#Freight Forwarder Napkin

[freightforwardingindonesia]

Paper Napkin

Paper Napkin Export Services – Jakarta Legal Freight Forwarder Export High-Quality Paper Napkins Worldwide – PEB & COO Ready Indonesian-made paper napkins are in high demand across hotels, hospitals, restaurants, and retail chains abroad. Major destinations include Singapore, UAE, Japan, and the EU. Keenam International, a licensed freight forwarder since 1993, provides end-to-end export…

[keenaminternational]

Paper Napkin

Paper Napkin Export Services – Jakarta Legal Freight Forwarder Export High-Quality Paper Napkins Worldwide – PEB & COO Ready Indonesian-made paper napkins are in high demand across hotels, hospitals, restaurants, and retail chains abroad. Major destinations include Singapore, UAE, Japan, and the EU. Keenam International, a licensed freight forwarder since 1993, provides end-to-end export…

[theshiniestgemstone]

stay safe- fem!reader x gideon gemstone

summary: all his parents want is for Gideon to be safe

warnings: allusions to sex, fingering, some explicit content, 18+ only

It started as an innocent afternoon in the Gemstone kitchen. The sun was shining, the tile was warm under Gideon's socked feet, and he was trying to eat the last slice of pie without attracting too much attention. You had come over for dinner that night, your third official one, and all the initial awkwardness had worn off. No more stiff smiles or nervous silences, no more trying to impress anyone. You were comfortable now, easy in your skin around the family, and Gideon liked that more than he could say. Of course, Jesse had the uncanny ability to ruin any sense of peace.

Gideon was halfway through his final bite when he noticed his dad lingering in the doorway, arms crossed and lips pursed like he was debating something real serious.

Jesse took a slow step forward, clearing his throat.

“Are you two…” he trailed off, waving a vague hand in front of him like that would fill in the blanks. His eyebrows raised and lowered like punctuation marks, making the question more confusing than helpful.

Gideon frowned, licking a bit of whipped cream off his spoon. “Serious? I mean, I don’t know, Dad. She’s—"

“No!” Jesse barked, dropping his hand and stepping forward. “Are you two—”

And then, without further warning, Jesse launched into a full-body hump of the air. One strong thrust, then another. His arms pumped at his sides like some strange mating dance, and he looked dead serious while doing it.

Gideon gagged on his pie. “The fuck? Oh my God.”

He turned away, shielding his eyes with his hand like it would somehow erase the memory. But Jesse wasn’t done. Ten painfully long seconds of silent humping later, Jesse finally slowed to a stop, red in the face and a little winded. He put his hands on his hips and exhaled hard.

“I don’t know how Mom stayed married to you if this is how you think sex works,” Gideon muttered, trying to unsee what could not be unseen. “Or how I exist. I might be a miracle.”

“I’m gonna let that one slide,” Jesse replied, still panting. “But are you two, y’know… doin’ it?”

Gideon gave him a long, tired look. “You could’ve just used actual words, man." He ran a hand over his face. "And no. We’re not.”

Jesse squinted at him. “But are you planning on it?”

Gideon hesitated, rubbing the back of his neck. “I mean… that’s between me and her, don’t you think?”

“I just want to know if I need to have the talk with you again,” Jesse said seriously.

“I beg you not to,” Gideon groaned. “I already have to go to therapy because of the first time. Just buy me a book or get me a pamphlet for a clinic like every other parent.”

Jesse raised a finger. “That was a teachable moment.”

“That was a way too detailed diagram drawn on a napkin while Mom cried into a casserole,” Gideon said flatly.

Jesse looked off, like he was reminiscing. “Good casserole, though.”

Gideon stood, grabbing his plate and dropped it in the sink. “I’m telling Mom you did the thing again.”

“What thing?” Jesse called after him.

“You know what thing.”

+++

The living room was dim, lit mostly by the soft flicker of the TV screen. You and Gideon had settled into a quiet, comfortable position on the couch—your legs draped casually over his lap while his arm rested along the back cushions, his hand intertwined with yours. There was a small but charged distance between your bodies, like both of you knew how close you were toeing the line but neither was quite ready to erase it completely.

Your head lolled slightly as you looked at him, watching the way his eyes darted between the screen and your face. And just as you opened your mouth to invite Jesse to come join you- having noticed him standing in the doorway about five minutes ago, arms crossed and brows furrowed- he stepped forward with all the subtlety of a freight train.

“I just wanna say somethin’ real quick,” Jesse began, holding up one hand like he was about to deliver a sermon. “Y’all sittin’ awful close, and that’s fine. Y’all are grown. But if you’re gonna be doin’ anything other than watchin’ that TV, I need to make sure we’re all on the same page.”

Gideon’s head dropped instantly, a pained groan slipping out of his throat as he stared hard at the carpet. You couldn’t find if in yourself to look away from Jesse, jaw slack like a car crash you couldn’t look away from.

Jesse kept going. “Sex isn’t just a physical thing—it’s emotional. Spiritual. It connects your souls, and I know that might sound like some hippie stuff but it’s the truth. You gotta respect each other. Protect each other. And—”

“Dad,” Gideon mumbled, “please, I am begging you to stop.”

You simply couldn't break eye contact.

But Jesse was already tapping his son’s shoulder with an exaggerated wink as he walked past. “I just want you to be prepared, son. Always be prepared.”

With that, he slapped something into Gideon’s open palm and strutted out of the room like he’d just won an award for Father of the Year.

You glanced down to see a very dusty, very expired condom sitting in Gideon’s hand.

He stared at it in disbelief. “This expired in 2005,” he muttered under his breath, like even the latex itself deserved better.

Your hand squeezed his, trying not to laugh as you whispered, “At least he cares?”

Gideon didn’t even look up. “I swear to God, I’m putting him in a home the second I get power of attorney.”

+++

Gideon was halfway through his sixth spin, arms outstretched for balance and legs wobbly like a newborn deer, while you grinned up at him from your spot on the floor. You sat cross-legged with your back against the side of his bed, stopwatch in hand and a mischievous gleam in your eye.

"That was barely five seconds!" you teased, tapping your screen. “New personal worst, Mr. Gemstone.”

“I’m dizzy and offended,” Gideon slurred dramatically, one hand over his chest like you’d wounded him. He stumbled from the chair and flopped onto the bed with a dramatic oof, arms sprawled like he’d just lost a marathon. “Mark my words, I will reclaim my dignity.”

You laughed, breathless from the ridiculousness of the game. After a moment, you shifted onto your knees and crawled onto the bed, facing him as he squinted up at the ceiling like it might finally stop doing cartwheels.

“You okay there, champ?” you asked with a smirk.

“No,” he groaned. “The room is a merry-go-round of shame.”

You both burst into laughter again—loud, unfiltered, that kind of ugly cackling that only happened with people you were really comfortable with. And then the door slammed open.

“What in the—OH LORD JESUS!” Jesse’s voice boomed from the doorway. “COVER YOURSELF, SON!”

You and Gideon froze mid-laugh, mid-breath—him sprawled across the mattress, you kneeling on top of the comforter, both fully clothed but definitely in a position that could be wildly misinterpreted if it wasn’t for the minimum four inches of space between you two.

“Dad!” Gideon screamed, flailing to sit up, accidentally head-butting your shoulder in the process. “What the hell?!”

You shrieked too, scrambling backward with your hands up as if that would somehow clarify the situation.

Jesse, meanwhile, had slapped one hand over his eyes and was standing in the doorway like a Greek statue of parental panic, perfectly still, lips pursed, and definitely not moving.

“I DIDN’T SEE ANYTHING,” he yelled, still not leaving. “BUT I’M PRETENDING I DID AND I’M TRAUMATIZED ANYWAY.”

“Why are you still here?!” Gideon shouted, red in the face.

“BECAUSE I LIVE HERE.”

"Get out!"

You rolled off the bed, tugging your shirt down even though it hadn’t ridden up in the first place, trying to choke back laughter and mortification at the same time. “Mr. Gemstone, I swear we were just-"

“-spinning,” Gideon added, exasperated, pointing at the rogue desk chair still slowly turning in place like it had witnessed everything and decided to mind its own business.

Jesse peeked between his fingers, finally letting out a long breath. “Alright. My bad. Just… next time, lock the dang door if you’re gonna do… whatever it is y’all are doin’. Even if it’s innocent. My blood pressure can’t take this.”

He turned and walked out, muttering something about Jesus, doors, and needing a Coke.

You and Gideon sat in stunned silence for a beat before collapsing into another fit of laughter.

“I'm never going to live this down. He's a monster,” Gideon groaned.

“I don’t know,” you said between gasps, wiping a tear from your cheek, “I kind of think you earned your dignity back after that one.”

It was relentless.

Dinner used to be something Gideon looked forward to—loud, chaotic, filled with too much butter and not enough vegetables. But ever since his dad had caught a glimpse of you in his room, it had turned into an interrogation under the guise of passing the mashed potatoes.

“So,” Jesse started, real casual, just as Gideon sat down. “She comin’ over tonight?”

Gideon didn’t even get the chance to scoop corn onto his plate.

“I don’t know, maybe,” he muttered.

“Mmm,” Jesse hummed knowingly. “Make sure you hydrate.”

“Dad.”

“What? Ain’t nothin’ wrong with two healthy young people spendin’ quality time together. Just don’t forget that feelings are involved, son. Hers and yours. Women don’t just do stuff ‘cause it’s fun. It means something.” He winked at Amber, who nodded gently.

Gideon groaned and slouched lower in his seat, stabbing a green bean like it personally offended him.

Amber didn’t say anything. Just gave him that tight-lipped, meaningful smile from across the table—the kind that said he better be listening, or else.

Later that night, when he finally crawled into bed and reached for his pillow, his fingers brushed a box. He blinked in the dim glow of his bedside lamp and pulled it out slowly, flipping it over. Box of condoms.

Taped to the top: a hot pink sticky note in his mom’s handwriting that read: Please be respectful. And please don’t make me a grandma this year. Love you. Be safe. Be smart.

He flung the box across the room.

The next morning, Amber was stirring her coffee with a soft smile. “Sleep well?”

“Not after what I found under my pillow,” he muttered, refusing to meet her eyes as he grabbed a banana from the counter.

“You’d rather I just handed it to you over breakfast?” she asked, one brow arched.

“I’d rather you not hand it to me at all,” he snapped, cheeks burning. “I’m a grown man, mama. If I… needed them I could buy them myself.”

Still, the moment he texted his parents that you were on your way over that afternoon, the accusations started again.

Pontious peered over his shoulder with a shit-eating grin. “Should I spray down the couch now or later?”

“Shut up, Ponch.”

“Jus’ sayin’. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it, man. Just, y’know, wrap it up—”

“OKAY,” Gideon cut in. “We get it! Everyone just- Jesus, this family is a NIGHTMARE."

Even Abraham, sweet and mostly clueless, had started picking up on the family’s obsession. One night, as you were leaving, he tugged on Gideon’s sleeve. “Why does everyone keep saying you're gonna get married?”

Gideon crouched down to his level, ruffling his little brother’s hair. “Because they’re nosy and need a hobby.”

The truth was, the teasing and prodding wasn’t mean-spirited—it was laced with love and concern. But it didn’t make it any less mortifying. Especially when all he wanted to do was be around you. Sit next to you. Kiss you. Talk to you. Maybe more… but only when it was right.

And God, with every reminder from his family, he was sure of one thing. Whenever that time came, it had to be for the right reasons. Not just because it was expected. Not because of hormones or curiosity or convenience. But because you meant something.

+++

It had been ninety-three days since you’d last seen him.

Gideon was already waiting when you stepped off the escalator at arrivals, bouncing on the balls of his feet like he couldn’t decide whether to run or wait for you to come to him. The moment your suitcase rolled across the threshold, he surged forward and wrapped his arms around you in a hug so tight it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

You laughed, forehead tucked against his shoulder, grounding yourself in the way he smelled—laundry detergent and faint cologne, like home.

“Hi,” you breathed.

“Hi,” he whispered back. “You’re real.”

You spent the car ride back talking over one another, comparing sleep schedules, swapping stories—both of you trying to fill in every gap left by poor signal or missed calls. He had a playlist cued up that he’d made for you while you were gone, and when you glanced over and caught him mouthing the lyrics to your favorite song, your heart ached.

Amber had waved from the kitchen window when you pulled into the driveway. Jesse opened the front door and said, “You’re lucky we like you,” before shooing you both upstairs with a grin.

They gave you privacy. Said it was fine if Gideon missed service, just this once. Time with you was the priority. Neither of you had planned anything. That was the truth.

