The Ark
The Ark’s gaze follows the length of Jack’s stretch, the slow arch of him like a familiar motion seen from a new angle, and without thinking, she mirrors it. Her back curves, long and liquid, the linen of his shirt pulling tight over her breasts—a sensation that ripples through her in a way that feels like sunlight shivering across a calm surface—before instinct carries her the rest of the way: arms sweeping overhead, fingers flexing, her whole body drawing taut and elegant before easing back into the mattress with a quiet, satisfied exhale. A small hum slips from her throat, pleased and unguarded. "Good," she murmurs, the word warm and full, like a hold properly loaded.
When he asks about the wind, her smile turns unmistakably feline. She nods once, blue eyes bright, the answer a simple, eager, "yes," shaped less like a complaint and more like an indulgence. The way she looks at him—eyes focused, the faint lift of her brows—makes it clear she didn’t mind the feeling of wind in her sails first thing at all.
As she settles closer again, contentment rolls through her in slow, steady waves, and somewhere deep in her chest—where a keel should be, where a heart now is—the feeling takes on a quiet certainty. This, she seems to think without needing to say it, is a very good way to wake up.
When he asks about the wind, her smile turns unmistakably feline. She nods once, blue eyes bright, the answer a simple, eager, "yes," shaped less like a complaint and more like an indulgence. The way she looks at him—eyes focused, the faint lift of her brows—makes it clear she didn’t mind the feeling of wind in her sails first thing at all.
As she settles closer again, contentment rolls through her in slow, steady waves, and somewhere deep in her chest—where a keel should be, where a heart now is—the feeling takes on a quiet certainty. This, she seems to think without needing to say it, is a very good way to wake up.
Her touch is like a tempest, her whisper is a breeze,
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
but when she has a temper, she'll bring you to your knees
Code stolen from Queen Sky
Siren's Wake | After she leaves a space, traces of her presence linger briefly: a faint scent of salt, the sound of distant water, a restless feeling in the chest. People rarely notice it consciously.
