirrors facing each other, and they have the same wants and needs. 

This is when Agnes is not a mudblood, and he is not a cruel person. For this is when they both are focusing on emitting pleasure, for themselves, and as well as for each other. 

This is when they both experience the same things.

a/n

kind of smut chapter to make up for the loss. i have not written in a long time, as i have been going through a lot of things, and i apologise. if anyone is still reading this, i am eternally grateful to you and your patience.