You paced slowly in his room while he sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with something almost reverent in his gaze. He’d let you freshen up and shower in his bathroom, waiting patiently. Every time you leaned in to say something, he looked at you like he wasn’t sure if he could believe you were real.

You touched his face once—just brushed your fingers along his jaw—and he closed his eyes.

“God, I missed you,” he said quietly.

There was no decision. Just momentum.

Gideon had kissed you breathless, his hands trembling just slightly as they cupped your face. It had started with a teasing comment, a lingering look, and then you were in his lap, lips locked, time slipping away like water through fingers. But before it went too far, he pulled back with a heavy breath, eyes wide, and muttered, “Wait—hold on—just—just wait here.”

You blinked as he practically leapt off the bed and sprinted out of the room. A beat passed before you heard the unmistakable creak of the stairs and the slam of every door on the first floor, one after the other. You sat there, chest heaving, trying not to laugh as he shouted a cautious, “Hello?” into the kitchen.

He came back a minute later, slightly out of breath, triumphant.

“We’re good,” he panted, closing the door behind him. “They’re gone. For real.”

You raised a brow, already sliding back across the mattress as he joined you again. “Did you just do a full security sweep?”

“Better safe than scarred,” he muttered against your mouth.

Clothes didn’t quite come off, not entirely- your skirt hiked up around your hips, his jeans and boxers tugged just low enough to snake your hand in. Your hand found him easily, warm and solid in your grasp, and the way he gasped against your neck nearly had your legs shaking before he even touched you. He took his time, learning as he went, testing, teasing, adjusting at your whispered commands and pleas.

“That—right there,” you breathed, eyes fluttering. You gripped his wrist, angling him higher as his fingers pushed to a spot that had you seeing stars.

Gideon committed it to memory like scripture.

Your hips bucked forward instinctively, his fingers moving just right against your most sensitive spots, your forehead pressed to his as his own breath hitched in his throat. Your hand pumped him steadily, his legs trembling as he leaned closer. The air grew heavy with the slick sound of skin on skin, your bodies shifting in time with each desperate breath and quiet whimper. You murmured his name once, almost in disbelief, and he swore under his breath.

“You don’t know what you do to me,” he whispered, withdrawing his fingers. You both looked at the slick gathered there, shiny and sweet.

“I’ve got a pretty good idea,” you responded, pumping your hand faster.

Soft moans tumbled from his lips, growing louder and louder. His hand nearly covered yours, guiding you up and down his shaft. He gasped when you followed his quiet directions, his pleas to squeeze and to keep going. His hand returned to your center, completely still as his hand pressed into your clit.

“C’mon, baby,” you cooed. “I know you’ve got something for me.”

That sentence sent him over the edge with a symphony of loud groans, his hips bucking as he painted your hand with himself. You smiled as he breathlessly leaned over for a discarded shirt. He held your hand gently as he wiped your hand clean, and then himself.

“You ready?” He asked, his eyes trained on your lips.

You nodded, hiking your skirt up again. He shifted his body over, his hands spreading your thighs. You resisted the urge to pull them back together.

"Wow," he breathed.

His breath fanned warm across your thigh as he hovered, reverent and slow, eyes dragging up from where his hands cradled you like something sacred.

You shifted slightly, knees nudging wider at his gentle encouragement, and he let out a sound—half groan, half prayer—as if just the sight of you was enough to undo him all over again.

“I can’t believe you’re mine,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the inside of your knee. “Like actually mine.”

He leaned in, one hand skimming over your hip to steady you as he kissed just above the hem of your underwear, slow and warm and unhurried. You gasped softly, fingers gripping the seat beneath you, your other hand moving instinctively to his shoulder for balance.

His lips moved across your cheek and he began peppering your jawline and neck with open-mouthed kisses while his fingers reached down into the space between you to gently rub the pad of his thumb over your clit, his fingers teasing your folds. Your breath hitched in your throat at the feeling and without even realizing it, your hips had begun to buck into his touch, desperate for more.

He slipped two fingers into your wet cunt, a gasp leaving your lips at the sudden intrusion. The blissed out look on your face must have given him the confidence to keep talking. "Look at you," he mumbled.

The moan that escaped your mouth as you felt him fill you was obscene and you would have been embarrassed by it if you weren’t so wrapped up in the feeling of his fingers inside of you.

“Yes, fuck, it feels so good. Just please, keep going.”

That seemed to be all he needed as he picked up the pace. With each thrust, his tip grazed your g-spot deliciously and you felt your impending orgasm building within you. All at once, your back arched further into the comforter, orgasm rocketing through your body. Each neuron fried as stars clouded your vision.

By the end, neither of you moved. Just laid there, limbs tangled, the room thick with the scent of sweat and nerves and something softer, sweeter underneath it all.

Gideon broke first, his breathless laughter shaking both your bodies. You followed seconds later, face buried in the crook of his neck as you giggled uncontrollably.

“Jesus,” he wheezed. “What are we even doing?”

You smiled into his collarbone, your heart racing but full. “I don’t know,” you said. “But I think we’re doing it right.”

You pulled your skirt back down with a shaky tug, smoothing it over your hips while Gideon adjusted the collar of his shirt and tried to fix the mess of his hair. The room still smelled like heat and adrenaline, and neither of you spoke. You only exchanged a small, almost giddy glance as you stepped out into the hallway.

In the bathroom, you stood shoulder to shoulder at the sink, fingers brushing as you washed your hands in silence. The faucet hissed between you. Gideon peeked at you through the mirror, a quiet, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You dried your hands on a nearby towel, turned off the light, and together padded barefoot downstairs to the kitchen—hungry, tired, and lightheaded in the best way.

But the moment your foot hit the bottom step, you froze.

Amber and Jesse stood in the foyer.

Still in their church clothes, Jesse’s tie loosened and his jacket folded over one arm. Amber’s arms were crossed, one eyebrow raised like she was trying to solve a puzzle she already knew the answer to.

You skidded to a stop with a sharp inhale, and Gideon, too close behind, bumped into your back with a soft, muffled “oomf.”

Dead silence. Your hand found his instinctively, fingers tightening.

Jesse glanced between you both, taking in your matching guilt-ridden faces, your flushed cheeks, the very obvious way you had just descended from his son’s room looking like you'd barely survived a windstorm.

“Well,” Jesse finally said, dragging the word out, his voice laced with suspicion and fatherly dread. “Y’all hungry? Or just thirsty?”

Amber swatted his arm without even looking at him.

Gideon tried to speak, mouth opening and closing like a goldfish before settling on a weak, “Hey, Mom. Hey, Dad.”

Amber sighed deeply through her nose. “Wash your sheets, baby,” she muttered, already turning toward her bedroom. “And next time, maybe keep attention to the volume level.”

Gideon groaned. You looked like you wanted to melt into the hardwood.

Jesse pointed a stern finger toward both of you as he backed up toward the fridge. “If y’all were up there prayin’, then I hope God heard it loud and clear.” Then he opened the fridge. “Now who wants leftovers?”

[reissancesstuff]

OMGMGMG I NEED A PART TWO TO "You Forgot." With ran, try to make up for it when he realizes the next day that he's forgotten. ILYYY SMMMM PLS WRITE MORE I SWEAR EVERYTIME I SEE NEW WORK I JUMPPP ❤️❤️

“you remembered.”

part two to “you forgot”

the dining table is still set when he wakes.

the candle’s burned out, wax hardened in a soft puddle. the food’s cold, untouched. and the scent of your perfume still lingers in the air like a ghost that never left.

ran blinks.

his head pounds from the hangover, but something else stabs deeper — a flash of your face last night, the silence in your eyes. the way you didn’t even raise your voice.

he looks down.

he’s still in his dress shirt. smells like a place he shouldn’t have been. there’s a faint smudge of lipstick on his sleeve — not yours. the kind of red you’d never wear.

he curses under his breath.

his phone’s dead. no alarm. no unread messages. no reminders.

but the date clicks in his mind like a bullet.

your wedding anniversary.

fuck.

he shoots up from the couch and nearly trips over his own feet as he rushes toward the kitchen — sees the way you set the table, the little details. folded napkins. his favorite side dishes. that one dessert you always said was too much trouble to make but you learned because he liked it once.

and then the guilt hits like a freight train.

his feet move on instinct, pushing your bedroom door open without knocking.

you’re awake.

sitting on the edge of the bed in one of his shirts, legs pulled up close to your chest. you don’t look surprised to see him — just tired. like you’ve already accepted whatever half-assed apology he’s about to give.

“baby,” he says, voice low and hoarse. “fuck, i… i didn’t realize.”

you don’t answer.

he steps closer, careful this time. “i was an asshole last night. i know i was.”

still, silence.

“i remembered the second i woke up.” his voice cracks. “i saw the table. the candle. the food. i saw everything. and it made me feel like the biggest piece of shit in the world.”

you finally glance up at him. “it’s not the first time, ran.”

he flinches.

“you keep forgetting,” you say softly. “maybe not dates. but me.”

he walks over and kneels in front of you, taking your hand in his. you try to pull away, but he holds on — gently, insistently.

“i don’t wanna forget you,” he whispers. “i’ve never wanted that. i’m just—i get caught up in all this bonten shit, and i convince myself you’ll always understand. that you’ll wait for me.”

you stare at him. “and what if one day i don’t?”

his grip tightens.

“then i’ll deserve it.”

the room falls quiet again, thick with everything left unsaid.

but then he rests his forehead on your knee. not in defeat — in apology.

“can i make it up to you?”

you exhale. “how?”

“however you want,” he says immediately. “just… tell me what i need to do.”

you hesitate.

“…start with heating up the food.”

he lifts his head, eyes wide. “you didn’t throw it away?”

“of course not. i spent three hours cooking.”

he smiles — crooked, relieved. “i’ll eat all of it.”

“you better.”

he leans forward and presses a kiss to your hand.

and this time, he sees you.

------

Here is the long-awaited part two! @idk-what-myurl-shouldbe & @mytaiyakeylover

[fangirlfuel]

Hot Coffee, Hotter Driver

---

Driver: Pierre Gasly

Requested: ✔️

---

It was chaos.

Not the loud, explosive kind—but the quiet, creeping kind, where your shoelace betrays you, gravity turns against you, and you find yourself holding a scalding cup of overpriced paddock coffee in the middle of Formula 1’s pre-race morning.

Your job was simple: grab your boss’s coffee from the stand and bring it back to the hospitality suite. That was it. A straight path, no obstacles. Easy, right?

Wrong.

The paddock was bustling. Journalists darted like caffeinated wasps, mechanics wheeled tires with precision, and drivers wove in and out, half-obscured by their PR reps and sunglasses. You walked briskly, dodging camera crews, gripping the coffee like it was sacred treasure.

Until it happened.

Your foot caught on something—a cable, a bag, maybe your own dignity—and suddenly, time slowed. Your arms flailed, your coffee launched forward in a perfect, steaming arc, and you—

SPLASH.

“Merde!” came a very French, very startled voice.

You gasped as the lid popped off the cup, the dark liquid now soaking the front of someone’s pristine white AlphaTauri polo. Your face went pale.

“I—I—oh my God—I am so sorry!” you stammered, looking up.

Blue eyes. Floppy chestnut hair. Smirk of the century.

Pierre Gasly blinked, a slow smile spreading on his lips despite the espresso dripping down his shirt. “Well, that’s one way to get my attention.”

You blinked. “What?”

“I was just saying this morning that I needed something to wake me up,” he said casually, looking down at his shirt, now clinging to his abs. “Didn’t think it’d be this literal, though.”

“I didn’t see you—I mean, I saw you—of course I saw you, you’re—you’re you—but I didn’t mean to—God, you must think I’m an idiot.”

“No,” Pierre said, still smiling. “I think you’re adorable. And your aim is impeccable.”

You opened your mouth, closed it, then opened it again. “You’re not mad?”

He took a step closer, still damp, but utterly unfazed. “Nah. It's just coffee. Now I have a reason to take this off.” He peeled the shirt up and over his head in one swift movement, revealing sun-kissed skin and toned muscles that made you forget how to breathe.

You stared.

He noticed.

“Like what you see?” he teased, grinning wickedly.

Your face turned crimson. “N-no! I mean yes—no—I mean I didn’t mean to look—well obviously I looked—but not like that—!”

“Relax,” he said, eyes twinkling. “You’re cute when you panic.”

You stood there, still clutching the now-empty cup, blinking like you’d been hit by a freight train of charm and cheekbones. The paddock noise faded into the background as he reached for a towel one of the crew handed him, wiping himself off slowly.

“I feel terrible,” you muttered. “I ruined your shirt.”

Pierre glanced at it, then tossed it over his shoulder like it was a napkin. “It was boring anyway.”

“I should buy you a new one,” you offered, trying to salvage your pride.

