#when i swore off school after that damn jd

[miralparis]

why am i like this

[thedailyimagines]

Imagine JD being obsessed with you. (Part Two)

This is a continuation of Part One, requested by anon! This is to kick off my now accepting NSFW requests!

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Original request: “so can you write male reader x jd were jd is crazy obsessed w the reader and the reader is scared but they like it?”

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Warning: NSFW content, swearing, JD being an obsessive stalker, small mention of blood, some roughness. Very much smut.

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For readers 18+.

~~~~~~~~

Three days after your encounter with JD in the school bathroom, and you left your bedroom window unlocked and slightly open. Maybe it was stupid, but you were half curious to see if JD would actually come (and maybe hoping he would continue where he had left off).

But after four hours, it was almost midnight and there was no sign of the dark haired bad boy. Your parents had left a while ago to go to a friends wedding and weren’t planning to be home until the following evening. You sighed and turned to your dresser, tugging off your long sleeve shirt in favor of a loose t-shirt.

“I knew you’d come around.”

“Holy fuck!” And oh, were you glad that you were home alone tonight. Your parents would have grounded you for using that sort of language in the house.

“Hey hey hey! It’s just me!”

“Jason?”

“I know, dreadful etiquette, I apologize.” JD pulled himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window, brushing off his clothes nonchalantly.

“Um, what are you doing here?”

“I thought you finally decided to let me in. You know, after you were done grinding my leg and I gave you a hickey—nice covering it up by the way—I told you to leave your window unlocked?”

“Wait, that was like three days ago. We’re you waiting outside my window?”

“No, I was actively checking to see if your window was unlocked. And how was I supposed to do that from the ground floor?”

“My mom thought there was a bear or something coming from the woods!”

“Well, now you don’t have to worry about bears.” JD took a step towards you, then another. You quickly stepped back as he advanced until your back hit the wall.

JD swooped in fast as lightning, his lips biting and rough against your own. And as much as you knew getting involved with him was a bad idea, you had to admit the kissing was nice. JD pulled away, leaving you breathless. His thumbs hooked the waistband of your pajamas, dragging them to the floor as he knelt in front of you.

“Wait, why are you getting on your knees—!”

And hooooly fuck he was sucking you off. You were fairly certain you had died and gone to some sort of paradise because there was no way that Jason Dean was—

“Fuck!” Whatever JD did with his tongue had your hips bucking up and made you lose your train of thought because hot damn he was good at this.

“Wanna see another trick?” You looked down at JD, who was grinning up at you cheekily. A rapid nod was your reply.

In a flash JD had scooped you up and tossed you on your bed. You propped yourself up on your elbows and watched as the dark haired male crawled his way up to you. His eyes were half-lidded and dark, and a shiver went up your spine. His lips met yours again, the kiss all teeth and possessive want.

“Say my name.” JD rolled his hips against yours and your whined at the friction.

“Jason.” You were flipped onto your stomach. A bottle of something was opened and you felt cold fingers rubbing and pressing against you before one digit slipped inside. You bit the pillow hard and bucked your hips.

A second finger joined the first, followed by a third and they felt wonderful. You were about to beg JD for more when he pressed against something that had you arching your back. JD grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled your face out of the pillow.

“Scream for me.” Those fingers kept rubbing that perfect spot, and without a pillow to muffle your moans you obliged.

“Jason! Fuck, please!”

“Good boy~” JD withdrew his fingers and flipped you onto your back. Somehow his shirt had found its way to the floor along with his pants, leaving him in a pair of black boxers.

“Spread your legs.” When you didn’t move fast enough, JD growled and swatted at your thighs. You yelped quickly spread your legs wider. Two hands gripped your legs, pushing them up until your thighs pressed close to your stomach.

“Hold still.” You felt something nudged against you, and suddenly you felt JD inside of you.

“HaaAAHhh!” JD placed your legs on his shoulders and pushed himself further within you, hissing at the tightness.

“Feeling good, y/n?” Cause you feel so nice around my cock. Your mine now, got it? Nobody else gets to have you this way. Nobody.” Each word was punctuated by the thrust and drag of his cock, every movement sending sparks up your spine.

You couldn’t think straight. The only thing you could focus on was JD pulling out and pressing back in, faster and faster until you were sure his hips were a blur. The familiar tightening sensation in your abdomen was your only warning before—

“JASON!” Stars danced in your eyes as you arched up, cock twitching as you came. JD fucked you harder before he bit down hard on your shoulder. Blood welled up under the bite and you swore loudly at the painful sensation on your sensitive skin.

When JD finally pulled himself away from you, his lips were stained red and his eyes reminded you of a predator sighting prey.

“Mine.” And you wondered what you had gotten yourself into.

~~~~~~~~

I don’t own the above gif, all credit goes to the owner.

[sprnklersplashes]

driver’s license

post-canon, angst ahoy

She gets her driver’s licence on Saturday.

On Sunday morning, she takes her first drive alone, and it’s to the last place she should go.

The roads are empty, the rest of Sherwood sensibly asleep in their beds. Last night was another sleepless one, bolting up in her bed with her hands clamped over her mouth and her whole body trembling violently, not stopping until she had paced the length and breadth of her bedroom about fifty times. She was wide awake by that point, too shaken by her nightmares to even try to go back to sleep. She sat against the window, head against the wall, watching her breath fogging up the glass, obscuring the perfect picture on the other side.

