5) Favorite music? None specifically, but I do lean more towards electronic and bass heavy music.
6) Favorite band/artist? Queen.
7) Talents? Not entirely too sure if it’s a talent, but I have high spatial intelligence. I can vividly imagine a thing/event/place and walk myself through it or take it apart.
8) In love? Sadly, no.
9) Hobbies? Video Games, writing, calligraphy, collecting fountain pens, singing.
10) Gamer? Yup! :D
11) Swag/emo/scene? Never belonged to one style, just hung out with people into the hip hop world.
12) Long/short hair? Long hair right now, when I can fit all of it into a ponytail, I’m cutting it short into a tiny bun.
13) Height? I WANT to say 5′ 6″? Various doctors and different postures yield varying results.
14) Eye colour? Brown. A very dark brown.
15) Hair color? Black, but for senior year of high school, I bleached it to a very bright blonde.
16) Shirt color? White shirt mostly, if not, it will be my blue superman t-shirt.
17) Jeans or shorts? Shorts!
18) Get married? Hopefully one day!
19) Have kids? Also one day!
20) Get divorced? Sadly, I do see myself divorced. No timeline on when but yes, divorced.
21) Ever or still do wet the bed? Nope, but I did sleepwalk to the bathroom when I was 7.
22) Had or have depression? After a very difficult breakup a few years ago.
23) Self harmed? Yes.
24) Thought of suicide? Yes.
25) Someone you love? My mom, sister, rabbit, friends.
26) Someone you hate? Oh god yes; Guy, name starts with an E.
27) Dream job: Probably as a researcher who’s team found the cure for some really horrible disease.
28) Got tattoos? No, but I already know what I would get and where to place it.
29) Got piercings? None.
30) Worst day of your life? Not one day in particular stands out; the day I had to leave my older sister back home; the day I treated my best friends to dinner and we took professional pictures because I was moving across the country; the time my other sister and I stayed away from our mother for more than a month.
31) Best day of your life? Not day in particular; the day I moved back to Las Vegas and met up with my best friends again; when I graduated; the day I was accepted to this team I tried out for.
32) Biggest fear? That my mind/brain becomes useless and unable to maintain concise thoughts.
33) Biggest insecurity? My voice. I think I sound amazing until I hear my voice and think “wow, that’s how I sound?” and then just shrink inwardly. D:
Author’s Note: I originally planned this to be released during the announcement of my Hiatus and would have served as an in-between for why my RPs with Symonne suddenly stopped. But it became progressively difficult to write to the point where I stopped working on it completely.
Rating: K+
Word Count: 2,344
It was an amazing time. Days and nights blended together and six months passed like a blur, but there he was that summer night, sitting in the driveway in a packed up car with tears in his eyes. The short time they were together was the best in his life. Clara breathed new meaning into him which made the future exciting. But all of that had to change.
Tom reluctantly stepped out of the car and made his way up the stairs. Languish strides helped prolong what needed to be done. Each step on the concrete reminded him of the first day they met, the way he was practically skipping; a boy in love.
His hand hovered over the doorbell and a new conflict rose within him; If I tell her, she’ll never let me leave. But if I leave without telling her, she’ll hate me forever.
Tom’s finger hesitantly pressed the button.
The door cracked open and a curious head peeked out, quickly a smile found itself onto the angelic face. “Tom? It’s late. Not that I’m complaining, but usually you call when you want to come over.” Clara said, teasing with a wink.
Her smile dropped as Tom’s gaze never fell onto her. His look was stern and dark, focused on the space behind her. “We need to talk, Clara” his voice low as he pushed passed her into the flat.
"O-okay…" Was all she could mutter as the door closed with a click. She watched Tom stalk into the living room, sitting down on the couch they frequently shared. Clara stood in the hallway and finally met his face for the first time that night. Her heart nearly broke as the look on his face was one of grief, eyes red and puffy.
"I’ll just make us some tea." She said, leaving before Tom could reply. Clara nearly stumbled into the kitchen. She’s never seen Tom act this way before, the bright smile gone replaced with a sad scowl. 'We need to talk, Clara' echoed in her mind, and her heart felt as if it skipped a beat, but she shook off the feeling and moved slowly around the kitchen, buying more time, trying to figure out why he was so solemn.
