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neon-vocalist · 2 years

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get what you deserve - c.6

tw mentions of abuse, mentions of death, implied paternal abuse

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Veronica wakes up with her throat raw and her head screaming from the inside out. She gets the distinct feeling that she is simply a formless essence or thought, no arms, legs, torso, anything. She’s been reduced to mist.

The first thing she notices isn’t JD watching her from a stool in the corner of the room. It isn’t that the lightbulb has finally fizzled out and the only light in the room is coming from the liquid gold spilling under the door. It isn’t even that she’s in any sort of pain. What first registers in Veronica’s mind is this: somebody has taken care of me.

And they have. Every single one of Veronica’s wounds has been bandaged and cleaned with care, each strip of gauze and adhesive tape placed meticulously. Furthermore, she herself has been cleaned up. Every spot of dried blood has been scrubbed away and every tangle in her hair has been unknotted. She has proper clothes on, not the dirty and torn tank top that she was wearing in her most recent memories, and not the ones plopped next to her in a pile on the ground, either. Whoever did this did it with genuine love and care. Which is why Veronica’s first instinct is to look around for Heather.

To the left is a wall with cracking paint. To her right is the door, the nightstand, the knife. In front of her is a sort of closet, with no doors— it’s just a nook in the wall with a rod near the top to hang stuff on. She’s trying to ignore the elephant in the room. That being her boyfriend, legs crossed daintily over each other, reading some book with a dark cover and watching her over its edge.

One thing’s blindingly obvious about the space. There’s no Heather.

“Did you do this?” she forces through vocal cords that feel like they’ve been shattered and stitched back together with glass shards instead of needles. Somehow that’s the most unbelievable thing to her— that Jason might have touched her with such gentleness and kindness that he took the time to put fluffy socks on her feet and set her down cradled in a chair instead of the cruel concrete. There’s a complete disconnect in her mind between the man who danced with her in the snow last December and the one who smacked her with a nonstick frying pan in April. It’s hard to reconcile the soft kisses with the yelling and threatening and hitting.

“What do you mean? Are you asking if I’m the one who hurt you? Or if I’m the one who helped you?”

“...Both.”

“Sweetheart, you must realise that I’d never hurt you if you didn’t deserve it, right? I do this to you out of love. I’m sure you’ll never do something like that again, yes? You could’ve gotten seriously hurt if you’d kept on like that. She might have harmed you. I can’t have that.”

The first thing that comes to mind is their fight. “She was really mean to me… the other day.” Suddenly the one thing she wants more than anything in the world is for her boyfriend to take her in his arms and make it all okay, kiss her on the forehead and stroke her hair with his arms solid and steady underneath her fragile form, to make Heather regret making her feel the way she did. She wants her protector back.

She remembers how back in high school he nearly sacrificed his entire future for her after Kurt and Ram and Heather Duke spread that awful rumour about her. How he helped her get revenge on them, stepping back and watching her with pride in his eyes, and when her hands shook he took them in hers and promised her he was right behind her. How when her dad screamed at her and kicked her out into the unforgiving darkness, he took her under his wing and brought her to his house and made her a bed right then and there. She remembers every time he insisted that the cost was on him, every single day that they did what she wanted because all he wanted was for her to be happy, every time he positioned himself between her and his father, shaking like a leaf but determined not to let anything hurt her. He would never let anything hurt her. He would never hurt her on purpose.

Now his eyes darken. “Explain what you mean, baby.”

And as much as she wants to tell him and watch his face fall back into that stone mask she knows so well, something stops her. Because he loves her and look what he did. She nudges back one of the bandages on her left arm. Oh God. Despite how much he adores her, he did this to her. But Heather? She knows how much he looks down on Heather. He wouldn’t hold back with her. He’d take out every insult he couldn’t shout to his dad, every punch he couldn’t throw to every classmate who’d ever looked down on him. There would be nothing left of Heather by the time he was done.

She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, rearranging her numb legs beneath her. “It’s nothing.”

He closes his book. “Tell me. I won’t do anything.”

That’s a lie. “I can fight my own battles.”

“Not in this state.”

“I don’t want you getting in trouble.”

