#I’ve seen plenty of lady’s feet that I might describe as ‘weird’

[slavetoevil]

I really wanted to have guys be into my feet but one time a foot fetish guy told me my feet were weird so like :/ do you know how much it stings to have a foot guy tell you your feet are weird.

I’m sorry that does sound awful 😭😭😭

I hope you’ve at least had someone since to give them the adoration they deserve

[thefeelswhale]

The Nervous Energy in Everything - Part 4

Author’s Note: TW for narcissist parent. 

It was the most magical moment of his entire life so of course Hitoshi’s dad had to barge into it.  

“Why don’t you show Hitoshi your room?” He said to Izuku who jumped guiltily at the reminder that other people were in the room. 

“Oh! Um.” Izuku turned bright red and some of Hitoshi’s instant and embarrassed irritation with his father must have leaked through their connection because he gave Hitoshi a concerned look before tugging him away. It was clear to everyone involved -except his father who didn’t question it when he got his way- that Izuku wasn’t obeying an adult so much as he was getting Hitoshi away from his dad. “Here, it’s this way.”

Izuku’s room was little and would have been plain except for all the All Might posters.

“Wow.” Hitoshi turned a slow circle. They were still touching, but switched to holding hands. To his surprise they were still getting a little bit of transmission, but not to the degree they’d gotten from touching their marks. 

“Ah, haha.” Izuku rubbed the back of his head. “I’m a little bit of a fanboy.”

Hitoshi had a strong recollection just then of when he was twelve and still had his bedroom walls plastered in band pictures. They’d been torn down after he turned thirteen and got into a fight with his dad. Hitoshi didn’t remember what it was about, but he remembered what came after. It was one of the few times his uncles had been forced to intervene. Uncle Shouta had appeared in the doorway with a kind of stillness about him that Hitoshi never wanted to see again, took in the wreckage of the bedroom, and quietly said “I want a word” while maintaining eye contact with Hitoshi’s father.  

Hitoshi never found out what they talked about, but his dad never set foot in his room again. They didn’t even make eye contact for a week afterwards. His dad had offered to replace the posters a couple of times, but Hitoshi hadn’t trusted him not to do it again the next time he got mad so his walls had been bare for the past two years.

“It’s good.” He said, unable to convey his weird gratitude that his soulmate was allowed to like what he liked at home. 

Izuku cupped his own cheek with his free hand and Hitoshi was enveloped in something that felt like a hug from the inside out. 

“Woah.” Hitoshi wobbled on his feet and landed on the bed, hard on his butt. “You’re going to have to show me how to do that.” It felt amazing. “I had to sit out of bond management class in grade school.”

“It’s not hard.” Izuku sat next to him. “I’ll teach you whatever you want.” He promised. “I don’t have a lot of practice though. Ka… my old soulmate. He wore a cover all of the time.” He rubbed his wrist like it was an old aching wound. 

No guesses about where his first mark used to be. The skin was a little paler there when Hitoshi caught a glimpse of it.

His heart sank a little bit at the reminder that he wasn’t Izuku’s first. It didn’t matter, he reminded himself, because he was going to be the only one from here on out and anyway who in their right mind wore covers? Izuku’s old soulmate sounded like an asshole.

Hitoshi had had his soulmark for less than a day and it was amazing. He never wanted it sealed off. If the material of his shirt wasn’t thin enough to transmit bond contact he’d be shirtless at that very moment. Maybe it just went to show that any level of privilege could be taken for granted if you were born to it.

“What happened to him?” Hitoshi asked, but Izuku shook his head.

“Nothing. He’s fine.” There was a rich and terrible vein of unanswered questions in that statement. Hitoshi had no idea where, if anywhere, to start. “We just broke.” Izuku looked down and started to fidget with his hands. “You don’t have to be jealous.” He turned his face away. “I’m the one who gave up.”

Interestingly, Hitoshi realized he could tell when Izuku was telling the truth and when he was lying. That hadn’t exactly been a lie. Izuku didn’t really believe he’d been the one to break his old soulbond, but he didn’t have any better answers either. 

Hitoshi remembered the feeling that had crossed over to him when his soulmark came in; the grief, the disbelief, the… he didn’t really have a word for it. It had been like falling in love, but in reverse. ‘Giving up’ was one way to describe it, but to feel like that and then be able to truthfully say the other person was ‘fine’? He couldn’t believe it had been so simple.

“Hey.” Hitoshi had no idea what he was doing except that he didn’t like the idea that his soulmate’s first instinct was to not touch him. He caught Izuku’s wrist and gently tugged him closer. “C’mere.”

Izuku hugged like he’d heard of the concept or maybe seen it on TV once, but had rarely put it into practice himself. He was reluctant and awkward at first, but sank into Hitoshi’s side with enthusiasm as soon as he’d figured out where his arms went. 

He’d meant to keep the conversation going -to learn everything about his soulmate that he’d missed before they found each other- except he didn’t have a lot of experience with this kind of hugging either. He got plenty of affection from his uncles and his mom whenever she could slip it in past her quirk; turns out it was very different when the person you were hugging was both a cute boy and your soulmate. His brain shut down and it was kind of like being affected by his mom’s quirk, except way nicer and he was aware of everything going on. 

Someone tapped at the door and Izuku sat up to say, “Yes?”

When the door opened Hitoshi was aware just long enough to recognize his mom’s pinched and unhappy expression before everything whited out. 

He came back to himself alone in the room with an unhappy, anxious Izuku.

“You’re back.” Izuku cupped his face and titled Hitoshi’s face this way and that; checking his pupils, Hitoshi realized. When his mom quirked someone their eyes went totally white. 

“I… what happened?” He looked around. “Where did my mom go?”

“She left.” Izuku wet his lips. “I don’t know what happened. She wouldn’t talk to me.”

“No, she wouldn’t.” Hitoshi shook his head to clear it. He felt weird. Usually his mom’s quirk felt like the first few seconds of waking up from an amazing nap. This time it was… not like that. “Her quirk activates whenever she pays attention to someone.”

It was an amazing villain’s quirk if you were inclined that way, but super debilitating if you were an ordinary nice person. There were lingering side effects too if she accidentally used it on someone too many times. Hitoshi was immune to that part. He already loved his mom as much as he could, but strangers got weird obsessions with her. As a result she didn’t get out much and was totally reliant on her husband, who was also immune to her quirk by dint of being her soulmate.

“Oh yeah? Is it eye contact or just any amount of…” Izuku clapped a hand over his mouth. “Not the time.” He muttered and refocused on Hitoshi. “She hugged you really tight. Then she left. Maybe…” He gave the bedroom door an uncomfortable look. “...maybe we should check?”

Hitoshi was starting to get a bad feeling too. His dad had been trying to get rid of him earlier. That wasn’t a good sign, but he’d been too blissed out by meeting his soulmate to pay attention.  His mom couldn’t intervene whenever he started acting up without making it worse. She was stuck as a bystander.

“Yeah.” He grabbed Izuku’s hand. “Just for a minute.”

Only, his parents were gone by the time they went into the living room. A little round lady with Izuku’s features, softened by age and gentleness, looked up from where she was locking the door. 

“Oh, there are my boys.” She went over to pat their cheeks. “What an exciting day! How do you feel about something special for dinner? Do you like pork, Hitoshi-kun? We like katsudon for celebrations here, but I’ve got a full fridge. We can probably make anything you like.”

“Am… am I staying for dinner?” Hitoshi asked with a sinking stomach. He was pretty sure he knew what had just happened.

“Well, your father mentioned how much you’d like living with your soulmate.” She chuckled. Yup. She’d been Persuaded. “I just knew Izuku would love having you around too so I offered to let you live here.”

That… person had hustled him out of the room so there was no one around to stop him from manipulating Izuku’s mother into taking Hitoshi off his hands. His dad’s quirk, Persuasion, was incredibly difficult to protect someone against. The only way to stop him was to know about his quirk in advance. Usually Hitoshi knew to interfere before it was a problem --just, not today.

For whatever reason, Hitoshi’s dad had never liked him and made no bones about the fact that Hitoshi needed to have a new living situation lined up as soon as he turned eighteen. He was jovial most of the time and seemed to be kind of aware that he wasn’t acting right. Sometimes he’d try to make half-hearted overtures or make up for whatever awful thing he’d done or said recently. He wasn’t violent --much. He hadn’t ever hit Hitoshi, but he would break stuff or call him names or misrepresent him to people; making Hitoshi seem stupider or more trouble than he was in reality. 

Hitoshi knew the root of the problem was his mom although he could never blame her for it. She was the one who’d wanted a kid and his dad, for all his other faults, would move heaven and earth to get her anything she asked for. It just turned out that sharing her attention was the one thing he absolutely could not do or fake.

“Ma’am. I’m really sorry.” He gulped, realizing he didn’t know her name yet. “My dad used his quirk on you. It’s called Persuasion. He can talk anybody into agreeing with him or into doing something to make him happy.”

“I… what?” Izuku’s mom blinked slowly; the artificial happy buzz leftover from giving in to Persuasion was fading. Sometimes telling a person about his dad’s quirk right after helped them shake it off. It looked like this was one of those times. “I… I may need to sit down.”

“Mom, over here.” Izuku seemed to know what to do when she wobbled on her feet. “Hitoshi, there’s a little bottle in the end table over there. Could you grab it?”

The bottle contained honest-to-god smelling salts when Hitoshi got it. Izuku accepted it and cracked it open under his mom’s nose. The smell was ghastly, but startled her into clarity. She blinked hard and patted Izuku on the shoulder.

“Thank you, dear.” She patted her cheeks to settled herself. “Did…” She looked at Hitoshi and something in his expression made her pivot from upset to concern. “...honey, are you okay?”

His dad had just ditched him with strangers. That hug from his mom had been goodbye and he wasn’t even awake for it. No, he was not okay. 

“I can call my uncles.” Hitoshi swallowed on a hard, sore lump in his throat. “You don’t have to worry.”

“I’ll let that pass because we don’t know each other that well yet.” She got up and patted his cheeks with both hands. He had to bend over so she could do it, she was that tiny. “I’m going to worry. Ask Izuku. I worry about everything and this is definitely worth worrying about. Call your uncles please. Then we can discuss the situation.”

“It might be a bit before they can come get me.” Hitoshi apologized. “They’d have been here, but they had to work.”

“That’s fine, dear. You can have dinner here and we’ll work everything else out as it comes.” She glanced at her son. “Izuku, don’t forget to make that other call.” 

Izuku’s shoulders turtled up. “I won’t, mom.”

They had to split up to make their phone calls. Izuku seemed no more enthusiastic about makin his than Hitoshi was to call Mic’s station office. 

Ami-san, the agency-side receptionist, picked up on the first ring. “Present Mic agency and radio station!” She chirped. “If this is an immediate emergency then tap the line and I’ll start a trace on your number.”

“It’s Hitoshi.” He usually liked chatting with her, but his heart wasn’t in it right then.

“Oh, hi, honey!” Ami-san cooed. He’d known her since he’d been born and had spent more than one afternoon in a bassinet under her desk as a baby when his uncle’s station/agency had been located in the back of a garage. “What can I do for you? Mic told me the good news! Did you want me to slip him a note?”

“Could you?” He decided to just rip the bandage off. “My dad used his quirk on my soulmate’s mom.”

“You’re joking.” Her good mood evaporated. “He’s on probation! He knows he’s on probation!”

“He talked her into offering to take over custody of me.” 

“Oh, sweetheart.” She got real quiet. “I… I’ll let Mic know. Don’t call Eraserhead until Mic can talk to him first. If she presses charges….” Ami-san let the sentence trail off without finishing it.

Quirk misuse laws operated on the three strike principle. If they reported it, this would be his dad’s third strike within five years. He’d gotten off with petty fines the last two times he’d gotten caught; convincing a cabby driver to pick him up over someone else and talking a panhandler into leaving him alone. Most people didn’t notice Persuasion, but sometimes someone with a really stubborn will or certain mental illnesses could shake it off by themselves and if they did they knew he’d tried to quirk them. If Izuku’s mom pressed charges then his dad was going to jail this time.

Hitoshi didn’t actually care about that much except for the ways it would affect his mom. She couldn’t work. She couldn’t talk to people. She had a small disability stipend and did some work as a freelance writer, but it hardly brought in anything. If his dad went to prison, even for a few months, then she would be the one who suffered most. 

The one thing his dad could be counted on was to not work against his soulmate’s interests. This time he either hadn’t thought far enough ahead or was banking on Hitoshi protecting his own mother over a stranger.

“We’ll make it work.” Hitoshi decided out loud. His uncles were proof she could live with other people. It wasn’t ideal, but they used a whiteboard and messenger apps to talk. 

