#good morning Veronica

[heisokay]

[litafiction]

"E tinha me encarado com aquele último olhar míope que pedia justiça. Mas a Justiça também é míope."

bom dia, verônica aesthetic

[neverscreens]

— ANITA, BOM DIA, VERONICA S01.

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[miind-bender]

[frecklesandpoverty]

me listening to the playlist that I made: “damn this is so gooooooood. every song is a fucking bop. perfection.”

(sorry but I really love my playlist lol)

[jhsharman]

Didn't he call a cab already?

[sakizm]

waking up at 7am to rescue my lil plants from the brutal storm winds is becoming a thing this summer

[carcarrot]

VERONICA LAKE!

[pepper-steam-milkshake]

thinking about the homoeroticism of heathers

[mellowsadistic]

"Mmmmmm!"

"You hush, little girl!" Veronica's mother snapped, bringing the hairbrush down again on her daughter's rapidly reddening backside. "And don't you glare at me like that! I am your mother, young lady, and you will learn to treat me with respect by the time your regression punishment is over!"

Veronica squealed behind her pacifier again as another stinging blow landed on her rear.

Over on the bed, Kylie mewled in fear around her own soother, knowing she'd be next over her auntie's knee. Why had she agreed to sneak out and go partying with her cousin? Her aunt had made it quite plain there was to be no drinking, smoking, or any other 'inappropriate' activities as long as she was living under her roof, but ever since she'd moved in to attend the nearby college, she'd been desperate for a bit of adult excitement.

"Bad girl, Ronnie!" Veronica's mother scolded, delivering swat after swat with the hairbrush. "Very bad girl! You are not a grown-up. I don't care if you're legally an adult! I decide when you get to grow up, not you!"

Kylie would've felt bad for her poor cousin, twenty-one years old and kicking her legs and crying over her mother's knee, if she wasn't more worried about her own hiney. Veronica had lived with those infantilizing rules, along with many others, her whole life. She wasn't even allowed to dress herself in the mornings! Her mother picked all her clothes for her, and she even had a number of outfits specifically designed for punishments, like the kind the two girls were wearing now...

"Six months under toddler rules, Ronnie! You know what that means!"

"Nnnnnn!"

"Yes, little girl! You will wear pull-ups at all times. No more using the toilet for tinkle! You will wet yourself the moment you feel the urge, and you will ask permission, politely, to be escorted to the potty to do your number twos when you need to go. You will wear childish clothes. You will go to bed at eight o' clock. And the same goes for you, young lady!"

Kylie wet her pants a little in fright as her auntie's head snapped around to look in her direction.

"Some time as a toddler ought to do my naughty little niece some good too!"

Kylie whimpered. She could feel the warm, slightly soggy padding pressing against her crotch. It was awful and disgusting and babyish, and the thought that it would become a familiar feeling, that she would be peeing herself every day for the next six months, not to mention being supervised on the toilet while she pooped, made her almost faint with embarrassment.

Veronica had started to bawl. Whatever dignity or resistance she'd tried to hold onto at the beginning of her spanking had gone, and she was left wailing like a little girl, her dummy dropping from her lips as she pleaded. "P'ease, Mama! I sowwy! P'ease dobbit! I be a goo' giwl! I p'omise!"

"You understand why I'm spanking you?" her mother asked, still raining down smacks with the hairbrush.

"Yes, Mama!" Veronica sobbed. Her pale bottom had turned a bright, sore red. "Ronnie was a bad giwl!"

"You admit you deserve to spend the next six months wetting yourself and being treated like a very little girl?"

"Yes, Mama! P'ease!"

"Alright then. Good girl." Veronica's mother lowered the hairbrush and helped her hiccupping daughter off her lap. "Go stand in the corner with your hands on your head. I have another little girl to deal with before I send you to bed."

Kylie started to suck her soother for comfort. Maybe she could talk her way out of this! Then her auntie turned to face her with a look that made her bladder control fail, and a stream of pee-pee flooded into her training pants.

"Your turn, missy. Over my lap. Now!"

[neverscreens]

— VERONICA TORRES, BOM DIA VERONICA, S01.

