AN: i dont really have an explanation from this aside from the fact that i'm super gay for the heathers and this is all self-indulgent smut. thing is, i don't really know how to write smut so if there are any errors, please tell me - i was highkey embarrassed to proofread this tbh. i still can't believe i wrote this.
who am i
and if you clicked this story on accident, please know that this is NSFW and basically PWP. although there might be more installments in the future. idk yet. i'm still working on other things.
hope you enjoy.
Ciao. c:
Sex with Heather Chandler goes as one would expect: rough, unforgiving, but goddamn is she good at what she does.
Veronica Sawyer knows.
She doesn't remember what happened the night she spent with Heather aside from the fact that they, well, did it. There was alcohol, Veronica knew that much. She remembered smelling it on Heather's breath as she was shoved against the wall of a dark hallway. Heather's impossibly soft lips were roughly on top of hers as they struggled for both breath and domination. Heather obviously won that fight; despite her lithe figure, Veronica knew that she was stronger than she let on. The proof was evident in the bite marks Veronica found littering her neck in an angry purple and the red crescents lined up in an arc on her shoulder blades when she wakes up.
It doesn't surprise her that Heather Chandler slept around; it's the fact that Heather slept with her out of all people that threw her off.
Everyone at Westerberg High knows the pecking order. Anyone who didn't was subject to find out, courtesy of Queen Megabitch Chandler herself. And that usually involved someone getting beat up, pantsed, or trashed. Lucky ones only got pantsed. Unlucky ones got all three (the Swelly Deluxe as Ram and Kurt call it, but Veronica knows that names can be misleading and, unfortunately, the Swelly Deluxe is one of them).
Veronica hisses when the hangover suddenly hits. To say it hurt would be an understatement—it feels like someone is taking a meat cleaver and splitting her skull in half. She holds her forehead in her hand as she leans back against a large vanity desk, the rattling of makeup bottles amplifying her migraine even more.
God, how fucked up was she last night?
The answer: pretty fucked up if it meant her sleeping with Heather Chandler.
Veronica takes a moment to wait for the pain to ebb a bit before she trusts herself to start moving. She forces herself to shuffle around the almost-hilariously large bedroom in order to find any article of clothing she recognizes as hers. She sees her dark-blue bra hanging off the bedpost, a pair of incredibly racy panties dangling right next to it. Veronica chides herself for looking away as she reaches out for her bra. She had sex with Heather; looking at her underwear should be nothing.
But maybe prudishness is something that's hard to kill. Like a bad habit. Or a horrible hangover.
Veronica is struggling to attach the clasp of her bra when she hears the door creak open. She yelps when she sees Heather walk in wearing a scanty bathrobe, her blonde hair wet and falling over her shoulders. There's a certain kind of rush that hits Veronica in the chest. Is it panic? Is it adrenaline? Is it both? She doesn't know, but what she does know is that Heather is approaching her in strides, and a sudden hit of fear hits Veronica square in the stomach.
"You're still here," Heather says as she gets in Veronica's face. A part of Veronica wants to laugh—she forgot how short Heather was without her heels. But another part of her wants to stay alive and yells at her to shut up. Veronica decides to compromise and allows a little snort to escape her lips. She sees Heather raise an eyebrow.
"Is…that a problem?" Veronica asks. It's a stupid question, and with the way Heather rolls her eyes, she agrees.
"'Is that a problem?'" Heather mocks in a high voice. "Of course it's a problem, you fuckin' pillowcase!" She says in her regular tone. "If anyone finds you here, especially my parents, you and I will be in big—shit."
"Ah, of course. The parent problem." Veronica says.
"Yes. The parent problem." Heather narrows her eyes as she emphasizes the word. Veronica doesn't need to think twice about who she's referring to. "Which is why you need to hurry up and get dressed."
Veronica feels her face flush when she finally remembers that she's naked.
She's naked and she's a mess and she's standing in front of Heather Chandler.
If Veronica wasn't in the Heathers' inner circle, she's positive that nothing good would have come out of her current situation. The thought of what might have happened is enough to chill her blood as she finally attaches her bra.
When Veronica finally looks up (she doesn't remember when her eyes trailed down to the floor), she sees that Heather's eyes are wandering over her body, arms crossed and hip against the vanity that she was leaning against a few moments earlier. There is something living in Heather's eyes as she continues to stare; something burning, something hungry, like a predator ready to pounce. Veronica's throat dries as she's hit with the realization that Heather is checking her out.
Heather Chandler is honest-to-God checking her out.