He was there, of course. He’s always here in the morning, especially when she wakes up like this. She didn’t turn around, didn’t see him, but felt the weight of his gaze on her anyway. Pleading, lonely, begging her to turn around and come back to him. To slip into his arms and get lost in his words again, to let him strip her away with his touch. And the worst part is that she wanted to. She wanted to do it; there’s some magnetic force that still sits in her and it keeps pulling her towards JD even though she knows he’s gone. It becomes a game two of them play and she loses every single time; if she resists, it hurts, and if she gives in… she doesn’t know, she never has, but it can’t end up good.

Her keys were in her hand before she even knew what she was doing, and she was pulling out of the driveway as the sun rises.

She’s not dressed for a drive; a pair of black pyjama bottoms and an old, old blue sweater. It’s one of the things from before she was a Heather and most importantly-something JD had never seen her in. That’s one of the worst things about this, about him. His fingerprints aren’t just over her body, but all over her clothes too. Invisible to everyone except her. Lines run up and down her blazers where he caressed her, the outline of his hand on her skirt where he ripped it off her body. When she first saw him, she thought ‘now there’s a person I’m never going to forget’. Now she’d give anything for that to be wrong.

She doesn’t think she knows where she’s going, not until she turns right at one junction and feels her blood run cold. It’s funny, she thinks. She hasn’t been here in months and yet it still looks exactly the same. She avoided this place like the plague afterwards. She still could. There’s no-one here and no-one checks the traffic cameras here, not in a street like this. She could turn around and head in the other direction, and she should. But the wheels keep turning, slow but still forwards, and her hands stay locked where they are. The steering wheel barely budges.

She must have been on this street before him. She’s lived in this town her whole life and could draw out a map from memory. It’s not that big after all. She has vague recollections of a birthday party happening somewhere around here, and another of a family barbeque on this street. She trick or treated a few times here as well, first with her parents and then with Martha. But all those are irrelevant now. From here on out this will be known as JD’s street and JD’s street only.

She pulls the car into a sloppy park, thankful for the cautious residents keeping their cars in garages, and leans back in her seat. She doesn’t need to turn that much to see the house beside her.

There’s a new family that lives there now. A mom and dad and two elementary school kids. Both girls. One with dark curly hair in pigtails and the other with a black ponytail, secured with a ribbon. She had watched them the first day they moved in, laughing together, the dad tugging on the girls’ pigtails, the mom organising the move in. What must it be like inside now, with boxes unpacked and furniture sitting proudly. A home, not just a house. A place big enough for all of them. It must have been excited, to have so many of its rooms used.

That’s what struck Veronica when she first went over with him. How big it was, for a family of two. She shakes her head. You could hardly call JD and his father a “family”. Not because of their size, but because of them. They were barely even acquaintances. They merely lived under the same roof and shared the same blood; that was the beginning and end of their relationship. Veronica had wondered why Big Bud Dean had chosen this house, how much it must have cost him, and it was only a week or so ago she had realised; he didn’t care. Why would he, when he’d just leave in the next three months anyway? He picked the first available place, and it just so happened to be a family home.

She had watched him leaving. She swears to herself she isn’t a stalker, but she’s finding that harder and harder to believe. What would you call someone who goes through hoops to find out the day and hour a man is moving out of his house and then skips school just to stand on the street and watch him? What must he think of her, that is, if he even noticed her at all. Too busy wrapped up in himself to notice other people, that’s what JD always said about his father. There’s not a lot she agrees with JD on, but she has to give him that.

She pulls her sweater tighter around herself and blinks, her eyes suddenly stinging and blurry. The last time she went over there, really went over there, rather than hovering on the other side of the street, was the day it happened. She had walked up to that door with ash in her hair and blood on her face, and knocked three times before he had answered. He regarded her with this cool, confused glance, as though he was trying to remember when he had seen her before, and she had bitten her tongue and watched as realisation dawned on his face.

“You’re Jason’s girl, aren’t you?” he had asked. That was the first time she had heard him say his son’s name, she realised. Their little game must end whenever JD wasn’t around. He took a long drink of his beer then and shrugged at her. “Whaddya want?”

Her nails had dug into her palms, leaving burning red marks, and she just about manged to say “your son’s dead” through her tight throat, tears plink-plonking down her face.

He blinked at her, a moment passed, and then another, before he let out an unimpressed-sounding “really?”.

She does wonder what would have happened if Heather Duke hadn’t stumbled upon her at that moment and dragged her away from him, kicking and screaming and swearing all the way down. She pulls her sweater tighter around her. Her throat hurts at the memory. The entire street had come out to see the commotion and what little good standing she still had blew away like dust. Good, straight-A, Harvard bound Veronica had screamed “go fuck yourself” at a seemingly innocent man who just lost his son.

She doesn’t regret it though.

The first hues of blue appear around the edges of the sky now, but according to her clock it’s still far too early for her parents to be up. Her body goes limp in the seat, her head falling to the side, and her eyes flicker up to the window on the second-floor window. On the day they moved in, she saw the light go on in that bedroom and the pink paint going up on the walls. One of the young girls is using it as her room now, and she almost laughs. She plays with her dolls, no idea what two stupid kids did in there, oblivious to how he had pinned her against that wall and she had stripped him down, shivering as he whispered “you’re mine” in her ear.

Or about the soft, stolen kisses they shared on his bed at night, the two of them lying on his bed, their eyes on the ceiling, and talking about the future. Their future, he had said. Where she would go to college and where he would go. Where they should move to, because Veronica was adamant she wasn’t staying in Sherwood forever. And when they’d get their driver’s licences.

“I want mine as soon as I can,” she had told him. “I’ve been dreaming about it since forever. I’ve practiced in my dad’s car.”

“I was wondering how that dent got there,” he had said. She elbowed him in the ribs for that comment. “Suppose I don’t need to. I have my bike.”