“I’ll have Mic call you as soon as he’s off the air.” Ami-san promised. 

Hitoshi sat in the little tatami room he’d used to make his call. Someone had turned it into a computer room at some point, but it had a curious empty feel to it; like it belonged to someone who was long gone.

Izuku was finishing up his own call when Hitoshi went looking for him.

“...not yet.” He was saying. “The officers took my statement and samples off me at the second incident. The paramedics didn’t say anything when they sent me home, but Death Arms and Kamui Wood were… um… yelling so it was hard for them to talk. I’ll go if you think I should… yes, sir. Under the Dooku foot bridge. Through the manhole there. No, he had to leave once I came to. He left his autograph.” He paused and gave a dry little laugh. “Yes, sir. It was in two soda bottles. I noticed the one with the eyeballs in it was still moving. That’s why I hit it in the eyes afterwards.”

What.

“Bakugo Katsuki.” Izuku was still talking. “Yes, it probably got into his mouth. That’s how it happened to me; the nose and mouth. I wasn’t… I couldn’t breath. I don’t think he meant for me to live.” He wrapped his free arm around his knees. “He said something like ‘twenty seconds and it’ll all be over.’”

WHAT.

Hitoshi stood frozen in the door. He’d thought what his dad did was the worst thing that could possibly happen to him that day, but as he listened he realize Izuku was describing a villain attack; an attempted murder on himself. 

They had been within inches of never meeting each other in this life.

There were a lot of reasons Hitoshi wanted to be a Pro Hero. His uncles were a huge influence on him, but part of it was to prove to himself that he was nothing like that man. Now there was a whole new third reason.

“Yes, I’ll come in tomorrow after school if that’s okay.” Izuku said to the police officer he was apparently talking to. “Oh, um, the registry matched me up today. Ah, haha. Yes. Thank you. It was really good timing, actually. Okay, thank you. Goodbye.”

He ended the call, tossed his phone onto the bed, and flopped face first onto the mattress. 

Hitoshi suddenly understood why Izuku’s first instinct was to comfort him through their bond before. He had no idea if touching was good or bad right now. It looked like he had a lot to learn about being a soulmate. 

He tapped on the doorframe and Izuku looked up at him. The helpless smile that eased across his face did a lot to sooth Hitoshi’s exposed nerves.

“Hey.” He sat up and smiled, a little tired looking. Now that Hitoshi was looking he noticed a line of road rash up the outside edge of Izuku’s forearm, ending just below his elbow. It looked red, angry, and fresh. “How much did you hear?” 

“Enough to have a small heart attack.” Hitoshi felt like he was getting a green light to go over there so he did. Izuku catted into his touch so that his palm skated over the handprint on Izuku’s cheek. He got a brief window into his soulmate’s state of mind: he was tired for sure and running out of steam, but secretly (guiltily, even) glad to have Hioshi around for even just a little bit longer. “How did I not feel you get attacked?”

“Oh, that was me.” Izuku squirmed guiltily. “You’re supposed to pull away from the bond if you’re in danger and you don’t know where your soulmate is or what they’re doing. What if you were on stairs or handling a knife or something?” 

This was getting complicated.

“I guess I’ve got a lot to learn.” Hitoshi admitted. 

He was kind of angling for another extended hug, but a faint call of ‘supper!’ echoed down the hall. He could smell food too; really good food too. His mom tended to cook really healthy and he liked that, but the smells coming from Izuku’s kitchen were rich, fatty, and indulgent; comfort food on a day when no comfort could possibly be enough. Maybe he needed to move in with them after all…

Uncle Mic called while he was helping clean up. Izuku waved him off with a smile.

“Where are you?” There was wind in the background. “That son of a bitch isn’t answering his phone.”

Oh boy. Present Mic was swearing. This was bad.

He rattled off Inko-san’s address. “I’m okay.” He said. “My soulmate’s mom is mad at dad, but she seems okay with me. She fed us and said I can stay as-as long as I need to.”

“Okay, that’s ---good?” Mic took a breath and Hitoshi could picture him tugging on his hair. “Then I’ve got time to get out of costume. She’s probably not up to having a pro hero showing up on her front step, huh?”

“It’s been a rough day.” Hitoshi agreed and shielded the receiver so his voice wouldn’t carry. “Izuku, um ---my soulmate. He got hit by a street killer today. He’s okay. There was a hero in pursuit, but Inko-san almost fainted earlier. I don’t think it’d be a good idea to push it.”

Present Mic was, objectively, A Lot.

“By a… a what?” Mic snapped. “I thought you were in Aldera?”

“I am, I am.” 

“Hang on.” Mic carried multiple phones and Hitoshi could hear him get out the one he used exclusively for internet. It had a distinct noise when you unlocked the screen. “Aldera… street attacks…” He was quiet for a moment. “...well, alrighty then. This went down while I was on air. No wonder I missed it. Your boy is scrappy. He beat the crap out of some guy trying to kill a middle schooler with his backpack. All Might was responsible for the takedown. Okay, I’m a little less worried. The villain was a purse snatcher who escalated. That’s less terrible than a possible serial killer in the area.”

Hitoshi compared that to what he’d heard. “That sounds about right.” If he was right then that was the second incident. The first incident must have been when All Might caught the guy the first time. “Could you… could you talk to him about it? I don’t think the police really interviewed him.”

Hitoshi only had second hand knowledge of working with the cops, but he’d never heard of one taking a statement over the phone. Plus there was the matter of Mic’s official report only mentioning the second attack. There was a good chance that officer had just pretended to take the report and had really blown Izuku off. It wasn’t entirely negligent. People sometimes tried to insert themselves into big incidents, especially if it showed up on TV or a big name hero was involved.

“Sure can, buddy.” Mic’s tone went concerned. “Are you all right?”

Hitoshi couldn’t find words to describe how he was feeling. It had been easier to have opinions about Izuku’s problems. “It’s nothing I didn’t already know.” He said at last. 

“We’re coming to pick you up.” Mic promised. “If Hiroshi thinks he can kick you out of the house then he’s got another think coming. We’re gonna make this okay.”

“Okay.” Even Hitoshi could tell he didn’t sound convinced.

The doorbell rang about thirty minutes later. Izuku had pulled him over to the TV to watch the nightly Hero Report and got super into it. Hitoshi liked getting his after action breakdowns from spotter blogs and podcasts. Listening to his soulmate talk about the action on TV was like that, but better. Inko-san watched with them -alternating between that and an embroidery project- and seemed to amuse herself by asking her son questions about what was going on even though she clearly knew the answers.

Uncle Shouta stood at the door sans Uncle Mic and he looked pissed.

“Hitoshi.” He stared into the house over the top of Inko-san’s head. “We’re leaving.”

Hitoshi started to look for his shoes, but drew up short when Inko-san san said, “No. I don’t think you are.” 

She sounded like she was just barely keeping her knees from knocking together and when she stared up at Hitoshi’s uncle she looked like a bunny trying to stare down a Balrog. 

“Excuse me?” Uncle Shouta was dressed down for the evening, but spiritually channelling Eraserhead more than he normally would when faced with a middle-aged homemaker. 

“I am not comfortable sending Hitoshi-kun back into that house.” She didn’t back down and Hitoshi’s heart did something complicated and painful. “How does that --man act at home if that’s how he treats a stranger? Hitoshi-kun is my son’s soulmate. That means I have equal rights to him and I don’t want him back under that man’s roof.”

“It’s not his roof.” Uncle Shouta’s tone was a little less obstreperous than before. It might not seem like it, but Hitoshi’s maternal uncle responded best to logic and that was a good counter argument. “It’s my roof and all his shit’s gonna be in the yard as soon as I get home.”

That… answered some questions Hitoshi had been nursing about his family’s living situation. His dad had a good job and made good money, but he deferred to Hitoshi’s uncles in ways that made no sense --unless he was living in their house. 

Inko-san’s chin wobbled, but firmed up. “Then you can have Hitoshi-kun back as soon as he’s gone.” 

Uncle Shouta’s unsettling black gaze slid towards Hitoshi. “You okay with that?”

Hitoshi found the strength to nod. “Don’t kick mom out.” He probably didn’t need to ask. Uncle Shouta had been looking after his sister long before her soulmate or son came into the picture. Like Hitoshi, he wasn’t totally immune to her quirk but he didn’t get the creepy side effects from it. 

“I can’t stop her if she decides to go.” His uncle warned him and that was exactly what Hitoshi was afraid would happen. He looked back to Inko-san. “I’ll be back with an overnight bag for him.”

“Thank you.” Inko-san relaxed slightly. “I don’t know if we have anything comfortable to lend him for the evening.”

“It’ll be taken care of.” Uncle Shouta stepped back into the shadow of the open air corridor outside Inko-san’s door and vanished like Batman. She carefully shut the door when she realized he wasn’t going to say goodbye and was quiet until she got into the kitchen and poured herself a glass of water.

“Your uncle is… an intense person.” She said at last.

“He’s an Underground Hero.” Hitoshi explained and Izuku bopped a fist into his open palm.

“Eraserhead!” He realized out loud. Somehow it wasn’t surprising that Izuku knew about Eraserhead. He didn’t have a big following and was mortally embarrassed by what fandom he did have, but the people who knew about him at all often knew him very well.  

“Is he?” Inko-san relaxed a little further. “Well, then I hope he punches your father right in the nose.” Both her hands flew up to cover her mouth as she realized what she’d said.

“He might.” Hitoshi was a little worried about that. As ever, he didn’t really care if his dad had to deal with negative consequences except for how it affected his mom. 

Mic showed up with a packed overnight bag and his school stuff right about the time Hitoshi was wondering if he was going to have to sleep in his boxers. The upshot was that Inko-san had laid out a double futon in the living room floor without having to be persuaded to let them bunk together. She might have even let them share Izuku’s bed, except there was no hope in hell that they’d both fit on his undersized twin mattress at the same time. 

 Izuku did not recognize Mic, who was harder to spot out of costume because -unlike his husband- he actually put effort into it. He swept in and dazzled Inko-san straight off. Turned out she was weaker to a megawatt smile than to intimidation.

Despite that, Mic looked tired and kind of sore. Hitoshi REALLY hoped it wasn’t actual physical soreness from beating someone up. He still swept Hitoshi up in one of his big bear hugs. “Heya, kiddo.” His voice was a little raspy. “We’re working things out at the house. Shouta’s with your mom. Your dad… well. He’s, uh… he’s checking into a hotel.”

Inko paused as she set down a cup of tea on the coffee table for Mic. “Without Ayame-san?” She asked, confused.

Mic coughed. “Yeah, without Ayame-chan.” He sounded a little down. “She locked herself in the bathroom and wouldn’t come out unless he left. Shouta was still getting the story out of her when I had to leave. I think your dad still has her phone. I’m gonna go get her a new one after this and then you guys can text again.”

His dad keeping his mom’s phone for her wasn’t quite as creepy or controlling as it came off as, but Hitoshi couldn’t deny his dad liked gatekeeping his mom’s access to other people more than he should have. 

Hitoshi’s mom’s quirk was called ‘Siren’ for a reason. She could stun anyone she concentrated on, but the more subtle obsessive secondary effects weren’t universal. Hitoshi, Uncle Shouta, and Uncle Mic were immune because they were all either related to her, super gay, or both.

They’d figured out some loopholes that let her talk to other people. She could text so long as she didn’t hit ‘send’ herself or carry the phone around. Emails were safer, especially if they used a service that routed her outgoing mail through a couple of servers before delivering it. 

“Oh my.” Inko-san sat back on her heels. She glanced at Hitoshi. “I’ll let you two talk.”

“No, I…” Mic took off his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “...sorry, this actually concerns you too.” He glanced at Hitoshi. “I don’t think there’s a good way to bring this up so I’m just gonna do it.”

Well, that wasn’t unnerving at all. 

Izuku leaned into his side. He’d been quiet since Mic showed up, but stayed very close to Hitoshi. His presence was more settling than words could describe.

“Your mom says she wants a divorce.” Mic spoke slowly and carefully “Your Uncle Shouta is prepared to ram it through as soon as he possibly can. Knowing your dad though, he’s going to make it as ugly as possible. Some stuff is going to come up and we didn’t want you to have to know about it, but if I know Hiroshi he’s going to drag it all out into the open.”

That was how his dad operated when he wasn’t getting his way or felt under attack so Hitoshi didn’t necessarily agree. He knew his family situation was weird and most of it could be explained away by the fact that his mom needed a lot of support, but could be exposed to too many people. 

Not all of it.

Hitoshi’s dad made really good money. He could afford to buy whatever services she needed. They didn’t need to live with Hitoshi’s uncles, but they did.

