her fight and fury's fiery, oh but she loves like sleep to the freezing
The Ark doesn’t look down as the buttons of Jack’s shirt come undone beneath his practiced fingers, but she feels each one give, the loosened fabric falling open to reveal the black bralette beneath. Her smile turns wicked as she pretends to consider, blue eyes narrowing just slightly before she reaches for the fruit hanging far too low between them. "Why?" she purrs, arching a brow. "Do you have some difficult wood you’d need their help with?" As he presses closer, her arms rise around his neck as though she’s already caught the shape of what comes next, and when his hands sweep beneath her thighs and he carries her forward, she goes with him as naturally as a tide follows the pull of the moonbright sea.
She devours the kiss he takes, though there’s far more control in her than the hungry press of her mouth might suggest. What happens to her flesh doesn’t have to become a storm through every board and beam of her body as it once had, but it does not leave her entirely untouched either. Somewhere above them, beneath the black weight of LongNight and with no wind troubling the water, the great galleon gives a small, unmistakable list beneath Murphy at the helm, enough to be felt in the shifting balance of her deck.
The Ark’s fingers curl into Jack’s hair as her lips and teeth answer his, demanding and hungry in return, as though this is no flame she means merely to be warmed by, but one she intends to feed herself.
She devours the kiss he takes, though there’s far more control in her than the hungry press of her mouth might suggest. What happens to her flesh doesn’t have to become a storm through every board and beam of her body as it once had, but it does not leave her entirely untouched either. Somewhere above them, beneath the black weight of LongNight and with no wind troubling the water, the great galleon gives a small, unmistakable list beneath Murphy at the helm, enough to be felt in the shifting balance of her deck.
The Ark’s fingers curl into Jack’s hair as her lips and teeth answer his, demanding and hungry in return, as though this is no flame she means merely to be warmed by, but one she intends to feed herself.
sweet and right and merciful, all but washed in the tide of her breathing
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.