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[unholyhelbig]

MORE RONNIE AND NAT FICS PLEASE🥺🥺🥺

Title: Chyornaya Redka [An Oversight Oneshot]

Ship: Female!Reader x Natasha Romanoff

Summary: With Reader is away on a job and Ronnie comes down with a nasty cold, it's up to Natasha to come to the rescue.

Warnings(PLEASE READ): general sickness, gross sludge, mentions of kidnapping, blood and saliva, and horrible grammar

[a/n: This is shorter than I usually like to write, but it was a little harder for me to put together (I'm a wuss and I miss my mom, ok?) but you can't go wrong with a good sickfic!]

Check out the full Oversight universe

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

Natasha Romanoff hunched over her laptop, the blue light making her eyes water. When she started running the better part of the city, she hadn’t anticipated all of the paperwork that awaited her. There were zoning laws, and countless rolls of red tape. Each shipment from the harbor was accompanied by a ledger, always brittle from the canal air.

She sighed, hugging her robe closer. It was getting difficult for her to concentrate in her office, so she’d relocated to the living room. The television was on, the volume low and keeping her company. She ached impossibly for you, in these moments.

The irony did not escape her. She was the one who had sent you and Yelena across the country for a stuttered shipment of firearms. The two of you together looked unassuming enough to not turn heads in Florida. You’d taken a mini-van, and the last time she checked in, you were in Louisianna, staving off the heat in the hotel room.

Natasha leaned back into the softness of the couch cushions and contemplated calling it a night. She squeezed the bridge of her nose, letting out another sigh that nearly made her lungs twitch. She was drowsy, body heavy with the idea of sleep. But Natasha couldn’t bring herself to move just yet.

She startled awake with the click of the light switch in the kitchen. It was followed by the sound of water streaming from the fridge and into a cup. Natasha blinked a few times. She frowned and looked at the clock. It was nearly two in the morning.

Natasha wandered into the kitchen. She wasn’t shocked to see Ronnie, hungrily gulping down the icy water. Her curled hair fell in ringlets against her shoulders. She was the spitting image of you and it made her heart ache. A smaller, quieter version that had taken a liking to Natasha.

She finished her water with one last gulp and stood on her tip-toes to place the glass in the sink, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. Natasha didn’t like the look of her right now. She was paler than usual, a strange brittle stance.

Ronnie was small for her age, an eight-year-old that was shorter than her classmates. It was a point of contention and frustration for her. But you were always gentle with her, softly reminding her that she was beautiful.

Her bangs were stuck to her forehead with a cold sweat. Natasha had never seen the girl like this, not in the two years that she’d been ushered into the household. Dutifully, Natasha knelt until she was at the same level as Ronnie.

“Are you feeling okay, baby?” She rasped, pressing her hand gently against the girls head. She radiated heat, letting out the smallest of whimpers before slumping into Natasha’s touch. Up close, she was frailer, a whisp of a thing.

Oh. Oh God. This was bad.

Natasha felt a rush of panic. She’d never taken care of a sick child before, especially not by herself. Veronica had a stomach ache here and there, a pain in her ear after the three of you went on vacation and she’d gotten waterlogged. But nothing like this.

She contemplated calling Clint. He’d dealt with dozens of runny noses and vomit-filled waste baskets. But, she remembered the time just as quickly as she’d forgotten it. No, this was something she’d have to figure out on her own.

“I don’t feel good,”

Ronnie’s voice was small and gentle, but it was also the saddest thing that Natasha had ever heard. She swore that her heart broke right down the center at the sound, moving her hand to the girls shoulder. It was so frail under her touch.

“milaya devochka” Natasha tsked and scooped her up, placing her on the kitchen island. Ronnie whimpered “I have just the thing.”

Melina was a woman of science, she always had been, but there were a few Russian folk remedies that she adhered to. There was often Garlic broken around the house, and ginger tea that was shoved into her hands at the first sign of a scratchy throat.

Her least favorite, but most effective, revolved around a black radish. Melina would methodically cut the top from the spiced vegetable. She’d core it and filter honey into a cup. It was a rancid mix that would always leave her choking on the taste. The sweetness never outweighed the bitter. But it worked without fail.

By the following morning, Natasha was right as rain.