“You’re not worried that he’ll try to get full custody of Hitoshi-kun, are you?” Inko-san asked. “I’ve heard of men doing that sometimes, even if they don’t get along with their children.”

“That’s, uh, not a concern for us.” Mic coughed and rubbed the back of his head. “That’s what I came to talk about really. You see… ah…” He squinted at Hitoshi and tried to smile. “Hiroshi isn’t your father. I am.”

Izuku reached over without a word and clapped a hand over Hitoshi’s sternum, squelching his first furious response before it could even happen. Hitoshi covered his soulmate’s hand with his own, holding it there and making use of the soothing vibrations of their bond for a couple of seconds before he could ask questions that weren’t ‘Are you out of your goddamn mind?’

“It’s not what it sounds like.” Mic hastened to reassure him. “You see, Ayame-chan wanted a baby really badly. Hiroshi turned out to be infertile. I was just a donor. You were born through IVF.”

That was way less bad than what Hitoshi had first assumed, given the way Mic had phrased that. For one awful moment he thought Mic had cheated on Uncle Shouta ---with Hitoshi’s mom no less.

“We thought Hiroshi was okay with it.” Mic went on to explain. “He seemed to look forward to you at first, but things changed when you were born. I think it wasn’t real to him before that or he hadn’t thought about what it would mean to be a father so…” He fought to keep an uncharacteristically grim look off his face and only met with middling success. “...he refused to let his name be listed on your birth certificate. Normally it doesn’t matter, but he made such a stink about it that the hospital agreed to put my name down. I’m your legal male parent and I share custody of you with Ayame-chan. Hiroshi isn’t involved.”

Holy crap.

Did that mean Uncle Shouta was both his uncle and stepdad? How did that even work?

“It’s going to be hard to get the divorce decree.” Izuku piped up. “I heard there’s precedent now for not granting separations to soul mates if one of them has a quirk disability and there’s no evidence of abuse.”

“Oh believe me, little li--guy...” Mic slid his glasses back on. “...my lawyers are used to way higher stakes. They’ll chew him up and pick their teeth with his bones. Shouta’s been after this for a long time too. No one was going to take her soulmate away from her, but if Ayame wants him gone then we’ll run him out of town on a rail.”

[passable-talent]

So then a part 3 pretty please? I would love to see Obi-Wan and others in this story too :))

| part 1 | part 2 | 

hmm. lore is getting deeper here ladies and gents

Shmi, as it turned out, had once called Anakin’s cavern her home. She had raised him here, and when she had gotten too old to protect it, had left the cave to Anakin for an easier life among the humans. 

She very seldom came to visit her son in the forest, as it would be seen as suspicious for an elderly woman to wander off in the direction of the dragon’s lair. But when she had heard that Council Head Palpatine was sending his army of golems, she had hurried toward the mountain with as much haste as she could. 

Councilman Gunray was long gone into the woods when you decided it was safe to turn your back on where he’d been. You picked through the crumbled golems that had fallen into the grass, reaching the stone ledge that lead into Anakin’s cave. It was a foot or so taller than you, but had plenty of footholds, so like always, you scaled it without a problem. 

Anakin was sitting up now, his skin cleaned of blood and wounds treated nicely. Shmi was sitting beside him, and both seemed anxious for your return. Both stared as you climbed up, presumably because they were worried you’d been hurt. 

“It’s alright, I’m fine,” you said, lifting the hilt of your quieted saber to place it back on your waistband, but as you did, you noticed something about your arm.

On the outside of your forearm, there was a patch of grey-ish brown scales. Your fingernails were a shade darker, hardened and lengthened into claws. You checked- and the same was true for the other arm. 

“What-” you started, breathing beginning to speed up, a slight bit of panic invading your body. “What is this?” Anakin practically jumped to his feet, and you watched him with worry in your eyes as he cupped your face, rubbing his thumbs over your cheekbones. He didn’t have his horns, nor slitted eyes, and his arms were free of scales while he rubbed his thumbs over your cheekbones. You almost pulled away from him- there was something weird about the way you felt his touch, like he was touching scar tissue, but you knew you had no scars under your eyes. 

“It’s alright,” Anakin breathed, his blue eyes full of affection. “You look beautiful.” You reached up to hold his arms, but the sight of your new claws only startled you further. 

“Anakin, I-” He interrupted you by bringing his hand down to your shoulders, flipping his dragon’s skin cloak from your shoulders. As he did, you felt a change- and looked down in bewilderment as your fingernails slowly shortened and returned to normal, the scales on your arms disappearing back into your skin.

“It’s okay,” he said, throwing the cloak around himself again. “It’s a dragon’s cloak.” Your eyes were drawn to him as he spoke, and scales emerged on his cheekbones, horns sprouted from his hair, his pupils narrowed into the slits you’d grown so used to seeing. 

The cloak- it was magic. Now, you cursed yourself for not figuring out earlier. 

“Whoever wears it gets a bit of a dragon’s look. I can’t change forms unless I’m wearing it.” 

“So I could’ve changed into a dragon?” You asked, running your fingers down the cloak, its inside smooth, exterior scaled. 

“No,” he said, “Only I can do that, since it’s mine.” He raised his hands to your face again, and let one thumb roll over your lower lip. “But you made a beautiful dragon.” You blushed, lowering your head, and only then did you remember that Shmi was still there. You trusted her, and she was Anakin’s mother after all, but that made it more embarrassing to have a blatantly romantic moment in front of her. You cleared your throat, slipping from his grip and turning toward her. 

“Coruscant- what’s it look like, now?” You asked her, and she gave you a small smile. 

“I know how you worried for us, dear,” Shmi said, her whole body just radiating kindness. “Most of the homes are untouched, especially the lower class.” Relief you hadn’t known you were waiting for flooded your body. Coruscant, even with its leaders turning their backs on you, was a town full of people like any other in the kingdom, and you had never wanted to hurt the townspeople. “The sacrificial stage is gone, as is the council’s meeting hall, and many other buildings in the middle of town, such as Palpatine’s home.” 

“His house burnt down?” You asked, letting regret flash across your face. Shmi reached out to take your hand, pulling you down to sit beside her. 

“No, don’t worry,” she said, holding your hand with both of hers. “Palpatine is a deplorable, evil man. You should know better than anyone. He deserves what he’s gotten.” You offered her a small smile, hoping to convince yourself of it, too. You’d meant to make Coruscant better, but by falling for Anakin, it seemed like you’d made everyone’s life worse. 

“Mom, I don’t think you should be going back to Coruscant,” Anakin suggested, standing at the top of the stairs to his loft. 

“I agree,” Shmi said, gathering herself to her feet. “Luckily, my dear, I believe you still have a spare bed?” Anakin looked first at Shmi, then to you, before turning a slightly surprised gaze toward his mother. 

“I do, my old room, but don’t you... where is (Y/N) going to sleep?” With the expression of a mother who knows her son too well, Shmi shook her head, giving you a knowing look before following a tunnel away from the loft and into the mountain.

Anakin turned toward you, confused, and you only smiled. Maybe he’d figure that puzzle out himself. 