“Or,” he said, stepping in again, “you can buy me a drink later instead. Preferably not hot and airborne.”

You blinked. “Wait—are you… are you asking me out?”

Pierre raised a brow. “You threw coffee at me. I think the least I can do is let you apologize over dinner.”

You laughed despite yourself. “That’s not how apologies work.”

“It is in France.”

“I’m pretty sure it isn’t.”

He chuckled. “Then we’ll call it fate.”

You looked up at him, heart still racing, but for an entirely different reason now. “Are you always this smooth?”

He leaned in, eyes sparkling. “Only when I’m covered in coffee and talking to a beautiful girl.”

You shook your head, biting back a smile. “Fine. One drink. But you’re paying.”

Pierre grinned, stepping back and tossing you a wink. “Deal. But next time… maybe aim for my heart instead of my chest.”

You groaned and turned away, but you didn’t miss the way he watched you walk off—still damp, still grinning, and clearly already planning what to wear for your “apology.”

----

[naomijoestar]

I see requests are open 🙏 and first of all, omfg I absolutely loved your response to my nonchalant reader confessing to Bucci gang+Trish 😭❤️ tho it left me wondering what if 👀👀 nonchalant reader is not taken seriously, so they double down with their confession by doing the exact opposite of sth casual because now they do something more elaborated, extravagant or/and even obnoxious (like fancy dinner, a big boquet of flowers, heartshaped chocolates or maybe even balloons) to make their point clear and sure to get across this time. Like !!! I meant it, I am in love with you!! but this time doing the grand gestures gets Nonchalant Reader flustered when repeating outloud that they love them

Masterlist here <3

I love this so much!!! I seriously had so much fun writing this and I hope you enjoy <3

Og post of the confession here <3

Bruno Bucciarati

The first confession over breakfast had left Bruno intrigued, but you could tell he thought you were joking. So now, you’re sitting across from him at a ridiculously fancy restaurant with chandeliers, classical music, and a waiter in a tux pouring sparkling water into crystal glasses

Bruno, ever composed, places his napkin neatly in his lap, a polite smile on his lips. “This is… unexpected,” he says smoothly. “Special occasion?”

You fidget with the edge of your menu, trying to maintain your nonchalant facade despite your flushed cheeks. “Yeah. I, uh… wanted to clarify something.”

He tilts his head, curious. “Oh?”

The words catch in your throat, but you force them out anyway. “I meant what I said. I’m… I’m in love with you.”

Bruno leans forward slightly, eyes softening, but your nerves hit like a freight train. “Like, actually,” you blurt, voice a bit too loud. “Not some breakfast joke. I got a whole table reservation and—”

The waiter appears, placing an elaborate bouquet of roses between you. You stare at it in mortification

Bruno hides a smile behind his hand. “I’m beginning to see that.”

“I panicked!” you hiss

Bruno’s laugh is warm, genuine. “You’re charming when you panic, did you know that?”

Narancia Ghirga

The first confession during video games had left Narancia completely flustered, but clearly, he thought you were messing with him. Time to up the ante

So now, you’re standing outside his window with a boombox blaring cheesy love songs, dressed way too nicely for no reason

Narancia sticks his head out the window, eyes wide. “WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!”

“I LOVE YOU!” you yell over the music, face burning but fully committed. “LIKE, FOR REAL!”

The neighbors are already peeking through their windows, and you’re regretting every second of this decision

Narancia bursts out laughing, leaning on the windowsill. “Wait, you’re serious?! Oh my god, you’re insane!”

“I KNOW!” you yell back, hands shaking as you fumble with the boombox to turn it off. “But I meant it!”

He grins so wide it makes your embarrassment almost worth it. “You didn’t have to do all this, dummy. I already like you too.”

You freeze. “…Oh?”

“Yeah! But this was awesome.”

Guido Mista

The kitchen confession had gone over way too casually. So now, you’ve decided to go full drama mode—heart-shaped chocolates, flowers, and a cheesy handwritten card are all set on the table

Mista walks in, blinks at the sight, then bursts out laughing. “What’s all this? Valentine’s Day come early?”

You groan, already regretting this. “I’m trying to be serious here, Mista.”

He grins, picking up the card. “Aw, you even wrote me a love letter?” He reads it aloud with way too much enthusiasm

You slap a hand over your face, cheeks burning. “Okay, okay, stop.”

Mista cackles, setting the card down. “You’re so flustered, it’s kinda cute.”

You glare at him. “I’m in love with you, idiot.”

His teasing expression falters for just a second before softening. “Yeah, I know,” he says, smiling warmly now. “I just wanted to see you get all worked up first.”

Fugo Pannacotta

Fugo’s intense logical nature means your first confession barely registered. So now, you’re standing in front of him holding a massive bouquet of flowers, wearing an outfit that makes you feel like an awkward rom-com protagonist

He blinks at you, visibly confused. “What is this?”

“I’m clarifying my previous statement,” you say stiffly, shoving the bouquet toward him

He cautiously takes it, looking between you and the flowers like you’ve just handed him a bomb. “Why?”

“Because,” you mutter, shifting on your feet, “you didn’t believe me. I meant it, Fugo. I’m in love with you.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire as you force the words out. Fugo’s expression shifts from confusion to realization, and his ears turn bright red

“You didn’t need to do all this,” he mutters, looking away

“Well, you weren’t getting it,” you snap, embarrassed

He glances back at you, a rare, shy smile tugging at his lips. “I get it now.”

Giorno Giovanna

The garden confession had been brushed off too smoothly, so now you’ve set up a full candlelit dinner. Roses, soft music, and a carefully plated meal—the works

Giorno enters, visibly surprised but composed as ever. “This is… elaborate.”

“Yeah, well,” you mumble, pulling out a chair for him. “Needed to make a point.”

He sits gracefully, watching you with amusement. “And that point is?”

You sit across from him, heart racing. “I love you,” you say, voice cracking slightly. “Like, really love you. Not just some random garden comment.”

His eyes soften, and a small smile graces his lips. “You’ve certainly made your feelings clear.”

“Good,” you mutter, poking at your food

He reaches across the table, taking your hand gently. “Thank you,” he says quietly. “I was never confused—just waiting for you to realize how much this means to you.”

Leone Abbacchio

After your nonchalant confession was brushed off, you decided to go all out. Now, you’re standing awkwardly in front of Abbacchio with a gift bag and a bottle of expensive wine

He raises an eyebrow. “What’s this supposed to be?”

“A… grand gesture,” you say, voice cracking slightly

He crosses his arms, unimpressed. “You feeling okay?”

“No,” you grumble. “This is stupid. I don’t know why I—whatever, here.” You shove the gift bag toward him

He takes it reluctantly, pulling out a small, heart-shaped card. The corner of his mouth twitches. “Seriously?”

“I love you,” you blurt out, feeling like you might actually combust. “Happy now?”

He stares at you for a long moment before letting out a low chuckle. “You really went all out, huh?”

“I panicked,” you admit miserably

“Well,” he says, smirking, “I guess I’m flattered.”

Trish Una

After your casual confession, Trish had brushed it off with disbelief. So now, you’re standing outside her dressing room with balloons, chocolates, and a handwritten love letter

She opens the door, takes one look at you, and blinks. “What is this?”

“I’m making a point,” you mutter, cheeks burning. “I meant it. I’m in love with you.”

Trish raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. “You’re blushing.”

“I know,” you groan. “This is embarrassing, okay?”

She crosses her arms, leaning against the doorframe. “So you really love me, huh?”

“Yes!” you snap. “God, don’t make me say it again.”

Trish laughs, stepping closer. “I have to admit, I didn’t expect this. But I guess it’s kind of cute.”

“Great. Glad you’re entertained.”

She grins. “I’ll take the chocolates, though. And maybe we can talk about this over dinner—my treat.”

If you’d like any tweaks let me know! I hope you enjoyed this cz I found it so cute <3

If you enjoyed this make sure to check out my other posts, and if you’d like anything specific written for a jjba character/squad you can request it if my requests are open!

[sodalitefully]

Cliches, Part 3

As promised, Steven’s annual holiday party!  More of the reptile store/bakery AU, Sluff with just a hint of Izzal, lots of fluff and drunken shenanigans.  

(Cliches part one, two, check out my masterlist for more!)

🎄🌟🎄🌟🎄🌟🎄

11:30AM, The Friday Before Christmas:

There was always a lull in customers between the breakfast and lunch rushes, but instead of taking a well-deserved break, Duff was used to finding ways to keep himself busy, starting by wiping down the few tables he managed to fit inside his tiny store. Damp rag in hand, he paused at one of the tables to check on the napkin dispenser and of course it was that moment, bent over to reach the dispenser by the wall, his ass in the air and his back to the door, when the bell over the entrance jingled. He spun around at the sound, whacking a table leg with his shin, and instinctively braced himself against the chair behind him when he saw Slash standing in the doorway.

Slash had… a presence, you could say, an aura about him that always seemed to hit Duff like a freight train. It must be the hair and the bulky black leathers, Duff decided, making Slash seem bigger than he really is and absorbing all the light in a room so that Duff’s eyes were always drawn straight to him. Sunglasses hid his eyes (did he really need them just to cross the street to Duff’s bakery?) and his lips were pressed together, but they softened into a tiny smile when he looked at Duff.

“Slash! Hi!” Duff squeaked, then cleared his throat and hoped he wasn't visibly blushing as he scrambled back to safety behind the cash register. Slash followed right behind him, stopping in front of the register with his fingers resting on the edge of the counter. Duff couldn’t stand watching his own reflection in Slash’s glasses, so his eyes wandered as he continued.

“Uh, what can I do for you?” he stammered, staring down at Slash’s silver rings.

“Mm, I just thought I’d drop by and check that you're still planning to come to Steven's Christmas party tonight."

“Oh! Yeah, of course. I am. Uh, I’m looking forward to it."

“Good.” Slash shuffled his feet, a gesture that would have seemed more nervous if not for the pleased little smirk on his lips. “I’ll see you there, then.” Slash took a step back as if to leave, then paused and leaned back in.

“Duff?” The baker froze in mortification when Slash pointed a finger up at the red and green elf hat that Duff completely forgot he was wearing. “Bring that."

*****

6:00PM, Steven Should Really Be Decorating The Bar Right Now:

“Nah, I’m not going to go as hard this year."

Steven snorted in disbelief.

“Yeah right, Slash. Like how last year you said you were gonna take it easy but you ended up jumping off the roof? Or the year before, when you had a flight to catch the next morning but you still challenged Axl to a drinking contest, and then as soon as you beat him you turned around and challenged Izzy?"

Slash grimaced. Steven always tended bar for the first couple hours of the party and was therefore the last one to get drunk, which meant that he had dirt on everybody. Slash resisted the urge to argue that the roof was only seven feet high, and he’d landed on his feet without even spraining anything – it was nothing Steven hadn’t heard before.

“No, seriously…” Slash lowered his voice a little and leaned across the bar, even though absolutely nobody was listening in on their conversation. “…I really don’t want to embarrass myself in front of Duff. It’s his first party with us, you know? He hasn’t seen me drunk off my ass yet and I don’t want to, well, scare him off."

Steven nodded sympathetically, but mentally he was weighing the odds. It was true that Duff was a timid sort, and Steven knew all about Slash’s massive crush on his neighbor. But he also knew that Slash had been going steady with Jack Daniels for way longer than he’s been hung up on Duff. Could Slash make it through a holiday party without getting wasted? Not a fuckin’ chance.

*****

9:30PM, Time (And Liquor) Makes Fools Of Us All:

Duff stepped foot in the building all of two seconds ago and already Slash was latched onto his arm and dragging him to the bar.

“Stevie, Duff’s here!” The party officially started at nine, but Duff suspected that Slash may have gotten a head start on the bottle of whiskey clenched in his fist, if his uncharacteristically cheery demeanor was anything to go by.

“Pick your poison, buddy,” Steven invited with a knowing smirk.

“Uh, I don’t know, something with vodka…?” Duff was very preoccupied by the warm leather of Slash’s sleeve pressing against his side and the barest brush of his frizzy hair against Duff’s neck, but Steven sure got his attention when he slid an unopened bottle of Smirnoff across the bar.

*****

10:30PM, Santa’s Helpers Are Bringing Down The Neighborhood’s Property Value:

Every year, Axl and Izzy responded to their invitation with humming and hawing, as if they just might not be able to make it to the party this time, and every year (fashionably late, of course), Axl strutted into the bar like he owned it and Izzy slunk in behind him like a party crasher trying not to get caught.