“chyornaya redka and honey. It won’t taste good, I’m afraid.”

A mason jar was kept in the furthest reaches of the fridge. Yelena would crinkle her nose and shove it to the side each time she caught a glimpse of the dull gray liquid. One spoonful was all it would take, but the overwhelming spice of that single gulp was startling enough.

Ronnie started to play with her fingers, nervously winding them as if they were knots that needed to be untangled. It was a nervous habit, one of her many ticks that Natasha had picked up on over the last two years. It was endearing, really.

She dunked a spoon into the frothy gray sludge. When she turned, she recognized the grimace and the way that Ronnie pressed her lips together. She was just short of crossing her arms over her chest in defiance.

The girl turned her head to the side for extra show, not even letting Natasha get close with the mix. Her breath caught, but it sounded like gravel under a tire. Her chest needed some serious clearing, and Natasha was always willing to be the bad guy.

“Vee, it’s not that bad. Just one spoonful and your fever will break.”

She lifted an unimpressed eyebrow, “you first”

It clearly hurt her to talk. She swallowed twice and winced with each movement. Natasha Romanoff was not going to let a child bully her into taking a spoonful of radish surprise, so sir, she wasn’t. But that tear clouded eyes were boring into the mob boss, cutting, really.

Natasha shifted from one foot to another, frowning at the liquid that slowly started to congeal. It would just get worse the longer it sat. She glared down at the spoon and then back up the unbudging girl on the counter. She certainly was your daughter.

With a reluctant sigh, she clenched her eyes shut and placed the spoon in her mouth. Somehow, it was fouler than she remembered. Somehow spicy and sour all at once. The honey did little to buffer the flavor. Yet, she schooled her features into something unbothered for the sake of Veronica.

“Okay, kiddo, open wide.”

She was met with a skeptical stare, but a deal was a deal. It wasn’t something they took lightly in this house. Veronica had conned Kate out of more than one full-sized chocolate bar on the principal alone.

Natasha dutifully guided the spoon to Ronnie’s mouth, and she gave the kid credit. She swallowed it with tears building in her eyes and a frown that was unmatched, but she swallowed it none the less before producing a grumble and slumping forward into Natasha’s arms.

She was burning up, an immense force of heat that wasn’t prepared for. Still, Natasha acted on instinct and scooped her into her arms, letting the young girl curl effortlessly into the small of her neck, small fingers gripping onto the edge of Natasha’s robe.

“Okay, moy malen'kiy strelok, it’ll be okay”

Natasha wasn’t sure about that, a small bit of anxiety still creeping along the back of her neck. There were a million questions that she didn’t’ have the answer to. What if it was more than just a cold? It could be appendicitis, or the scarlet fever. You’d never forgive her if you came home to a child with consumption.

She’d made it to the top of the stairs by the time her thoughts calmed down. Ronnie was sniffing into her neck with pitiful cries that continued to sink Natasha’s resolve. Veronica’s room was illuminated by a night light, an oscillating fan creating a white noise.

Natasha lowered the drowsy girl back into bed before diligently tucking her in. “I know it’s warm, kiddo, but we have to break that fever of yours.”

“Blaze,” Ronnie swallowed again, voice already sounding clearer “please”

Blaze the Dragon. It was a little on the nose, a dark green stuffed animal that Natasha had picked up in an airport earlier in the year. It was meant as a small gift, an apology for being late, but Ronnie took to it easily. The little dragon went with her everywhere, the stuffing worn around the middle where it was clutched to her little chest.

Natasha pushed Ronnie’s damp bangs from her forehead. She was already cooling down, but her eyes drooped with exhaustion as she hugged the little dragon closer. Her other hand reached for Natasha, holding her wrist with as much conviction as she could muster.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere, milaya devochka. I promise.”

And she wouldn’t. All sense of urgency to finish her paperwork had left Natasha. She settled herself on Ronnie’s twin sized bed, the small girl curling into her side. Her warmth was overwhelming, and she shivered as she clung onto her, breathing from a small parted mouth around a clogged nose.

Natasha traced soft line’s down Ronnie’s back and waited for her to fall asleep. Even in a deep slumber, she didn’t’ release her hold. Tears had soaked through Natasha’s shirt, wicking the fabric. There was an ache deep within Natasha’s chest that she could only recognize as undying affection.