“Got any more of that soup?” You asked, looking briefly toward his firepit. This morning he’d given you a rabbit soup, made with bone broth from his last few meals. “I’m starved.” 

~~~

Three days passed in peace. And yes, he had figured it out, and you slept curled up against his chest. 

You were nervous with every noise that passed the cave’s mouth, assuming that another Jedi knight had been sent to kill Anakin, or a curious passer-by was ready to expose your secret. You knew Anakin shared the same fears. It seemed only to be Shmi who was completely comfortable, happy to once again be home with her son, and you, who she had practically adopted as her own. 

On the fourth day, you were leaning against the mouth of the cave, Anakin helping his mother prepare the evening meal behind you, when you saw something that confused and terrified you. 

Appearing over the treetops was the form of a dragon.

“Uh, Anakin?” you called, realizing that this dragon was flying straight toward you, and so Anakin’s cavern. The only two dragons you knew where here with you, so- who was this?

You heard both Anakin and Shmi approach you, but you didn’t turn, your gaze still stuck with the dragon. You didn’t turn, at least, until you heard Shmi speak.

“Maul?”

Your gaze snapped to her, and an unsettling wave of fear came over you. 

“No, Maul is-”

“Dead,” Shmi finished for you. “I know.” As the dragon grew closer, you began to recognize the red and black patterns that Maul had been described with, but you noticed a distinct lack of the deadly, yellow spikes that were said to cover the dragon’s face. 

“It can’t be-” Shmi said, and Anakin stepped in front of her. You, sensing the same danger Anakin did, found and clutched your saber, readying to ignite it. As the dragon approached, you realized that between its wings was a human girl, which puzzled you even further. 

The dragon landed just inside the treeline, far enough away that you didn’t yet feel threatened. From its neck slid the woman, and you narrowed your eyes, because you thought you might recognize her. But no, it couldn’t be. It couldn’t possibly be-

The dragon shifted into its human form, as you’d seen Anakin do, and though your heart had never stopped, in this moment, it felt like it restarted. 

“Obi-Wan!” you shouted, without a second thought jumping from the ledge. You caught yourself and stumbled forward, rolling your momentum into a run, slamming into Obi-Wan and giving him a tight hug. He’d been your mentor, once- and now, beside him, was a close friend of yours, his new apprentice, Ahsoka Tano. 

“It’s good to see you again, (Y/N),” Obi-Wan said, letting you break from his embrace to catch Ahsoka in yours. “I hear you’ve been getting yourself in quite a bit of trouble.” 

“Yeah, well,” you said with a bit of a shrug, “it seems like I learned from the best.” From his bright hair were two horns, black and red, and similar colored scales covered his cheekbones, shoulders, arms. Somehow, he’d become a dragon. 

“Kenobi?” said Shmi, and you turned toward where she and Anakin still stood at the mouth of the cave. Anakin looked scared- but in a way that only you would notice it. To anyone else, he would look furious. 

“Forgive me, milady,” Obi-Wan said to her, stepping in front of you. “I’m sure your kind must not take kindly to seeing me. If you permit me, I come in peace- and to offer an explanation.” 

“No,” Anakin said, and you lifted your gaze to him. 

“Anakin,” Shmi said, seemingly to soothe him, and she said something to him that you couldn’t quite catch. 

“Come inside,” Shmi called down, “We’ll have tea. It seems we have much to talk about.” Obi-Wan and Ahsoka were brought up to the cavern, where they sat on the floor, respectful to Shmi and Anakin’s home, the way a Jedi knight was trained to be. 

“When I killed Maul,” Obi-Wan began, and you felt Anakin bristle beside you, “I didn’t know dragons were anything more than beasts. But he became human as he died, and he asked me to take his dragon’s cloak.” Obi-Wan, who wore the red and black cloak, pulled it tighter around his shoulder. “I’ve been honoring his wishes. I didn’t realize that when he died, it took on a new master, and I’ve become a dragon myself.” Shmi brought her hand to her chin, considering. 

“I’ve heard rumors that such a thing was possible,” she said, “but I’ve never seen it myself.” 

“Now you have,” Ahsoka offered, a brightness to her snark, as always. 

“But that isn’t why we came,” Obi-Wan continued, “We believe that this family is very important to something happening in the kingdom.” 

“So this is Jedi business,” you said, almost saddened. 

“Not fully,” Obi-Wan said, “(Y/N), since you left the temple, there has been revealed a plot to kill the King. We’ve been trying to investigate who would try such a thing, and the Order has discovered no one.” He leaned forward, as though sharing a secret. “But I believe it’s Palpatine.” 

“Unsurprising,” Shmi said with a small hiss to her words. 

“Why would he do that?” Anakin asked, not truly invested into the politics of the kingdom.

“I believe that he wants the throne,” Obi-Wan answered, his voice even, and you recognized the tone. This was how Obi-Wan spoke when he was trying to break news gently. Why was he so afraid to tell this to you?

“And how would killing the king give him the throne?” You prodded, “The Senate would vote on an Interim until Princess Padme is old enough to be queen.” 

“Because Palpatine has always been a political mentor to the princess,” Ahsoka said, “So he thinks he’ll be voted as Interum.” Obi-Wan waved her silent.

“That,” Obi-Wan said, “and that he already has the support of many senators. I thought that that would be enough, but when I heard of everything that had happened in Coruscant...” Obi-Wan brought his gaze to yours, his eyes full of sorrow. 

“I wish I didn’t have to tell you this, (Y/N), but it seems he’s been using you. I believe that he allowed you to escape your execution, allowed Vader here to go free, allowed you to defeat the golems, because he wanted to build you into a bigger threat. I think he intends to wage a war against you, so that he can prove to the Senate that he is a good leader. Then he’ll kill the king, and take the throne.” 

You’d known that you had made things worse for everyone, by making the choices you had. But to find out you were an unknowing participant in a coup... 

You lowered your head, pressing your palms to your forehead.

“The thought that anyone would want to kill King Sio Bibble,” Shmi said, righteously angry, “is deplorable. He is a wise and fair ruler.” 

“Virtues mean nothing to a man who craves power, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan said, taking a sip of his tea.

You’d thought that you were smart, that you were secretive. You’d thought that you were one of the best knights ever to leave the Jedi Temple, and yet- and yet, Sheev Palpatine, the Council Head of Coruscant, who you’d never met before in your life, could predict your decisions with enough accuracy to incite a war. 

“What to you suggest we do, master?” You asked, not lifting your head to look at Obi-Wan. 

“It is my suggestion that you leave,” Obi-Was said, “Flee to less populated land. If you prove yourself not a threat, then he will have no grounds for an attack, and the Jedi Knights’ only worries will be protecting the King and Princess.”

“I’m not leaving my home,” Anakin snapped, and you once again cursed yourself for being the source of problems not only for your master, not only for the man you loved, but for the entire kingdom.

“You’re willing to face an army to protect it?”

“Yes!”

“Anakin,” Shmi said softly, reaching over to take his hand gently. “Obi-Wan, thank you for telling us. It seems we have much to talk about.” 

You hated everything that was going to happen- whether Anakin was forced to abandon his childhood home, or war came to the kingdom. You hated every alternative, and so searched for a single substitute, one pathway that would diverge and protect everyone, let things return to the way they used to be.

And suddenly, you had one. Not one that you were proud of, but one that you would accept, to protect the people you cared about, to protect the kingdom. 

“What if we just kill Palpatine?” you suggested, quietly, lifting your head slowly. 

“(Y/N), Jedi knights are not meant to meddle in politics,” Obi-Wan reminded you.

“No, but we are meant to serve the king.” You felt determination wiggle into your soul, more and more certain that not only would you do this, but that it would be right. “Would destroying his usurper not be considered serving him?” Obi-Wan looked sideways to Ahsoka for a moment, then back to you.

“Suppose I agreed with your reasoning,” he said, cheekily taking a sip of his tea, “What would you have in mind?” 

-🦌 Roe

| part 4 |

[antichristsxbox]

It’s a match!

Summary: You meet Duncan on a dating app and the two of you decide to go out for dinner together. Warning: this contains smut! :)

From the writer: Hey guys, this is the first-ever fic I’ve written about Duncan from House of Cards! I really like this and I hope you do as well. If you enjoyed this, all likes and reblogs are appreciated + check out more fics I’ve written on my masterlist!

Word count: 2,425

Left, left, left, right, left, right, right— it’s a match! A cute man named Duncan with brown hair and blue eyes. He lives in the city, not too far from your home in Alexandria. He’s a politician, or at least claims to be on his profile; he’s looking for a relationship but would also like to have fun and see where this dating app takes him. Perfect, you think. Before you could even send ‘hi,’ a message from Duncan comes through. He is wondering if you would like to meet up for dinner sometime this week and even offers to pick you up. You reply back, saying you would love to meet up with him although you live out of his way, so he shouldn’t bother to pick you up. Also, you don’t really like it when you get picked up on the first date. If your date is annoying, weird, or boring you never like to stick around— a friend is always willing to fake an emergency call for you to give you an out.

The time agreed for dinner was tonight at seven-thirty. There’s a Capital Grille downtown, and Duncan offers to call and make a reservation. While everything is falling into place for tonight, your mind wanders to what you should wear. Thankfully, you take Fridays off of work, so you’re not going to be bombarded with patients or meetings today. It’s very important, first impressions— you wouldn’t want to look tired or worn-out like after a long day of work. After circling around your walk-in closet a couple times, you decide on a black jumpsuit with a v-neck and a halter-style neckline. The legs are wide-cut and there’s a thin band of rhinestones around the entire waist. A matching pair of black, open-toed Louboutin heels tie the look together nicely.

Slowly, you make your way down the stairs to your underground garage. Whoever built this house initially went all-out— big columns surrounding the entire house complete with first and second-floor wraparound porches. A garage aboveground wouldn’t go with the aesthetic of this Antebellum South style mansion. Sometimes, it’s difficult to pick your car of the day, but today is not one of those days. Between your Mercedes S550, Porsche 911 Carrera S Cabriolet, Audi S3, and the Rolls-Royce Phantom, the Porsche takes the cake for tonight. The weather is nice tonight, you could let the top down and cruise up the highway for your short ride to D.C. Plus, the black exterior with black detailing, then red from the mechanical details behind the wheels matches your outfit perfectly.

Eventually, you find your way to the Capital Grille downtown. It’s already dark outside, but you manage to spot the valet horseshoe just in time before missing the turn completely. You exchange your keys for a valet ticket, then walk through the door held for you by the hosts. As you look up to see if your date has arrived, you spot Duncan at a booth near the side of the restaurant. You walk over and he stands to greet you, offering a small hug before the both of you sit.

“So, Ms. (y/l/n),” he says, but you cut him off before he could continue.

“Dr. (y/l/n),” you say with a smile, raising your glass of ice water to your lips to take a small sip. Duncan quickly apologizes and corrects himself, giving a warm smile back in return; he mentally kicks himself for not remembering after reading your profile. Duncan goes on and says he’s wondering about your hobbies, but could see why you might not have many as caring for patients takes up a large chunk of time. It wouldn’t be so bad if you were only a dermatologist, you go on, but you also run a successful clinical trial research lab in your office as well. Having to continually monitor patients is a huge time-suck.

“What do you do, Duncan?” you ask, glancing up to meet his brilliant blue eyes. He explains that he is a politician and many of his family members are prominent people around the city as well. Sure, you think you’ve seen Duncan in an interview or read about him in an article or two, you recall. After making small talk about each other’s careers for a bit longer, you begin to delve into what intrigued you about the other. What ‘made you swipe,’ per se. For you, Duncan seemed nice and cute as well as successful from what he described in his profile. You look for men with a similar drive and ambition as you or else you may get bored, you say. Similarly, Duncan says he was attracted to your success and ambition in your field of work. He even remarks that he has visited your practice before, but seen your nurse practitioner rather than you. As you continue to chat with Duncan, you begin to wonder if he would ride back home with you. Sure, he may be looking for a relationship, but you’re not sure you’d like to spend time getting to know this man if he’s a not a good fuck. There’s plenty of cuter, more successful men in D.C. for you to spend your time on if Duncan can’t make it happen. Sometimes, nice guys are nice because they need to compensate for something.

“So, did you drive here?” you ask, gliding your finger across the top of your water glass in circles.

“Oh, no, I Ubered in case we wanted to get a bottle of wine,” he says.

Perfect, you think. You could offer Duncan a ride back to his place or offer him a ride to your place. How could he resist at that point? After dinner has come to an end, you and Duncan make your way out to the valet horseshoe again. He holds the door for you and offers to wait with you while your car is being pulled up.

“I could give you a ride home,” you say with a smile. He initially declines, but then graciously accepts your offer when he opens the Uber app and finds that no rides are available near him. A loud, high-pitched whirring noise fills the alcove, and you could tell your car close. The turbo engine causes the noise to be more high-pitched than a regular engine as the turbines spin ten times faster than a regular engine would allow. You step forward and hand the valet boy your ticket from where the top would be if it was up.

“This is you?” Duncan says, raising his eyebrows and smiling. You make your way to the driver’s side door— the valet boy left it open for you, then closes it behind you as you tuck your feet inside. Duncan opens the passenger side door and climbs in. As soon as you pull out from the restaurant’s front and stop to turn on the road, you begin to speak.

“Why don’t you come home with me?” you ask, turning on your turn signal to indicate the right turn you’re about to make. There’s a line of cars passing by for now, so you turn to Duncan in anticipation of his response. There is not much hesitation before he nods his head yes and a smile curls around his face.

To no surprise on Duncan’s end, he is now pulling up towards an amazing home. What really gets him is the underground garage. What a nice touch, he thinks to himself. He knows for sure she’ll never be after his money— perhaps he’s going for hers at this point. Although that may be a joke with himself, for now, he knows that the car he’s currently sitting in is half a year’s salary at his job now. For the current object of his attention, this is just frivolous spending money. For her, a quarter-million dollars is nothing, especially in a garage with three more amazing, beautiful cars. All cars are shiny black— each with stunning, custom details.