“You have a licence for that thing, right?” She turned to him then, studying his profile and feeling a lingering sense of doubt in the back of her mind. That feeling always accompanied them wherever they went, like the hangover to the ecstasy his touch brought. “JD?”

“Course I do, Ronnie,” he had told her, and he pulled her against his chest. “You think I’d take my favourite girl on a bike if I didn’t have a licence for it?”

His favourite girl. He didn’t call her that a lot, maybe once or twice in their entire short-lived relationship, but damn did she love it. He was like that. Good at making her feel special. Like she was made of something precious. Diamonds in her eyes, gold in her veins. To him, she was better than every other girl around and she’s so, so ashamed of the fact that she liked that.

But how much did he really value her in the end?    

She slams her hand on the dashboard, hard, and cries out as the dull pain pulses beneath her skin. Tears run down her face, replacing those from earlier this morning. Those haven’t yet dried. She tucks her knees up against her chest, burying her face in them so that the sound of her cries is muffled. She doesn’t know why; not like anyone is awake at this point to be disturbed by a stupid girl like her crying in her car.

He swore he loved her. Over and over again and you’d think that the words would wear themselves out but they never did. They just kept getting bigger and he kept burning hotter and brighter until he scorched her hands when she tried to touch him. He had whispered it reverently into her hair as she slept and murmured it against her lips and even in that house, with the barrel of a gun pointed directly at her, he said it. That was the moment she realised it wasn’t true. Somewhere amongst the pain and the confusion and the splitting headache she looked at him, and she looked at the gun, and asked herself, how could his lips say he loves her while his hand is ready to kill her? Not that he needed a gun to kill her. Maybe he knew that, and so the gun was just to play with her.

He had promised her. That’s the part that hurts more than anything else. The promise he broke, and how he used those jagged edges to cut her open. He promised her he was going to change, swore to her on the love he claimed was God. JD was nothing if not passionate, and for all she knew he meant that at the time. Or maybe he didn’t, and it was all just a game to him. It’s been so long now and it’s still so hard to tell.

She sobs again, a heavy pain tugging on her torn-apart heart. She’s an idiot, and a fool, and a fucking moron and every other damn thing Heather Chandler has called her these past months. Not that she had much of a backbone before but now she can’t even bring herself to be annoyed at her. Because it’s true. Because what kind of person lives through all that, lives through JD and all manipulation and all his lies, and watches as he points a gun at her with nothing but coldness in his eyes, and is still in love with him after that? How does she spring awake from nightmares in the morning and spend the afternoon missing the feeling of his lips against hers? If she loves JD, despite everything he was, then what kind of person does that make her? What gives her the right to lie awake at night and mourn the future she would never have, when three people are cold in their graves because of him?

Her hand finds its way to the glove compartment and suddenly the little plastic card is in her hand, her eyes staring up at her. No-one has commented on it but surely everyone sees it; the look in her eyes that’s hung around ever since that day. She flinches sometimes, when she sees herself in the mirror. What’s become of her; thin, hollow cheeks and shadows beneath her dull, dead eyes, clothes hanging off her shoulders. JD didn’t just end his life when he took that bomb. She might still be breathing, but most days it feels like that’s all she’s doing.

She slams her hand on the dashboard again, and then it happens again, and again and again until she’s banging against it in a fierce, fast rhythm, her mouth open and a burning, broken scream pouring out of it. It tears out of her throt and fills the car, shaking the glass in the windows and ringing in her ears. This isn’t how it was supposed to have happened. She was supposed to run out of the DMV and into his waiting arms, have her feet swept off the ground as he tells her how proud he is of her. She was supposed to drive through the streets with him in the passenger’s seat, sneaking sideways glances at him as the wind tousled his hair. They were supposed to drive up to the hill together and sit over the town, her head on his shoulder and his arm wrapped around her, making more stupid plans for the future. She was meant to tease him about getting her licence first and he was meant to roll his eyes and kiss her to shut up her up. He should have been something else, and she should be waking up with butterflies in her stomach rather than lead in her lungs.

She sits back and shakes her head at herself. Her hand is red and pulsing with pain from where she smacked it. She’s ridiculous. Since when does she have the right to decide what was ‘meant’ to happen? JD thought that. He declared it on the other side of her closet door- “I was meant to be yours, we were meant to be one”. As far as he was concerned, the universe is, was, theirs, and they were the masters over what happened in it. And she’s not that person, she’s dragging herself away from being that person every day, even if it means her nails are caked with blood and dirt. She doesn’t get to choose what happens, not or herself or anyone, and she doesn’t get to sit here and claim what that he should have been something different.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.  

Her mom told her she’d love someone again, a few weeks after the pep rally when she was in a particularly bad state of mind. She had sat on the edge of her bed and run her fingers through her hair and told her that he might have been the first, but he wouldn’t be the last. Her heart won’t be broken forever. She had nodded and murmured something in agreement, and waited until her mom smiled and patted her head before she left. What her mom doesn’t know is that JD didn’t break her heart-he put a bomb in it and blew it up. And whatever she felt for him, there’ll be no feeling it for anyone ever again.

She looks back over at the house. There’s a light on in the kitchen and she slides lower in the seat, despite being safe from view already. Who could it be? The dad maybe, or the mom, getting ready for the day ahead, or maybe one of the kids catching the morning cartoons or treating themselves to cookies for breakfast. It doesn’t really matter, what matters is they’re in that house now and neither Jason nor Big Bud Dean are. For better or worse, there’s no trace of him left in Sherwood, Ohio, not except her memories and one page in the yearbook. One day she’ll make peace with that fact.

She turns the key in the ignition and the car rumbles into life again, annoyed after being neglected for so long. She lets out a long, steady breath, the last of her tears running down her face like rain down her windshield. She turns the wheel, peels away from the kerb, and hopes she’ll never come back to this street for as long as she lives. She doesn’t know if her heart can take it again.

