Violence

by takentomygrave

"He can never let go of it; she realizes as his finger moves along the trigger's slope. He always has to have it on him, always has to be touching it in some way. It's a power thing, and it's obvious by the light in his eyes. It's chaotic, excited - unrestrained. It's terrifying, and the accompanied smirk doesn't do anything to calm her." [WEAPON PLAY WARNING / NON-CON UNDERTONES]

Hi.

Before you read this, I would like to remind again that this involves a gun. If you are sensitive towards firearms, I recommend not reading this. Despite writing this, I actively am against guns and heavily believe in gun control. I am a very liberal person and I want to make it clear that I meant no offense with this writing piece, and I'm terribly sorry if this hurts anybody's feelings/triggers any anxiety. This was simply because I felt that it was fitting to J.D's character. Once again, my apologies if this is upsetting.

Veronica doesn't know what she's doing.

She can't remember the last time she was ever this nervous. She had been so confident in the beginning when she had angrily scribbled about a 'suicide that he didn't perform himself' but she was beyond lost now. Her breathing was out of control and she felt like she was about to empty what little was left in her stomach.

Unwillingly, the sound of a clock ticking plays in her head as she fumbles with what's supposed to be a noose. She can't ever remember being so inadequate, so slow in such an extreme situation. And she can't remember when she became so stupid that she couldn't even tie a noose.

At least, not one that won't actually kill her. She's left fumbling with her bedsheets hurriedly, the thought briefly entertaining her while her fingers desperately play along the fabric. She's giving all she has, all she knows, as she tries to figure out a way to harness herself. She needs this plan to work more than anything. She knew his patterns. She knew he'd come for her. She just didn't know when, and that was her biggest villain. This wasn't about Heather anymore. This wasn't about Kurt and Ram. This was about an entire school of mostly innocent people. This was about Betty Fin and Martha. This was about saving lives.

She's not sure if she's even going to be able to save hers, because as soon as she loops a knot she hears her window slam open. The sound of the glass trembling fills the daunting silence, and she's left hunched over on her floor, still as can be.

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see his boots meet her floor, leaving smudges behind in his wake as he does his patrol.

The silence is suffocating. She doesn't want to speak, but even if she did she doesn't think she'd be able to get it out. Her chest is tight, throat closed up. This was it. She wasn't going to get out of this. This would be the end of Veronica Sawyer.

Vaguely, she thinks about her parents downstairs, eating. She had told them she wasn't hungry, so they'd leave her alone, but she knows they'd come up if they heard screaming. She wasn't going to risk that. J.D would shoot them dead. She wouldn't forgive herself if anything happened to them.

"Veronica."

He says her name as a statement and nothing more. There's no lingering question, no curiosity. If anything, he sounds smug. He knows he caught her.

Veronica stays silent as he continues moving around her room, stopping in front of her desk. She finally moves when he picks up her diary and thumbs through the pages, slowly turning to look at him. He doesn't give any acknowledgement of it except a faint smirk, too busy flipping through the pages. Finally, he settles on one, and Veronica pales.

She can see his eyes travel along the page before fixating on a part, and his smirk becomes a full on chuckle.

"Son of a bitch, huh?"

Veronica exhales before murmuring, "To put it lightly."

"You couldn't do any better than that?" He drops the book back onto her desk with a loud thump and begins to make his way over. "I mean, really, Veronica. You couldn't come up with something else? Something more creative?"

Whatever half-witted remark Veronica was going to dish out is discarded when he takes the final step towards her. She can now look directly up at him, but she chooses not to. She knows he's going to be looking at her.

"Change your mind, by any chance?" He asks. He waits for Veronica to give an answer, but she doesn't gift him with one. He doesn't deserve it. Her silence of course, has no effect. He just takes in a deep breath before dumping a clipped together stack of paper before her. "Read it."

Unwillingly, she does. It becomes more and more horrifying with each turn of the page. Each and every students signature, scribbled messily along lines. It ends with what's essentially a mass suicide note, topped off with an unnecessary 'fuck you.'