Tom was grateful for the distance between them as he gathered his thoughts. The distance only felt greater as he watched Clara who entered with two cups, surveying the living room, deciding where to sit. Her body language screamed of distress, but Clara chose to sit beside Tom, in his personal space. A subtle hint letting him know that she’s concerned.
The two sat in silence, no interest shown to the tea which merely served as a distraction from the thick tension in the air. Clara took a sip and cleared her throat, addressing the issue head first.
"Okay Tom, what’s so important?"
Her boldness for any situation never ceased to surprise him. Tom placed his tea down, eyes slowly drifted over to meet her own. “I don’t want to do this Clara, but I have to leave.”
"But you just got —"
"No…" he interrupted, swallowing thickly. "I have to leave… You."
Clara’s hands clenched around the cup as she heard him speak. She turned more towards Tom, looking into familiar brown eyes, trying to read if he really meant what was just said. A dark hole started forming in her chest and she stared at him for what felt like ages, seeking an answer, any answer to his dreadful words. Her insides felt heavy and breathing became difficult. Finally Clara spoke, barely above a whisper. “I get it. I understand.”
Tom tilted his head slightly, and his brows knitted in confusion. “You understand?”
"Yeah, I do. With me going with John every week, it would make any man jealous, or suspicious. Ang - angry even." The last words wavering as she felt a prickly sting forming in her eyes.
"No Clara, its —"
Clara continued, ignoring anything he said. “And I know my nightmares are too much sometimes. I get it, it’s not fair to you. I keep you up at night, making work much harder. Who wants a girlfriend that needs to be cradled to sleep like a child?”
She looked down to her cup, no longer able to fight back her tears. Her fingers wringing nervously around the handle, her lips swollen from subconscious biting. Clara’s voice shook as she placed the cup down. “So I get it. I get why you want to break up.”
In one motion Tom was knelt at her feet. He looked up to face her and what he saw made his heart ache. Tears cascaded down her perfect face, and he was the one that put them there. A gentle hand cupped her cheek, thumb wiping away the tears that kept on falling. “No, no. Clara, it’s not that.”
Clara let out a laugh, an attempt to deflect Tom’s words, but it came out more like a desperate sob. Clara leaned into his hand, savoring the warm contact but quickly pulled away as if she was scalded and stood; Tom’s words mixed with his gentle touch was conflicting, too overwhelming at the moment.
Tom quickly followed after her, grabbing her hand and pulling Clara to him. Clara’s body flailed, resisting him, trying to free herself from Tom. But the arms around her middle held her against him. “Tom, leave me alone!” Her voice rose in volume "Don’t! Tom, let me go!” Clara snarled, pushing against his torso, trying to fight his grip.
Clara’s resistance faltered and she sunk into his arms, Tom tightened his embrace. A loud groan is heard as Clara cried into his chest, releasing all her emotions through tears. The room filled with sobs and sighs, whimpers and sniffles. Each difficult gasping sob for breath sent a jolt through his heart, remembering that he’s the reason she’s crying.
Time became lost to them, and the pair found themselves on the couch in a familiar position; Tom’s arms around her waist, as Clara laid on his chest. When he thought she had collected herself, a new wave of distressed tears came, causing him to kiss her temple lightly and hold her as she fought through her sorrow, releasing all the pain she felt.
After an unmeasurable length of time, Clara’s breathing became easy, her sobs quiet and the flow of tears came to a stop. The two laid in silence; Tom running fingers through her hair as Clara grazed a hand over the damp stain on his shirt where her tears fell.
"Did you even love me?" Clara asked into the dim room, her voice hoarse and gravelly.
Tom sat up slowly, Clara climbing off of him. They both were looking at one another, the silence was making it hard to think. Tom gave a toothy grin; his signature smile, bright and welcoming.
"I still do and I always will." He reached for her hand, and held on. Bringing the hand up to his lips, kissing the middle knuckle as he did many times before. "Do you remember what I said in your classroom all those months ago? When I hesitated to speak? When I wanted to run?"