Axl was more than ready to get his hands on a stiff drink, but the scene in front of him stopped him in his tracks: Slash and Duff, wearing an antler headband and an elf hat (respectively), equipped with window markers that Axl could only assume Steven had provided, were well on their way to turning the front window into a mural of lewd and filthy and sometimes festive doodles. When they finished, it would surely be a masterpiece to rival the Sistine Chapel, or maybe an issue of Hustler.

“Jesus Christ.”

It was only 10:30, did they really have to get such an early start on the shenanigans? Duff blushed red at Axl’s resigned exasperation, but it didn’t stop him from completing a crude drawing of a dick. The tiny bells on Slash’s headband jingled as he just laughed and added nipples to an (actually quite impressive) portrait of a shirtless woman. Fucking hell. At least they weren’t breaking anything… Yet.

*****

12:00PM, Good Fucking Luck Getting A Turn At The Karaoke Machine:

"Oh, Nikita, you will never know, never know anything about my home. I'll never know how good it feels to hold you... Nikita, I need you so."

As he sang the last words of the song, Axl spotted Izzy slipping away from the karaoke stage, ducking his head to hide the pink flush on his cheeks as he hurried back to the bar. Axl just smirked; Izzy always got embarrassed when Axl serenaded him in public, but he’d be back for more soon enough. Axl thought about following him, thought about getting Izzy even more flustered then dragging him to the restroom for a little fun like they did last year… But there’d be time for that later. For now, Axl wasn’t about to give up his reign as the undisputed Karaoke King.

Duff was sitting at the edge of a booth next to the karaoke machine, absentmindedly sucking on a cigarette and watching Axl pace the tiny stage like a caged animal ready to snap at anyone who tries to stick their hand through the bars, when Slash snuck up behind him with three beers balanced precariously in his hands.

“Watch this,” Slash stage whispered conspiringly as he handed one beer to Duff and then slid the second over to Axl. “Taking requests tonight, Ax?"

Axl sipped his drink and quirked his eyebrow at Slash. “Maybe."

“Well, Duff says he wants to hear some Nazareth."

“I said what?” Duff spluttered, narrowly avoiding choking on his beer, but Slash just elbowed him in the ribs.

“Shut up dude, it’s about to get good!"

Axl rolled his eyes at Slash’s bullshit but he jabbed a song into the karaoke machine and twisted the dial on the speaker.

“Gonna need some volume on this one…"

As the intro to a familiar song started to play, Slash wrapped an arm around Duff’s shoulders in apology. Duff leaned into the touch, and any remaining indignation he might have felt vanished as soon as Axl opened his mouth and started to scream.

“You’re a heart-breaking soul shaker, I’ve been told about you…"

“Shit, Axl can fuckin’ sing!” Duff whisper-shouted into Slash’s hair. Slash laughed, a sound that Duff had been graced with more times in this one night than all the rest of their acquaintance. He leaned up to put his lips by Duff’s ear.

“I dare you to request All I Want For Christmas Is You next!"

*****

1:00PM, O Tannenbaum:

“Hey, what are you guys doing to my – OH. Oh my god!”

A patch of branches on Steven’s Christmas tree was stripped bare of it’s dressings, but Steven couldn’t bring himself to stay angry about the vandalism when he saw how the decorations had been repurposed.

Slash sat cross-legged in front of the tree, very patiently doing his best to keep any drunken swaying to a minimum as Duff carefully wound a popcorn garland around his shoulders like a feather boa. Slash’s hair was sprinkled in gold tinsel, a pair of glass baubles dangled from his hoop earrings, and at least a half dozen more glass and paper ornaments were lovingly nestled in his voluminous curls.

Steven sprinted for the camera.

*****

3:00AM, Come Here Often?:

Slash couldn’t actually remember where he and Duff were trying to get, but it was clear that Duff was having a hard time getting there without swaying and stumbling. Duff was leaning heavily on Slash’s shoulder to stay upright – even though Slash wasn’t doing much better himself.

“Oof!” Duff tripped on something (likely as not his own feet) and tumbled to the side, where he was fortunate enough to land on a sticky leather couch instead of falling all the way to the floor. His arm was still wrapped around Slash’s shoulders, which meant that Slash was also yanked off his feet and dragged by the neck onto the couch where he landed gracelessly on top of Duff.

“Shit, sorry –“ Duff wheezed, sounding like he might have had the breath knocked out of him.

“S’fine, fine… You ok sweetheart?” Slash’s pet-name filter had disengaged completely a couple hours ago.

“Yeah, lemme just… hold on…”

Getting up from the couch seemed like too tall an order, but after some squirming and fumbling they managed a more comfortable position: Duff lay on his back with his knees hooked over the armrest and his hair splayed around his head like a wreath on the cracked seat cushion. Slash was draped on top of him, his forearms on either side of Duff’s head and his thigh conspicuously dipping between Duff’s legs.

Duff suddenly felt a lot more sober as he stared straight up at Slash’s dark eyes. Slash’s hair fell like a curtain around their faces, and the slivers of light that pierced the veil left a gleam in Slash’s eyes that Duff couldn’t quite read. He was nervous as hell, but for once he relished the feeling, that intoxicating cocktail of terror, anticipation, and arousal.

“Duff?” Slash’s fingertips wove into Duff’s hair, the gentlest touch but still enough to hold Duff’s head in place, not that he ever wanted to move.

“Yeah?” Duff was surprised by the thickness of the want in his voice, a low, heavy tone that resonated in the small space between them.

One moment Duff could feel Slash’s warm breath on his cheeks, the next he could feel his hot lips, then his tongue when Duff’s mouth fell open, in surprise or invitation he didn’t know or care.

Duff couldn’t say how long they lay tangled together, Slash’s body pinning him down, his hands buried in Slash’s curls, gasping for air when Slash finally broke their heated first kiss. They each caught their breath and stared at each other’s wet lips, neither sure what to say except:

“Again."

❄️❄️❄️

Steven has a secret box with a secret compartment full of embarrassing pictures of his friends at the Christmas party!

Axl’s karaoke songs are Nikita by Elton John, Hair Of The Dog by Nazareth (also on The Spaghetti Incident) and All I Want For Christmas Is You by Mariah Carey.

Also, I’d like to formally request a drawing of Slash with ornaments in his hair. (Edit: here!!)

[pollylynn]

Title: Hallowed WC:  1400

He sort of means it at first. He’s sort of serious.

“I’m not suggesting a full-on exorcism or anything.” He follows her out of the break room, casting a genuinely suspicious eye at the mug she’s sipping from so blithely. “Just like . . . a ritual cleansing of some kind.”

“Maybe a sage smudging.” She drops into her chair. Her delivery is so deadpan—and he’s so very nearly actually concerned about this—that he almost falls for it. Almost, but she cracks a slightly mean smile. “Or—hey—what about Chacaw Te? You must still have your mummy-curse expert on speed dial.”

“You can’t tell me it wasn’t unnerving.” He glances behind him at his own chair before he sits, as if it might suddenly reduce itself to its component parts again. “The very idea that someone would use coffee as a poison-delivery system.”

“But no one did use it. Coffee was a total red herring.” She grabs her mug and takes an extra-long slug. She lets her eyes slip closed and moans a little, which, by the way, is completely mean. “Besides, I thought you liked a good poisoning.”

“Well, of course I do.” He cracks open the soda he does not want and curses as it foams over, soaking the thigh of his jeans. She makes him suffer for a long beat before she retrieves a handful of napkins from a desk drawer and hands them over with a smug look. “Who doesn’t love a poisoning?”

“The victim,” she says loudly for the benefit of nearby rubberneckers. “Victim’s family, other loved ones . . .”

“My point is,” he leaps in to stem the tide of parties who are not, in fact, big fans of poisoning and to bring the conversation back on track, because he’s sort of serious, “there was a near-miss with a coffee-related tragedy—”

“I wouldn’t call it a near miss.” She does some more coffee-related theater, raising the mug and tilting her head forward to inhale the aroma. “After all, poor Joe McUsic died with vending machine coffee in his stomach.”

He’s slightly less serious about it after that. He’s slightly more serious about tweaking back, given that she’s seen fit to poke fun at his completely legitimate concerns about cosmic insults to a beverage that’s damned near sacred to the two of them.

Phase One is complete replacement of the break room’s existing stores of coffee and coffee-related supplies, ranging from filters to sugar cubes, with entirely fresh stock. She catches him—he lets her catch him—pouring the pot brewed from the very last of the open coffee into a huge thermos.

“Castle, what are you . . .?” She trails off as the freight elevator dings and a parade of delivery people with handcarts emerges and heads straight for them.

“Here!” He screws the lid on the thermos and beckons. “We’re in here.” She stands aside, slack jawed as he orchestrates their entry, then throws the cabinets above and below the counter wide. “Load ‘em up, ladies and gentlemen!” 


“You . . .” She watches in confusing as the team makes quick work of the boxes and bags and packs their carts are loaded up with. “Where . . . where did it all go?”

“Donated. Shelters, soup kitchens, a few AA groups—all very grateful.” He allows himself  smile that’s as close to smug as he dares. “It’s all about karmic balance.”

“Karmic. Balance?”

The words come through her teeth. He’s pretty sure she’d like to yell. He’s pretty sure she has a plan for some pretty elaborate yelling as soon as he finishes slipping each member of the crew a generous cash tip and they’re all off on their merry way, so he grabs his thermos and follows hard on their heels.

“Not just yet.” He’s positively jogging for the passenger elevator, lofting his thermos above his head. “The last pot goes to some of the regulars down on the street.” The elevator, for once, arrives exactly when he needs it to. “Nippy for late March,’ he says as the doors close with her positively astonished face on the other side.

By the time things enter Tweaking Phase Two he’s more or less forgotten that he was ever concerned about dark forces swirling around their elixir of life. Tweaking Phase Two is more or less tweaking for its own sake, because she’s delightfully annoyed that she never did yell at him for Phase One, largely because she couldn’t come up with a coherent thing to yell at him for.

So he brute forces it. He strolls in—attended—on a morning she should be all tied up with paperwork. The fates are kind once again, and she’s on the phone with someone she obviously can’t hang up on as he and his companion pass by. He gives her a saucy wave and braces himself when he senses her closing in.

“Ah, Beckett. Here to watch the master at work?” He steps aside and behind him, a technician has the espresso machine largely dismantled, its parts carefully laid out on a soft white cloth spread over the counter. “Can you believe it’s exactly time for this bad boy’s two-year maintenance? I, for one, will sleep better knowing that everything’s been given the once over, and there are no unpleasant surprises waiting for any of us when we—”

The kick to his shin is so hard, so lightning fast, so utterly startling that she’s already back at her desk before he even registers the pain.

“Worth it,” he mutters tightly. He bends down to rub it, waving off the technician’s questioning look. “So worth it.”

Phase Three is the most nerve wracking, because it’s time to make up. He’s not seriously worried about bad coffee juju any more, but they haven’t shared a break room cappuccino since Joe McUsic and the not-poisoned cup.

He goes on a night he knows she’s working late. Ryan, as requested, sends him a text when he and Esposito are about to knock off and she’s still clearing the inbox. She doesn’t hear the elevator, and he makes his way across the dim bullpen as quietly as he can.

“Break time,” he says. It makes her jump a little. That’s ok, though. Making up really ought to involve a little tweaking.

“What kind of break?” she asks. It’s a little sour, but that’s mostly because she’s tired. It’s mostly because she’s been at things too long. “Aren’t you off the stuff until balance is restored to the force?”

“Come on.” He nods toward the break room and sets off, sure—pretty sure anyway—that she’ll follow.

She does, though not right away. That’s fine for his purposes. He has his string of tea lights mostly set up around the base of the espresso machine.

“You know that’s a fire hazard,” she says from the doorway at the exact moment he flicks open the Zippo lighter.  “Not to mention contraband.”

“The Elder Gods can only be appeased by risk.” He touches the flame to the last two wicks. “Have a seat.”

She shakes her head but complies. He busies himself at the machine, pulling them a pair of shots each and steaming a generous helping of milk.

“Would you blow those out before we have a tactical team in here?” she grouses, but her eyes light up as he turns with two brimming cups in hand.

“Yes, yes.” He sets a cup in front of her and one in front of the seat next to hers. He registers her sniff of annoyance as she realizes the cups are brand new—as she does the math and correctly figures that all the cups, for the espresso machine at least, are new. “Their work is nearly done anyway.”

He turns back to the counter and huffs out all of the little candles, save the one he carries to set on the table between them. She’s laughing quietly with her hands wrapped around the cup. She’s waiting not so patiently for him to sit, so he does. She dips her head to take the first eager sip, but he stops her.


“No, no, no!”

She halts with the cup a mere inch from her lips and gives him a perfect murderous glare.

“Detective, please.” He assumes an injured look. “The final, cleansing step.” He inclines his head toward the candle. “Make a wish.” 