You press a button near the rearview mirror and the garage begins to close. The trip up the stairs to the first floor of your house is longer than you would like it to be, especially with Duncan on your mind. He stands behind you on the stairs, as a gentleman should— ready to catch the lady if she slips or tumbles. Once you’ve made it upstairs, you don’t bother walking all the way to your room, you sit down on the couch in your living room. Duncan soon follows, sitting right next to you, resting his hand on your thigh. As he leans in for a kiss, you surge forward to meet his lips. His scruffy facial hair tickles your face, but you pull away from his lips as it begins to scratch. Men with facial hair are amazing, but you prefer it to be a little longer so it could be smoother rather than prickly. Nothing against Duncan himself so far, though— amazing kisser, that man. His hands move from your shoulders down to your waist, and he attempts to tug your jumpsuit up, probably thinking it’s a shirt.

“Oh, I got that,” you say, reaching behind you to unzip the zipper from the back of your outfit. As the zipper becomes undone, the neckline to your outfit loosens and a sleeve begins to fall from your shoulder. Duncan unbuttons his own shirt and allows that to fall to the floor, then peels off his undershirt and throws it across the room. You let your sleeves slip all the way down your arms, then off your fingertips until the top of your jumpsuit pools at your waist, leaving you sitting on the couch in your bra and pants. Kicking off your shoes, you pull your jumpsuit down further so you would only be in your bra and underwear. After seeing this, Duncan makes haste to unbuckle his pants and belt, then casts those to the side as well. Clearly, he was excited to be here as there is a prominent bulge present in his boxers, straining against the thin fabric. Duncan’s soft hands meet your unclothed waist— this gives you the chills as be begins to kiss you again, scruffy facial hair and all. Now, you’re beginning to feel a growing sense of urgency pool between your legs, and you’re eager to explore what Duncan has to offer.

“Why don’t we move this to the bedroom?” he asks after breaking his string of kisses. You agree and stand up to lead Duncan to your bedroom. After arriving at the master suite, it doesn’t take long for both of you to climb on the bed. Duncan’s beneath you as you lay on top of him, legs straddled above his waist, brushing over his solid erection. Your lips are still crashing together, but your mouth grows wider with every kiss, accepting more of Duncan with every movement. One of his hands travel to your back while the other begins to massage one of your breasts, then you feel your bra unhook and fall in front of you. Duncan catches it with the hand that was occupied with your breast, then he throws it off the bed. After this, you reach to tug down your underwear, then cast it aside like your bra. Duncan’s erection springs up from his boxers, and it’s a clear sign of relief when he is freed from the confines of his tight underwear. After exchanging a few more passionate kisses, you reach for his long, thick member and line it up with your entrance. He lets out a few small groans as you touch him. As you begin to sink down on him, he bucks his hips up and thrusts himself further in, yet you’re not all the way adjusted to how he feels in you. As you rock your hips over him a few times, the feeling of him stretching your walls all the way begins to sink in— there’s not a space inside untouched by Duncan, you’re completely full. You shift back and forth on him, causing the pressure due to him being more and less present in alternating sides inside you. The most pleasure comes from moving your hips forward, having him press back inside you near your most sensitive areas. After a few more minutes of this, Duncan leans forward and tells you to lay down.

He’s now between your thighs with your legs wrapped around his waist, ankles crossing behind him. Now, he’s pounding into you, skin hardly slapping against skin. For a while, it was a dull sensation— but, time after time, it’s now biting and harsh every time he smacks himself against you, balls slapping against your wet heat repeatedly for the past few minutes now. You could tell where he was inside of you by tracking where the significantly thicker head was from the rest of his cock, the suction caused by this letting a lewd popping sound release through the air every time he pulls completely out and then re-enters. Duncan then decided to place a pillow under your hips, allowing for him to angle down inside you to hit your sweet spot. Not long after this, you feel your orgasm is near. Tightening your grip on Duncan with your legs, you begin to rock your hips in sync with every thrust he makes, chasing your own pleasure. As his movements become somewhat erratic and varying from his usual thrust force, he either shifts slightly or slams even harder into you. After a few deep breaths and hard thrusts, Duncan releases himself inside you, pushing himself even deeper inside, almost brushing your cervix. Following this, your orgasm washes over you, clenching around his cock and drawing his warmth even deeper inside you. Muscle contractions move up his cock, squeezing him for anything he has left.

Slowly, Duncan exits you, followed by a trail of his cum leaking from your entrance. He looks down and licks his lips at the sight of you laying down in front of him, full of him.

“You’re staying over,” you say, no room to interpret that as a question due to your commanding tone.

“I couldn’t leave if I wanted to, baby, you’re my ride home,” he says, laying down next to you and smiling.

“I don’t want to, though. You actually don’t have to take me back to my place at all.”

///

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[spokenlangston1997-blog]

Battleship

I’m just some curly haired boy, about 5’5 and brown in color. I don’t know much about the events from back then, but I’ll try my best to describe them. It’s like waking up one day with a a feeling of time standing still, or maybe that was due to the fact that I’d been left behind. Stranded in the depths of the world. I had nothing but trees to calm my view and ease my pain. I’d hear the sounds of a waterfall far off in the distance. I could remember finding that water fall one day and playing in the clear clear water until my hands got all pruny. You know pruny like when you fall asleep in the bathtub and they shrivel up, but that only happened to me once. I feel like I’ve been lost ever since a young age. Well I guess if you count the age of two, young that is. I was kidnapped from my respective village around that age. I stayed in a small little village in the middle of nowhere. This village was guarded by trees and random plants and animals. Almost, like it was a farm plantation but not one at the same time. I remembered, I use to come out and milk the cows so we’d have cereal for breakfast every morning.

But I also remember the day, I was taken from my calm, humble civilization. I remember my mom screaming hysterically and balling her poor clear blue eyes out; as the men carried me away with anger written on their face. Smells of ale and rotten eggs on their breath; bearded with hair from head to toe. This mean were I guess what you’d call modern day pirates. They’d come to civilizations like mine and take little boys and girls. They’d sell the girls for sexual favors and work labor. While, they’d train the men to battle on the front line. The chills, as I rode to unknown land to my new life. Swampy uncharted territory guarded by a heavily black dressed militia. I felt as if I’d never survive what they had planned for me.

Once, I arrived they began my training and that’s when I met the others. The most non athletic group of guys I’d ever seen in my life. It’s amazing these guys could tie their shoes without tipping over. This one kid Larry was built like my refrigerator back home. He was around 6’2 and and couldn’t see his feet even if I asked him to bend over at the waist. He was a pepperoni faced nerd, who snored extremely loud in his sleep. I tried using headphones to block out the noise but that never works with him. But its weird because he’s a walking hot head so just never mention his weight or touch his food to be honest. Speaking of food we were feed sloppy beans and peas once everyday. The peas were moldy and tender; the beans were as hard as a rock and discolored at times. Luckily, I was able to steal food when given free time. Once, managing to get a few spoons of cereal off the first floor guard. This only happened because little Timmy was playing lookout. Timmy was a special breed of stupid, well that’s what he perceived to be. I knew after talking to Timmy for a few days that this kid was the smartest on the ship. When we were first locked up and trapped in a dark room full of cages he’d tell me his master plan to escape. Just too bad he couldn’t make it out with me. At times, I miss little Timmy and our coloring book hour. This ship was dreadful so you needed friends like Timmy to past the time. It was just your typical sailor ship but more of a battleship I guess. 3 cannons built on the side with reinforced steel to back it all up. Also, multiple rooms to keep prisoners like myself in when, we got out of line. At times, I felt hopeless and helpless as I looked upon my future. Just wondering If I’d ever see my mom again or the village at that. I’d been kidnapped and no idea where I was, so honestly how could I even hope to make it back.

I’m left at an endless road, stranded in an endless paradox. I’m at ends wits and upon a jungle with no ending. My stomach floating like seashores as I panic; as if I’m left drowning gasping for my last breath. But in reality I was drowning because I needed a way out. My mind is an outcast and the militia is holding me captive. As I sit and patiently calculate a plan to escape. Telling myself, “I just want to be free”. Free like the wings of a bird soaring across the air. Free like the clouds that float with endless guidance. I’d been kidnapped and its as if time stopped. As if time couldn't bolster the thoughts I’d felt every millisecond. But that’s the thing time didn’t stop for me or anyone else at that matter. I’d seen plenty die and parish as we were upon the sea. Many of my friends had tried to escape with no surrender. Larry being the first to be thrown over the deck. They found Larry stealing food and with a plan to steal the small boat attached to the ship. When they found him they game him the punishment of no food for a month. Larry lost so much weight over the first two weeks that he was skinner than me. His body frame could handle it and one day he just didn’t wake up. They proceeded to throw him overboard and after that I don’t know what happened. I’m pretty sure the sharks probably got him. I also saw Timmy die over my span on the ship. Timmy was killed in battle with another group of pirates who said, “We’d been sailing on their turf”. Timmy was loading the cannons, when a sniper caught him right between the eyes. It was a sad day for me, I didn’t talk for months. I still remember the smell of rotting flesh, as it took them days before they tossed him over. At some point I just realized they’re trying to mentally destroy me from the inside out. As my body feels with paranoia; as I’ve been captive for what seems like an eternity.

I must escape, I must start a war among them and myself. As I start my escape I’m left with a wide spread of stares. While, the other captives drown in hopeless glares. Of the lonely world in which we plan to escape. I’d stolen weaponry the night before from the weapons cellar. I was left hopeless but on my last life as knew the only way was to continue the fight. As the militia seems to sharpen more than a thousands swords. With blood shot eyes and grinning teeth they seemed ready for war. Coming compact with armor of steel. Their bearded leader with the chiseled toothpick in his mouth and clear glass boots came afoot. Ready to press all hands forward against our army. Being built me and other captives with their thoughts of escape. We stand 6 feet tall with light facial hair and a shiver that’d make you think it was 30 below. Until the start of the war when, I decided I stand at attention then charge with all my might. While most would just drown in pity and sorrow. But in my mind one must rise as if they were a sun yet to set. We battled 50 days and 50 nights until their was a winner. We lost boys every night and most of our kills were sneak attacks. We literally split the ship in two and we were a high priority for them. They struggled to get any work done around the ship without us being there. Our main goal was to conquer and kill their leader. We knew if we could handle that task we’d take control of the ship. All the boys were in for the plan to kill the bearded captain.

We’d spent nights upon nights following his footsteps and every moves. I still remember the night we finally decided it was time to go after him. We let Larry’s brother Gary lead the way. Gary was in no way smart but he was talented. Gary could do anything and I mean anything. This guy, once wrestled a shark, well that’s what he tells us. But I’ll admit Gary is a great writer and I’ve read plenty of his pieces. But Gary was leading the way tonight because he was set out on revenge for his brother and the oldest as well. Gary turned 16 not too long ago but honestly who knows when any of our birthday’s are. We could definitely all be close to the same age by now I’d think. We snuck across enemy lines for the very last battle. It was officially day 50 and on this snowy morning the war was nonstop. Guys being thrown overboard from both sides nonstop. Until, It was just Me, Gary and the captain left alive on the boat. Then, In the blink of an eye I saw Gary and the Captain pop up with double barrel shotguns and fire simultaneously at one another. Gary flew done and the captain died on impact. I ran over to Gary to see if I could help and all he said was, “I’m free”. Gary then proceeded to give me his last poem and that was it for Gary. The poem read,

“Safe Haven

At night you sleep with a blanket

safe.

Safe from the scum of society

safe.

As if no one or thing can harm you

leaving that safe haven is hard.

It's like climbing a fence to the next yard

others will try to keep you down.

Hoping you drown.

Leaving that safe haven shall be hard.

But once your outside

you realize those kids

playing in the next yard

have let down their guard.

Some of them are scarred

but they still play

as if they're safe.

With no fear of those near and far.”

I’m still left thinking about the true meaning to that poem even at this moment in my life. I just know he’s with his brother now and that’s probably for the best. I still get shivers whenever I think about Gary and Larry but, while I sailed that ship back to my village all I could think of was my mom. How much I missed her and how much she missed me as well.

At times, I still remember the ship mostly in the form of nightmares. But my friends that went to war with me is what made my day. Day 50 honestly never will be forgotten in my mind. The rotting food will never be missed though or the stinky smell of feet across the ship. Sometimes I can still sense the feel of those cold steel cannons used for war. But eventually, I’ll get over it and be able to capture my everyday life back. Just right now I’m still scared from the event at hand and just pondering back on it.

Once, I made it back to the village my mom cried her little eyes out. Her now being an old lady and all pruny and wrinkly. But I missed her so much. I missed the smell of her flower blossom perfume and the weird Hawaii dresses. All the villagers wanted to her the story of how I escaped. But I can’t help to say, “I’ve been feeling pain of the emotional sense”. “I’ve been feeling pain and it’s sweet agony”. As I stare off in to space. They all watch me drool and snot bubbles still running down my face. As my mother repeats, “Honey are you okay”? Everyone else starts staring in anticipation of my answer. My mother nudging me as if I was a dying bodying trying to stay with her. But at that moment I’m gone like a brisk of the wind. I had the chance to set myself free on that ship and I took it. I just had to see my mother one last time. The built up stress and anxiety had got to me and I filled my cup with toxins along my ride back. I had finished that cup as soon as I got back to the village. As I laid there life less, I left my mom the poem and something a little extra that I wrote. I heard her read it as I laid lifeless.