For the first time in hours, Clara smiled, remembering the pleasant memory. “…Believe me when I say I never want to hurt you.”
“Believe me now. Please.” Tom pleaded, his voice shaking as the guilt was hitting him fully now. He reached out for Clara, placing her on his lap before clamping arms around her waist once more, hugging tight. “Please." He knows she could feel him quiver as he holds her, trying to be strong for both of them as he held his emotions within him.
Neither of them moved, none daring to break their embrace after the ordeal of the night. A peaceful warmth radiated from the two as time passed, they were in their own world, sharing a silent conversation through a language of touch; the light tickle of Tom’s breath on her ear, a hand caressing the small of her back. The way Clara’s fingers carded and ran through his hair.
Clara made a catalog of where their bodies met and could feel the tension leave his body, relaxing into her arms. She pulled her head away just enough to see his face, the sadness that marred his face softened as he met her smile.
"Clara, I love you." he began, knowing that’s what both of them needed. "There’s something I need to do, somewhere I need to be, but I can’t take you with me."
Clara’s smile faltered only for a moment after seeing the pained expression in his face, the glisten in his eyes, understanding that it must hurt him as well to tell her this.
"This isn’t good bye…" Though his voice was failing him, Tom continued. "This isn’t good bye. I will be back, I just don’t know when."
His mouth gaped open and shut as he struggled with what he needed to say. “And if you… And if…”
Clara gave a tender squeeze on the upper arm, encouraging him to continue.
Tom gave a shuddering sigh as he dropped his face onto her shoulder, whispering softly. “And if you… find someone else… I won’t be sad. I’ll be glad knowing that you’re happy with your… new life.”
"No. Don’t say that. Don’t you dare!" She whispered, shaking her head lightly. "Look at me. Look at me!" Clara demanded, cupping his face in both hands. "You never gave up on me, okay? And I’m not going to let you give up on us!" She could see hopelessness flood him as she searched for his melancholy eyes.
Selfless Clara he kept saying in his mind. Tom could only give a weak smile as he slowly removed her hands from his face. Even with Clara on his lap, Tom needed her now at arms length, far enough so he couldn’t hurt her anymore.
"It’s late…" his voice rough as he patted her thigh. "And I’m pretty sure you’re as tired as I am." From her spot on his lap, Tom lifted Clara bridal style, earning him a giggle which he hadn’t heard in ages. Carefully he made his way through the flat, breaking through the bedroom threshold, and gently placing the small woman down.
Tom could easily read the questioning expression on her face as she looked at him. “I hope you don’t mind me sleeping here one more night. After what just happened, I don’t think I can drive right now.”
A cheerful smile broke across Clara’s face as she made room beside her. As they lay, Tom pulled Clara against him; head on his chest as his arm rested around her waist. It was an eerie feeling. If it were any other night, the two would have fallen asleep to the sound of each others breath’s. But now, the tension was back in the air around them.
Time passed, and not a sound was heard between the two. Clara knew this might be the last time she saw him, so she did what she wanted the whole night. She braced herself on one arm, looking down at the man she loved, and ducked her head down.
Her kisses found his chin, and she traced gentle kisses along his jawline before seeking his lips. The kiss they shared was not a kiss of passion, or love; it was a kiss of desperation. A final plea for their love not to end in this way.
Eagerly, hungrily, passionately they sought after the bliss of feeling one another, skin on skin. Clara was pleased with herself as she heard Tom groan in appreciation from the way her hands tangled in his hair. Goosebumps rose on her skin as she felt his hands kneading away at her sides.
Clara’s hands moved away from Tom’s hair and began traveling down his chest, seeking the flesh under his shirt.
"WAIT!" Tom pulled away in a panic, causing Clara to gasp. She looked down at him in dismay, and a redness came over her, not from embarrassment but from frustration.
"You don’t even want to touch me anymore?!" Clara asked — no, demanded.
Tom closed his eyes and gave deep breaths, trying to calm himself. “No, God no. You’re brilliant.” He sat up, leaning against the headboard before looking at Clara. “It’s not you, its me. If… this happens, I’m not sure if my heart will be strong enough to leave.”
