seen from Guadeloupe
seen from South Africa
seen from Brazil
seen from Germany
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from Türkiye
seen from Germany
seen from Germany
seen from Türkiye
seen from United States
seen from United States
seen from Guadeloupe
seen from United States
seen from China
seen from Brazil
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seen from Netherlands
seen from Malaysia
“Take off your clothes.”
His first instinct is to argue with Jim like the shit he is, to ask what he gets if he does or to say “make me” or a flat “no”. Instead, for once, Sarkis does as he’s told that second and strips out of his shirt with little show, then shimmies out of his pants with surprising grace.
Now he gives Jim a shit eating grin, left in nothing but a pair of black and blue panties, thumbs hooked in the sides of them and inching them down ever so slowly.
These too?
“Don’t Cry.”
Send “Don’t Cry.” to find my muse during a vulnerable moment and crying uncontrollably.
The crushing knot in his chest worsens at Jim’s voice and Sarkis can only curl up tighter, hyperventilating and bawling into the pillow he’s wrapped around. A week of little to no sleep and only having nightmares is taking its toll on him and all he wants to do is cry it out until he’s exhausted and can try again. Jim should be comforting, but all he can feel is anxiety that Jim’s going to put up with this. He doesn’t want that. He doesn’t need to be taken care of.
G-go -- just go away, please. Please, Jim.
PSA - Drafts
All drafts are out and in my queue! If I have missed yours (meaning you weren’t tagged in this post), please let me know!
to be wed
( kirk-jamestiberius )
Okay. Yeah. Willow sky. You’re totally chill. Chill as, like, an iceberg. Chill as... the chill things. That are... chill.
Her thoughts, which spill together like the water beneath her -- water is not chill, ice is chill -- are perhaps what is forcing young Willow sky back and forth, pacing a balcony overlooking the waters of the ocean of a planet that is not her own ( well, not yet, anyway ) . If she were an ocean person, which she isn’t, she would have been breath taken by the sound and appearance of the icy blues crashing against the stones beneath her, salt air ghosting the balcony she is caught on.
Then again, if she were an arranged marriage person, which she isn’t, her heart would be currently swelling with excitement, not anxiety.
She is sure the man she is to marry -- the James boy, or is it the Tiberius boy? fuck, she definitely should have reread the file before she came out here -- is perfectly nice in his own way. Apparently he’s got eyes that can marvel the ocean, and apparently people find that sort of stuff attractive. She’s sure he has all those things, including the eyes, that the girls like that the men have. But Willow knows, only as intimately as Willow can, that she is not right for him.
She is not good at being loved, of course. She’s not really good for anyone -- or anything. Of course, no one has ever loved her. That’s why she’s here, anyway, right? Because she was abandoned... AGAIN?
So with her Staff gathering dust in a corner of her new room, and her body stationed on a balcony that is continuously hit with icy sea air, she waits for her new companion and waves, kind of awkwardly, at the black clad planet official there to oversee their first greeting. He stands apart from her, and seems to ignore her slight wave, as if hoping by ignoring her try at contact, she will ignore him and the watching eyes of this government.
Willow sighs and slums against the railing.
Today is going to be a long day.
His steps were quiet, enough so that they wouldn't startle Fleurette -- gentle hands rested on her thighs as he took to his knees. Jim hummed, nuzzling his way between her legs with a grin. "..you've been sitting here for far too long... let me take care of you."
Honestly, Fleurette had been quite content to simply sit where she was and read; her fingertips ghosted the paper of the braille book in question until, of course, she felt his hands encompass her thighs. Puzzlement came initially, a sharp blush then came in tow when she felt him nuzzle her skin in such a fashion. Her fingertips ceased to move atop the book.
“J-Jim, what are you doing ?”
snuggle!
send ‘snuggle’ for my muse’s reaction to yours snuggling against their chest.
The engineer’s startled out of his catnap with a snort as a heavy weight settles awkwardly against him, and it takes a couple seconds for it to really register with him. Then he’s squinting, patting awardly at the blond mop in front of him.
Jim?
Ugh, christ. There’s not enough space in his hidey-hole this with Sarkis sitting up. He grunts and shoves at Jim to get him off, twists around, then falls back flat and gestures with open arms for Jim to try that again. Like he’d ever say no to snuggles.
You off shift, or taking an impromptu break?
kirk-jamestiberius
he usually tries and saves jim for last, when it comes to his rounds. being back on earth is hardly any difficult to being out in space, when it comes to his job, an there are still patients to see, rounds to complete, hapless interns to yell at. and he knows that, when jim is on his roster, he has a tendency to hang around him for a while. so, best to leave him until the end of his rounds when he can spend time getting him to shut up without neglecting his other patients.
on that particular morning, he walks into the room, has the shades on the windows dimmed until sunlight streams in to illuminate the place, and he heads to the monitor on the biobed. he records a few readings on his padd, notes down a few things, and then, only then, does he peer over at jim.
“you can’t stay in that bed forever, y’know. your legs seem to be fine, we need to start getting you up ‘n out. hospital’s got a pretty nice garden.”
“I don’t think I can do this anymore.”
... Do what anymore, Jim?