[mikelogan]

jdox prompt: when perry and jd break up, everyone assumes perry’s fine because 1.) he broke up with jd (not the other way around), and 2.) he’s stoic about it. Then someone (probably carla) realizes that perry’s harder on the interns and that he looks sad when he thinks no one is looking. she talks to him and he confesses that he regrets breaking up with jd. (i hope you do this prompt bc i love your fics so much!!)

             Carla’sday had started like any other.  Shewoke, showered, dressed, had breakfast, and cleaned up around the apartmentwhile she waited for Turk to get ready. One noticeable difference from every other day was JD’s absence.  Normally, he was just as much a part of Carla’smorning routine as anything else.  Theyusually chatted over breakfast and then when Turk emerged from the bedroom, thetwo of them would make a joke or allude to something stupid they’d done in medschool.  But since two nights ago, JD hadhardly come out of his bedroom.  Twonights ago, he’d stopped acting like the JD Carla knew and loved.  Two nights ago, Perry had broken up with him.

             This didnot deter Carla from trying to cheer her Bambi up – or at least get him out ofbed.  She’d decided to give him one moreday to wallow in self-pity before she really kicked his ass and forced him goback to work.  After all, she wasn’theartless.  She could appreciate how hardit would be for JD to go back to the hospital where he had for so long workedbeside Perry, and that he had to work through his raw emotions first.  More than anything, more than the sadness itcaused her to see her friend so devastated, she was furious.  And Carla when she was furious was a force tobe reckoned with.  

             Ratherthan laying into Perry the first moment she saw him, she’d chosen to observehim, her anger simmering just below the surface.  Truthfully, she hadn’t seen much of himlately – they were both busy now that flu season had arrived.  More patients to take care of meant less timefor socializing.  Carla spent the firsthalf of her day simply watching Perry and was surprised to find that hisdemeanor seemed quite typical.  He barkedat the interns, she heard him complaining about patients, and he bickered withKelso.  

             Carlaspotted Perry later that day sitting alone at one of the far tables in thecafeteria and squared her shoulders.  Ifshe didn’t lay into him now, when would she get her next chance?  She knew that JD had asked – practically begged– her not to talk to Perry, but the opportunity was just too clear.  She walked purposefully toward Perry, butpaused for a moment, her lunch tray held in front of her.  Now that she looked at Perry – really looked at him – it was obvious that hewas hurting, too.  Carla did not feel asmuch compassion for him as she did JD, that was true, but Perry had been herfriend before all this.  When JD had comehome in tears and told Carla – who had been the only one home at the time –that Perry had broken up with him, she hadn’t wanted to give up on the two ofthem.  She’d been so sure they were madefor each other, but JD, through his tears, explained how Perry had said hecouldn’t do this anymore.  He hadn’tgiven real concrete reasons either, not that JD had told Carla anyway, and shedidn’t feel like pressing JD for more information was appropriate at thetime.  So on his behalf, shecold-shouldered Perry when she could, but seeing JD so broken, in so much pain,was hurting her, too.  But now itappeared that JD wasn’t the only one hurting from the break-up.

             “Thisseat taken?” she asked, standing expectantly across from Perry.

             Hecringed at the sound of her voice and did not look up.  “I’m betting you’ll sit there no matter whatI say,” he said dryly, pushing away his uneaten tray of food.

             “I cameover here,” Carla said as she sat down, her tone impassive, “to tear you a newone, you know.”

             “Get totearing, then,” Perry replied, stunning Carla with the lack of emotion in hisvoice.  “Lord knows I deserve it and you’vealways been good at it.”

             “But then,” Carla started as soon as Perrystopped talking, “I noticed that you were sitting here, all by your lonesome moping. I wouldn’t expect the person who did the breaking up to be so… sad.”

             “Carla,honestly, I think I’d prefer you hating me to this psychoanalysis.  So could you just leave me be or startshrieking because this I cannothandle.”

             Carlasighed and crossed her arms as she leaned in toward Perry.  “You look like hell,” she said flatly, notingthe bags under Perry’s eyes.

             “If youmust know, my back has been acting up,” Perry snarled.

             “And whyis that?” Carla asked, not believing Perry’s excuse.

             Perry’sjaw tightened for a moment before he finally looked up at Carla.  “Because I’ve slept on the couch for the lasttwo nights,” he said, his voice much quieter. “I can’t sleep in my bed.  Doesn’tfeel right without him there.”

             Carlablinked, digesting the response she hadn’t been expecting.  “I… what now?” she finally asked, at a lossas to what else to say.

             “I made ahuge mistake, Carla,” Perry groaned, finallyletting some emotion show in his expression. “I swore to myself that I’d never hurt him…”

             Carlacomposed herself – seeing Perry like this was disconcerting.  “Then why on earth did you end things with him?”

             Perryshook his head, looking pained.  “Carla,you and I both know he deserves so muchbetter than me.  He – he deserves someonewho can give him everything, who’s more likehim.  Someone who knows how good he is.”

             “You’refull of shit,” Carla said flatly.  “Ihave never heard something so ridiculous in all my life.  You’re making all these excuses because you’retoo proud to admit that you’re scared.  You’re scared of being vulnerable and ofgiving yourself to one person who you knowwould do anything for you.  That level of devotion really freaks you out,doesn’t it?  And I’m betting it’s becausethe idea that you can love someone and they can love you just as much and youcan be happy if you’d just try for once in your life is so foreignto you that you’d rather just run the opposite direction and start this wholecycle of hurt all over again.”