A/N: I don’t know what came over me with this one. Hmmm.

images via homeofthenutty

[drrjsb]

"Chapter 71: A Soldier, a Spy, and a Scientist Sat on a Bench" of Special Needs is posted!

Sorry it’s been so long, but it’s extra BIG!

. . . Excerpt . . .

The three sat there quietly on the bench with Steve leaning forward, elbows on his knees, and staring at his hands and hiking boots. Bruce put his glasses in his shirt pocket with his right hand while Nat held his left, stroking lightly across the back of his wrist. She’d gone awfully quiet, and Bruce wished he knew what she was thinking. This couldn’t be easy on her to dredge up memories from her past either.

Natasha closed her eyes and kept her breathing even. There was something just beyond her that her mind could almost touch. After S.H.I.E.L.D. fell, she’d gone looking for her parents in Russia to try and answer her questions about her past. She’d found their graves in a little overgrown cemetery, but there had been no dates, even after she cleared off the debris and put the plots in order. When Natasha inquired about records at the modern church nearby, she’d been told there was a fire over 20 years before and the registers and information were gone. No one she spoke to remembered her parents or her grandmother who was also buried there. The priest was a younger man who hadn’t grown up in that area, so he couldn’t tell her much, no matter how many cups of tea they shared in his study. She left her card with him and money to see that the graves were better tended. The other people she spoke to were kind, but not even the oldest remembered her family. Natasha didn’t stay. She didn’t dig much further. When she arrived back in the States, her name was still in the headlines, so she’d called and asked Tony if she could still have her old apartment at the Tower. He hadn’t even sounded smirky or smug, just glad that she was okay and still with the team. Maria Hill, who was working for Stark Industries, would help smooth out any paperwork or complications.

Natasha was pleasantly surprised that Bruce came down from his lab to the garage to greet her and help bring up her luggage and a few boxes from her DC apartment that evening. It made her happy that he was so obviously pleased and . . . what? . . . excited to see her? His genuine smile was something she hoped to get used to seeing.

“We’re going to have to quit passing off bags and boxes like this, Doc,” she’d told him, thinking of the day she’d given him his duffle bag from the Helicarrier in Central Park a year and a half before when he returned to the Tower with Tony and eventually taken up residence there. She’d included a few notes in his books and a burner phone without the standard bugging and tracking chips. They’d texted back and forth and also talked a few times, mostly just small talk but sometimes more. He’d always picked up, no matter what time of day or night it was. He’d sewn her up a few times, too.

“What’s a few bags and boxes between friends?” he asked her as he nestled her half dead pothos plant atop the luggage pile on the small freight dolly he’d borrowed from the lab. He couldn’t help but notice there wasn’t a lot to unpack. She couldn’t explain what all she’d left at the Barton farm. “Hey, if you’re feeling up to it, I made some killer marinara sauce today. Would you like to help me try it on some spaghetti?”

“Is it spicy?” She hoped it was.

“A little,” he admitted with a shrug.

“Not like your chili though?” That was good, but it packed a punch.

“Oh, no. Not at all. Just enough for it to feel balanced. There’s green salad, crusty bread, and I’ll let you pick the wine if you want.”

“Doc, you are tempting me.” She felt bone tired and road worn, but the man was good company. Why not?

He grinned, knowing he’d won. “Good, 7:00 pm it is.”

Natasha had long since noticed how easy he was to talk to since they’d quit the antagonistic sparing and slipped into more personal and empathetic conversations. She’d taken it for granted that he’d read all the dirt on her that she’d released to the world herself. As they finished their salads, it floored her when he admitted he wasn’t interested in what she’d done before he knew her unless she wanted to tell him herself. “Bruce, you probably ought to read some of it. I’ve done some awful things for awful people.”

He shook his head as he swallowed the last bite of lettuce and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “So have I. I trust you, Nat. If you insist and put the files in front of me, I suppose I’ll read them, and we can talk about them. If you want to tell me something, I’ll certainly listen, but I know what’s in an intelligence file is still written with an agenda and from a perspective. The present is more important to me than what you may have done a decade ago.”

All right then, she thought and took him up on his offer. To her relief, Bruce listened to her as she told him about what had happened in Washington, DC, and over the next month while she was abroad, and he didn’t seem to judge. She explained there were sizable gaps in her life before S.H.I.E.L.D. that made no sense, parts that seemed like a pleasant fairytale while others were a brutal horror story. He told her about his own parents and what wasn’t in his file. He answered her questions about his childhood and beyond. Like her, he had a sense there were events and people missing, but nothing obvious she could identify from what she knew of his background. “Maybe it’s like when you miss a lecture or a meeting and what you think you missed seems bigger in your imagination than it is in reality?” Natasha suggested.

“Maybe,” he admitted. “But it feels more like when my Aunt Susan cut my father out of a picture in the newspaper because she didn’t want me to see it when I read the rest. Frankly, the missing part just stood out more than if she’d left it intact.” He made a fist with his left hand and then relaxed each finger slowly. “It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve blocked something. It feels too quiet inside sometimes. At other times, I can feel more than just me. It has to be the other guy, but it’s like I’ve known him forever. It makes no sense. When I was running and alone, I often felt like someone was there watching over me, too.”

He'd given her a look that said he knew she knew more about that than she’d said, but he trusted her anyway. Natasha almost admitted on the spot that she’d been the agent assigned to him for years before Ross had attacked him at Culver, that she had made sure A.I.M., Hydra, the FSB, a couple of crime lords, and the Hand hadn’t found him, but she left it at an enigmatic smile and a little shrug.

He’d laughed at her, not in the least bit fooled. Eventually, he’d get her to show her cards, just not that night. He could be patient. They set their dishes in the sink and moved to the living room where Bruce changed the subject a bit, “There’s not much that I can do about my memory gaps, so I keep muddling through despite them, hoping for the best, planning for the worst. How about you?”

They sat down on his couch a comfortable distance apart with glasses in hand, finishing the bottle of chianti she’d picked out. “I don’t know. I was hoping to put some of the ghosts to rest, but all I found was a dead end . . . unless I want to go back and dig deeper.”

“Is it worth the trouble to you?” he asked.

“Cost-benefit analysis would say, no.”

“But would it put the ghosts to rest?”

She’d stared at the last of the red wine in her stemmed glass and turned it slowly. “That’s what I’m not so sure about.” By the next day, she’d made up her mind to switch her tactics, so she asked Bruce to help her tackle her past from a different angle to attempt to figure out what the Red Room Program had done to her. Once she convinced him he was on ethically solid footing, he hadn’t disappointed her.

WattPad, AO3, & Fanfic.net 

[chrisv73-blog]

Secrets - Part 1

Word Count: 3,712

Warnings: None mostly fluff.

Panic. The emotion gripping me as I all but sprinted from behind the bar and into the ladies room. I couldn’t believe what was happening. Being alone with him in my environment- his smell, his sounds, his skin, his hands, thighs- everything made any self-control evaporate into thin air. I was unraveling.

Two long years since I’d set eyes on him. This man had a hold on me unlike anything I’d ever experienced. Now he was here and I was so stunned- I ran. His ghost still haunted me like a secret you can’t tell.

I felt like such an idiot. Facing myself in the cracked mirror of our dingy employee restroom I rubbed my hands under the faucet splashing water across my cheeks.

A light knock came at the door. “You okay in there?”

“I’m fine.” Embarrassed. Stupid. Flustered. But Fine.

I stared, disheartened at myself in the mirror. “What the hell was I going to do now?” This was my job. I had to go back; smile, pretend, sling some drinks and make rent. Whispered dirty things, winks, grins, napkins full of phone numbers with broken promises was expected as a bartender. Give the experience and make them love you.

Having him walk through the door was never part of the plan. He is not the plan. A kaleidoscope of flashbacks were scattered in my mind. “Fuck, shit, shit, shit!” I slammed my hand down on the cracked ceramic sink.

I cracked the door and stepped out hoping that whoever I replied to was long gone.

Leaning against the wall there he was, waiting for me. Gorgeous and dripping, of course, he had to be even better looking than I remember. He couldn’t go from 19 to 21 and not be every woman’s fantasy now, a fucking international pop-star. I could not mortify myself in front of a less famous ugly- ex. No, definitely not.

I avoided eye contact. “I’m not fine. But I will be.” I hesitated before continuing.

Surely he knew how bad he broke me. He knew that some scars don’t heal. He had heard the stories from his friends by now.

Lifting my head, his smile made me nervous. Not the kind of nervous where I’m going to grab my mace from my purse when a patron gets a little too fresh and waits for me in the parking lot after work. No, his smile was cocky and hit me in the knees amongst other places. He made me nervous.

“How you been Shawn?” He didn’t need to know that I’d woke up at midnight to buy a copy of his most recent album as garbage men clanged and newsstands opened. He didn’t need to know that I cried for weeks after he broke my heart in his driveway with four simple words only to never hear from him again.

“I’ve been good, are you okay, you don’t seem okay?” Shawn’s eyes are distracting. I close my eyes and I’m back on the tattered couch of my apartment watching him perform on some music awards show. But after a blink I’m still here standing in front of him in my cut-off tied t-shirt, jean shorts with black ripped fish nets, combat boots, dark lips, cat lined eyes and messy blonde top knot. A far cry from the girl he knew. I’d changed and I knew it, he knew it.

I shoved past him, walking briskly toward my bar, determined to forge forward.

“Shawn you already know you fucked up, let’s not do this.” My supersize nerves were camping out in my body, but I would be damned if I would let him know it. Because if I think about what might happen in the next few hours - if I let him in even an inch then I’ll burst with anxiety.

I feel a lump rising in my throat. I swallow it down while my emotions live close to the edge. All I need is that trigger and the tears that dwell beneath the surface will bubble up and roll like gritty sandpaper down my cheeks.

Shawn is so good looking now that my co-bartender Melissa once called him fucking lickable when she was checking out a magazine picture of him online. Of course, she knows nothing of my past with him. Now he was here and our past was about to collide like a freight train.

“Wait, Kameron, wait a fucking minute, Jesus!” Shawn’s two strides caught up to my ten and I felt his long fingers grasp my elbow and turn me toward him.

Shawn is looking at me with reverence, his touch sending shivers down my spine. I wanted to be adored by someone, but it can’t be Shawn. Not after crawling back from the abyss I found myself in the last time he decided he was done with me.

“No we’re not doing this again.” I find my voice to verbally shout what I want to say but won’t, that he can’t walk all over my heart and leave me bewildered and confused when his next tour starts. “This isn’t a game I’m playing with you anymore Shawn.”

“Actually, I never play and tell,” he teased. Now I clutch my hands to my side even tighter as I suppress a sarcastic smirk. “I’m fucking thrilled for you,” I quickly add.

He winces as he slides his hand off my elbow, clearly contrite. “I’m actually really sorry about everything and how I handled it all.” Shawn hides his hands in his pockets head hung low.

Suddenly I’m laughing, not because I want to hurt him. It’s because I realize that this is in essence is the final phase of a breakup. The denial, the begging, the pathetic tender long goodbye “but I thought you loved me” pleas, whether it’s public or private, it feels the same. No one ever really knew about me and Shawn except for our friends, so I suffered in silence while he mended on a stage. Yet, here in this moment, there is no more argument, no more pointless debate I would never win and emerge victorious, the entire universe begins with the words I’m sorry: closure.

Shawn stands here in front of me. The crowd melts around me and I’m colder than ice. This is what we are now. I’ve moved on.

I decide quickly what my next move will be. Grabbing his shoulders I hug him and his cologne wafts through my nostrils. My palms start sweating and butterflies take flight in my belly, nothing more than aftershocks. I pull away as Shawn’s long arms squeeze me back and he buries his head in my shoulder. I pull away with more force and push an errant strand of hair off my cheek, then answer.

“Shawn, I live my life now based on my positive decisions. When I look back at the things in my life that really hurt sometimes the easiest thing to do is forgive.”

I mean it, truly, just now, I have forgiven the 19 year-old boy who broke my heart. He stands there feet melted into the ground as the bitter but blunt words hit him like a wounded animal. I take the opportunity to walk away with my pride, head high, the lioness.

(Hours later)

Shawn is so ridiculously handsome that it’s almost not fair. Now that I’m back behind my bar, in my element, on my stage, he watches me from the distance of his roped off corner. Melissa cornered me at the trash can as soon as I lifted the access gate. I told her only what I wanted her to know of course. Shawn wasn’t helping me keep the gossip from reaching maximum peak.

Time passes in the frantic pace of pickle backs, buttery nipples and lemon drops. I’m at least 3 deep at every corner. My memory puts Shawn aside as I pull them in, I make memories for my patrons and let them believe I’m the best friend they never had.