Children were never in the cards for her. Not with the childhood she had. She never wanted for a single thing, but that came at a cost. Her family was constantly in danger. There were times where they’d rush from a public place, or duck down in a tinted vehicle.

Melina made encounters like these like a game, but the older Natasha got, the more the cold reality began to sunk in. Those were times of great danger, and she swore to never fall in love, to never put anyone else in an unassuming position.

But then, there was you.

She wanted to call it love at first sight, but that seemed much too dire. Your head was hanging, chin to chest, a steady stream of blood and saliva dripping from your lips and painting your jeans. Your eye was swollen shut, but she noted how your shoulders refused to tremble.

People didn’t tend to look Natasha Romanoff in the eyes, but you had. As best you could, you pulled against your binds and clenched your jaw and disregarded all of your pain just to level her with an unimpressed stare.

It should have caused anger, discontent. This was someone who had wronged her, after-all, but it did the opposite. She was intrigued by you, and you continued to surprise her with every single day. Two years living together, and a ring resting at the back of her side of the closet.

A grumble escaped Ronnie. She cuddled deeper into the perfumed comfort that Natasha had to offer. A string of words leaving her mouth. “Thank you, Mama”

Natasha’s heart seized. Mama.

Veronica was not a girl of many words. She said what she meant, and figured that silence served to convey the rest of her emotions. Little squeals of joy when Kate scooped her up and swung her around, or words of affirmation when Yelena would joking spar with her, were normal.

This was said in a state of grogginess, but meant all the same. It should scare her. But it doesn’t.

[Taglist🕷♡: @dumbasslesbi, @lostremind, @toouncreativeforausername @autorasexy @eringranola @mikookaaaaaao @marvelwoman-simp @pacmanmiles @mostlymarvelsstuff, @mrsrushman, @milfsandtittyenthusiast, @random-raccoon4, @ravenromanova, @mysticalmoonlight7, @ahintofchaos@cowboyboots236 @lissaaaa145, @natsxwife@a-spes, @kyleeservopoulos]

[atinylittlepain]

c ant stop thinking about jealous!joel miller and the way he’d react to seeing others flirt with you. just a little after your arrival to jackson, the three of you tired and just starting to socialize. you get talking with a friend of maria’s who introduced you. and joel is there watching, pretending to be interested in whatever the bored housewife hanging off his arm was even talking to him about. he burns with jealousy he doesn’t know what to do with and ends up crossing the bar to get to you where he makes some kind of show of getting his hands on you and subtly proving his protectiveness and jealousy over other men talking to you. OR he waits until you’re home to shove you up against a wall OR drags you into the bar back room to be all “what the fuck were you doing with him? and why was he touching you and laughing?” and it’s just all so hot. give it some real angst for me, please?

hehehehehe

Jealousy, Jealousy

Joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

having just settled in Jackson, she and Joel are having a hard time learning to share what's theirs.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, pretty rough sex ngl, semi-public too, joel's a teasy lil shit, a dash of angst, a hint of fluff, yeehaw

..............................

She can feel his eyes on her, and it’s starting to make her nervous that he’s going to make a scene. She, on the other hand, is doing exactly what they’re supposed to be doing, being social, mingling with the Jackson community, proving that she isn’t a wild stray that hisses when provoked. Joel on the other hand…

He’s sulking like a damn teenager at the bar in the Tipsy Bison, and she’s been with him long enough to know that his daggered stare is pointed directly at the young man she’s talking to. Maria had introduced her to the guy, Graham, that morning when he joined their patrol shift. He was friendly and easily started cracking jokes with her, crinkly blue eyes and a sandy mop of hair topping off his downright sunshiny disposition. The polar opposite of her man who currently looks like he could moonlight as the grim reaper with the way he’s staring at them.

Joel is already on probation of sorts, after he knocked another guy’s lights out because he was getting a bit too insistent with her down at the stables. Having been on the road for so long, neither of them are used to settling things with means other than guns and fists. Ellie has jokingly begun calling them “big bitch and bigger bitch” for the way they just can’t seem to shake their standoffish nature. For the record, Joel is the bigger bitch. But she’s trying, really hard, and is going to be pissed if Joel thwarts her attempts at making a new friend.