"People will believe anything." J.D drawls out. Veronica glances up at him with round eyes, her mouth hanging open ever so slightly.

"A hot tub in the cafeteria, tanning beds for class breaks. Anything."

Whatever bit of sanity Veronica had left at that moment snaps when she sees him reach for his gun.

"They'll even believe poorly planned suicides. The public will believe anything. Especially suicide. America loves a great sob story."

"Jason-"

"Think about it, Veronica. Think about it. You can get your revenge on everyone now."

Revenge. This was never about revenge. This all started because she wanted to make Heather puke up her hangover, not crash face first through her glass table after having a good old glass of liquid drain cleaner. This had absolutely nothing to do with revenge at this point.

"Revenge on who, J.D? Revenge on fucking who? Betty Finn? Martha? The problems are gone. They're already dead. We already did what we could."

J.D cocks a single brow. "And what about Heather Duke?"

Veronica doesn't want to kill anybody anymore. The idea is sickening, really. Heather Duke was a bitch, no doubt, but she didn't deserve to die. Not like this.

"Killing her isn't the answer."

"Then what is?" J.D counters her comment quickly. Briefly, his thumb brushes along the handle of his pistol, and the hair on the back of Veronica's neck rises.

"This opportunity is perfect, Ronnie. We've got it all right here." He motions towards the paper. Veronica opens her mouth to object, but he cuts her off. "Yeah, yeah. Violence isn't the answer." He mimics her. Veronica averts her eyes to the ground in what is almost shame. No, violence wasn't the answer, yet that's all she had used. All she had wanted was for her school to be a nice place and she ended up with a body count.

"Violence was the answer with Heather, wasn't it?" He taunts. "Sure, it wasn't exactly conventional, but it got rid of the problem, didn't it?"

"That doesn't mean it was okay." Veronica whispers.

J.D looks up at the ceiling and scoffs. "Jesus, Veronica. Who gives a shit? We solved the issue. We made high school bearable." He begins to rant. While he talks, he casually strolls around her room. He's making his way to her bed, staring up at the photos she has on her wall. She feels sick to her stomach when she realizes he's looking at one of her and Heather Chandler.

He stares at it for a second longer before pulling it from the board. "They're dead and gone, Veronica." He lets the photo fall from his hold down into the trash can. "Playing saint isn't going to bring them back."

"Nothing is going to bring them back, but I can stop the body count." Veronica tells him lowly. She doesn't like where this is going. This is heading somewhere a lot worse than death by gunshot.

"But why would you?" He's quick to contradict her. "There's more people to take care of. You didn't seriously think it ended with the football team, did you?"

Take care of makes Veronica's skin crawl. More people to murder, more lives to ruin.

"What about the girls you told me about? The ones that laughed at you in the cafeteria? The ones who mocked you about Kurt and Ram? What about them. They're still a problem."

"It doesn't matter, J.D. They're still people, and I won't partake in your fucking psychotic playdates anymore. My Bonnie and Clyde days are over."

J.D exhales through his nose, and Veronica can almost imagine smoke blowing through them. "You just don't get it, do you?" He sighs. "We can't just stop this. You have to finish what you started."

"I didn't start anything. You did."

"We did. Heather Chandler was a cold hearted bitch and we gave her what she deserved. We gave Kurt and Ram what they deserved. Now it's time to give these assholes what they're asking for." A psychotic grin grows on his face when Veronica's expression begins to change. "Remember, Veronica. Heather said it herself - you were a nobody. Those people treated you like a nobody. You were shit under their shoe. They only gave a shit about you because the queen bitch let you join her. They need to pay for what they did."

As he spoke, Veronica did remember. She remembered being discarded, ignored by everyone except the losers. She remembered all the times she felt so useless, so lost because of all of them. J.D was the only sense of stability she had ever truly had.

