This is a collection of short stories set before, during, and after The IT Guy and Postcards from New York. Each story is written in response to a prompt I've received on tumblr. You are free to send in prompts, but just know that I am currently working on a sequel to Postcards from New York (which is, of course, a sequel to The IT Guy) so if your prompt conflicts with my plans for that story, I will have to reject it (nicely and with kisses).

This is set towards the end of The IT Guy, when Clara moves in with the Doctor

Me Too

The Doctor drove them down to Brixton after work on Friday, where they started packing all of Clara's things into his car. She was leaving all of her furniture behind since Nina would have better luck renting out a furnished room, but Clara had suitcases full of clothes and shoes—Who even has this many shoes, Clara?—and numerous boxes of books, DVDs, pens, paper, and lots of storage compartments for all of her belongings. She was meticulous about keeping everything in order.

By Saturday afternoon, they had everything packed away in one last load in the car. Clara lied and told the Doctor she'd forgotten something in the bathroom and ran upstairs while he started the car. She sat on the edge of the bed and looked around at the empty room that had been her home for the past eight months and felt its emptiness echo inside of her. It felt like only yesterday that she'd moved in.

She turned and looked over her shoulder when she heard Nina knock softly on the door. "Knock, knock," she said with a grin.

Nina always did that, knock and say the words "Knock, knock" as if the actual rapping of her knuckles wouldn't catch Clara's attention.

She walked around the foot of the bed and sank onto the mattress next to Clara. "Having second thoughts?" she teased. She sounded a little hopeful.

"No," Clara assured her with a light laugh. She bowed her head. "You know me. Just feeling nostalgic."

"You? Nostalgic?" Nina gasped mockingly. They both laughed.

"You don't think I'm mad, do you?" Clara said suddenly, her gaze growing distant as she stared at the empty corner near the window. "For moving in with him so soon?"

Nina didn't say anything. Clara whipped her gaze towards her for fear that she'd see a hesitant look in her friend's face that would confirm all of her nagging fears, but Nina just smiled and shook her head. "No, I' don't think you're mad. Not for moving in with him, at least. I mean, you might change your mind when you discover some of his more bizarre habits and you've had like, your fifteenth fight about the dishes in the sink or some rubbish like that, but—I like him, Clara."

And that was it. Clara wasn't afraid that she was making the wrong decision because of some great lack of compatibility between her and the Doctor; her real fear was that Nina secretly didn't approve. It was an irrational fear, of course—Nina didn't secretly do anything. "Yeah?"

Nina grinned broadly at the dopey, lovesick look on her friend's face. "Yeah. He's a good one. I can tell."

"Oh yeah? How's that?"

"Because he cares what I think about him."

"Yeah?"

Nina nodded. "Yeah. Definitely a good sign. Blokes who don't care about your friends and family and want to keep you all to themselves are bad eggs, Clara."

Realisation dawning, Clara grimaced sympathetically. "Edwin?"

Nina rolled her eyes and sighed. "Yeah. I sure know how to pick 'em, don't I?" Clara wrapped a comforting arm around her and laughed at Nina's immediate reaction of disgust. "Don't you dare comfort me, Clara Oswald. Just because you're leaving me to live with your gorgeous boyfriend in his amazing flat does not mean you get to pity me."

She laughed and shook her head, hands raised in surrender. Nina's expression softened.

"You better keep in touch, Clara. I'll be cross if you disappear from my life completely."

Clara sucked in a deep breath and then released a strangled laugh. "God, Nina…"

Both girls erupted in tears before wrapping their arms around each other. They heard feet shuffling on the stairs and then a cough at the doorway. Turning, Clara smiled tearfully at the Doctor.

"Everything alright?" he asked hesitantly, sensing he was butting in.

She wiped her eyes and nodded. "You know me. Sentimental."

They spent the rest of their Saturday unpacking all of Clara's things and finding homes for them around the flat. The Doctor had always thought he kept a rather tidy home, but then Clara waltzed in with all her storage bins and mini-shelves and his flat became a lot more cluttered than it had been before she moved in.

There were curling tongs and hair products and makeup bags in the bathroom, along with one of those pink fluffy loofa things hanging from the handle in the shower. The mugs accruing in the sink had lipstick stains on the rims, and there was always an folded afghan at the end of the sofa in case she got cold while watching TV.

She hung things on the walls: a painting she'd bought from a street artist in Montmartre during a school trip to Paris, a photo collage of her with friends and family (including that photo she'd taken of him holding up his little cookie replica at last year's Christmas party), and a photo of her parents. She bought another dresser from IKEA to fit the rest of her clothes and they spent one evening bickering over the directions until, magically, the dresser was up against the wall. Afterwards, the Doctor had fallen onto the bed with a groan of exhaustion and watched Clara carefully fold all of her clothes and arrange them neatly in each drawer.

She left books everywhere—on the nightstand, at the foot of the bed in an unsteady pile, and spread open on the last page she'd been reading on the kitchen counter. They were books about the Ancient Greeks or Cleopatra, or her favourite Jane Austen novel that she tried to read when he wasn't looking, as if she were afraid he'd tease her. She'd lay her head in his lap and read when they were on the sofa at night, or later in bed she'd lie on her side next to her bedside lamp and he'd curl up around her, muttering questions about who she was cheating on him with that night. She'd chuckle, finish the paragraph she'd been reading, and then put the book away before turning in his arms for a snug embrace.