             Perrylooked abashed, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Carla kept right ongoing, her rage finally having bubbled up to the surface.

             “If youhonestly, truly care about JD – if you lovehim – you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d be kneeling by his bed and begging for forgiveness.  Because you, me, and everyone else know thatyou’re meant for each other and that he loves you more than anything in thisworld.  He hasn’t left his damn bed sinceit happened, Perry, and he can’t keep going like this.  And if you’re still too proud and hard-headedto admit that you’re scared, then you’re going to be alone for the rest of yourlife.”

             Withthat, Carla left the table, taking her tray with her without another word orglance in Perry’s direction.  She knewcoddling Perry would never have made a difference and that he responded muchbetter when she gave his usual blunt rants right back to him.  She could only hope that he took it to heart.

             Perry didnot think as he left the hospital.  Hehadn’t bothered to tell anyone he was leaving and he was sure he’d pay for thatdearly later, thanks in large part to Kelso, but for once, he could recognizethat the hospital couldn’t be his first choice anymore.  He sped toward JD’s apartment, disobeyingseveral traffic laws in the process, and finally arrived ten minuteslater.  The reality of what he was doing reallydidn’t sink in until he was standing face-to-face with the apartment door.  Suddenly, the key to the apartment felt muchheavier in his pocket, though he was quite happy that he hadn’t returned italready.  He took a deep breath andhesitated just another moment more before he unlocked the door and steppedinside.  

             Theapartment was quiet and JD’s bedroom door was shut.  Perry could just make out the muffled soundsof JD’s shower running.  At least he’dbeen able to rouse himself enough to take a shower.  Perry sighed and opened the door to JD’sroom, deciding to wait for him on the bed. And then the sound of low, heart-wrenching sobs met his ears.  It was clear that JD wasn’t doing as well ashe seemed and Perry felt a physical ache inhis chest at the sound.  There was no wayhe could stand to listen to one second more of this.

             “JD?” hecalled into the bathroom, trying to be loud enough for him to hear over thewater, but his voice was surprisingly weak. “JD, I – I want to talk.”

             Immediately,the sobbing ceased and Perry heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle ofshampoo being dropped.  “I’ll be out in aminute,” came JD’s broken voice, still thick with tears.

             Perrysank down onto JD’s bed and put his head in his hands as he waited.  How had he screwed things up so royally?  And hadn’t he sworn again and again that nomatter what happened he’d never hurt JD? He’d promised him so many times and now here he was, crying his eyes outin the shower because of Perry.  It onlyreaffirmed his belief that JD deserved so much better.  He was jolted out of his thoughts when heheard JD turn the water off and he waited anxiously for him to dress and emergefrom the bathroom.  When he finally did,there was no way he could have prepared himself for just how miserable JDlooked.

             Standingbefore him was a very pale JD with bags under his red and puffy eyes, his damphair lying limp against his forehead.  Hewas dressed in an old sweatshirt and sweatpants and he looked like death warmedover.  He did not speak, instead waitingfor Perry to explain himself.

             “JD,”Perry started, pausing when he found his breath catching in his throat.  He closed his eyes and began again.  “JD, sweetheart, I’m so sorry for what I’veput you through.  If I could take it allback, I would.”

             JD’s lipquivered, but he stood his ground.  “Well,you can’t,” he said, his voice only shaking a little.  “What’s done is done.  You made it perfectly clear that you don’twant me.”

             “It’s notthat I don’t want you,” Perry said, his tone pleading.  “I never stopped wanting you, kiddo.  I – I was scared.  And Carla tearing me a new one today made merealize that.”

             “Whatcould you possibly have to be scared of?” JD asked, trying his hardest to soundangry, but it only came out as devastated.

             “Of justhow much I love you,” Perry said weakly. It was quite the sobering experience to actually say it out loud andjudging by JD’s expression, he could see that. “JD, I’m not here to make excuses for myself.  I just want you to know that if I could havea second chance at this, I’d make sure you knew just how much I care aboutyou.  Your happiness means everything tome and while I’m quite certain that there are plenty of people out there whocould make you happier than I ever could, I don’t know that I could live withmyself if I didn’t come here and try to make things right.”

             JDsniffed, drawing in a deep, shaky breath, before walking over to the bed andsitting down beside Perry.  “Why do youthink someone else could make me happier?” he asked in a small voice, staringdown at his lap.  “All I’ve ever wantedis you and when I had you, I was…Perry, you made me happier than I ever could have imagined.  And then, out of nowhere, you pushed me awaywith stupid excuses and you said things just to hurt me, to make sure I’dgo.  And now you’re telling me it’sbecause you were scared?”

             “I’venever felt like this in my entire life,” Perry said quietly, knowing that ifthere was any hope of JD forgiving him, he’d have to be more vulnerable than he’dever been.  “I – I don’t know how tohandle it.”

             “Youcould start by talking about it,” JD said, a bitter edge to his voice that hadnever been there before.  “I tell youeverything, Perry.  You’ve never done thesame for me.”

             Perryswallowed hard against the lump in his throat. “I’d like to start now, if that’s all right.”

             JD saidnothing, so Perry took it as permission to continue.

             “Themorning before… everything,” he started uncertainly, “I woke up before youdid.  And for a while, I just laid there,watching you sleep.  It wasn’t the firsttime, but this time was… different somehow. You looked so peaceful, and just lying there looking at you, Newbie, Icould see everything.  Our whole lives were there, right in front ofme.  The big things, the smallthings.  I could see moving in together,getting married, having a kid or two… I could also see the long days at workand coming home to you and having a frozen pizza for dinner and the stupidarguments we’d have.  What scared me mostabout all that was how badly I wanted it. The domesticity, the idea of being so transparent with another person…it freaked me out, JD.  And my firstinstinct was to run away and the only way I could think to do that was to hurtyou so badly that you’d willingly go.  Itwas cruel and selfish and so very wrong of me to put you through that.  Which is why I’ll understand if you want togo our separate ways, but I wouldn’t be able to give up without at leasttrying.”