Clara looked down and nodded, feeling foolish of her actions. He placed a finger under her chin, a signal for her to look up. “We still have tonight, okay?” She only replied with a smile.
The pair made their way back to their old positions, giving each other playful glances before laying back down. “I love you, Clara. You can sleep peacefully tonight.” Tom reassured softly, tracing her back as he wrapped themselves tightly into the blanket.
— —
"Tom?" Her voice cracks as she felt the bed beneath her cold. "No! No!" She covered her mouth to stifle her screaming. Clara jumped from the bed running into the living room. Tom’s shoes and jacket were missing, any sign of him ever being there was gone. All except a single folded paper on the table, next to her forgotten teacup.
Clara’s hands snapped at the paper, eyes scanning quickly over the written words. She read the letter over, and over again. Until the message was burned into her memory. Until the tears made it impossible to see the words. Clara crumpled the letter in grief and she threw herself onto the couch. She laid there, crying heavily as a new sadness fell on her. There was no one now to console her.
My Dear Clara,
I know this letter won't make this hurt less, but I write this out of guilt. I am not brave enough to see your heart break in front of my own eyes again. Our paths will cross again one day.
Prompt: My muse is clearly having a very vivid dream, their body reacting to it in a very sexual manner, panting and writhing in reaction as they sleep. It seems that whatever or whoever they are dreaming of is doing a good job of turning them on.
Rating: M
Slim fingers rapped at the door cheerily. It was early that morning, but in fairness, he was expected. No response came from behind the door. Tom's brows knitted and knocked once more, this time with gusto.
In the middle of his auditory assault, the wooden door swung open, and stood an angry brunette.
"Hey Han..." Tom greeted his friend, although his voice began trailing as he saw her bright eyes red with frustration.
"Tom, what the hell ya'doing?"
He tilted his head slightly in confusion. "Remember Han? 'Let's hang out on Sunday. Pick me up in the morning!' were your exact words."
"Yeah! but not at 7 am!"
"Oh... yeah." He muttered dejectedly. He turned and looked towards his car. "Man... Home is such a long way to go. Clear across town even. SIGH."
Han could only let out an exasperated sigh of her own. "Just get in already."
A wide smile broke across his face and he happily bound into the foyer. He mirrored the brunette's steps as she lead him through the flat. Han stopped at her door, and turned to face the morning intruder. "Wake me up in an hour, maybe I'll be more alive to talk later... Make yourself useful -- Go cook breakfast or something."
"Gotcha!" He eagerly replied.
Tom watched as she shut the door before beginning his journey for the kitchen. As he stumbled through the living room, a feminine moan reached his ears, causing him to still. On the couch laid a sleeping redhead, blanket hanging off her porcelain legs. A redhead he hasn't seen since she gave him a kiss on the cheek.
Technically the jaw, he thought to himself, rubbing his face gently.
Tom retreated quietly and hurried back to the hallway.
"Han!" he muttered in more of a loud whisper. "Han! Open the door!"
"Oh my god, what?!" The petite brunette practically yelled.
"Shh!... Why's Amy here? You said she moved out."
"She did. But she kept talking about voices in the wall, so she crashed here for another day."
Tom looked over his shoulder, humming in understanding.
"Good night!" Han said, nearly shutting the door on his fingers.
His hands flinched away from the door. "You mean 'Good Mor--ning.'"
As silent as Tom could manage, he passed through the living room to the adjoining kitchen. Luckily, he already knew where everything was during the other times he was designated chef. He worked around the kitchen like a thief, careful not to make too much noise, or risk waking Amy up as well. God knows he doesn't want two women wanting to kill him.
Tom poked in and out of several cupboards, looking for everything he needed. His hand froze on a handle as he heard a very audible gasp from the living room.
"Amy...? You okay, love?" Concern laced in his words.
He broke through the threshold and made his way over to the couch, standing over the redhead. Tom noticed how her usually pale skin was flushed pink and her brow was slick with perspiration. She must be burning up.
