## Preface

She's God
Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at https://archiveofourown.org/works/11455269.

Rating:
  Explicit
Archive Warning:
  No Archive Warnings Apply
Category:
  F/M
Fandom:
  Heathers: The Musical - Murphy & O'Keefe
Relationship:
  Jason "J. D." Dean/Veronica Sawyer
Characters:
  Jason "J. D." Dean, Veronica Sawyer
Additional Tags:
  its Unhealthy, Unhealthy Power Dynamics, jd is a kinky shit, alcohol mention, they dont drink any tho, the title is a pun, i told myself i wouldn't write this, and then i did, fingerguns, POV Second Person, i blame homestuck, POV Jason "J. D." Dean, Hair-pulling, uhh, whatever its called when u eat someone out
Language:
  English
Series:
  Part 1 of messed up kids trying to find good things about life
Stats:
  Published: 2017-07-10 Words: 748 Chapters: 1/1

# She's God

by CoralFlower

Summary

> She's got something in her that makes you feel weak, soft, hers. Like you've been running for hours and your muscles can't keep up. And it turns you on. You don't know why you can only get off when there's a power imbalance involved. There's probably something fucked up about that, but then, you've known for a while that you got messed up somewhere along the line.

> But god, you'd worship her if she asked it of you. She brings you to your knees. Like right now. She's on your couch; your dad is out, and won't be back until later. She's on your couch, with a hand in your hair and you between her legs.

Notes

> *banging pots and pans* this is not a portrayal of a healthy relationship, JD's mindset is fucked up!

See the end of the work for more notes

## She's God

She's got something in her that makes you feel weak, soft, hers. Like you've been running for hours and your muscles can't keep up. And it turns you on. You don't know why you can only get off when there's a power imbalance involved. There's probably something fucked up about that, but then, you've known for a while that you got messed up somewhere along the line.

But god, you'd worship her if she asked it of you. She brings you to your knees. Like right now. She's on your couch; your dad is out, and won't be back until later. She's on your couch, with a hand in your hair and you between her legs.

"A-ah..."

You watch her, transfixed, as her head tips back and her hand in your hair tightens enough to pull on it a little and make you groan. She pulls harder, on purpose this time, and you don't know what kind of noise you make, because fuck, fuck, can she do this to you always?

"Focus, J.D."

You nod, and swallow, but even when she stops tugging, it takes you a moment to remember what you were doing. Oh yeah. You lean in, duck your head back under her skirt, and press your lips up against her. You kiss her, and she wriggles, pulling you closer to her.

"Mm, J.D., that's--"

You want to make her feel good, you want to do good and make her love you, make her need you. You drag your tongue perpendicularly across her slit, and she makes a noise like she can't decide if it's good or not. So you stop that, and move up the slightest bit to latch onto her clit instead. As soon as your lips touch it, she jolts, so you're very careful as you begin to suck on it, because you don't want this to be too much.

She sobs, and her thighs press in against your head as she begins to babble at you, mostly incomprehensible, but also sometimes your name, and oh, doesn't that feel great. It's good. She's good.

And suddenly it's done, she's done, and pulling you out from between her legs, and you whisper her name,

"Veronica, Veronica,"

She puts a finger to your lips, shushes you.

"Please," you mutter one more time before you obey.

"Good boy."

You stare up into her eyes, feeling weak, so weak, because you just, you don't know how she does this to you, brings you to your knees, makes you beg, makes you plead, and above all makes you like it. God. Fuck.

She moves, shifts, and it's one moment of confused silence before another of oh god oh shit what? She presses down with her foot and you whine, try not to buck your hips (they move anyway). This is weird, but more than that, it's degrading, and-- you love it, you love her, she's brilliant just for this--

"Veronica--"

"Hush."

A throaty gasp tumbles out through your lips, and you shut your eyes tight and hide your face in the couch. You can't figure out where to put your hands; do you keep them on her hips? Move them somewhere else? You don't know what you're doing here.

Her hand on your chin and her voice decide for you, when she tilts your head up and tells you,

"Hands behind your back."

You swallow, and do what she says without question, and then bite down on a moan as she grinds her heel into your crotch.

"Shit, fuckin', 'Ronica, Ronnie, please,"

"Shh."

You whimper, low and desperate, and she just smirks at you, brushes your bangs out of your eyes.

"I'm dying, here--"

"Hush."

"Ronnie--"

She nudges you with her foot, and you lurch towards her, as well as you can with your hands behind your back and your legs bent and spread out on either side of you.

"I said, shut up."

You choke on air, then, and you're still catching your breath when she yanks your head back by the hair and tells you to hurry it up and stop wasting her time, and god, god, it's fucked up but it works, it makes everything in you hum like alcohol without the sunscreen taste. Your hips stutter against her foot, and you sob, and then it's over, done, too fast, too soon.

She's good, you reflect, looking up at her and panting. She's good.

"You're good," you say, and mean it. She's good.

## Afterword

End Notes

> *banging pots and pans* im mentally ill so all of my motivation comes from comments! please comment!

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