             “All Iever wanted was for you to be like this,” JD said, his voice wavering onceagain.  “To be completely honest withme.  I always sensed there was something you were holding back, I justdidn’t know what it was.  I want allthose things with you, too, Perry.  Don’tyou think that scares me just as much? But even through all that fear and uncertainty, I know that it’s right.  I don’tcare if there are twenty thousand other people scattered across the globe thatare ‘better suited’ for me than you.  Idon’t want anyone else.  And I neverwill.”

             Perryreleased a long breath and slowly held out his hand for JD to take, but only ifhe chose to.  “You’ve always been sopatient with me, sweetheart, and for that, I can’t thank you enough.  And if there’s any way for me to repay thatto you, I’ll try for the rest of my life.”

             JDhesitated for a moment, but then took Perry’s hand, lacing their fingerstogether.  “Just promise me that when youget scared,” he murmured, looking up at Perry with tear-filled eyes, “you’lltell me.  If there’s anything I’velearned from this, it’s that we’re stronger together.  You keep me in check when I’m doing somethingdumb or crazy and I can help you when you’re worried about something.”

             “Ipromise,” Perry vowed, squeezing JD’s hand. “I love you, kid.  Yourforgiveness means everything.”

             “I loveyou, too,” JD whispered, closing his eyes even as his tears finally slippedfree.  He ducked his head andimmediately, Perry pulled him closer, into his arms.  

             Perrypressed a kiss to JD’s hair, which was still damp, and rocked him slowly.  He didn’t bother telling him he was okay orthat things would be all right, because he couldn’t be certain that either ofthem were true.  All he could promise wasthat he would try his hardest to see that JD would soon be happy again.  And for now, that was enough.

[joongie-smiles]

Note: i’ve had this idea brewing in my head and I absolutely love the Heathers Genderbend AU. I also included some things @raven-ink answered in an ask.

Warning: mentions of suicide, swearing, slight mentions of religion, angst, sad McNamara

Tags: @fandoms-ate-my-wallet

Masterlist

Request

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Dear Mr. Self-Centered Bag of Dicks Hunter “I am Popular so I can be an Asshat” Chandler

    My life has been so much better worse with you out of it. Still I didn’t mean to kill you. I miss you. I hope you rot in hell are happy in heaven.

                            Bye Bitch With Love, Vincent Sawyer

Vincent Sawyer sighed and ripped the paper from his notebook and stuffed it in his bag where all the other reject letters ended up. Nobody paid much attention to the young boy, most too busy writing their sorry excuses for letters. Mr. Fleming decided that in order to let out grief in a healthy way, the students should write letters to the newly deceased Hunter Chandler. They could write whatever they wanted in the letters, but Mr. Fleming said it would be good to write about how they were feeling and how his death changed their lives. Mr. Fleming swore that once the letters were collected in a shoe box they would be burned on a mini pier; nobody would ever read them. So most people just opted for short notes consisting of ‘Sucks that you’re dead’ or ‘Karma's a Bitch’. The only ones who seemed to really put some thought in their letters were the remaining two Hunters, Rae Sweeney, Kate Kelly, Vincent Sawyer, and, surprisingly, Jaclyn Dean. What could she have been writing?

Nothing good, of course. Jaclyn Dean was not the kind of person who held up facades of normalcy and she certainly never changed herself to please others. So, she’d be damned if she was going to write some big, flowery letter to the red headed son of a bitch. Instead, she wrote exactly how she was feeling. That was what the hippie teacher wanted after all.

Dear Devil Incarnate,

    You know I never really believed the whole god thing but if there is one, then the old weezer must have hated you more than he hated me. He fucked you over big time and earned himself a brownie point. I didn’t know you for long, thank god, but none the less you successfully presented yourself as an ass. The worst asshole of them all. King Ass of the Assholes. No nevermind not king, that would bloat your ego too much, and we all know it’s too fuckin’ big as is. You’re more like a rat. Yeah, a stupid rat who fell for the trap and went off to hell. Too bad I’ll have to put up with you in hell. Oh well, keep the throne warm for me.

-JD

JD smirked, the letter was perfect. She leaned back in her desk and looked around, once more being hit by a wave of boredom. A loud sob caught her attention and she turned to look at who made the obnoxious noise. It was the two cheerleder bimbos, Kate and Rae. JD scoffed. Oh great, could they be anymore dramatic?

Yes, they could. Kate and Rae were clutching each other and sobbing loudly. They didn’t care that some some of her classmates were looking at them like they were crazy. The King of the school had just died, how could they not show their grief in an over dramatic and over the top way?! Kate and Rae wrote the letter together, passing the piece of paper back and forth in order to write their heart-felt and well thought out letter.

Our Dearest Hunter Chandler,

I We can’t believe you’re dead! We miss you so sosososo much and we wish we could have helped you. And we would have. We even would have missed cheer for you. Yeah totally. We just hope that you’re happy wherever you are.

Love, Kate and Rae

They drew little broken hearts on the edges of the paper and Kate hugged the letter. Rae quickly snatched the letter from her and smoothed out the wrinkles. They were proud of the short yet sweet letter and were convinced that no one else could write a better one. Well, maybe Hunter McNamara could. 

And he did. Well, he tried to. He tried to put his feelings on paper and convey all the bundled emotions churning inside of him. If only the tears would stop blurring his vision long enough to finish the letter.