Turning around I’m disarmed to see Shawn and Geoff standing in front of me, looking over our beer list. Shawn motions me over and I lean down to hear him over the now thumping bass beat of some familiar dirty rap song. “Is there anyone waiting for you back home?” I laugh, a truly self-deprecating one. I have to, really. There had been no one romantic since Shawn. There had been men, but no one permanent. “Definitely, no, nobody waits for me.” I bite back.

Its then that I notice the familiar glazed over look I’ve seen on so many men here. I lean forward because I want to torture him and show more cleavage. I already worship at the altar of the genius who invented a push-up bra. Agent Provocateur has nothing on me.

Shawn licks his lips and burning desire is present in his eyes. “Kam”, he begins slowly, too drunk, but also clearly enjoying the taste of my name in his mouth as if he’s trying it on, rolling it around on his tongue like a cherry. “I am the biggest idiot in the world because you loved me wildly, crazily and passionately. I fucked it all up so bad.”  Words tumble off his lips like verbal diarrhea. I take a deep breathe, reassuring myself that I can deliver what Shawn needs. “You don’t want me tonight Shawn, you’re just lonely and drunk.”

“Nope, not drunk, wrecked for you,” Shawn stutters. His eyes blink ever so slowly another tell-tale sign an observant bartender recognizes. This is the longest conversation I have had with Shawn in two years. I can see that he has developed this uncanny ability to hop from witticism to raw and very honest emotional insight. It’s making him even more attractive if that’s possible.

I push back from the bar and swivel my hips around to the side, grabbing two stout beers from the cooler below. Twisting the cap I push them across in friendship. “Tell you what, those two are on me”, I say as I walk to ball cap Joe one of my favorite customers. “I’ll call you tomorrow, is your number still the same”, I shout.

Because I don’t know how I can begin to trust Shawn again I’m not so eager to agree to just have him come over. I’m pretty sure that’s where that conversation was headed. This could be especially complicated when the ex is an international pop-start and flirty and when I’m already entertaining after-hours thoughts about him. I’m in desperate need. My gauge is so far out of whack that I don’t know what’s up or down anymore.  What good could possibly come from any friendship with Shawn Mendes?

Next Day

Turns out I didn’t have to call Shawn. He managed to get my number from Matt and sent me a drawn out apology text for his unforeseen interruption at my place of work begging me to please meet him for coffee that afternoon.

I put my books away on my desk and take a quick shower. Twenty minutes later, I’m staring at my bed littered with outfits I have tried on and rejected. This is just a coffee, no big deal. It’s definitely not a date with an insanely hot ex-boyfriend who’s a popstar treated like teenage royalty. Whichever outfit I chose next will be the winning one. I reach for my favorite black jeans, an intentionally distressed torn grey sweater that’s soft on my skin and my chucks. It’s very me and with just a quick swish of powder, blush, mascara and lip balm on my bee stung lips I’m ready to go. I grab my coat and bag, head downstairs and take an Uber to our determined location.

When I arrive I swipe to pay and head into the little coffee shop painted emerald green tucked into the corner of a building. It’s a little out of the way, but I figured it would be a better location for less potential fan sightings. Shawn and I agreed to meet at three o’clock and I am only ten minutes late, so it feels like I’m on time.

He’s already here. Damn, I arrive nearly on time and I’m still late. Then again, Shawn was always the type to be on time, hold doors, and rise when I came in the room. Shawn was very chivalrous.

I walk up and he clicks to lock his phone and pushes it deep into his pocket of his $250 designer black denim skinny jeans. Damn he looked good. The olive green shirt he is wearing makes his eyes look hazel. Standing to give me a barely there kiss on the cheek my eyes flutter closed for the briefest moment at the feel of his soft lips near me.

I restrain myself and tuck away my emotions even if the sensation feels so good to me.

“Let me take your coat?” Shawn offers as he automatically slides it off my shoulders. I feel his hand gently graze the back of my neck. I decided last minute to pull my hair into a high pony. His fingers send shock waves down my spine. He folds my coat and lays it over the chair, waits for me to sit and finally pushes his long limbs into the seat next to me.

“So thank you for fitting me into your busy schedule, even though I wish you would have at least bought me dinner before taking me home”, Shawn joked.

I laugh. “Nice try. But we’re not there yet.”

He reaches across the table to clasp my hand in his, and my breath catches. He squeezes my hand three times reassuringly and the barest form of touch from him is dizzying. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long since I’ve been this physically close to him and had him touch my hand, but I pull away like he’s burned me. He places his hand on his lap and I miss it instantly.

“So where should we start Mendes.” I chatter anxiously.

Shawn takes a big gasp of air. His brow furrows and he wipes his palms anxiously on his jeans. I can tell that whatever comes next is weighing heavily on his mind.

“We could start with I’m a fucking fool. I got scared. I didn’t know how to have you and a career at the same time. So I shoved you away and spent the last two years living with that regret ever since.”

“Where is the tape recorder”, I laugh nervously. My eyes dart back and forth from his face to my hands.

Looking around the room anxiously I scan to see if anyone has their phone out. “I could so take down your career in one second if the story of us ever leaked out. You know the whole internet’s boyfriend thing and all.”

Shawn smirks, wagging a finger at me playfully.

“This guy, the guy you’re sitting in front of, he isn’t a pop-star, you know that right?”

Swallowing, here he goes again racking up more points in his favor.

“Because I can tell I’m making you a little nervous and I just want you to know it’s me, Shawn apologizing to you, meaning every single fucking word of regret. So let’s grab some coffee eh?”

We sit and chat about old times. We remember fond memories of public park scandalous rendezvous. I hold up a hand and stop him as he starts to recall the juicy parts with a mischievous glint in his eye. Slowly as each minute passes and Shawn discarded the beanie he was wearing we’re drawing more eyes on us, but Shawn doesn’t seem to care. In fact, the more people that begin to notice us the more unaffected by it all he is.

Shawn will excuse himself for a few minutes to take a few selfies and then slide back into the conversation like he never left. We did this for almost two hours. I tell him that I fucking loved his first three albums and I can’t wait to hear what he does next. He admits that he wrote a few songs about us.

Eventually he leans in closer across the table, looks me straight in the eyes and when he does that my resolve starts to weaken because his eyes are so beautiful and he doesn’t break my gaze. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve waited for this moment. How many ways I have played this dialogue back and forth in my brain?”

All I know about this moment is my body is buzzing, alive with possibilities. The exact opposite of the chill demeanor I had in the bar last night. Something shifts in Shawn’s expression too. His eyes, which I remember from 19 as playful and twinkling are now darker with an intensity to them. Neither of us says anything, and the electric quiet makes my blood turn hot. I don’t want a single thing to ruin this moment. Just as fate would be a young fan tugs at Shawn’s shirt, she can’t be more than 7 years old.

Whatever spell I was about to succumb to is broken. Holy Shit, that was close. I reach for my coat and bag before Shawn can stop me.

“Thai or Sushi for dinner,” Shawn winks.

I smile at him, giving him a flirty tilt. “You’re presumptuous.”

“Optimistic”, he counters with just enough swagger that tells me he hasn’t lost a damn thing in 2 years.

Shawn does that thing again – where he reaches for my hand, clasping his on top of mine. I’m suddenly aware of the pressure he is gently putting on my wrist, the small ridges from callouses on his otherwise smooth palm, not doubt from countless hours spent perfecting his craft. His skin feels hot on my skin. The taste of his lips would be deadly. I’m dying for him to slide his fingers through mine like old times but I can’t go back on this rollercoaster.

I slowly rise from my seat and Shawn follows me out of the quaint coffeehouse. I reach up to place my hands on his shoulders. He’s way taller than me. I catch the faint scent of his cologne again and I’m so tempted to lean in and inhale deeply. But I do resist.

But the look in Shawn’s eyes is full of hunger and then I feel the softest touch on my hair. He’s fingering a strand and I am so far gone that I’m not sure what to do next. All I know is I’m leaning in closer to him because this kind of touch from him I have missed so much. My body is racing and the moment is full of so much anticipation. “I really want to kiss you, Kam; you better stop me now or…..” Shawn sighs.

I can barely process his words. My head is so woozy, his smell and the feel of his hands. My fog is replaced by Shawn’s lips as he presses against mine with such softness, sexiness that my knees threaten to buckle. I keep my arms looped around his neck so I don’t fall. He wraps his long arms around my waist, tugging me closer as he deepens the kiss. Shawn’s lips exploring mine, his tongue tangling with mine, his hands yanking my pony tail. His sexy sighs and moans tell me that he is savoring this kiss as much as I am. He yanks me even closer and for a brief second I can feel him pressed hard against my upper thigh. He’s aroused and that snaps me out my kiss induced fog. I pull away.

“Shit”, he stumbles backward. “You okay? Kam, I honestly didn’t expect that to happen. Please speak sweetheart.”

“I have to go, Shawn I’m not your sweetheart, not anymore”, I stammer.

“But I want you to be. Let me drive you home”, he pleads.

“No Shawn. I know where that will lead.”

My hand touches my lips as we exchange a sidelong glance and Shawn clears his throat shoving his hands back deep in his jeans. Feeling his eyes on me I glanced back a few times, and his gaze was always waiting for mine.

Shawn takes his phone out placing a quick call mumbling something like plan B. A small black SUV rounds the corner and stops at the curb in front of us. “Kam this is Kevin, he’s one of my security team and he’s going to take you home. I’m going to call you tomorrow because I don’t want to push my luck.”

My breath catches as Shawn moves closer then presses his hips into mine while pushing me against the door of the SUV.  Lining his tall frame up against me in a way that makes it clear how much he wants me, he delivers a scorching kiss, deep and hungry and desperate in a lot of ways. It’s threatening to send me up in flames. I feel it across every inch of my body as he continues to explore my mouth with his tongue. One hand drops away from my face and I feel his fingers graze underneath my sweater along the waistband of my jeans. Shawn draws a simple feather trace line across my belly with his index finger and my back arches into him. I wish we were not here in public and he would undo the button, slide the zipper down and push his hand inside my panties to save me from this now excruciating ache between my legs. But I have no such luck because just like that he is reaching for the door handle.

I slide into the seat as Shawn shuts the door and bangs on the top of the car two times. I’m in this giddy drugged out state now that I’d like to stay in forever, but I needed some space to clear my head. I am tempted to shake it like I’ve just emerged from a pool of water. But yet amidst my confusion, four words are loud and clear like a drum in my ears- but they are not those four words from two years ago. The opposite. “I want Shawn Mendes.”

[haughtbreaker]

Well, this is it guys. Thank you so much for joining us on this journey. We appreciated each and every one of your kudos and comments. Special thanks to @jaybear1701 who agreed to write this with me when I realized how much of a monster this story would be.

"It's so strange, when you're down, and lying on the floor How you rise, shake your head, get up and ask for more Clear-headed and open-eyed, with nothing left untried Standing calmly at the crossroads, no desire to run There's no hurry anymore when all is said and done."

 "Shit." Nicole cursed under her breath as she dove to the ground, taking up the space beside Waverly. She was feeling a little winded but still she smiled. The overturned table kept them protected from the chaos behind them. "You still armed?"

Waverly nodded. "Just barely." She couldn't help but smile, her eyes drifting over Nicole's form, the casual yet still elegant wedding dress she wore split up the side, revealing a very long leg that brought a flush to Waverly's cheeks. "If I don't get another chance, I wanted to say I really love you." She spoke wistfully, watching caramel eyes lighting up in delight.

"You are the love of my life, Mrs. Haught." Nicole smirked, leaning towards her new wife for a kiss.

"Earp-Haught." Waverly corrected her with a chuckle before returning the kiss in earnest. A loud crash sounded and Waverly pushed Nicole away. "Let's continue this later when stakes are a teeny bit less dire."

"You bet your ass we will." Nicole lifted her gun. "On 3?"

Waverly nodded. "3…"

"2…"

"1!" They shouted together as they popped up from behind the table together, only to find themselves staring down the barrels of two guns pointed directly at them.

Brown eyes narrowed at them, turning a lighter shade of caramel in the sunlight, blazing red hair tucked under a black stetson. "Make your peace." The 2-year-old spoke with as menacing a voice as he could before pulling the triggers, dousing the chests of both women with a fair amount of water.

"Ahhh!" Nicole yelled. "I'm hit! I'm hit!" She crumbled to the ground, holding her chest as the boy squealed in delight.

"Noooo…" Waverly crumbled beside Nicole. "We never should have taken on the infamous Billy the Kid!"

"At least we'll die together." Nicole groaned, pulling Waverly to her.

