bottom line, we made it out the first time still in love and half alive
The Ark is still trembling when the swell begins to recede, breath catching in soft, uneven pulls, little sounds slipping from her throat with each inhale as though her body has not yet remembered how to be quiet. Her chest rises and falls in time with the water against her hull, the echo of her release lingering in slow, fading pulses that leave her limbs heavy and distant. The sheets are twisted tight in her fists and it takes her a moment to notice, longer still to unclench her fingers. Everything beyond the warmth of Jack and the bright afterimage in her core feels far away.
The laughter against her skin registers first, then the gentle steadiness of his hands, the faint sway of the cabin easing as the storm inside her settles. Her mind, which had surged vast and limitless, now gleams like an overbright seascape after lightning; hazy and radiant and slow to dim.
There is no embarrassment in her expression as she looks down at him, only wonder. Gratitude is likely not something Jack often receives in moments like this, but for her it rises naturally. The pleasure he's shown her is not separate from care. It folds neatly into the years of upkeep, the patient work of rebuilding her, the upgrades and polish and attention that made her stronger, sleeker, more capable. This feels like that, another kind of tending, another proof of his hands knowing exactly what to do and always making sure she had the best of what he could give her.
Her cheeks remain flushed, deepening the blue of her eyes until they look almost midnight-dark. She lets out a vague, breathless chuckle as the ship beneath them settles fully back to stillness. Reaching down, she brushes her thumb along the corner of his mouth, tracing the curve there with quiet curiosity. "Can I make you feel like that too?" she asks, voice low and sincere, the question absent of coyness and entirely full of intent.
The laughter against her skin registers first, then the gentle steadiness of his hands, the faint sway of the cabin easing as the storm inside her settles. Her mind, which had surged vast and limitless, now gleams like an overbright seascape after lightning; hazy and radiant and slow to dim.
There is no embarrassment in her expression as she looks down at him, only wonder. Gratitude is likely not something Jack often receives in moments like this, but for her it rises naturally. The pleasure he's shown her is not separate from care. It folds neatly into the years of upkeep, the patient work of rebuilding her, the upgrades and polish and attention that made her stronger, sleeker, more capable. This feels like that, another kind of tending, another proof of his hands knowing exactly what to do and always making sure she had the best of what he could give her.
Her cheeks remain flushed, deepening the blue of her eyes until they look almost midnight-dark. She lets out a vague, breathless chuckle as the ship beneath them settles fully back to stillness. Reaching down, she brushes her thumb along the corner of his mouth, tracing the curve there with quiet curiosity. "Can I make you feel like that too?" she asks, voice low and sincere, the question absent of coyness and entirely full of intent.
we didn't die, but no guarantees this time, but fuck it lets do it again
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.
