what's your number?

[semimeme]

 

what's your #?

a meme about what it says on the tin.

1. post with your character, canon, prefs if you like
2. include in your comment the number of individual sexual partners your character has had (feel free to headcanon it up; zeroes are valid)

3. comment to others. be surprised, scandalised, delighted, etc.

Comments

[serviceably]

[ He snorts, although the sound isn't wholly unkind. ]

Not my choice. It's yours.

[underachievement]

Right.

[ she smirks some to puncture the tension that's entirely her own creation. ]

I've never hugged someone who's as crap at them as I am. Maybe we'll cancel each other out.

[serviceably]

Maybe we will.

[ It's a weird thought, but not the worst one he's heard. And, after a moment of mental calculation, he lifts one arm. ]

[underachievement]

[ She eyes that arm quizzically, wondering if it's as far as he'll go or if it's a step towards enveloping her completely, then slips in under it regardless. Her heels rise an inch and a half from the ground so she can nock her chin over his shoulder. She comes to rest the flat of her hands against his back, rather than enclose him in a loop of her arms. He said he has trouble with hugs, which could mean anything from sweaty pits to panic attacks. But it was his idea. With that in mind, she's aiming for clear body language, not handling him like glass. ]

[serviceably]

[ It's an invitation, his choice, despite the immediate tensing of muscles the moment her fingers press against his back - something she can probably feel through several layers of clothing. Steve stands absolutely still for a few moments, taking a couple of slow breaths, then lets his arm settle loosely against her shoulders. No need to stiffen up, she's not hurting him. Not physically. He does collect himself, tucking her against his chest without utilizing his other arm, and rests his cheek against the curve of her head.

And the moment she starts squirming, he'll let go. ]

[underachievement]

[ Her narrative is that this is for his benefit. She's resigned to being bad at intimacy, while he might still be salvageable. He deserves to think he is, at least. If she were being honest with herself, her own casual sex routine has left her slightly starved for touches of significance. She's tactile by nature, and once upon a time, enjoyed many of the soiled gestures she no longer can. Not easily. Hugging isn't quite up there with hand-holding and foreplay, depending on the partner, and Steve's, let's say, defined inflexibility sets him apart from her sister's thin frame and her abuser's reedy body. Not that Trish calls Kilgrave himself to mind, it's just that the majority of her recent attempts at physical comfort revolved around or reacted to his various torments.

A measured sigh streams from her nose. Jess isn't counting up the seconds in an annoyed tally and that's a good enough reason to let go. A hug she likes is one that goes somewhere or comes from something; this is just a favor for a friend. Her hands fall from him, then worm into her jean pockets as she steps back. Welp, that was a bad idea. Now she has to qualify him as a friend. ]

I've had worse.