The boy laughed louder, throwing both hands up in victory until a surprising yell caused all three to jump.

"William Henry James! What did I tell you?"

Whitney stalked over with intent, taking the guns away from him. "For the hundredth time," with a smirk she aimed the guns at her mothers, "right between the eyes, Honey." She told him before pulling the triggers, hitting both Nicole and Waverly right in the foreheads just before a water balloon burst against her shoulder, dousing her completely. "Oh my god!" She turned. "Aunt Wyn... You're so dead!"

Pushing herself up to her elbows, Nicole watched as her daughter took off after Wynonna. Around them, kids were running about, shooting each other with water guns in the corralled area. On the other side of the fence, however, the adults were in varying stages of inebriation. "You think anyone would notice if we snuck off?"

Waverly laughed at the prospect, standing up and trying to dust off the dress she wore. "Sweetie, I don't think we can escape the Kiddie Corral without someone noticing." She offered her hand down to Nicole who took it more for the gesture than actually needing help up.

As if on queue, their tiny assailant ran straight into Nicole's leg with a grunt before he looked up, a huge smile on his face as his arms reached towards her. "Grandma, up?"

Nicole laughed, picking him up easily and settling him on her hip. "Kid, you are gonna be too heavy to carry soon." She kissed him on the cheek. "You wanna go get some cake?"

"Yes!" He yelled happily.

"Like he needs more sugar." Waverly commented as she followed Nicole, barely avoiding a crowd of running kids.

Nicole smirked, leading the way out of the area and over to the food tent. "You know what the best thing about being a grandma is?" She asked as Waverly's hand slipped into her own, their fingers intertwining.

"That we don't have to worry about him not going to sleep?"

"Exactly." Nicole headed straight for the dessert table, smiling at Jeremy who was expertly dishing out slices of the brightly colored wedding cake.

"Hello ladies… and gentleman."

"Jeremy, could we have the largest slice of cake you have that also has the most frosting?" Nicole asked specifically.

"I might have kept a corner piece for you specifically." Jeremy winked as he pulled out a plate already loaded with a large piece of cake. "Only the best for my special guy." He leaned forward, offering his palm to Billy.

"High five!" Billy yelled as he slapped Jeremy's hand.

"Yes!" Jeremy handed the cake out. "At least someone around here loves me."

"Awww. We love you." Waverly took the plate. "Thanks, Jer." She followed Nicole and Billy to their table, enjoying the moment to sit down and just take a minute to be calm.

"Hey Kid. Use your fork." Nicole scolded their grandson, handing him the plastic utensil. Her eyes tilting up to look at Waverly, she found her wife watching her with a sappy smile. "What?"

"You're beautiful." Waverly reached up to remove a blade of grass from auburn hair.

"You're not so bad yourself." Nicole laughed. "Actually you're gorgeous." She corrected herself, leaning towards Waverly for a kiss.

"Ewww. No!" Billy pushed them apart. "My Grandma." He told Waverly with a scowl, waving his frosting-covered fork in her direction..

"What?" Waverly laughed, grabbing the fork from him. "Don't you threaten me, Kiddo. She was mine first." Looking up at Nicole, she rolled her eyes. "This is what happens when you spoil him."

"What?" Nicole gave her a mock surprised look. "You're not spoiled, are you Billy?"

"No!" He laughed, his mouth covered in frosting.

"You spoilin' my kid?" Whitney asked with a huff, plopping down on a chair. "Oh man, how much cake has he eaten?"

Knowing exactly how much, Nicole shrugged. "We lost track."

"You're doing this on purpose," Whitney complained. "I don't know why I ever brought you two back together." She joked. "You're lucky I love the both of you. I should make you watch him so I can study for my finals."

"Oh no." Nicole laughed as she wiped a bit of frosting from Billy's cheek. "Tonight is my wedding night and it is my sworn duty to deflower your mother."

"Mom!"

"Awww, Sweetie." Waverly gave Nicole a sympathetic look, reaching up to cup her cheek. "You were too late the first time, but we can pretend if you want."

"You guys are so gross." Whitney covered her eyes.

"What's gross?"

Nicole looked up with a smile at her mother who sat down at the table with a newly filled glass of champagne. "Hey, where's Dad?"

"I don't know. Talking about hockey or politics or something with Jesse." Her mother took a sip of her drink before clearing her throat. "What's gross again?"

Nicole smirked. "Premarital sex." She answered before taking a sip from her own glass.

"Oh." Mrs. Haught sniffled. "Well, that hasn't really been a concern of yours since you were 15 now has it?"

"Wait… 15?" Whitney's eyes grew in size.

Nicole choked on her drink. "What? How the…"

"You always were as subtle as a freight train, Nicole." Alexandria gave her a straightforward look, daring her to argue.

"Ok can we not talk about this in front of my grandson?" Nicole gestured to Billy who seemed only interested in shoving fistfuls of cake into his mouth.

"Oh like you were talking about deflowering my mother on her wedding night?" Whitney laughed. "I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind hearing about your teenage conquests."

Waverly snorted. "Oh I know every single name on that list."

"Ok can we not?" Nicole felt her cheeks burning a bright red before Waverly leaned over and pressed a kiss to one of said cheeks. "Thanks, Mom." She glared at the oldest Haught.

A loud commotion from the the grilling area got everyone's attention and Nicole was surprised to see Wynonna in what looked like a heated debate with both her father and Jesse.

"Oh no." Mrs. Haught stood up, dusting her slacks off. "I should go calm your father."

"Oh boy…" Whitney stood up. "I better go too…"

"Hey." Nicole thought quickly, lifting up Billy with a huff. "Go hand him to Wynonna. She'll calm down quickly."

"Good idea." Whitney commented, grabbing her son and rushing off after Nicole's mother.

Nicole shook her head, wiping the frosting off her hands on the only clean napkin she could find. She looked up to find Waverly watching her with a soft look. "I love you."

"I love you too." Waverly moved right next to her, bumping her gently with a loving smile. "Thank you."

Raising her eyebrows, Nicole returned the smile with a slightly more bewildered one. "For what?"

"Coming back to Purgatory."

Nicole's smile softened. "Where else would I be?" Leaning forward, she pressed a soft kiss to Waverly's lips, feeling a love that had grown between them the past few years. She'd thought it was impossible to love Waverly any more than she had 25 years ago, but everyday she found that love growing just a bit more.

"I can think of somewhere else we could be." Waverly wiggled her eyebrows.

"So can I," Nicole laughed, leaning forward for another kiss just before something hit Waverly and a cold rush of water splashed over the both of them. Looking up in shock, Nicole was surprised to see Wynonna standing in shock behind a laughing Billy, another water balloon in his hands.

"My grandma!" He yelled.

"He's gonna get it." Waverly finally growled, pecking a quick kiss on Nicole's lips before she took off after the now running toddler.

Nicole could only laugh as she pushed off the seat and followed.

[freightforwardingindonesia]

Export Napkin Tissue from Indonesia to China

Exporting Soft Tissue for China’s Horeca Market Indonesia is a top supplier of soft and durable napkin tissue used across the hospitality industry in China. From hotels in Shanghai to restaurants in Guangzhou, napkin tissue exports from Indonesia are in high demand. Keenam International ensures a fast, compliant export process with legal documentation and dedicated freight forwarding. 🚢 Our…

[keenaminternational]

Ekspor Napkin Tissue dari Indonesia ke China

Kirim Napkin Tissue Kualitas Ekspor ke Pasar Horeca China Kebutuhan napkin tissue di sektor Horeca (hotel, restoran, catering) di China sangat besar. Produk tissue Indonesia yang lembut dan kuat menjadi pilihan utama. Keenam International mendukung ekspor Anda secara resmi, cepat, dan sesuai regulasi. 🚢 Layanan Ekspor Termasuk: Dokumen ekspor resmi (PEB, COO, invoice) Klasifikasi HS Code…

[bianca-warriorwriter]

ADVENTURE- 2/2 - S.M

Alright guys so this is based off the music video it is long, so I do apologised it is 2 parts long but it is adorable. let me know what you thought xx

PART 1 HERE

As we sat down at Café we usually went to, I ordered 2 blueberry muffins, a chai latte and Shawn typically just wanted a water for his drink.

“health nut” I joked, leaning back.

“you don’t look this good, without having good health Elle” he said smiling, I always knew he was cocky it was why I loved him so much – I mean like. I rolled my eyes at him. The waiter dropped down our food and got the freight of his life when he noticed he was swerving Shawn.

“you’re—you’re Shawn- Shawn Mendes” he stuttered out and I couldn’t help but smile up at the waiter.

“hey buddy” Shawn said smiling up at the teenage boy, I always adored how he treated them.

“could I have a photo?” he said more clearly this time.

“sure, here have this too” Shawn pulled out a pen, starred at the boy’s name badge and signed a napkin. The boy gladly got his photo and an autograph. My smile was probably huge when he noticed I was starring.

“what?” he said unscrewing his new water bottle.

“I think it’s so cute how you treat all your fans” I said sipping my Chai latte. Shawn bit into his blueberry muffin, and was already half-way done by the time I started mine.

“well they are people” he smiled, taking a sip of water.

“I know that” I threw my hands up.

“you have really small hands” he said out of the blue

“what?” I began to laugh and I realised there was never a moment I was never not smiling or laughing around Shawn.

“you have really small hands” he repeated. “look” he gently grabbed my hand and placed it against his, and his hands were whole 3cm bigger than mine.

“you only just noticed?” I asked. Taking one hand away to bite into my muffin. He locked the other hand.

“yep” he said cheerfully. I left our hands locked and I told myself it was just the comfort of him being there and not because I wanted a physical connection.

“where to after this?” I asked, Shawn had finished his blueberry muffin and I was halfway through mine.

“you don’t know the meaning of secret, do you?” he eyed the blueberry muffin and I rolled my eyes,

“you get the rest of the muffin if you give me a hint” I said squinting.

“deal” he said quickly and I chucked him the blueberry muffin rolling my eyes.

“you roll your eyes a lot” he observed.

“you’ve known me for 5 years how have you not noticed” I said in disbelief. “I’m waiting for my hint” I leant forward sipping on the chai again.

“you’ll get wet” was all he said.

 When it was time to go, I wasn’t even surprised to find a car out the front waiting for us, a little forward drive type thing, I’m not good with cars so I generally don’t know what type of car it was. there was clothes in it for me to change into, long pants and a leather jacket, I walked back into the café and got changed quickly. When I walked back out Shawn was leaning against the railing watching the water, starring at the water- deep in thought. we drove out to the sea and on the way, I had opened the window and stuck my head out letting my hair fly into my face. I screamed with joy and I knew Shawn was watching me. memories from the night before on the bridge came crashing down on me again as I pulled myself back in the car and watched Shawn drive. I relived how I had pushed on his ticklish spot and then ran for it before he could catch me, but he soon ran up behind me and wrapped his arms around my stomach. I had never felt so contempt in my life other than at that moment. With his arms around me.

“do you remember that thing we use to do?” I said leaning my head against his shoulder, I told myself I did it so I could look at him. “when I would stand on your feet and you’d try to walk??” I asked.

“you mean this?” he spun me around brought me back to him. My breath caught and soon I was standing on his feet as he tried to walk. As he focused on trying to walk, I listened. Listened to the way our heavy breathing sounded in the night, how I could hear the clicking of his shoes on the concrete and how my own heart banged against my chest to be free. We did this for about 5 minutes.

I heard clicking and realised Shawn had begun clicking at me in the car.

“oi, we are here dreamer” he used the nickname again and I was starting to love it.

“is that a cliff?” I asked and when he nodded I got out of the car. I met him at the front and gave him my hand before I started to run, smiling back at him. Soon he overtook me but before we hit the edge I was in front. As I stopped at the edge Shawn jumped to the spot next to me.

“careful” I said grabbing his upper arm.

“I’m always careful” I scoffed at that, there was to many dangerous things he did.

“are they floating rocks?” I asked in disbelief.

“no, but let’s call them that” he said laughing.

“can we go see them?” I said tugging on his arm.

“to the floating rocks” he yelled over the cliffs and my laughter flowed over the edge with his voice.

“run” he said once we reached the floating rocks, they weren’t really floating they were just submerged in water and gave off the illusion. He ran in front of me, gripping my hand. Shawn nearly lost his balance as the water became greater and both our laughter filled the air.

“Careful now” I yelled up at him. He looked over his shoulder and smiled at me cheekily. He finally stopped.