"Think about it, Veronica. Everything we ever did was leading up to this. We started something big." His eyes were alight with righteous vision. "Help me finish it."

Veronica hesitated before asking, "What comes after."

J.D simply shrugs. "We do."

Bad, bad, bad, bad. Veronica's repeating in her mind. She can't believe she's even considering this. Was she really about to kill hundreds of people just because they wronged her?

No, it went deeper than that. It wasn't just because they had wronged her. It was because they had made her feel like shit. They had made her cry. They had made her fucking angry.

"We can't stay here…"

"Of course, we wouldn't. We'd go off somewhere, get a place to live. Just grow up and be adults, like you wanted."

Veronica stares down at her hands. That was what she wanted, wasn't it? Of course, she'd have to redefine herself. She wouldn't be Veronica Sawyer anymore, but it wasn't the biggest loss. She'd still be her deep down, no matter what name she went by.

Shakily, Veronica reaches out for a pen. J.D's eyes light up in excitement, and he hands her one from her desk. She can feel the energy radiating from him. He really wants this. She knows it's not for her. He wants it for the thrill of the kill. He just wants more blood on his hands. Veronica wants her revenge.

God, what happened to you? She wonders vaguely when she scribbles her name down on the line. It's sloppy and barely legible, but it's there. She just signed her own suicide note, along with hundreds of others.

Veronica pushes herself off the ground, papers in hand. Each footstep is heavier than the last as she makes her way to her murderous lover. She had lied. Her Bonnie and Clyde days were far from over. Really, she thinks they're just beginning.

With a strangely light heart, she hands him the paper. There's not as much guilt as she thought. Really, there's barely any there. It's just them in the moment, just the decision.

When the paper is finally back in his hands, he grins. He looks like the Cheshire cat, and Veronica slightly begins to regret her choices.

Vaguely, in the back of her mind she wonders if she'll come out of this alive. J.D's patience was thin and definitely not unlimited. Who knew how this would end.

"Perfect." He says. He places the stapled together stack down on her bedside table without care before motioning towards her bed. Despite the small voice in her head screaming not to, Veronica follows, scooting up until she's leaning against the headboard.

She's not stupid. She knows this is going to head in either him being psychotic, or something sexual. She'll never openly admit it, but she likes when it's both. Of course, she had never thought he'd go this over the edge, or that she would, but she always found him letting lose during their time together exciting. She didn't really have to admit it, although – she was sure it was obvious with the way she would wrap herself around him, and how she'd shake once he pushed her over the edge.

It was no secret Veronica Sawyer was a little fucked.

So, it didn't bother her like it should've when he moves on the bed with him and places his hand on her inner thigh.

"Jason." She says. It's not a question by any standards. It was a statement, a solidification that yes, they were really there. Yes, Veronica Sawyer was fucked, and that she was about to let him pull her farther down into her spiral.

"Veronica." He mimics her. His hand has travelled down even farther on her inner thigh, now gracing the end of her skirt. Veronica watches as he tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, releasing it seconds later to give her a coy smile.

"Do you trust me?"

Veronica shifts slightly. "Depends on what."

J.D doesn't elaborate, but she sees something shift in his eyes. The glint in them is stronger, fiercer than before, and it's enough to discern some type of unease once again. She knows not to question it; so, she doesn't. She just closes her eyes and kisses back when he finally kills the distance between them.

It's a short lived kiss, but it's more than enough time for Veronica to think. She's not sure how she went from craving revenge to craving something completely different in minutes.

He leans towards her again for what she assumes is a kiss, but never closes the full distance. He just stays inches away from her face, smirking.

"Veronica," He says her name. She can feel his breath on her face, feel the warmth radiating from him. It's familiar from all their other times, and it relives some of the tension inside of her. "I need you to answer me. Do you trust me?"

All sense of relief melts away at his words. She doesn't get why he's so persistent; doesn't trust it. Not that anybody could blame her.

