[ so much of her life lately has involved death, whether she’s had something to do with it or not. it’s tainted her life since before she was born, a shameful secret she’s carried with her for over a decade, because her mother had decided to blame her child instead of accepting any responsibility for her lie finally being exposed. so had her father. the only one who hadn’t, at any point, was tara, when she’d learned the truth.
in the time between she’d buried the pain with drugs and sex, whatever could simutaneously numb her and make her feel more alive. this feels akin to that even though she hasn’t taken anything intentionally, some way to cope with the stress of the past year of nearly everyone she’d met thinking she was a murderer, of the target of another plot to kill her and the people in her life that meant something to her.
she’d survived, again. so had tara. it feels good to have that reminder, the rush of heat and blood through her veins with someone else warm and as alive as she is helping it along. he seems to need the reminder, too.
he presses against her, shifting against her and letting her feel how hard he’s gotten between what they’ve been doing. she groans and her hips rock against his before she starts working her jeans over her hips, down enough to work over and off one leg after toeing one of her boots off. she reaches for his hand and directs it between her legs, where he can feel the scant remainder of fabric that keeps her decent and thrusts against his hand; a hint that he can help her take it off, shift it aside, or tear it off of her. ]
cw: death/violence/killing/hints at parental neglect and abuse/drug use
in the time between she’d buried the pain with drugs and sex, whatever could simutaneously numb her and make her feel more alive. this feels akin to that even though she hasn’t taken anything intentionally, some way to cope with the stress of the past year of nearly everyone she’d met thinking she was a murderer, of the target of another plot to kill her and the people in her life that meant something to her.
she’d survived, again. so had tara. it feels good to have that reminder, the rush of heat and blood through her veins with someone else warm and as alive as she is helping it along. he seems to need the reminder, too.
he presses against her, shifting against her and letting her feel how hard he’s gotten between what they’ve been doing. she groans and her hips rock against his before she starts working her jeans over her hips, down enough to work over and off one leg after toeing one of her boots off. she reaches for his hand and directs it between her legs, where he can feel the scant remainder of fabric that keeps her decent and thrusts against his hand; a hint that he can help her take it off, shift it aside, or tear it off of her. ]