Dear Hunter,

I know you didn’t really like it when we got sad and ‘soft on you’ but now I can’t really help it. And I know you would have laughed at and called Mr. Fleming’s idea stupid, but might as well do it, right? And I know I’m not as good of a writer as Vincent is but I’ll try my best. You’re one of my best friends and even though you didn’t show it very much or very well, I know that you cared about us. And we care about you. And I know it’s dumb to feel guilty but it’s hard not to, you know? You’ve always been there for me and you’ve always protected me from so many things  but I couldn’t even save you from . . . whatever it is that made hurt enough to . . .  And I know deep down it wasn’t my fault but I just can’t but think  about what ifs and look back at our texts and try to find something, anything that you might have said or done to try to reach out. Because I know you, and you wouldn’t have said anything directly but maybe I missed something, some subtle hint to show just how much you were hurting. And how could I not have noticed it? How could I not have noticed how much you were hurting? I mean, I talked to you at the party hours before. And I would have helped you, I would have . . . I would have moved the mountains to help you because I know how that feels. How it feels to feel worthless and small and scared and unnoticed. I never told anyone but I know how it feels. It might not have been the same kind of hurt but I would have helped you. I miss you so much and I promise to try to stay strong and I’ll remember you. I’ll try to stay strong for Hunter Duke and Vincent and you’re parents and everyone because if I couldn’t help you then at least I can help others.

Love, Hunter McNamara

He wiped away the stray tears that had fallen on his cheeks and carefully folded the letter. He knew that he was probably the only one who wrote such a long letter, but he didn't care. He turned to look at Hunter Duke, who was sitting next to him, and smiled gently at him. Hunter Duke responded with a tight-lipped smile that was obviously forced. He didn’t dwell on it though, because Hunter Duke must be hurting just as much as he was.

He wasn’t. The loss of Hunter Chandler was a shock to everyone and the suicide was grief-worthy, but he couldn’t find it in himself to be too sad. After all, Hunter Chandler hadn’t been, in his words, “Pope Francis”. Honestly, Hunter Duke didn’t want to write a letter, but as a Hunter he was expected to write one. So, being mindful of Hunter McNamara sitting next to him, he wrote.

Dear Hunter,

Your death is a shock to us all. You will not be forgotten, especially not after the big spectacle you caused with you suicide letter. Makes sense that you went out with a bang, you always were a dramatic son of a bitch (and I mean that with love, of course). Some people hope that you are going to hell now where you belong, but I don’t. I hope you go where you deserve to be, a place far far away from here and no longer in our lives. It’s a shame really that you won’t be here anymore. Poor Hunter McNamara is torn up and so am I, of course. But I will be strong for him and take over the position as head Hunter. Don’t worry about us, the school will be in good hands.

Sincerely, H. Duke

Good riddance, Chandler. Hunter Duke smiled when Hunter McNamara did and folded his letter. Without a word, he picked up his letter and McNamara’s and took them to Mr. Fleming’s desk and put them in the small box holding the other letters. One by one, everyone else did the same and when all the letters had been collected, they were thrown in the trash bin Mr. Fleming had dragged in the room. Then, Mr. Fleming lit a lighter and threw it in the bin. The letters caught on fire and started to burn. The students watched as their words, some well thought out and others absent mindedly scribbled on crumpled pieces of paper, faded and and turned to ash, just like the paper they were written on did. They watched with expressions varying from sadness and boredom as the paper turned to ash until their words had been reduced to unidentifiable sot. And yet, their words were still burned into their memory and those words paired with memories of Hunter Chandler clung onto them just like the smoke that clung to their clothes. And the memory of Hunter Chandler, like the smoke that stained their clothing, wouldn’t be washed away that easily.

A/N: Finally got that done with! I am honestly really proud of this and I hope you all will take this as an apology for my unexpected hiatus caused by school, finals, and work. But now I am done with the break and I am back and ready to write. Up next is a song fic request from Hunters AU Freeze Your Brain. As always requests are open and please sned me some feed back and tell me if you want to be tagged on something or just send me a dm to talk which I am always up to do. 

[blownoffsa]

meant to be yours.

small drabble, mainly from veronica’s pov based around yo girl and meant to be yours. 

please ask before reblogging!

Keep it together. Keep it together.   Feet kissed the ground for a split second as she carried herself further and further away from Westerberg, advancing near her own home.Martha was probably dying. Martha could have died, and this one would be all her fault. No one else, no boyfriend with poisoned intentions or cruel friends – her. She wasn’t just becoming a Heather. She was becoming a murderer. The ghosts of her past, literal and figurative, took form while taunting her. Telling her to keep her shit together, to hold it together like she had so desperately tried to before. 

She had admittedly done a remarkable job at pretending to be okay when it came to people she hardly cared about, while she was under the influence of those who towered above her. But now that she had grown from the very foundation that the one she swore she would never become she had crashed back down.

Electric, red, pulsating beams seemed to hold her back, shackle her arms behind as she struggled. No Escape, No Escape.Veronica’s running on fumes, now. Veronica’s totally fried.Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover the feelings running themselves to death in a crowded mind. Heather, Kurt, Ram, Martha, everyone who has died in might die... She needed to get away from the one climbing up her ladder. Climbing up her ladder, holy shit, he was going into her room. He was going to be there, probably armed, and she would die. He would kill her, there is no one that he wouldn’t or couldn’t kill. Heather grew a wicked smile and laughed, cackles roaring in her mind as Kurt and Ram hovered expectantly, commentating unnecessarily about the happenings. The closet, the closet, the CLOSET. Her legs picked up faster as she ran to the only place she could think of for safety. Back collided against the wall, a single light hanging from the ceiling. She brought a blanket up close to her chest, his voice ringing outside the door.