Bending at the knees, a gentle hand cupped her cheek. No... doesn't seem like she's caught anything.
Eyebrows shot up to his hairline as Amy's head turned, nuzzling into his hand. Her lips parted slightly and let out a very blissful "Ooo~!!"
A playful grin cracked along his lips. So its that kind of dream huh?
Amy's body shivered from the friction of his hand on her. Ever slowly, Tom pulled his hand away as her red mane tickled his skin. He could only stare as Amy reacted eagerly from the lost of contact. Her right hand traced her sides, causing her thin camisole to travel up, exposing the pale expanse of her stomach.
And with her left hand, trailed along her neck. The chords of muscle tense as Amy held back gleeful groans. The skin, flushed with color as her hand kneaded at flesh. Her hand traveled along the valley of her chest and rested on her breasts. All it took was a gentle squeeze and a moan of ecstasy escaped her.
Tom's mouth just gaped open and closed as he stood, eyes taking in the display in front of him. Licking his lips as his mind began to imagine himself as the one running his hands along her--Breakfast! Leave and cook breakfast! his conscience yelled.
He turned quickly, taking lengthy strides to the kitchen, attempting to ignore the muscle that he felt in his trousers and the delightful mewls of pleasure that reached his ears.
Tom worked around the kitchen ungraciously; throwing down utensils and slamming cupboards, while thinking about anything to distract him from the redhead. The Hundred Year War, Napoleon, The Renaissance! But to no avail, all he could hear was the chorus of pleasant noises from the next room over. Han has to be awake, there's no way she could sleep through that.
Occasionally, he would almost drop a bowl or spoon as Amy's wonderful sounds made their way to the kitchen. After a long ten minutes, he managed to form together something that resembled breakfast; almost burnt pancakes --from when he caught himself listening intently to the woman-- and scrambled eggs --which was supposed to be an omelet but let himself get distracted again.--
Looking towards the clock, he still had a lot of time before he had to wake up Han. Tom paced around the kitchen, doing anything to disturb the fantasies that played in his mind. Opening and closing cupboards, cleaning the same spot for the millionth time, nothing worked. But then, silence. Thank god she woke up.
"Amy? You awake?" He asked softly into the open, poking his head through the threshold.
Tom's jaw hit the floor as he watched Amy in a new provocative position; her back arched high, and her breathing heavy. Her face contorting as the simulated pleasure she was receiving intensified. From her writhing and mouth open, he knew that her dream was close to a finish.
Amy was now biting her bottom lip, her hands clutching at the couch cushions. Hips gyrating up and down, as her back arched even higher. Low whimpers echoed in the room, and 'Yes' became Amy's mantra as her climax neared. Finally, a deep and animalistic groan was heard, and Tom could only watch as Amy's body convulsed violently, her face skewed and her mouth wide in a silent scream.
The arch of her back collapsed, and Amy laid on the couch breathless, her chest heaving hard and face red while glistening with sweat. Only a few moments later and her body relaxed completely. Breathing stable, and hands no longer bunching up the fabric of her blanket.
Amy's eyes opened slowly and she took in her location, nodding to herself as she remembered where she was. When she finally gazed towards the kitchen, she noticed Tom standing and staring.
"The hell, Tom? Is that what y'do? Get off on watchin' people sleep?" Amy asked with a scowl, pulling the blanket up higher to cover her exposed midriff.
"No, no." Tom began, turning away just a little so Amy couldn't see the blush on his cheeks. "I was cooking breakfast and I heard something, and wanted to check it out."
"Oh. Well it's just me." Amy commented, hands gesturing over herself.
Tom cleared his throat a bit louder than necessary. "Must of been one hell of a dream" he said with a smirk before turning back to the kitchen.
Amy watched as he walked away, adjusting the bulge in his trousers slightly. The realization of Tom's words hit her, and if it were possible, Amy seemed to have blushed a new shade of red as she sunk back into the couch, covering her face in embarrassment.
"Andrew Scott!" Amy shouted in Tom's direction.
"What?" The distant voice responding.
"Moriarty from that Sherlock show. My dream was about him." She reluctantly answered.