Veronica considers her answer carefully. Whatever this was going to lead to was not going to be something normal, but how much worse could it get? She had already signed off on a mass suicide note, condemning the death of thousands of students.

With a tinge of regret, she nods.

His smirk quickly splits into a grin, and the tinge of regret blossoms.

She watches him carefully when he moves off the bed, only for him to move in front of her. Veronica's thighs spread when he places his knee between them. It's nothing too alarming until he reaches under his jacket and pulls out his gun.

"How about we play a little game, then." He suggests, angling the gun against his knee, thumb resting over the trigger. It's angled so that it would miss if it were to go off, but still at an awkward angle. She knew it wasn't going to stay there very long.

Usually, she wouldn't question why he has it, wouldn't worry; but he was between his legs with her and a loaded gun at easy use.

"J.D..."

He can never let go of it; she realizes as his finger moves along the trigger's slope. He always has to have it on him, always has to be touching it in some way. It's a power thing, and it's obvious by the light in his eyes. It's chaotic, excited - unrestrained. It's terrifying, and the accompanied smirk doesn't do anything to calm her.

"Why do you need that?"

He doesn't give her an answer. She's just left to watch as his fingers curl around the handle and he lifts it.

What little food she has in her stomach from lunch threatens to come up when the barrel trails across her thigh. It's not against bare skin since she has tights on, but the thin clothing doesn't really make any difference once it dips under her skirt.

"You ever played Russian roulette?" J.D questions. The light that was in his eyes before has now totally exploded. His entire expression screams chaos, and she knows it's only going to get worse.

Veronica wets her lower lip and shakes her head no. What a stupid question. He already knows this. Veronica knows she's about to experience another first when he lays it to rest right there.

Veronica's legs spread even more out of instinct. Maybe even a little bit out of fear, like if she closes them even in the slightest the gun will go off. She's petrified. There's a weapon right at her womanhood, loaded and ready for use.

"It's fun." The gun presses against her a little harder. He says it like he's done it before, and she doesn't doubt it. She just doesn't think it went down like this.

"How about this…" J.D breathes out smugly. Veronica lets out a sigh of relief when the weapon in pulled out from under her skirt, only to regret it when he presses it under her chin. "How good are you at being quiet?"

Veronica doesn't answer this one for multiple reasons. One, there's a gun against her chin. Two, because he already knows the answer. And three, because it's humiliating. He means sexually, and she hates the truth. She hates that they both know it.

"I didn't mean right now, Ronnie." J.D's smirk softens. It doesn't last very long, his expression hardening up almost immediately again.

"Here's what we're going to do," J.D moves the gun from her throat, traveling downwards until it rests along her inner thigh, right where her skirt ends. "We're going to play a little game. This-" he taps her thigh with his pistol lightly. "Is going to go...here." He lifts his finger to press against her temple. "And I'm going to go here."

Veronica goes rigid when his hand travels between her thighs. This had to be a fear thing. It had to be a fear thing. He wouldn't actually kill her after the argument he put up with her earlier. He fought so hard to get her again – he wouldn't kill her. Right?

"J.D." She says his name, but it's so quiet he can't even hear it. She barely can over the blood rushing through her ears.

"It's going to stay there, and every time you make a noise, the trigger is going to be pulled." His grin grows when her eyes widen.

"No." She hisses between clenched teeth. She's going to die. She's going to fucking die.

J.D begins to shake his head, his smile still lingering. "Relax, Ronnie. This only has one bullet in it. The chances of you dying are slim to nothing."

"Then why do it? Why bother with the gun if it's not going to do anything?" Veronica's scrambling to try and find an excuse. She wants the gun gone.

"I never said it wouldn't do anything. I said the chances of it happening were slim. You can still get shot."

Veronica swallows nervously when their eyes meet. "Why?" She manages to get out past her nerves. "Why do you want to kill me?"

"I don't. This is just for fun."

Veronica blinks at him, because what the fuck. "What do you mean 'just for fun'? This is a loaded gun going against my head."