“Love, that’s the least of my worries.” And he says it with such sincerity that she almost believes it, but the way the knife draws his eyes gives him away.

Her last-ditch attempt at changing the subject is “You brushed my hair.”

Somehow it works and Jason settles back against the wall. “I did. Of course I did, honey.” It strikes her as strange that he hasn’t yet used her name. Maybe he doesn’t know her name. That would explain why he’s studying her with such interest, too. He’s never seen her before. And that explains why he’s being so kind to her— this isn’t Jason at all. She squints at him across the room. Maybe his hair looks different; maybe it’s the lighting. Maybe he’s shorter than usual. Maybe the strange look in his eye is him figuring out who she is just as much as she’s figuring out him.

“Do you know who I am?”

“Do you not know who I am?” He sounds offended. “Baby, are you okay? Maybe we should get you checked out.”

“No. No doctors. No hospitals. Just say my name.”

He stares at her curiously for just a second. “Veronica.”

She lets out a relieved sigh and lays back in the chair. “Mmm… maybe you do know me…”

JD slides off his stool and lays the book on top of it. “You’re sure you’re alright?” He presses the back of his hand to her forehead, which she bats away.

“I’m fine. I’m just sleepy. You’ve done enough.”

“Don’t say that,” he says, laying one of his warm hands over her freezing ones clasped on her lap. “I would do anything for you.”

“Anything?”

His eyes flash with interest. “Anything at all. Ask me to run to the ends of the earth for you and I’ll do it. Tell me to be yours forever and I’m there. I’ll kill a man for you, Veronica, just say the word.”

A tiny smile creeps across her face. “You don’t need to go… that far.”

“Ask me to kill for you.”

“I don’t think so,” she says lightly.

“I’ll do it, I will.”

“I know, and I love you for it, but I don’t—” she’s silent for just a moment. “Would you kill me if I asked?”

For just a few seconds, there’s no more air in the room as Jason intently studies the floor. Like the world stops turning, and Veronica knows: this answer will define their future.

He bites his lip, chews on it for a moment. Shifts his gaze to meet hers. “Yes.”

Veronica just nods. “I know.”

“I wouldn’t kill you unless you asked for it.” This is meant to be comforting, and for the most part it is, but something in her wonders what ‘asking for it’ looks like. Is one toe out of line asking for death? Following his logic, not giving him a kiss is asking for an up close and personal meeting with the side of a building. Not agreeing with his every word is asking for a black eye.

She hesitates, but his expression is fierce. “I know.”

“Hey.” He crouches down so he’s no longer looking down at her and reaches up to trace the side of her cheek. “Don’t be upset. I’d never hurt you.”

“But— but—” she raises her hands in a silent question that she can’t force herself to verbalise. She can barely move her fingers, can’t bend her arms at the elbow. And her back… she tries not to think about how each movement of the nightgown on her tender skin sends alarm bells ringing through her mind. No matter how many times he tells her she did it to herself, no matter how hard she tries to force herself to believe, she knows there was no real reason for this beyond a release of twisted love.

“Don’t cry,” he says instead of answering. Veronica isn’t crying, isn’t going to start crying anytime soon either, so she’s got no idea why he said that. But the few seconds of confusion it produces are enough of a distraction, and before Veronica can arrange words correctly enough to formulate a follow-up, his hand is patting her thigh as he stands up and tells her he’s going to go get her a drink and would she rather have water or Sprite?

She wants to hate him. She wants to hate him so bad.

She can’t. She knows that she’s always going to crave his fingers running through her hair. She knows that she’ll always itch for the comforting embrace of his arms across her chest. She knows that every time they part ways, she’ll leave with a smile and the plan to be back soon. No matter what he does to her or how many times he hits her, she’ll always be back. She’ll always love him.

Right now, with his soft footsteps barely audible above her as he goes to get her something to drink, and the turtleneck hugging her wrists there because he put it on her, and the memory of his caring tone so recent in her mind that she can almost hear it, she can sort of pretend that it’s all going to be okay.

Her entire body aches. Her mind is too fuzzy to create a coherent thought in the low light. But one sentence echoes through her brain over and over until she finally fades off to sleep, Jason opening the door and cracking open a can of soda the last thing she hears: I am loved.