“Safe Haven

At night you sleep with a blanket

safe.

Safe from the scum of society

safe.

As if no one or thing can harm you.

Leaving that safe haven is hard

it's like climbing a fence to the next yard.

Others will try to keep you down

Hoping you drown.

Leaving that safe haven shall be hard.

But once your outside

you realize those kids

playing in the next yard

have let down their guard.

Some of them are scarred

but they still play

as if they're safe

with no fear of those near and far”.

Then, I left her with the final words, “For the sky is blue and through tears I remember you. As if the sun set beneath you. I dread the tears, I feel for you. For thou shadows, cloud my view. As if it was a viewing party, just for you. So I’m free until we meet again, mom I love you”.

[cecilspeaks]

111 - Summer 2017, Night Vale, USA

A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we lay open-eyed, watching it all.

Welcome to Night Vale.

The City Council reiterated for the 1874th consecutive day that the Dog Park is off limits for both dogs and humans. The fence is electrified and highly dangerous, et cetera. Hooded figures and all that. Since its construction, we have shied from and feared the Dog Park. The Dog Park is neither a park nor for dogs, so what does it even mean to call it a Dog Park? Why do we use language that means one thing to describe something that is entirely else? I don’t know what the word for that place the City Council calls the Dog Park, but I do know it’s time to start searching for that word, and once found, to use it boldly.

The angels – who I can know say are angels and will say are angels because they are angels- held a memorial for Old Woman Josie in her house. Everyone in town came, overcome with the feeling that finally, they could look at these beings and recognize them for what they were. Even the City Council attended the memorial, but refused to make eye contact with anyone. Of course, this positive concrete identification only led to more mysteries. For if these are angels, then where did they come from, and what does that mean for us? Even now we find that we cannot voice these questions. Not because we are not allowed, but because we cannot find the words to ask. Instead, we ate cake and drank coffee in the living room of Old Woman Josie, which was once just that, the place she lived. Now, it is only a room. One by one, we laid our hand on the angel’s hands, and in that moment of contact, each of us in turn found ourselves weeping.

As the party wound down, we all heard a soft pop outside. It was the lightbulb on Old Woman Josie’s porch, burning out.

A man who I know very well came into my house today, which is also his house. He laid his head with its perfect and beautiful hair upon my shoulder and crossed his arms over his perfect and beautiful lab coat. I embraced him. We are creatures of touch, humans. And we retrieve so much meaning and happiness from contact.

“I’ve become too complacent,” he said. “When I came here, I understood this town as scientifically fascinating. And then, gradually, it became my day to day life. I could no longer see the strangeness, but only my home.” “We are all guilty of that,” I said. “But I’m a scientist,” he said. “Well,” I said, “we have all been scientists at one point or another in our lives.”

Just a reminder to all the parents out there. Let’s talk about safety when taking your children out to play in the scrublands and the sand wastes. You need to give them plenty of water, make sure there’s a shade tree in the area, and keep an eye on the helicopter colors. I asked my best friend and brother, Steve, to talk me through which helicopters belong to which organizations. Obviously the black helicopters belong to the world government. Although I had not realized until Steve laid it out for me, how closely they are also associated with the lizard people. The blue ones are Sheriff’s Secret Police. The pink ones are the new Double Secret Police. And the ones painted with complex murals depicting birds of prey diving? [inhales sharply] Well, not even Steve knows what those helicopters are, nor what they want. On Steve’s chart, those are just labeled with the word “RUN”. And then a few hundred exclamation points.

A commercial airliner flying through local airspace disappeared today, only to reappear at the fifth hole of the Sagebrook Pines Private Golf Club and Bulk Supplier. This disrupted all golf activities badly, as well as scaring a family of four who were perusing bulk paper towels offered at a discount price in a nearby sand trap.

I feel, for the first time, that I can articulate that this airliner had flown into some other universe, those divisions being particularly thin here in our quaint little community. This also is the cause of things like dead relatives occasionally joining us for breakfast, or the shimmering skyscrapers and crowded cities that appear for flashing moments in the sky.

Of course, it also could be the handiwork of the East Night Vale Cacti, the basketball team at the new East Night Vale Elementary School. Those scamps are always pulling pranks. Could they transport a large plane through multiple universes? Who am I to say? But probably yes. For shame, East Night Vale! For shame!

My husband and our town’s friend and protector Carlos called a town meeting. He thought we hadn’t checked in with each other in a while and wanted us to have a moment where we came face to face, and saw those faces, and remembered that we are all real and all affect each other. Erika and Erika of the newly acknowledged angels brought corn muffins.. which were inedibly salty. They explained that angels just can’t get enough salt. Dana Cardinal was there, not as our Mayor but as a citizen, one who is so young for the responsibility that has been thrust on her. Tamika Flynn was there, not as a City Council member, but as a citizen, one who is so young for the responsibility she has seized with an army of loyal and extremely well armed teens. Please see my upcoming editorial on why millennials are always joining armed teen militias. Ugh, millennials!

Carlos reminded us that we are by far the most scientifically interesting town in the country, and we joined hands and nodded, because boy, don’t we know it!

We have clear eyes now. We see ourselves for who we are, but more importantly, we see each other. We are still a community.

The Night Vale Business Association is proud to announce the refurbishment of the Night Vale Harbor and Waterfront Recreation Area. Now you might remember that these facilities have always been absolutely beautiful, eco-friendly, and with a pedestrian-focused design. However, they have suffered poor attendance due to the complete lack of water in the desert. But this is where things have changed. The Night Vale Business Association said, in a press release that they drunkenly sung in unison out in my yard last night.

The recent problems we had with other universes intruding on our own resulted in a great deal of pain and loss. But it has left us with an ocean. This ocean is only visible from the Waterfront Recreation Area’s boardwalk, and viewed from any other angle, the area still appears to just be the usual sagebrush and rocks. Carlos said he doesn’t understand how this window into another world works, and warned that no one should attempt to touch the ocean, for we do not know what lurks within it. But, he said, there could be no harm in a sunset stroll along the boardwalk, listening to the soft hiss of the retreating waves.

The local chapter of the NRA is selling bumper stickers as part of their fundraising week. The stickers are made from good sturdy vinyl, and they read, “We genuinely do not value human life.” Cute!

Carlos and his scientists, like Louisa and Nilanjana, are renewing their investigation into the house in the development of Desert Creek, out back of the elementary school. The house that doesn’t actually exist. “It seems like it exists,” muttered Carlos, “like it’s just right there when you look at it. And it’s between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not.” But he says, it is actually a doorway into another world, a world he himself was stuck in for a year. There seem to be secrets about that year he’s keeping to himself. Maybe some day we will learn what they are.

Lights seen in the sky above the Arby’s. Not the glowing sign of Arby’s, something higher and beyond that. One night years ago, two people scared and vulnerable and loving and ready came together for a quiet moment under that sky, and I pretended at the time to understand the lights. But a big part of recognizing the world for what it is is recognizing when you have no idea. Invaders from another world? Harbingers of future terror? A fragment of other universe, fading into our own above reasonably priced lunchmeat? Maybe any. Maybe all. Maybe none.

But here is what I do know: the lights are, among other things, a part of my memory and a part of my marriage, and a part of my love. They are a piece of my past and I don’t need to understand them to understand that. Ladies and gentlemen, the past is here, and it’s about a hundred feet above the Arby’s.

Carlos and Louisa say that the monitoring station near Route 800 is recording wild seismic shifts, even as our ground reminds completely still. He suspects that this might be because multiple universes are colliding, creating earthquakes that are undetectable in the third dimension. “Picture our worlds intertwining,” he said. “And here we are in the coil, the friction of every possibility coming into contact, shaking the very structure of chance and fortune,” he said. Well, submit an insurance claim anyway and see what you can get, right?

Listeners, the traffic. Police are issuing warnings about the ghost cars out on the highways, those cars only visible in the distance, reaching unimaginable speeds, leaving destinations unknown for destinations more unknown. It seems that the ghost cars have taken to drag racing on weekends, which poses a hazard to both pedestrians and other drivers. The police indicate that they will be arresting whatever beings drive these cars, as soon as they can figure out how to pull one over.

And now – The weather.

["Andromeda" by Airospace soundcloud.com/spairoace or on Spotify]

The sun didn’t set at the correct time today or any other day, Carlos and Nilanjana reported. They are quite certain about that. They checked several blocks. But, they said, the sunset was really beautiful, so at least there’s that.

Carlos still does not have any explanations, but he did suggest that while time is especially weird in Night Vale, time is weird anyway. Mostly people don’t notice in the rest of the world, because while time is weird there, it’s always weird in the same way, and so is mistaken for being remotely understandable.

It’s easy to forget in this hot, hot, desert climate, but things would actually be slightly harder for us without the sun. We know this because there was a version of Night Vale in some other universe in which the sun did not exist. And that version of Night Vale was teerrible. Ugh, just no good at all! Their street plan didn’t make a lick of sense, for one thing. There was no flow to any neighborhood! I’m glad I live in my sunny Night Vale, and not any other.

The City Council would like to remind you about the tiered heavens and the hierarchy of angels. The reminder is the council is grumpy that all of this is not forbidden knowledge, but due to the new laws, they are required to inform you that the angels have made all of that information available. Stop by the house where the angels live if you want to pick up a free packet outlining exactly how all of that is organized. While the packet itself is free, it is likely the angels will ask to borrow five dollars. They tend to do that.

Over at the Desert Flower Bowling Alley and Arcade Fun Complex, Terry Williams, its owner, reported the startling news that there is nothing under the pin retrieval area of lane 5. As you may remember, there has been a tiny city of warlike people under the bowling alley for several years now. Which has caused some trouble, although not a lot of trouble, because they were very tiny people. But now there is just a hole in the earth under the pin retrieval area, an empty space containing only my own memories of a night that someone I loved almost died, before I had a chance to truly love him. So good riddance to whatever that town was.

Carlos, perfect and beautiful, came into our studio during the break earlier and we ate lunch together out of Tupperwares. He had some sort of blinking box in his hand, covered with wires and tubes. When he put it close to the microphone it sounded like – well, like a bunch of baby birds had just woken up, really went crazy. He asked if I remembered it. He had brought it by on the first day we had met. He had told me that it tested for materials, but he wasn’t actually sure what materials it tested for. He had just wanted an excuse to come by and talk to me. “Anyway”, he said, “I thought it was a nice memento back when we were fumbling awkwardly toward this life we share.” “But,” he added, “it’s a real instrument that is detecting some actual materials of some kind, so there is a good chance that everything about this studio is deeply dangerous. Please, be careful.” Then we fed Khoshekh, the cat floating in one of the bathrooms here at the station. Carlos pointed out cats don’t float. I stared at Khoshekh, having never really thought about that. After a bit I said, “This one does.” Carlos smiled, petted Khoshekh between the eyes and went back to his work, and I went back to mine.

This is my work, listeners. My work is to speak to you all. To talk you through the day, to murmur you into the night. Settling in to be another clear and pretty evening here in Night Vale, this weird, weird, town. I hope all of you out there have someone to sleep through it with. I know I do.

Good night, listeners, Good night.

Today’s proverb: There is no proof you exist, only evidence. .

[unfolded73]

What Comes Next (5/8)

Summary: They lived happily ever after. And then what happened? (A Post-S6 story.)  Starts about a week after the final battle, and explores the highs and lows of newly married life between Emma and Killian as they deal with work, friends, and family as life in Storybrooke settles down somewhat.

Captain Swan, Explicit (this update particularly so), ~4600 words this chapter

Thanks to @j-philly-b for the beta.

CHAPTER 1 | CHAPTER 2 | CHAPTER 3 | CHAPTER 4

Emma stirred sugar into her coffee mug as she stared out the kitchen window. For the first time possibly ever (not counting those early days of their relationship when she’d set her alarm extra early to try to sneak out of Killian’s room at Granny’s without half the town seeing her), Emma had woken up before her husband. She could hear the shower running upstairs, while here she was already dressed and ready for work. Up was down, black was white, and Emma Swan was ready for work early. Something had woken her up at five in the morning and she’d just lain there, awake, until finally giving in and getting out of bed.

Sighing, she turned around to see yesterday’s mail neatly stacked on the kitchen table where Killian left it for her the day before. Walking over, she idly flipped through the pile. There was a water bill, a notice that she was pre-approved for a credit card, a postcard coupon for 20% off at the Three Bears Day Spa, a Hammacher Schlemmer catalog (and she wondered what kind of dark magic they’d used to track her to Storybrooke), and a letter from the Dr. Naito’s office. She pulled that one out, setting down her coffee to open the envelope. Her eyes scanned the brief letter, and she mentally added ‘call the doctor’ to her increasingly long list of things to do.

By the time Killian came downstairs, she was on her second cup of coffee and had managed to make some toast.

“I hardly knew what to do this morning, you waking before me,” he said with a kiss on her cheek. “Everything all right?”

“Yeah, I just woke up at five and my body decided it was done sleeping.”