J.D smiles like there's some untold joke, like Veronica doesn't know something. "You'll be fine."

She's about to disagree when she sees a glint in his eye. It's different than the one before, different than the secretive one. He's waiting for her to figure something out.

"What's the catch?"

A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. Warning bells are going off in Veronica's head. He's holding something really fucking bad back, and he's not going to tell her. She has to figure it out herself. It's a few more seconds of silence before he raises a brow and sighs, shaking his head. Gently, he grasps Veronica's wrist and forces her to unclench her fist before placing the gun in her hand and covering it with her own.

It all clicks in that moment.

He wants her to pull the trigger herself.

"No fucking way. No fucking way am I doing this. You truly are at your last wit if you think I'll even consider putting that-"

She's silenced when J.D presses a finger against her lips and simpers softly. She knows he's mocking her. She doesn't give a shit about that. What she doesn't understand is she could shoot him. Granted, it might take a few times considering it only loaded with one bullet, and he'd have her down before she could get him, but it was still a weapon. He literally handed her his murder weapon.

"You said you loved me." J.D thumbs gently at her bottom lip. She doesn't flinch away like she thought she would, but the hair on the back of her neck still stands. "You can trust me with this."

Veronica shakes her head, but her resolve is slipping. It's not willingly, and it's not because she isn't afraid or anything. She's bloody fucking terrified. It's because he's doing that thing again. He's doing his smile, carrying the look that pulls her restraint away in seconds, no matter how fucked the idea.

"You don't have control of the gun…"

J.D doesn't give her a direct answer but shakes his head. He knows she's right. "Just do it, Ronnie. There's no fun if there's no danger."

It's the stupidest thing Veronica has ever heard, but she still finds herself continuing to believe him. He wouldn't kill her, right? They were partners, lovers. She's all he has. No mother, no friends. All he has is his shitty dad who won't even look in his direction, and her. If he killed her, it was the end. He would be alone.

"Okay?" He questions. He's still smiling, the action not even coming close to matching the violent excitement festering in his eyes.

Veronica swallows hopelessly and mutters, "Okay."

"Now, I need these-" He slips his hand under her skirt again to tug at the waistband on her tights. "-gone. And the skirt."

Veronica takes that as an unsaid command to lift her hips. It's awkward and she struggles to keep her hips up long enough to get them off with how much she's shaking, but she manages.

"Remember," J.D tightens her hold on the weapon. "When you make a noise, you press the trigger."

Veronica swallows. "And if I don't?"

"I'll do it." He tells her carelessly. It doesn't seem to bother him, but neither had feeding Heather a cup of liquid drain cleaner, so she really should've have been surprised.

The metal feels like a thousand empty promises when he directs it to her head. She hopes that after everything, J.D was just playing with her. She hopes that he's going to take it from her head and laugh, mock her for being so stupid, but she's told otherwise when he gives her a quick kiss before sinking to the floor.

If she wasn't too busy focusing on the weapon against her head, then she'd be embarrassed. No matter how many times they did it, having somebody inches away from her womanhood was not exactly relaxing.

"Try and keep your thighs open." He mutters.

Veronica wasn't necessarily a sensitive person, not so early on, but she still has to clamp down on her bottom lip as a reminder to shut up. The gasp that threatened to come out when he kissed above her clit was not worth a possible bullet to her head.

She'd done this once, and it was when they were in her backyard, and she was holding onto the chains of the swing set for dear life as he did his business. She couldn't remember it overly vividly, not now when he was right between her thighs, but she remembers it being good.

However, it doesn't feel the same when he finally goes for it, greeting her senses with an oddly familiar warmth. She's not sure if it's because her life is on the line, and she's got a loaded gun in her hand ready to be fired or what, but it seems so much stronger this time.

Veronica knows for sure she's not the first girl for her when he brings his fingers up to spread her cunt, capturing her clit between his mouth and sucking. Veronica jerks slightly, but keeps her mouth sealed. They had just begun, but her resolve was already slipping. She didn't have to hold herself back last time, had no practice.