Unlike the last time she slept, she doesn’t dream. She flickers in and out of shallow slumber, numbly aware of Jason chuckling as he takes her tiny form, feather-light in his arms, and arranges her into the curves of his chest and neck. She fits perfectly. Like a puzzle. He drops her into a chair, waking her up just the tiniest bit more, and she whines at him indignantly.

The next time she opens her cloudy eyes wide enough to see, she’s met with JD pacing across the room with something in his hand. Shiny silver, clutched so tightly in his fist that it looks like he’s going to strangle it. She squints, trying to follow him back and forth. “What are you doing?” she asks, and her voice sounds so tiny that it doesn’t feel like her.

He drops the shiny thing with a dull thump and rushes over to her. “Veronica, my love, my lovely, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” he murmurs quietly, pressing her hands to his lips. “I’m sorry” as he pushes back her sleeve and traces the maze of cuts barely scabbed over. “I’m sorry” as he pets her hair back behind her ear, again and again and again and again. “I’m sorry” as he pulls her closer to his chest and begins to trace a spot on her back, running his fingers over the bandage.

“What?” is all she can figure out how to say. This from the man who so mercilessly watched her cry out for help and offered no help when she was in pain? He’s never apologised. Never.

If she were smarter, she’d question this. If she were smarter, she’d realise that this just isn’t how her boyfriend works. If she were smarter, she wouldn’t sit still, wouldn’t let a spark of hope ignite in her chest at his touch, and definitely wouldn’t let herself believe for a second that he might be genuine in his words. Because he’s not. She knows it.

But she can’t help leaning into him, letting his warmth wrap her up and dismiss the pain in favour of his scent. She can’t help letting his words take root in her mind as he says them and keeps saying them. She can’t help the sleepy smile that spreads across her face as his voice fills her head. She counts petals to the rhythm of his rocking her back and forth.

He loves me, he loves me not.

#gwyd #get what you deserve #fanfic #fanficiton #heathers #heathers the musical #heather chandler #jason dean #jd heathers #heather chandler x veronica sawyer #veronica sawyer #chansaw #veronica x chandler #veronica x heather chandler #system scribbles

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sixpennydame · 1 month

Note

Hi Sailor I hope you are doing good

May I request prompt no 15 from smut dialogue for Levi?

Thank you!

Hi San! Thanks for your patience with this. You are my last Smut Scribbles request, so I hope you enjoy.

Skin

15. I can’t get enough of you

NSFW - Minors, do not interact

Levi Ackerman loves your ass.

He’d never admit it out loud, but it was the first thing he’d noticed about you. Now, as you lie naked on his bed, the light of the early morning casting lines along your curves as you lay on your stomach, he can’t help but touch you. His fingers run down the bumps of your spine, then his lips, touching and kissing until he reaches your soft, round bottom.

He lifts your hips and positions himself behind you, your ass on full display and a sight he never gets tired of seeing. Sometimes, it’s a hard slap of his hand against your raw flesh as his cock thrusts into you; other times, it’s his face buried between your cheeks, caring little about breathing when his tongue is plunging deep inside you.

But the adoration of your body doesn’t stop there. He loves the feeling of digging his fingers in the meat of your thighs. He bites and sucks, knowing that he’s the only one that can mark the tender skin leading to your center. His nose brushes the course hairs of your bush; it’s musky smell so undeniably and irresistibly you, it’s impossible for him not to want to taste the sweet nectar that lies underneath.

“I can’t get enough of you,” he says, and he means it.

And you’re just so damn soft, he can’t take his hands off you. They move from your hips to the curve of your waist as you ride his cock into oblivion. Your beautiful breasts bounce in rhythm with your bodies: yours soft and curvaceous and his muscular and angular, muscles tense and contract as you both climax.

He’s never understood or appreciated the nude sculptures or portraits in the great museums, but when he looks at you - your curves, your lines -

—he gets it.

—//—

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#it’s late #but I had to get this out of my system #Levi is a body worshipper #and you can’t convince me otherwise #smut scribbles #levi ackerman smut #levi smut #levi drabble #levi ackerman x reader #levi x reader

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