A wave of heat roundhouse-kicks Veronica in the gut as she stupidly stares back at Heather. That heat turns into a raging flame when Heather's eyes flick up to meet hers. Veronica knows she should have looked away and resume her search for her clothes—but she doesn't. Instead, she stares back, her heart ramming itself against her ribcage when Heather's eyebrows meet together in annoyance.
"I'm waiting." That hunger in Heather's eyes is less visible now, subsiding into the malicious twinkle now living in the corner of her eye. Veronica should have been scared shitless; anyone else would have been.
Instead, another wave of heat hits her and begins to pool under her gut. Veronica can feel her body throb and head pound, and she can't tell if it's from the hangover or because she's insanely turned on—
"Do you remember last night?" escapes her lips before her mind could even think it. Her body chills as she watches Heather's eyes grow wide, no doubt surprised by Veronica's sudden audacity. They stare at each like that for a bit, Heather wide-eyed (and maybe even a little angry, with the way her body tenses up) and Veronica blank-faced (inside, however, she is jumping into the grave she dug herself).
Suddenly, Heather's face scrunches up, and before Veronica can even react, Heather is gripping her cheeks, squeezing them in a vice-grip. Veronica's hand flies up to grip Heather's wrist with the same amount of strength, but she's not making any effort to pull Heather away. Perhaps it's a subconscious reaction, Veronica muses in the back of her mind, but she doesn't entertain the thought long enough.
Nothing's important when Heather Chandler is dangerously close to her.
"If you breathe a word of that to anyone"—Heather's grip tightens and so does Veronica's—"I swear to fucking God that your life will be a living hell."
Veronica should have backed down. She should have been obedient and listened.
Instead, she smirks as best as she can with her cheeks smushed together. It must be the remaining alcohol in her body from last night (if that's even possible; Veronica doesn't give a shit at this point) that's making her so stupidly bold, but as she grips onto the collar of Heather's bathrobe, nothing matters as she tugs Heather even closer.
"How about you shut me up, then?" Veronica growls.
Heather just stares at her for a moment. Veronica thinks Heather is going to slap the absolute shit out of her. She tenses up, bracing for impact…
But she doesn't expect Heather to shoot forward and close the distance.
It's a shock, but Veronica recovers quick enough to release her grip on Heather. She wraps her arms around Heather's neck and pulls her closer, deepening the kiss. Heather's lips are offset from hers, but Veronica doesn't care, especially when she can feel Heather's hands trekking down, lingering on her chest and waist as the caresses grow rougher, needier. Veronica groans into Heather's mouth when she feels those hands trail down to cup her ass, fingernails leaving a wake of dull pain before digging into her.
Veronica's own hands begin to wander, tangling themselves in Heather's hair. Veronica can feel how wet Heather's hair still is when she grabs a fistful of it, tugging at it gently. Something rumbles in her mouth—whether it's a growl or a groan, Veronica can't tell—and Heather pushes back with an unexpected amount of strength. Veronica collides with the wall, the impact squeezing the remaining air out of her burning lungs. They're screaming for breath now, but Veronica's too stubborn to pull back; kissing Heather just feels so damn good.
She takes a gulp of air when Heather pulls back a bit (Veronica notes this in the back of her mind as a small victory) to pepper kisses along Veronica's jawline and neck.
"You"—Heather nips Veronica's neck hard—"are"—she takes the skin and sucks—"so"—she licks the hickey to soothe it—"fucked right now."
Veronica still has the sense in her to let out a breathy laugh as Heather continues to mark her neck even more. "Was that a pun?"
A knee forcing its way between her legs is her answer. Veronica groans again as Heather pushes it against her center, the sudden pressure a window of temporary relief and pleasure.
Veronica tries to resist the urge to grind against Heather's thigh, and instead occupies herself as best as she could with removing Heather's bathrobe. It's hard to concentrate, especially since Heather is burning kisses on her neck.
A smirk presses up against the crook of her neck. "Need help?" Heather asks, her breath hitting Veronica's ear. She pretends it doesn't send shivers down her spine.
"Fuck you," Veronica says, and finally undoes the knot keeping the robe together. She pushes it off Heather's shoulders, but the robe pools around her arms, revealing lacy underwear. Veronica doesn't have time to appreciate Heather's beauty, not when Heather is chuckling next to her ear.
"Aren't we already?" Heather purrs, shrugging her robe off. Veronica hears something and she notices that Heather's bra is sagging. The realization hits Veronica, and her hands untangle themselves from Heather's hair and shoot down to her chest. Veronica's hands are far from gentle, nails digging into Heather as she grips tightly. Veronica's lips are on Heather's neck now, licking and nipping. Angry reds and painless purples appear on Heather, and Veronica can feel the rumble of Heather's voice as she growls when Veronica bites just a bit too hard over her pulse.