One would think the cold metal of a gun in one's grasp would be enough to scare any noises away, but it's affect soon begins to wear off. Her other hand in gripping her headboard, one leg awkwardly pushing against her bedside table. She feels like she's trapped in a box – unable to move.

For a moment she manages to forget about everything; he's pressed himself farther against her, looking up at her through a curtain of hair. His cheeks visible hollow, and she's hit with another sensation that makes her thighs shake.

She doesn't realize it at first until a glint forms in his eyes and he stops to stare at her expectedly. .

Her eyes go wide at the realization. She had gasped.

She had gasped, as quiet as it was. It had been so soft that even she hadn't heard it at first, but he did. He did, and he was expecting it from her.

She wants to beg for him not to make her do it, but she knows that it wouldn't do anything. If she didn't do it he'd just take the gun from her and do it himself.

She doesn't want to die, but she doesn't want to live either, so the idea doesn't suffocate her with fear like she would expect. It still scares her, yes, and she doesn't really want to do it, but she doesn't fear it as much as one should.

She licks over her bottom lip and whispers a quiet, "I love you."

He just smiles.

She squeezes her eyes shut and pulls the trigger.

There's a click and the sound of the barrel rotating before the realization that she's alive hits her. Her eyes fly open with a shocked gasp and she looks down at J.D, whose sitting back on his heels and watching her amusedly.

"Count." He tells her. She nods, eyes still wide as she processes the fact that a bullet hadn't gone straight through her head. He watches her, and she realizes with rosy cheeks that he was waiting for her to put the gun back.

"One." She says breathlessly.

He gives her another one of his signature wicked smiles and goes back to his work, mouthing at her womanhood like his life depended on it.

Veronica would be a dead girl walking if she survived this. She knew something like this would come up again, and she'd jerk and shake like she was doing right not, fighting to keep her grip on her bed and not his hair. She doesn't want to give him that type of power. She's already surrendered everything else, surrendered her life.

Veronica swallows nervously when she feels a finger enter her. It's his pinky, and she can barely feel it, but it's still stimulation. It still does something when her pairs it with his tongue and she barely catches the whimper that tries to break free.

She's shaking at this point, and it almost hurts to stay silent. She feels like she's choking, and while she knows it's all in her head she's actually starting to feel dizzy.

Shakily, she releases her bed from her death grip and rests her hand on his head, fingers tangling themselves in his hair gently. It's not enough to hurt him, or even really feel it, but it encourages him.

Veronica had no other experience besides the last time, but she knew what J.D was into. It wasn't a surprise when he came to be a little on the rougher side, but Veronica guessed she had just forgotten how rough he was.

Her hips stutter as she feels the familiar tightness in her stomach. Mindlessly, she lets her head fall back, gun still in position. She's fine, she thinks. She's going to make it to her finish without being killed.

It seems like that, at least, but she lets herself go too loose. She doesn't focusing on what she should, like keeping the bullet out of her head, instead giving all her attention to not trapping him in with her thighs like he asked.

Vaguely, she hears, "Two."

She forces herself to focus long enough to look down at him. "What?"

"You cursed – that counts." He quickly cuts her off when he sees her open her mouth to protest.

She hates how easily she pull the trigger, and in a way she hates the way her heart races. It's not complete fear anymore, she realizes with horror. It's arousal, and she confirms it by the way the click makes her shift her hips.

They do the same dance for what seems like hours. He makes her squirm, whine, and then pull the trigger. She'd pull it, have some other deep realization of how fucked up she was, and then they'd repeat.

She only makes a special note when he looks up at her, eyelashes slick and the same stupid grin plastered on his face.

"One left."