Her things were now scattered everywhere, but Doctor didn't feel like she was crowding his once spacious flat; he felt like she was filling it.

Before, he wouldn't step out of the shower and immediately hear her laughter in the living room while she chatted on the phone with her dad, or her fingers typing away at her laptop while she worked on acquiring her teaching license. Before, he would only hear the dripping of the water from the faucet or his damp feet sticking to the bathroom tile.

He loved whenever he'd sit next to her on the sofa while he was watching TV and she was on her laptop. They would be wrapped up in their own little worlds, and then suddenly her left hand would slide up the back of his neck and she'd scratch the back of his head. He loved whenever she'd stand on her tiptoes to lean over the "abnormally wide" bathroom counter to get a better look at herself in the mirror while she put on mascara every morning. He loved the way her hair felt draped against her pillow at night, cascading in soft waves that he skimmed with his fingers before tracing the contours of her face.

It wasn't always perfect, though.

Clara drank most of the coffee every morning and left the dishes in the sink to soak for longer than he cared to have dirty dishes cluttering the sink. Somehow that always ended up being his chore, and he hated doing the dishes, especially since she always left bites of food on her plate from dinner. That got under his skin for whatever reason; he couldn't understand why she wouldn't ever eat all of her food. Sometimes she'd sing a song that was stuck in her head, but she would sing every other note, like she was only willing to commit to the down beats.

"Clara?"

"Hmm?"

"You're humming again."

"Sorry."

He knew he wasn't perfect, either. Clara had shot him a mildly horrified look one evening when she walked into the bathroom to find him clipping his toenails over the sink. She was constantly reminding him not to leave his running clothes on the bathroom floor, which he had a bad habit of leaving on the rug every morning when he took his shower. He was also a bit loud every morning, banging about in the bathroom or the kitchen or answering early calls in a loud voice.

She met Nina for drinks every Thursday night after work. One week she came back slightly tipsier than usual and casually mentioned that some bloke had asked for her number twice and bought her a drink towards the end of the night.

"Did you not tell him you had a boyfriend?" he asked impatiently.

She'd giggled and leaned against the bedroom door, her hands tucked behind her back as he leaned against the doorframe. He hadn't noticed how he'd moved in towards her until her eyes dipped between their bodies and then he was kissing her, his fingers gripping her waist while she gasped against his lips.

Frankly, it was the best sex they'd ever had.

"I suppose there's some good in having a jealous boyfriend," she'd teased afterwards with an affectionate tap on his nose.

"I'm not jealous."

"Of course you're not."

He worried things would feel strange once she left TARDIS Industries and they stopped going to work together in the mornings or meeting each other for lunch, but actually, they clashed less frequently now they weren't spending nearly every waking moment in each other's company. The more time they spent apart merely sweetened the time they spent together, something he understood even more completely when she went out of town to visit her aunt in the hospital. They'd stayed on the phone until the early hours of the morning, mostly yawning at each other and teasing about how much they'd missed having the bed all to themselves. When she got back Sunday night, she'd immediately curled into his side when they went to bed.

"I don't know if you've noticed," she muttered against his chest while he played with the ends of her hair. "But I'm a bit partial to you."

He chuckled softly and tucked his chin against his chest so he could peer at her through the darkness. "Yeah?"

She snuggled further into him, making soft whining sounds like a little, burrowing animal. He chuckled and tightened his hold on her, sighing contentedly as he closed his eyes and pressed his cheek against the top of her head. He felt her lungs expand with every intake of breath and thought about how he would spend the entire night holding her if his arms wouldn't be so stiff in the morning.

"Are you terribly sleepy?" she asked.

"Mmm," groaned softly in reply.

Clara pouted. "You got used to having the bed all to yourself while I was gone, didn't you?"

She nestled firmly against his side, her leg curling over his as she pressed delicate kisses against his neck. "Perhaps if I wake someone else up, you'll feel differently."

He was already grinning as she settled on top of him, one hand gripping his hip as she rolled herself against him. He kissed her, his own hands rising to settle in her hair and against her backside. Clara chuckled against his lips.

"Oh, dear," she muttered with a grin while his fingers slipped beneath the hem of her pyjama bottoms. "I think he's awake. Ohhh, I think he's coming for me!"

She gave a little squeal when he rolled her onto her back and she giggled giddily against his lips. The Doctor chuckled softly and gripped her waist, his thumbs brushing the undersides of her breasts as he gazed at her fondly. "He most certainly is, you silly girl."

He kissed her forehead, her cheeks, and the tip of her nose, which wrinkled as Clara giggled at his attention. She gasped appreciatively when his lips moved to her neck, and her eyelids fluttered shut when she felt his breath against her ear.

"I much prefer sharing the bed with you."

"That so?" she replied in a husky voice.

He lifted up and nodded, smiling at her. "That's so."

Clara's heart raced as he looked at her. She had a feeling he'd share everything with her right then, and not just because he wanted her. He'd told her he loved her many times and she'd always understood, but this was the first time she'd ever properly felt it.

"Me too," she replied eagerly as he kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and whined as he slid his hand over her abdomen. "Me too."