Veronica feels her body throbbing with her heartbeat, especially when she feels Heather grip her hips, and forces Veronica to grind against her knee. A guttural grunt slips past Veronica's lips as finally gives in and follows the motions Heather is guiding her through, shocks of pleasure shooting up her spine.
"Bed," Heather breathily commands in Veronica's ear, following it with a moan when Veronica pinches the tips of her breasts. Veronica can nod only once before they stagger to their destination, haphazardly removing the rest of their clothes along the way.
It's Heather who hits the bed first. Her legs are wide enough to let Veronica settle her body in between them. The skin-to-skin contact is dizzying, and Veronica breaks into goosebumps when she feels Heather's nails scraping down and up the length of her back.
Heather breaks off the kiss, her pants buffeting Veronica's lips. "Fuck," she mumbles before resuming their kiss, her tongue trespassing into Veronica's mouth. Veronica groans as a reply, and subconsciously drags her hand down Heather's body, skimming over her breasts, trekking down her abdomen, dipping below her pelvis—
Heather's hand catches Veronica's wrist and the kiss suddenly ends.
Veronica can't help but glare at Heather. "What the hell," she begins, trying to wrest her hand away, "why're you—"
"Go down."
Veronica freezes.
"Wh-what?" She sputters out.
Heather's eyes get impossibly darker as she leans up, their noses barely grazing. The vicious stare that she's giving Veronica is beautifully frightening, and just looking at her turns Veronica on even more.
"Go. Down." Heather growls, the corner of her lips curling. "Don't make me say it again."
Veronica jumps into action.
She meets Heather for a rough peck before trailing kisses downward, past the her jaw, her hickey-ridden neck, the valley of her breasts, her heaving abdomen. Veronica's lips almost press against her pelvis, but she wills herself to stop and look up.
Heather is looking down at her, mussed blonde hair framing her face. Her eyes foggy with lust, and her mouth is half-open as heavy, hot breaths escape her lips.
Veronica's heart lurches in her chest.
Goddamn Heather Chandler is hot.
A hand grips Veronica's hair tightly, and she winces at the pain. "Now," Heather says, desperation leaking into her tone.
Veronica smirks to herself as she softly presses her lips against Heather's pelvis.
She never knew that Heather Chandler knew how to beg.
Slowly, Veronica goes down, skipping past that area Heather needed attention the most to plant kisses on the inside of her thighs. Heather squirms and tightens her grip on Veronica's hair, the air heavy with the scent of anticipation and lust.
"I swear to God if you don't"—Heather pauses to groan when Veronica sucks on her thigh to leave a mark—"eat me out soon, I'm going to make your life—"
"A living hell?" Veronica cuts in, finishing her sentence with a lick across the length of Heather's folds.
Heather moans, and her legs jerk a bit when Veronica licks her again. "Yes," she breathes out.
There's something about hearing Heather's voice, wanton and needy, that snaps something inside of Veronica. For once, she feels in charge, especially when Heather grinds against her tongue, her salty flavor overwhelming Veronica. Moans and expletives fill the air, and the amount doubles when Veronica goes a bit lower to enter Heather with her tongue.
"Oh God, you're better sober," Heather says, rolling her hips forward. A flush of pride fills Veronica as she bobs her head back and forth, meeting Heather's hips halfway. Heather's legs are quivering now, her vice-grip threatening to rip out Veronica's hair as her movements become more and more sporadic, her muscles contracting.
Veronica feels a buzzing sensation in her head as she continues her ministrations. She drunk, she muses. She's drunk off Heather's flavor, drunk off the power she has over Heather, drunk off the fact that she toppled the Queen of Westerberg with a simple phrase, and drunk off the sound of Heather gasping her name for more.
Veronica looks up in time to see Heather arch her back off the bed, her mouth open in a silent scream. Veronica feels Heather tighten around her tongue, pulsing. A sharp inhale sounds above her and Heather's body is taut like a bow, her nails digging into Veronica's scalp. A string of curses followed by Veronica's name spills from Heather's lips as she rides the aftershocks, releasing her death-grip.
"Fuck." Heather lets out a breathy laugh as she relaxes. "I have to admit, you're a fucking god compared to Ram and Kurt."
Veronica wipes her mouth with the back of her hand as she sits up. "I don't think that's saying a lot."
Heather sits up as well, leaning in close their noses brush together. "It's still a compliment," she says. There's a dangerous glint in her eyes, and Veronica knows that her reign of temporary power is over. A hit of instinctive fear kicks in, but it quickly melts into arousal when they meet for a kiss.