Veronica blinks down at him. She can't tell if she's happy or disappointed because she's close to the end of this terrible game, but she also annoyed because he's not letting her come. He wants her to go through the entire barrel before she can get what she wants. It's bullshit.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?' She asks. He hums against her, and the vibration sends her reeling. She just needs a little more. If he just gave her a little bit more she'd be off, but he was refusing to. Every time her thighs would start to shake noticeably, he'd pull away and smile at her tauntingly.

"Make your choice, Ronnie." He pulls away to speak. His chin is glistening, hair disheveled, eyes alight and excited. He's enjoying this a lot, lot more than she was. "Pull it now and seal whatever fate you have or put it off. I'm not going to stop until you pull it."

Veronica inhales quietly, nostrils flaring.

"I'll let you come if you do."

Her eyes narrow into slits at his words. If she couldn't, she would've gotten herself off awhile ago. If she knew he wouldn't grab the gun and do it himself, she would've kicked him off of her. But that wasn't an option, so she has to suffer.

The corner of his mouth twists into a taunting smile. "Pull the trigger, baby. See what happens."

Veronica stares at him stubbornly, ignoring the throbbing between her thighs.

"It either jams, or it fires and kills you." His fingers dance along her inner thighs, stroking the skin softly. "Don't you trust me? You told me you did."

Veronica knows this is all a manipulation tactic, and this was just going to be another round of the conversation they had earlier, so she doesn't push it. It's not in his control – it's not in anybody's control except the cold metal in her hand.

"And if I die?"

"You die." He says casually. Something shifts in his expression, and a few seconds later he closes it off with, "Eventually I'll follow – after Westerberg does."

Oh yeah, the school. Veronica had forgotten about that.

Veronica stares at him a few moments longer before closing her eyes, squeezing them tightly. Unlike all the other times she had seemingly easily pulled the trigger, she couldn't do it this time. She couldn't move her finger, no matter how much she willed herself to.

She hears a muted sigh, followed by some shuffling and the bed dipping. She keeps her eyes closed, even when she can feel his breath on her face. She's too busy focusing on the way that his hand covers hers, urging her to push.

"Shoot, Veronica." He murmurs. Briefly, Veronica thinks about the position she was possibly about to die in. Stripped of her clothes, no doubt left in her puddle of blood. J.D wouldn't give her any sense of dignity, even in death.

She opens her eyes for a brief second to see his. He's staring at her lovingly, his usual smirk replaced with something much gentler.

She can't manage to smile back. She can't do anything except let her eyes fall closed and take in a breath. She knows she's not going to be the one to pull the trigger, he has to.

"Do it." She grits out through her teeth. "Just fucking do it."

He does.

A strangled whimper rips from her when the click sounds, and she doubles over. Vaguely, she hears a clatter and realizes she's pressed against something – someone – warm.

She realizes that she isn't dead.

"It wasn't loaded, Veronica." J.D whispers in her ear when she tries to move. She tenses in disbelief at his words, the shock of the situation finally settling in and causing her to shake. "The gun was never loaded."

She pulls away slightly to look up at him with wide eyes. Her hands are shaking violently, grasping onto his shirt tightly. The adrenaline is long gone, now replaced by pure fear.

"You asshole." She chokes out. She hits his chest once, twice, and then a third time until she catches her hands. He holds bother of her wrists together gently, offering her a guilty, yet unapologetic grin.

"Relax." He tells her, his smile slipping into a smirk when she scowls at him. "Anyway, I think I promised you something."

Veronica's mind blanks completely, seeming to forget everything that had happened before the last shot until his hand slithers down between her thighs again.

A part of her wants to tell him no, and another part of her just wants to stare at him because holy fuck.

"What was that for then?" She's still shaking, nails now digging into her bare thighs. "What the fuck was that for?"

Briefly, he rolls his eyes. "For fun."

"That's a little extreme." She says. She knows what's coming the moment his smirk deepens.

"Remember what I said. The extreme always seems to make an impression."

Veronica's eye twitches slightly. "You've made your impression. You can stop."

J.D just responds by shaking his head. Somehow, she's forgotten that his hand was between her thighs.