Killian poured coffee into his favorite mug. “You should have woken me,” he said with a waggle of his eyebrows.

“I wasn’t really in the mood for that, or I would have.”

He sat down beside her at the table. The letter from her doctor was lying in front of him, and his eyes skimmed over the text. “What’s a pelvic exam?” he asked her.

Emma snorted. “Surely you can guess.” He just looked at her expectantly. “Dr. Naito’s my gynecologist, which means she’s a doctor for my lady parts.”

“I’m glad to hear Dr. Whale doesn’t take care of that,” he said.

“Yeah, tell me about it. She delivered Ashley’s daughter, so I met her not long after I moved here. Anyway, a pelvic exam is an annual checkup that women get.”

“What sort of checkup?”

Emma rolled her eyes. “I promise it’s not sexy to describe.”

“I wasn’t implying that it was, love, I’m just curious.” He got up and went over to the refrigerator, pulling out a carton of eggs and setting it down next to the stovetop.

“Okay, well, you get undressed and have to wear a stupid paper gown. Then you put your feet up in these metal stirrups so that the doctor can get a good look at your vagina.”

“I don’t have one of those,” Killian commented, smirking, as he cracked eggs into a bowl.

“And that’s why you don’t need a gynecologist, babe,” Emma mumbled around a mouthful of toast. “So there’s a few things she’ll do, but the main thing is a Pap smear.”

“What’s that?”

Emma made a face. “I suck at trying to explain stuff like this. It’s where they take a sample of cells from your cervix and test them for, like, cancer.”

“Cancer?”

“Yeah, cancer is—”

“I know what cancer is, Swan, I’m just worried at the idea that you might have it.” He abandoned the eggs he’d been whisking and approached her at the table.

“There’s no reason to think I have it, Killian, it’s just a test they do on all women. It’s routine. She’ll also check my IUD, although I should have at least another year on it—”

“Do you want me to accompany you to this appointment?” he asked, his eyes still filled with concern. Perhaps it was his life in the Enchanted Forest that was coloring his reaction. Probably in his experience, by the time a doctor was summoned, things were already terribly wrong.

“Killian, I need you to chill out.” She put her hand over his. “There is really nothing for you to worry about. I’ve had plenty of these tests before, and they always come back negative. Which is good, negative is good. It means there’s nothing wrong.”

He seemed to visibly relax a bit. “If you say so. I’d still happily go with you, if you want moral support.”

“I really don’t.” She wrinkled her nose. “It’s not that big a deal for me, I promise. You being there would be weird.”

“It’s not like I haven’t seen it all before, love.” He returned to his scrambled egg preparation.

“Yeah, but there’s sexy contexts for my vagina and unsexy ones, and I really don’t want to mix the two.”

He looked at her for a long moment. “All right, if you’re certain.”

In spite of his acceptance of this aspect of modern life for a woman of reproductive age, as they went about their usual work that day, Killian seemed clingy. It was as if, after all the threats to her life that he had witnessed, it was just now occurring to him that he could lose her to something much more pedestrian. Throughout the day, every time they were in the same room was an opportunity for him to press his hand supportively against her back or squeeze her hand or shoot her one of his lovestruck expressions.

To be honest, it was a little bit annoying.

She loved Killian’s affectionate personality, she really did. After she spent her childhood starved for human touch, she usually revelled in how frequently he touched her, and how obvious it was that he loved her. Today though, although she would never tell him so, she was feeling smothered by it. She encouraged Killian to take off early so that at least one of them could be home when Henry got home, her ulterior motive being that she really needed some time alone.

In the quiet station, Emma took a box of push-pins out of her desk and stood at the map of Storybrooke, putting a pin into each of the locations where the recent rash of break-ins had occurred. Granny’s, Moe’s flower shop, and Jefferson’s shop were all relatively near the middle of downtown, while Ashley’s daycare was further away. She supposed that the increased vigilance of the store owners in town, coupled with Killian’s patrols, might have driven the thieves to search further afield for a target. There probably wasn’t anything to the pattern, as it was mostly driven by opportunity.

She pulled up the reports for each of the robberies, looking at the dates. They were spaced roughly seven to ten days apart, which meant they were due for another break-in soon. She really wanted to catch these people, whoever they were.

Emma had been checking around with the other Storybrooke businesses to see if anyone had made any unusual purchases with a large chunk of cash, but so far, nothing. And while it was now possible for anyone to leave Storybrooke any time they wanted, for the most part, people didn’t. The former residents of the Enchanted Forest were uncomfortable out in the land without magic, or they were still afraid that crossing the town line would have some horrible effect on them, and almost everyone behaved as if that barrier still existed. So while it was possible that the thief or thieves were spending their spoils out of town, she somehow doubted it. More likely, they were stashing the cash in a sock drawer or under a mattress, waiting for something. If she could just get a suspect, a search might be their downfall.

The main phone line for the sheriff’s station rang, making her jump. Emma picked up the receiver, and was immediately treated to the sound of a sneeze right in her ear.

“Sheriff Swan,” she said.

“Hi, Emma, it’s Sneezy.”

“I figured. What can I do for you?”

“Listen, maybe it’s nothing, but Grumpy said I should call you. When I looked out the window of the pharmacy a little while ago, I thought I saw someone looking over here from behind a tree across the street.” He paused to sneeze again. “I didn’t get a good look; I mean it was just for a second, and—” Another sneeze interrupted his tale.

“Are they still over there?” she asked, looking around for her car keys.

“No, not anymore. Like I said, maybe it was nothing, but given all the robberies…”

“Yeah. You were right to call me. What did the person look like?” Emma sat down on the edge of her desk, looking at the map again and picturing a pin in the spot where the pharmacy was.

“I didn’t get a good look.”

“Man? Woman? Short? Tall? Young? Old?”

“Man, I think. Average height. Other than that, I don’t know. I really didn’t see his face.”

She sighed. “Okay. What time do you close?”

“Six o’clock.” Emma rolled her eyes; she didn’t miss much about Boston, but she did miss stores that managed to stay open past dark.

“Okay, lock up tight and don’t leave any cash unsecured anywhere,” she told him. “Killian or I will try to keep an eye on the place tonight, in case they come back and try to break in.”

He sneezed three times in rapid succession. “Will do, Sheriff.”

Emma started to call Killian, and then stopped and looked at the time on her phone. It was almost six now, although she assumed nothing would happen before dark. She was suddenly transported back to her bail bondsperson days, when she used to sit on a stakeout in her car with nothing but a tattered sudoku book and a box of those protein bars that were really just glorified candy bars. It was often cold and always boring, but she was perversely nostalgic for it all of a sudden: a time when she could sit in her car all night and eat junk food and no one would care. No one would wonder where she was, because there was no one in her life to wonder.

She loved having people who worried about her and missed her and wanted to be at her side. It was all she had ever dreamed of as a kid. But in that moment, she felt a strange pang of longing for a time when the only person she had to answer to was herself.

Emma started to plan. If she was going to stake out the drug store, she needed a less conspicuous car than the department’s one squad car or her yellow Bug, which everyone in town knew on sight. She thought about cars she could borrow. Regina’s Mercedes and her dad’s truck were as well-known in town as her own car. Zelena’s green monstrosity would stick out like a sore thumb. She needed a boring car, the kind of car that your eyes just slid over without even seeing.

Mom’s station wagon, she thought. Perfect.

She dashed off a text to Killian: I’ve maybe got a lead on the robberies. Don’t wait up.

Not three seconds passed before he was calling her.

“I’ll join you,” Killian said by way of a greeting. “What’s the lead?”

She felt immediately churlish. “You’ve been working a lot of long hours lately; I’ve got this.”

“Don’t be silly, Swan, I’m perfectly well rested. If you think there’s a way to catch the thieves tonight, I’d like to be there to help.”

He had a point, and she knew it. There could be more than one of them, and it would help to have Killian to take them down. And yet, she couldn’t seem to stop herself from arguing. “I don’t want to pull rank on you, but I will if I have to. We can’t expect to run the sheriff’s station effectively if we’re both pulling all-nighters at the same time.”

There was a long pause. “Sounds like you’ve made up your mind.”

“I have.”

“Fine. At least promise to call me if you need help,” he said, anger evident in his voice.

“I will.”

He disconnected the call without saying goodbye. Whether that was an indication of his level of frustration or his lack of phone etiquette, she wasn’t sure.

I love you, she texted to him.

He didn’t respond, but Killian wasn’t really a texter, so that wasn’t unusual. Gathering up her belongings, Emma locked up the station, phoning her mother to warn her that she was on her way to borrow her car as she mentally made a list of the terrible junk food she wanted to buy in preparation for her stake out.

~*~

By 10:30 p.m., Emma had finished off the coffee she’d picked up from Granny’s to stay awake.

By midnight, she’d eaten two protein bars and an entire package of Sour Patch Kids, and felt a little sick to her stomach.

At 1:15 a.m., after too many games of Words with Friends with Zelena, her phone battery died. She reached for her charger, groaning when she belatedly realized she’d left it in her Bug when she switched cars with her mother. Frustrated, she threw the phone onto the passenger seat. What she wouldn’t give for a sudoku book right about now, she thought.

At 2:00 a.m., after whisper-singing to herself every pop song she could think of, she started to nod off for the first time.

At about 2:45 a.m., she started to really miss her husband.

The first indication that dawn was on its way reached her eyes sometime after 4:00. Either she’d been wrong that someone was casing the pharmacy, or she’d been wrong that they planned to hit it tonight, or they’d spotted her and gotten scared off. Regardless, her sleepless night had been a huge waste of time. Cranking the engine of Snow’s sensible station wagon, Emma headed for home, figuring she could get a couple of hours of sleep before work.

The house was dim and silent when she let herself in, and she kicked off her shoes, already thinking about how nice and warm Killian would feel when she curled up against him under the covers.

Tiptoeing into the bedroom and closing the door softly, Emma was headed for the bathroom to brush her teeth when Killian turned on his lamp. She jumped.

“I thought you were asleep,” she said, her hand over her chest.

He sat up in bed. “I was, but after I awoke a couple of hours ago and tried phoning you and you didn’t respond, I was too worried to sleep.” The muscle in his jaw spasmed, and Emma knew that he was angry.

“My phone died and I forgot my charger. I’m so sorry; I didn’t mean to make you worry.”

“That was when I realized that you hadn’t even bothered to tell me where you would be. So I’ve been lying here, wondering if I should try walking all over town to try to find you, or if I should call your father and ask him to drive me around looking for you. Or maybe I could go up to the top of the clock tower and spot you that way. And I tried to weigh your frustration with me for doing any of those things against the odds that you were lying injured somewhere. Or dead.” His voice got louder and louder as he spoke, until he was almost shouting at her by the end, his tirade slightly undercut by his mussed bedhead.  

Emma swallowed around a lump in her throat. “You’re right. I was thoughtless.”

“Yes, you were.”

She sat down at his side, wondering if she should take his hand. “Can you forgive me?”

He huffed. “Emma, I love you more than anything in my life, of course I can forgive you, but I need to know why you shut me out today.”

She winced. “I just… I still sometimes get itchy, depending on people. And having people depend on me. Maybe I’ll never be completely comfortable with it, I don’t know.” Now she did reach for his hand, and was relieved when he squeezed her fingers gently.

“I watched you die, Emma,” he said, his voice raspy. She looked up from their joined hands into his eyes. “I stood in the street and watched you, my wife who I’d barely managed to have five minutes with after we exchanged vows, throw your sword aside and get impaled.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t have to do the impaling yourself like I did,” she said, trying to make a joke out of the worst moment of her life. Killian didn’t smile.

“You’ve been a beacon of light in my life, leading me out of the darkness. Two hundred years of selfishness and revenge and murder, and loving you pulled me out of that. And I can’t help but think…” He took a shaky breath and looked down at their joined hands again, his thumb brushing over her knuckles. “I had a lot of time to ponder this, while that prophecy was hanging over your head. And it’s not just that losing you would be the worst thing that’s ever happened to me. It’s that I don’t think I can keep myself from becoming that man again if I lose you.”

Emma’s heart broke for him. “I think you’re wrong. I think you can. For Henry. For Mom and Dad and for everyone in this town who counts on you and looks to you as a hero. Maybe it was me who started you on the right path at first, but I don’t think it’s me that keeps you on it.” She laughed. “For one thing, I’m not that saintly a person myself.” She  scooted a little bit closer to him on the bed. “You still think of yourself as a bad man who changed. But I feel like I know you pretty well by now, and let me tell you, you’re not that. You’re a good man who spent a long time lost, and now you’ve rediscovered who you really are.”

He pursed his lips with a hint of a smile. “Perhaps.”

“We’ve both faced losing the other, and we didn’t deal with it very well.” She blew out a breath. “Me especially. But unless we get super lucky, and live to be a hundred — or in your case, four hundred or whatever,” she said with a laugh, “and die together in our sleep, someday one of us is gonna have to face life without the other.”

He shook his head. “I don’t know how. And I’m sorry; I annoyed you today because I was struggling with letting you do things on your own, and I know how independent you are—”

“I could’ve been a lot more sensitive to your fears,” she admitted, leaning over and pulling him into a hug. There was a pause, and then she felt his hand pressing hard against her back, the solid strength of his arms holding her tight.

“I thought I was over it,” he said against her shoulder. “You lived, and everything turned out fine, and almost before I could take a breath we were celebrating our slightly delayed wedding night, and I thought I was over it. But this morning, imagining you falling ill, and then when I couldn’t reach you on your phone…”

“I’m sorry.” She brushed a kiss against his cheek. “I’m really sorry.” Letting out a little hiccupping sigh, an almost-sob, Emma continued to kiss his face. “I’m not over it either,” she whispered.

He kissed her lips then, hard and forceful, a little bit sloppy in his haste. Emma crawled into his lap, their mouths meeting over and over with increasing desperation. “I love you so much,” he gasped as she writhed against him, quite suddenly so aroused that she felt like she was going to jump out of her skin if he didn’t touch her.