It's sloppy and uncoordinated, their teeth hitting each other, but Veronica doesn't care and she's positive that Heather doesn't either. They're too busy running their hands across each other's body, intertwining their tongues together, fighting each other for dominance. Veronica thinks she's winning because Heather is writhing beneath her, her muffled moans filling the air as she tangles her hands in Veronica's hair. Veronica feels Heather tug, and surprises herself when she doesn't hiss nor groan; she moans.
And then Heather's strength takes her by surprise—again. Next thing she knows, Heather is pinning her to the bed by the wrists, knee wedged between and pressing against her center. Veronica moans again in Heather's mouth (a part of her is surprised that Heather managed to keep the contact between them but another isn't; it's Heather, after all, and what doesn't Heather know about sex?), and her hips roll against Heather's leg.
Heather breaks the kiss off with a smack! and looks down at Veronica, eyes glinting dangerously in the light. Veronica can feel her throat drying up at the sight. Arousal and anticipation churns her stomach.
"Who knew Veronica Sawyer could look like this?" Heather asks, applying more pressure to Veronica's center. Veronica yelps and involuntarily pushes back. "Hair messed up, cheeks red, lips swollen"—Heather readjusts her grip and traces Veronica's jawline with the tip of her finger, and grins when she sees the line of goosebumps she leaves in her wake—"looking all hot and bothered."
Veronica has the audacity to smirk. "Who knew Heather Chandler was gentle during sex?"
Heather laughs a laugh so rich and low it sends shivers down Veronia's spine. "Oh Veronica," she begins as she closes in with a dangerous grin, "I need to warm up before I start the show."
Veronica opens her mouth to say something, but her words jam in her throats when she feels two fingers push inside her. Her toes curl and she arches her back, her chest pushing against Heather's. Her nerves explode with pleasure as Heather moves at an excruciatingly slow pace. Veronica can feel Heather curl her lips and her fingers.
"Tell me," Heather breathes, "what do you want?"
"I—ungh!" Veronica twitches as Heather slams her fingers in, her palm hitting Veronica's clit.
Heather chuckles. "I didn't quite get that."
Veronica looks Heather dead in the eye. "I want it hard," she declares.
Heather doesn't need to be told twice.
She lets go of Veronica's hands and attaches herself to Veronica's neck, nipping and sucking. Veronica's nails travel up and down Heather's back, stopping only to dig into her skin when Heather curls her fingers at that particular spot. Grunts and moans slip past her, her volume rising as Heather picks up the pace. It should have been a brutal speed, but with the way Heather angles her hand so that she hits Veronica's clit every time, Veronica finds herself slipping deeper and deeper into pleasure, the knot in her gut getting tighter and tighter.
"Fuck, Heather," she says, her nails digging into Heather's back again. Something slips past her eyes and down her temple; whether it's sweat or tears, Veronica doesn't know nor care.
All that matters to her is that she's so close.
All that matters to her is the pleasure electrocuting her nervous with every thrust.
All that matters to her is that she's about to come.
All that matters to her is that Heather is about to make her come.
And it's that thought that pushes her over the edge.
Veronica arms wrap around Heather's neck, hugging her close. She can barely feel Heather returning the embrace with one arm because she's too busy moaning out Heather's name over and over again like a mantra, clinging to her as her body tenses and quivers. Her toes are digging into the sheets, her core is on fire, and her eyes are rolling back as the waves of her orgasm crash into her.
Then it's all over. Veronica's body relaxes, and Heather slips away from her hold. The bite of the cold air sinks its fangs into her skin, but Veronica is too tired to care. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, wondering if the pounding she feels in her head is still her hangover or her heartbeat. Maybe it's both, she concludes.
An annoyed groan breaks the peaceful silence. "Are you really going to sleep?" Heather asks. Veronica can imagine her standing naked, arms crossed and eyebrows knitted together with irritance.
"Yes," Veronica says before a yawn interrupts her. "I'm tired."
"Well, you're not the only one, but I'm still up."
"That can change, can't it?"
There's a pause. Then the bed creaks as the mattress sinks, and Veronica can feel warmth returning to her side. Veronica turns to her side and slips her arm across Heather's waist. She can feel Heather tense before melting at the contact. It makes the smallest of smiles appear on Veronica's lips. One part of her wonders if Heather's too tired to push her off.
Another part thinks that Heather just likes being held—like a normal person.
"You better haul your ass out of here when you wake up," Heather says.
Veronica doesn't have enough energy to formulate a proper reply. She gives a grunt and takes another deep breath, taking in the scent of Heather.
She never noticed it before, but Heather smells sweet. Like candy.
Rough but sweet, Veronica thinks to herself as she teeters on the edge of sleep, Heather Chandler is rough but sweet.
The thought makes her even more beautiful in Veronica's eyes.