“it’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he said pulling me up next to him, we were so close. So, close. The sea was right in front and I could feel the slight shake in his hand and I knew how much I had asked for him to show me this with his fear of the deep water. But as we looked out over the sea, at the farthest edge of the floating rocks, with our bodies so close it reminded me of last night. How I had pushed his body against the stone after that 5-minute game. How I had stood so close to him, his hand coming up to my face and I had leant into it, my hands were against his chest. His lips were so close, oh, so close. and yet it came crashing down that we were just friends. We could only be friends I had pulled away and he had visibly swallowed and hit his head against the concrete as if he was telling himself the same thing. Nothing was stopping us now, we were standing within each other’s bubbles, breathing each other’s air and our sole attention was on each other and not the crashing water at our ankles. He moved his lips first. They were warm. They were soft. they were his. They were everything I had imagined they were. His hands came up to cup my face and mine came up to cup his. I don’t know how long we stood there. Him kissing me softly and lovingly. Like I might break if he pushed too hard. But I didn’t care I wanted to stay like this.

Because I had finally taken that leap that what I was feeling was real and Shawn was feeling it too.

[rexmajestatis]

five times physically hurt

(Drabble meme | Always accepting)

It was basically any other day...until the teapot tipped over into Noctis’s lap. And then Noctis was crying and wailing, and Ignis was fussing over him, which mostly consisted of petting his hair and making shushing noises at him and it wasn’t really doing any good and the nanny had stepped out for just a minute and probably expected Ignis to keep an eye on things but honestly he was only six and then Ignis was crying, and Noctis was just crying even louder after that, because if Ignis was crying then things had to be really bad, didn’t they?

The nanny seemed slightly confused when she got back from the powder room.

*

With an overwrought groan, Noctis sat down on the ground and rubbed the back of his head. “What was that for?” he demanded, scowling upwards.

“You weren’t paying attention,” Gladio informed him blandly, leaning his practice sword against his shoulder. “That’s gonna get you killed eventually. Now come on, get up. I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“I’m gonna tell Iggy,” Noctis grumbled, and he stayed right where he was on the ground.

“Terrifying,” Gladio deadpanned, before he reached down to drag the prince back to his feet by his elbow. “Up an’ at ‘em, kid.”

Noctis swayed for a moment, and sank right back down to the ground.

“...Huh.” Gladio leaned the tip of the practice sword on the ground and rubbed the back of his neck. “Alright, maybe I hit you harder than I thought.”

“Iggy’s gonna tell my dad.”

The look of slow-dawning horror the statement earned almost made it worth it.

*

Prompto was dithering. Noctis could tell because Prompto was dithering from roughly four inches away as Noctis tipped his head forward while his nose bled profusely into a wad of paper napkins.

“I am so sorry!” For the seventh time. Possibly the eighth. Noctis had sort of lost count. “It was an accident, I swear, I--”

“Probto. Stobbit.”

Prompto’s mouth closed with an audible click and a distraught whine, and he wrung his hands together. It wasn’t a big deal, really. He had opened the restaurant door. He just...happened to open it straight into Noctis’s face.

“Go ged the food. They called our order.” He lacked a certain amount of gravitas, which his voice all clogged. Not ideal.

“Right! Got it! Going!” Prompto all but scurried away.

*

Shield; deflect. Crossbow; headshot, one down. Greatsword; sever it in two, two down, four more to go, six more already down. He spared a moment to check on Prompto. He still looked more like a feral wolverine than was really typical, crouched in front of Gladio and Ignis while they roused from a pair of phoenix down feathers.

It was an unneeded distraction, and a bullet ripped through Noctis’s shoulder. He didn’t feel it yet. He threw the Star and smashed into the MT with all the force of a freight train.

It wasn’t until afterwards, when his feet were firmly settled on the ground again, Gladio and Ignis were back on their feet, Prompto was lamenting his ammunition situation, and all of the MTs were dead, that Noctis observed, “I think I’m bleeding.” He peered at his shoulder, and blinked slowly when he realized he could kind of see through it.

The world felt considerably more wobbly than it did a moment ago, and he accepted the potion Gladio handed him without arguing.

*

“Quite alright?”

Noctis jerked at the sound of Ignis’s voice, dragging his gaze away from his hand and the blood dripping off his fingers. “Yeah, fine. Accidentally grabbed some broken glass.”

Ignis reached a hand towards him. “May I?”

Noctis snorted. “Not like there’s gonna be time for infection to set in, Specs.”

Ignis’s expression remained carefully, pleasantly neutral, one hand still reaching towards him. “Humor me, Your Majesty.”

Noctis sighed slowly and offered his hand.

[csrgood]

Carnival Corporation Partners with Tropical Shipping to Collect and Ship Donations to The Bahamas National Emergency Management Agency

Carnival Corporation & plc (NYSE/LSE: CCL; NYSE: CUK), the world's largest leisure travel company, today announced a partnership with Tropical Shipping and The Bahamas National Emergency Management Agency (NEMA) to collect and deliver NEMA-approved food and supplies donated in Broward, Miami-Dade and Palm Beach counties for the people of The Bahamas.

Carnival Corporation is partnering with Tropical Shipping, which will serve as an approved clearinghouse and distribution center for non-profit organizations, schools, businesses and residents of Broward County, Miami-Dade County and Palm Beach County to expedite timely delivery of donated food and goods collected in the local South Florida community. The effort, funded by both companies, will work in partnership with NEMA to provide immediate assistance to the people of the Bahamas where it is most needed.

Tropical Shipping, which has provided freight shipping to and from the Caribbean and The Bahamas for over 50 years, will stock and then ship and directly deliver the containers to NEMA in The Bahamas. Carnival Corporation, along with its nine cruise line brands, will cover shipping costs, as well as provide food and supplies as part of the overall effort.

At the end of this announcement is the list Bahamian-approved food and supplies for donation, along with a list of drop-off center locations. Inquiries can be sent to HurricaneCentral@tropical.com

"We have received an outpouring of calls and emails from concerned individuals, local leaders, non-profit groups and the South Florida business community asking how they can provide support to The Bahamas," said Arnold Donald, CEO of Carnival Corporation. "By working together, we can collectively provide much-needed food and supplies to people in the immediate aftermath of the hurricane."   "We are honored to partner with Carnival Corporation in this community-wide effort to assist our neighbors in The Bahamas," said Rick Murrell, chairman of Tropical Shipping. "Our two companies have worked together for many years on logistics in the region and on helping with weather-related events.  This initiative is as an opportunity to work together with countless others to provide support when and where it is most needed."

"As a descendent of the Abaco Islands, I am particularly grateful to Carnival Corporation for this magnanimous humanitarian effort," said Congresswoman Frederica S. Wilson. "I have been in conversation with the corporation for some time about how it can help the Bahamian diaspora both preserve its heritage here in Miami and enhance its long-standing partnership with the nation's tourism industry. Carnival Corporation's generous support in response to Hurricane Dorian's assault on the islands is an extension of an existing friendship and I look forward to working with the organization, Prime Minister Hubert Minnis, our Consul General, County and City mayors and Commissioners to provide relief during this devastating period."

"Our heartfelt gratitude and appreciation is extended to Carnival Corporation and Tropical Shipping for their humanitarian efforts in the time of loss and devastation to our neighbors in the Bahamas and its people," said Chairwoman Audrey M. Edmonson, Miami-Dade County Board of County Commissioners. "Your generous support and commitment to ship donated goods and needed supplies from Miami-Dade County and South Florida to designated drop-off points in the Bahamas is invaluable. We appreciate having Carnival Corporation and Tropical Shipping as our partners in this emergency effort."   "We have a great friendship and long-time partnership with The Bahamas, and over many years our cruise line brands have sailed millions of guests to its famous ports, which are well-loved by our guests," said Donald. "It is heart-breaking to see the extent of the hurricane's damage, but working together, we will do our part in supporting the Bahamians as they begin working to rebuild, recover and again welcome visitors to their country,"

Added Donald: "This is the first part of many efforts to provide support and assistance to The Bahamas where it is most needed."

About Carnival Corporation & plc

Carnival Corporation & plc is the world's largest leisure travel company and among the most profitable and financially strong in the cruise and vacation industries, with a portfolio of nine of the world's leading cruise lines. With operations in North America, Australia, Europe and Asia, its portfolio features Carnival Cruise Line, Princess Cruises, Holland America Line, Seabourn, P&O Cruises (Australia), Costa Cruises, AIDA Cruises, P&O Cruises (UK) and Cunard.

Together, the corporation's cruise lines operate 102 ships with 241,000 lower berths visiting over 700 ports around the world, with 19 new ships scheduled to be delivered through 2025. Carnival Corporation & plc also operates Holland America Princess Alaska Tours, the leading tour company in Alaska and the Canadian Yukon. Traded on both the New York and London Stock Exchanges, Carnival Corporation & plc is the only group in the world to be included in both the S&P 500 and the FTSE 100 indices.

With a long history of innovation and providing guests with extraordinary vacation experiences, Carnival Corporation has received thousands of industry awards – including recognition by the Consumer Technology Association™ as a CES® 2019 Innovation Awards Honoree for the OceanMedallion™. A revolutionary wearable device that contains a proprietary blend of communication technologies, the OceanMedallion enables the world's first interactive guest experience platform transforming vacation travel on a large scale into a highly personalized level of customized service. The prestigious CES Innovation Awards honor outstanding design and engineering in consumer technology products.

Additional information can be found on www.carnival.com, www.princess.com, www.hollandamerica.com, www.seabourn.com, www.pocruises.com.au, www.costacruise.com, www.aida.de, www.pocruises.com and www.cunard.com.

NEMA-Approved Donated Food and Supplies List for the People of The Bahamas

Items:

Ready-To-Eat Meals

Tents

Cots (Adult Size)

Hygiene Kits (Pampers -all sizes, baby wipes, sanitary napkins, deodorant, toothbrushes, toothpaste, soap, toilet paper, adult diapers, hand sanitizer)

Bottled Water (Cases)

Non-Perishable Food Items (Canned fish, canned meats, canned pureed veg, peanut butter, jars of baby food, powdered milk, baby formula)

Disposable Cutlery (Pre-packed cutlery, cups, plates)

Water Bladders (Size: 2,500 gallons)

Reusable Water Containers (Size: 3 gallons)

First Aid Items (Sterile bandages/gauze - all sizes, tape)

Portable Generators (15KW – 25KW)

Chain Saws

Plastic Tarpaulin

Debris Removal Tools (Shovels, rakes, axes, wheel barrows)

Portable Single and Double Burner Stoves

Portable Outdoor Lamps/Lights (Battery operated)

Water Purification Kits (Brita water filters and purification tablets)

Flashlights (Wind-up and battery operated)

Blankets and Towels

Insect Repellents (Spray, bracelets)

Portable Radios (Wind-up and battery operated)

Batteries (D Cell, AA)

Portable Bathroom

Cleaning Supplies (Bleach, brooms, mops, pinesol, garbage bags)

Life Jackets and Ponchos (Adult and child size)

DROP-OFF LOCATIONS FOR FOOD AND SUPPLIES FOR THE BAHAMAS

Note: Updates on additional drop-off sites may be provided as more details become available.

Miami-Dade County Main Library – Miami Dade Hours: Accepting donations Monday – Saturday from 8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. 101 W. Flagler St. Miami, FL 33130 (305) 375-2665

Stephen P. Clark Center – Miami Dade Hours: Accepting donations Monday – Saturday from 8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. 111 NW First St., Miami. Miami, FL 33128

Joseph Caleb Center – Miami Dade Hours: Accepting donations Monday – Saturday from 8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. 5400 NW 22 Ave. Miami, FL 33142

Office of Emergency Management Warehouse – Miami Dade Hours: Accepting donations Monday – Saturday from 8:00 a.m. – 5:00 p.m. 8008 NW 14 St. Doral, FL 33126

Tropical Shipping Cargo Receiving Location – Miami Tropical Shipping Hours: M - F, 8:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m. 9505 NW 108th Avenue Medley, FL 33178 (561) 881-3999 (561) 881-3951 hurricanecentral@tropical.com

Tropical Shipping Cargo Receiving Location – West Palm Beach Hours: M - F, 8:00 a.m. - 4:00 p.m. 1489 Martin Luther King Jr. Blvd. Riviera Beach, Florida 33404 (561) 881-3999 (561) 881-3951 hurricanecentral@tropical.com

SOURCE Carnival Corporation & plc

Roger Frizzell, Carnival Corporation, rfrizzell@carnival.com, (305) 406-7862; Mike Flanagan, LDWW, mike@ldwwgroup.com, (727) 452-4538

RESOURCES

Carnival Corporation

The National Emergency Management Association of the Bahamas

source: https://www.csrwire.com/press_releases/42490-Carnival-Corporation-Partners-with-Tropical-Shipping-to-Collect-and-Ship-Donations-to-The-Bahamas-National-Emergency-Management-Agency?tracking_source=rss