“I love you, too.” She spoke the words into his bare shoulder, her teeth scraping his skin. She felt the need to apologize again for making him worry, but she’d apologized enough and he’d accepted, and there was nothing else she could say now. All she could do was let their bodies take over and hope that the pleasure they could make between them would give them both a measure of comfort.

Killian moved his hand around to start unbuttoning her blouse but he was trembling, struggling to work the tiny buttons. Emma stood up from the bed, pulling her clothes off and tossing them aside quickly as Killian did the same with his pajamas. She was back on top of him in an instant, pressing as much of her skin against his as she could, bracketing his hips with her knees, her breasts crushed against his chest and his arms circling her. It felt so good to feel his body against her, warm skin and coarse hair, his calloused fingertips running down her back.

“Tell me what to do,” she said softly, combing her fingers through his hair. “What can I do to make you feel good?”

Usually he was the one asking those kinds of questions, catering to her every desire as if everything he did to her in bed wasn’t fantastic. But tonight it felt hugely important to her that she do for him.

Killian pressed his forehead against hers. “I just need you, Emma.”

Emma reached down between them, closing her fingers around his erection and stroking slowly, making him whimper. “You’re always so good to me. Let me be good to you.”

“You are, gods, so good.” His hips rose underneath her, chasing the movement of her hand.

Suddenly there was nothing she wanted more than to see him come apart like this while they held each other. Emma leaned to one side and made a grab for her bedside table drawer. Killian braced her thigh with the stump of his left wrist so that she wouldn’t fall off of the bed, and she pulled a bottle of lube out of the drawer. He watched her with hooded eyes as she squeezed a small amount of the lubricant into her palm.

When she returned to stroking him, making everything slick as she worked her hand up and down, Killian groaned, his hips matching the rhythm of her strokes. She wrapped her other arm around his back, squeezed him with her thighs, holding him close with every part of her that she could. She felt her inner muscles clenching at the sight of her husband coming undone, wanted to take him inside her and fuck him so badly, but she resisted the temptation. She needed to focus solely on his pleasure for now.

“I wanna see you come, Killian,” she said, increasing the pace of her fist, twisting it over the head of his cock with every upstroke. His eyes clamped shut, a grimace of pleasure-pain on his face. His hand went into her hair, fingers closing in the strands and pulling just enough to make her scalp tingle with the edge of pain.

“You’re mine, my love, my husband, a good man, you’re a good man.” she mumbled, hardly aware if anything she was saying was making sense, because he felt like he was close, he was so very hard in her hand and she was increasingly desperate for it, to feel that hardness slide into her body would feel so fucking amazing, but she kept stroking and he was fucking her fist, his moans increasingly out of his control.

His voice was a hoarse shout when he came, and she watched as the pearly white fluid hit her stomach, dripping down as she coaxed him through it, only letting go when she felt the spasms under her hand stop and his muscles start to relax.

Killian glanced at her from under his eyelashes, his heavy panting breath hot against her skin. He smiled shyly, before looking down at her abdomen again.

“I’ve made a mess of you,” he said, the gravel in his voice turning her on even more.

Emma rolled off of him, collapsing on her back, not cleaning herself up right away so he could look his fill. “Do you like it?” She ran a finger down between her breasts and into the wet evidence of his climax on her stomach. “Seeing me like this?”

Killian slid down and turned on his side, not taking his eyes off of her. “Aye.”

She grinned. “Keep watching.” Her hand continued its path down her body, plunging between her folds and further, two fingers slipping inside and fuck, watching him get off had made her so wet and sensitive. She pressed her palm against her clit and started a rhythm with her hand and her hips. The wet sound of her fingers pumping in and out of her reached her ears.

“You’re a vision like this, marked with my seed and desperate for more,” he said, propping himself up on his elbow. He reached out with his hand, gripping her upper thigh and pulling her legs further apart but otherwise not interfering with what she was doing.

Emma gasped out a strangled noise, shameless in the way she was moving and fucking herself and reaching for her orgasm, which she was barreling toward faster than she would’ve believed, given how incredibly intimate all of this was. Killian watching her touch herself should have been inhibiting, but it wasn’t. She wanted him to see how much she loved him and wanted him, and how just watching him had made her feel so good even when no one was touching her.

She cried out wordlessly, felt her muscles convulse in deep pulses against her fingers as she rode out her climax, her thighs drawing closer together and squeezing her hand in between. At some point she’d closed her eyes, and she felt Killian lift her hand and draw it up to his mouth, his tongue licking the wetness from her fingers. Then he pulled her limp body into his arms, hugging her close.

“Now we’re both a mess,” she said, almost giggling as their abdomens pressed together.

“I don’t give a fuck,” Killian said. He nuzzled against her cheek. “That was the sexiest thing I’ve ever witnessed.”

Emma snorted, thinking to herself that she doubted it, given the few racy stories she’d managed to wrangle out of him about Milah, and about some of the debauchery he’d witnessed in brothels over his years as a pirate.

“I can prove it to you, love.” He kissed her chin, rutting his hips against her, and she could tell that he was already half-hard again. “Let’s go rinse off in the shower, and then I’ll fuck you until you can’t move.”

“It’s a deal,” she said, grinning. Killian started to get up, but she stopped him with a hand on his bicep. “Hey. I love you. And I love being with you, even if I sometimes don’t show it.”

He brushed his lips over hers in a soft caress. “Anytime you need to be alone for a little bit, just say the word. I’ll understand.”

“And then afterwards—”

“We come back together like this.” He hauled her leg up over his hip, grinding against her center.

Emma gasped. “Yeah, that works for me.”

CHAPTER 6

[bardqueenofgallifrey]

okay ur plan for a bill/jenny+vastra meetup is a lot better, how about just summery Clara/Bill platonic fluff since it's winter for you suckers down there ; )

this is set between Knock Knock and Oxygen for Bill. and Ashildr/Me got herself in here far too much, whoops!

posted on AO3 here because I was so taken with it. 

The invitation comes the way it did the last time - mysterious letter through the door, older than every other bit of mail by a noticeable amount, yellowing with age.

Uphill Slipway beach, Saturday, noon. 

Bill grins. 

Come Saturday, she takes the bus from Bristol to Uphill, just under an hour and a half, and enjoys the peacefulness of the journey that gets her through her weird playlist that’s just a mix of David Bowie and Hayley Kiyoko. 

It’s a beautiful day, with just a right amount of wind and plenty of sun. Bill smiles into the breeze and basks in the feeling of the sun on her face. 

A familiar diner is perched just on the edge of the dunes, but none of the locals seem to be paying it any notice. Bill heads inside, and sees a familiar face - the shorter brunette with the nose piercing, who is always rolling her eyes but never at Bill. 

She’s nice to Bill, actually. There’s something compelling about her, a weight to her eyes and her words, that almost reminds Bill of the Doctor. 

Not to mention, she tends to flirt with Bill at the most surprising moments, which is fun. 

“Hey, Me,” Bill says. 

“Hello Bill,” Me says, from where she’s perched on the counter painting her toenails a deep purple colour. “She’s out on the beach, not too far off. Green sundress, you won’t miss her.” 

“She’s a bit hard to miss,” Bill replies, and Me indulges her with a nod, and a small smile. 

“You look nice,” Me says, eyes trailing over Bill’s colourful jumpsuit (the one she had worn on her first trip to another world) and the denim shorts it was tucked into. 

Bill tries not to blush. “Thanks. You look nice too.” It isn’t surprising that Me’s beach getup is more sophisticated - a wrap dress over what looks like a modest swimsuit, as well as a large floppy hat. 

Me smiles again. “Thank you.” 

Bill lingers awkwardly, her stupid little crush making her want to prolong the conversation. “So I’ll, uh… go see her, then.”

Me nods. 

“See you out there?” Bill asks, trying not to sound too hopeful. 

“Perhaps.”

There’s something to Me’s soft eyes and the curl of her smile that makes Bill think Me is all too aware of Bill’s little crush, but it doesn’t feel like it’s returned so much as a source of flattery and faint amusement. Not in a cruel way, though. It’s like… it’s like Me is just in a level that Bill could never comprehend. That’s what it feels like. 

Bill ducks out of the diner and heads for the beach, and sure enough spots a figure in a green sundress. 

Clara Oswald stands at the water’s edge, with her feet in the sand, letting in the waves come in and cascade over her feet and ankles. Her face is tilted up to the sky and her eyes are closed, a content smile on her lips. 

“You made it,” she says, as Bill approaches, without looking around. 

“Seriously, how do you do that? It’s like him all over again,” Bill says, amazed, and Clara just laughs a little, but in that way that is always a little bit sad whenever the Doctor is brought up. 

She finally turns to look at Bill, and Bill has to stop and take a moment, like she always does, at just how beautiful she is. 

Like, the oh my god I’m so gay how do girls do that, how am I standing in front of an actual goddess right now. That kind of taking a moment. 

Weirdly, Bill is more in awe of Clara than crushing on her, unlike with Me. She’s not quite sure why that is, but she suspects it’s because Clara always feels like the Doctor’s, like she’s out of Bill’s reach in a way that’s impossible to describe. 

“Hey,” Clara says, more softly. Those huge eyes of hers are warm, like they always are, but with that hint of sadness too. 

“Hey yourself,” Bill says, swallowing. “Look, I’ve still got my shoes on, so could we maybe walk or sunbathe instead of standing by the water? If we’re gonna talk?” 

Clara loops her arm through Bill’s and they start walking along the water’s edge. 

“How have you been?” 

“Yeah, good. I mean it’s been completely mental, but it’s been good. How about you?” 

Clara nods. “Well enough, yeah.” She grins, genuinely for the first time. “Me and I have been hanging out with Queen Victoria.”

“Firstly, I will never get used to how weird your sentences sound when her name is Me, like seriously how have you not lost your mind yet?” Bill asks, amazed. “But also… Queen Victoria?! Seriously?! What’s she like?” 

“You know, she’s surprisingly good company,” Clara says with a grin. “And she lets me try on her dresses sometimes. I actually got mistaken for her, once.” 

“That’s insane,” Bill says. “I wish I could meet someone cool from history.”

“Who would you want to meet?” 

“Sappho,” Bill says seriously. “God, I want to meet Sappho. I have no idea what I’d say, but to hear a full poem would just… complete my whole life.”

“Why haven’t you gotten the Doctor to take you?” 

“He reckons me dying a gay death would be unproductive,” Bill says, sighing as she recalls the conversation where he had expressed genuine concern for her wellbeing when she’d brought up the idea. 

Clara bursts out laughing. “Well, he might have a point. You do have a bit of a tendency to, uh-”

“Get extremely overwhelmed by beautiful women, yeah,” Bill says, snorting. “Kind of amazed I manage to keep my wits about me as much as I do when I’m with you, actually.” 

Clara lifts an eyebrow, and Bill blushes and pushes her with her shoulder so that Clara stumbles towards the water and gets her feet wet again. 

“Shut up, you know what I mean,” Bill says, “I’m not hitting on you, it’s just a fact, you’ve got to be one of the most gorgeous people to exist on this whole planet.” 

Clara smiles, in a way that makes it look like her cheeks should be flushed with colour, but they aren’t. In fact, Bill’s never seen her blush, which is weird, come to think of it. 

“Well, thank you,” Clara says as she falls back into step with Bill, “you’re fairly something yourself. Me certainly thinks so.”

“Yeah?” Bill asks, possibly with a bit too much interest. 

“Well, she paints a lot, and some of the figures are starting to look suspiciously like you. Unless she’s become interested in afros for another reason.”

“That’s… encouraging,” Bill says, surprised. 

Clara glances at her. “You know that nothing could really-”

“Yeah, I know,” Bill is quick to say, “I’m not stupid, I know a weird unavailable-and-possibly-alien figure when I see one.” 

It's not like Bill has ever seriously thought something would happen between her and Me. Not even taking into the account the fact that Me travels around in a weird TARDIS diner, there's just something about Me. That idea of her being outside of Bill's comprehension, somehow. But it doesn't stop Bill from enjoying a harmless crush.

“She was human once,” Clara says. “But that was… a very long time ago. And now she is something… someone completely different.” 

“It’s alright, last person I had a crush on before her turned into a puddle and tried to kill me, remember?” 

“Oh yeah.” Clara makes a face. “That was rough.” 

They walk in silence for a while, just enjoying the beach and the weather. When the question finally comes, it’s as cautious as it ever is. 

“So… how is he?” Clara asks. 

“He’s good, I think,” Bill says, honestly. “I mean, it’s hard to know, because he’s the Doctor, but he seems a bit better to how he was when I met him, you know? A bit lighter. Happier. I do catch him looking sad sometimes. Sometimes he’s looking at those pictures on his desk - you know, the girl and the lady with the mental hair. But sometimes he’s just staring off out of the window, and it’s like he doesn’t know that he’s sad, you know?” 

“Yeah, I do,” Clara says with a sigh. “But he hasn’t mentioned me at all?” 

“Nah,” Bill says, and the familiar mixture of relief and sadness takes over Clara’s face. “Man, I hate having to tell you that. I know this is only the third time, but seriously. I know it’s what’s important, to keep him safe, but it’s obviously killing you.” 

“It’s the way it has to be,” Clara replies, shrugging. “The main thing is that he’s okay.”

“Are you okay, though?” 

Clara gives her a big smile. “I’m always okay.” It isn’t quite believable, but Bill nods anyway. 

They head back the way they came, and come across Me lying on a blanket in the sun with a book. 

“Everything alright?” She asks when they lie down either side of her. 

“Still nothing,” Clara tells her. “We’re good.” 

“So when the Doctor asks me how my weekend was, I suppose I’ll need to make something up,” Bill says thoughtfully. 

“Just tell him you went to the beach with some friends,” Me replies, turning the page of her book. 

“My weird friends with their TARDIS that looks like a diner, who know him but he can’t remember because it was that or him tearing the universe apart to stay with Clara?” 

“Probably leave that bit out,” Clara says, smiling. 

“… can we make a sandcastle? I haven’t done that in years.” 

“I haven’t done that in centuries,” Me says, eyes sparking as she sets her book aside, and that kind of comment should really give Bill more pause, but it doesn’t. “Clara?”

Clara doesn’t look overly keen, but groans and gets up when they do. 

“Alright!” Bill says enthusiastically. “Now, I read a whole book about sandcastle building once, so I know all the tricks. Between the three of us, we’ll have something properly amazing. You’ve just got to follow my lead.” 

“Lead away, Miss Potts,” Me says with a grin, and Bill grins back.