         “KNOCK KNOCK! So sorry to burst in through the window... Dreadful etiquette, I know.”  She could practically taste the bitterness in his voice. It was palpable. Then again, Jason Dean always loved his irony. She thought back to the night of the party, before all seemed lost. Before anyone had died. It was a brash decision, one that she would be unable to truly get over. But the night was heaven in a Hellhole. It was magical. It was just the two of them. No world, no pain. Bodies intertwined, free. What a slam back to reality his arm was against her door.

“Get OUT of my HOUSE.”            Her voice tried to be strong but it came out as scared, broken. The very dark tone that she had loved not even weeks ago was now corrupted, turned into something that she would never be able to get out of her mind. He spoke again, knowing that she was hiding in the closet. Slyly telling her to open the door. Poison. He was poison. A wolf in Wolf’s clothing, one that would act like a sheep to the Sheep. She knew what he was now. She was sure of it.   “I’ll scream, and my parents will call the police.”   

           ...Maybe jail would help him. Maybe it would change the things she tried to change. Or maybe he was too damaged to be changed because he never learned how. That was when she heard a lighter tone, something reassuring, forgiving.  “All is forgiven, baby! Come on. Get dressed, you’re my date for the pep rally tonight!”

Date? He was coming up there to kill her. She was next, she was very aware that she was next. Veronica was confused, scared, and acted out of impulse.  “What--? WHY?”

“Our classmates thought they were going to sign a petition... you gotta come out here and see what they really signed!” 

           All of the color previously in her face drained. She knew it. He wouldn’t change, and he was proud of this fact. He was over the fucking Moon he had almost succeeded in whatever act of heroism he would claim. He began to make her feel guilty, telling her that she treated him like trash, that she should be dead. But now he claimed to blame it on high school. Not the fact that he was a God damned murderer. Not the fact that he was not sane. He pushed the blame. Anyone other than he. JD went on, talked about how he hit the wall and started to cry, and she could feel her heart break. Not for herself, but her him. For the boy that never got a chance. He knew how to play her, even now.     AND SO I BUILT A BOMB—

           ...Bomb. He was going to blow up the fucking school. All of that exposition for this reveal. She was desperate for a chance to change him one last time, to convince him. Grasping at imaginary straws. He began to plead. Telling her that they were meant to be. “Don’t give up on me now, finish what we have begun. I was meant to be yours.” A command, softened by a broken tone. 

Her hand reached for the knob. One last shot. He was softening up, right? She could possibly convince herself of it one last time. That is, until he went right back to where he started. Quickly.                             Well. So much for that bitter fantasy.

Her hand retracted its reach from the door, partially thankful for her being able to snap back into this harsh reality, those sadness did creep in through cracks. She wished she could open the door and convince him that all would be okay, that all would be truly forgotten. But she also knew where she stood. On top of the chair, tying a blanket – makeshift noose with a grip on her waist – around her. If she could convince him that she was dead, she would have some freedom to plan what she needed to plan, to mull over in her head the past couple of weeks and the repercussions.

“YOU WERE MEANT TO BE MINE.”   Came the possessive yell from the other side of the door, a slam to the closet where she stood. “I AM ALL THAT YOU NEED. YOU – YOU CARVED OPEN MY HEART. YOU CAN’T JUST LEAVE ME HERE TO BLEED... VERONICA.”    The name ripped through the house, it’s a wonder that her parents hadn’t been alarmed sooner. His voice must be hoarse, and her parents didn’t truly seem to care. If something would go wrong, something too tight, she could die. 

                             She was ready.

A bang through what she could only assume to be a fist to the door.   “Open the door, please. Veronica, open the door. Veronica, can we, can we not fight anymore? Please? Can we not fight anymore? Listen, listen.” His voice became soft, and she felt her heart melt again, bleed again. She would not budge.  “I know you’re scared. I’ve been there!”   Had he truly been in her position? What had his father done to him before? She felt awful about the things she couldn't fix, it ate up her insides. Guilt for things she had never done.   “I’m your ticket. I can set you free.”   Something akin to a whine became his voice, losing it quickly. Quickly fading.   “Veronica, don’t make me come in there.”    He’s counting to three. She had three more seconds to make this right. Three seconds – or, if she knew JD –which she did... less. 

One. 

Two. 

FUCK IT.

Gun shot at the knob of the door as he kicked it down, the same moment the stool left from underneath her feet. She dangled from the light fixture above,, holding her breath. Not a sound. Not a move. The noise was met with a cold silence that hung in the air with the ghosts that taunted her. JD seemed... worried. Sad, upset? Something other than angry. He was always so angry but this, this wasn’t what he was.   ...Had it worked?. She desperately tried to ignore the rest of the time he was in the room, ignore the feeling of his hands grabbing her face, the feeling of his tears as they stained her blazer, him begging for her not to leave him alone. Claiming that she was the only one he could trust. She was the only one he could trust, and her dangling from a rope and a closet threatened sabotage against it all. His trust, quite literally hanging from a string. Would he ever be able to trust anyone again after he found out that she was lying? It wouldn’t necessarily matter. She wouldn’t be alive to tell.

       When JD left, Veronica's mom came back and seemed to care for her for the first time in her life, yelling and telling her that her ‘joke’ wasn’t funny. She seemed to care, to question, and for the first time... It seemed GENUINE.

                               She was about 17 years too late. 

Admittedly, Veronica could have had it worse, her parents could be Big Bud Dean or dead... but they still didn’t fully care. Or care to understand. She shrugged her mother off, grabbing her croquet mallet. 

The hour of truth was fast approaching, either one, or neither would come out alive.