Luckily, Graham is easy to talk to, even when her eyes keep darting over to the other end of the bar where Joel is sitting. She has to do a double take, however, when she sees that someone has joined him. She smiles politely, laughing along to Graham’s story while she racks her brain for the name of the woman who’s suddenly got a claw– hand– on Joel’s bicep where his arm is propped on the counter. Veronica? No, Vanessa. She rolls the name around in her mind, letting venom strike through each syllable.

“Hey, are you good?” She’s startled out of her imaginings of what Vanessa would look like with a bloody nose by Graham waving his hand in front of her face. She takes one more glance at Joel, whose attention has completely shifted from her to his little hanger-on. She has to practically wrench her eyes away from the sight and back to Graham, letting out a forced laugh.

“Sorry, I just– zoned out for a second. What were you saying?” The nagging voice of Maria in her head telling her to “be social” is the only thing keeping her attention on Graham. As she glances back across the bar, her stomach twists when she sees that both Joel and Vanessa are now gone from their seats, but her anxiety is short lived when a broad palm comes to rest around the curve of her hip, warmth spreading across her back that can only be coming from her radiator of a man. 

“Graham.” She has to hold back a laugh at the way Joel says his name like it’s a curse, but the bite is lost on Graham who just offers him an easy smile.

“Hey, Joel, it’s good to see you, man. I was just telling her about how–” 

“Actually, son. I’m gonna steal this one from you. Our kid needs us.” That makes her head whip around to look at him, but his eyes stay trained on Graham, the only acknowledgement she gets is his fingers flexing where they’re splayed on her waist. Graham’s face falls.

“Oh, um, of course. I hope everything’s alright.” 

“It will be.” With those gruff few words, Joel herds her off her stool, slinging his arm over her shoulders as he guides her through the crowd and out of the bar, night already sweeping down the main drag of Jackson. He’s pushing her along at a clipped pace, but she’s having none of it, stopping dead in her tracks to look at him fully.

“Hey, what’s going on? Where’s Ellie? What– is she ok?” He huffs, trying to get her to keep walking, but she holds her ground, not budging when he tries to shuffle her along.

“Ellie’s fine, alright? I– fuck, I made that up.” 

“What? Joel, what the hell are you–” Before she can get the rest of her incredulous question out, he’s grabbing her wrist and tugging her down an alley between two storefronts, pushing her up against the brick wall as she struggles to figure out what the hell just happened. But that’s a little hard to do with the way her mind goes blank when Joel smashes his lips against hers, tongue pressing into her mouth when she gasps at the harsh squeeze of his hands groping her ass. When he pulls away with a little smack, a lewd string of spit snaps between their mouths.

“It was either this, or punching Graham’s teeth in.” Before she can respond to his breathless statement, he’s licking back into her mouth, slotting his hips with hers and grinding hard so she can feel the heat of his erection rutting into the front of her jeans. The only thing that gets him to finally let up is her harshly tugging at his hair, making him groan low as he pulls away.

“Are you telling me that all this is because you got a little jealous of Graham?” The hard set of his jaw tells her all she needs to know, and she lets out a laugh.

“Joel, I’m telling you, it wasn’t like that.” He huffs at that, his fingers flexing into the plush of her ass.

“That don’t mean a thing. Saw the way he was looking at you, darlin. Didn’t like it one bit.” 

“Well that’s rich coming from you when you had that sweet little thing hanging off your arm at the bar.” She regrets it the minute it leaves her mouth, even more so when a very smug look washes over Joel’s face.

“Hmm, I’m not the only one who’s jealous, huh?” She tries to jerk away when he traces her cheek with his fingers, letting out a huff as he just crowds her further against the wall. He chuckles, the asshole.

“Don’t be like that, darlin. Ain’t nothing for you to be jealous about. Not looking at anyone else but you, you know that.” 

“And you know that I’m not looking at anyone else either. I was trying to make a friend, you know, like how Maria told us to?” She jabs her finger into his chest, punctuating her words with a few prods. Joel doesn’t seem convinced.

“Can’t you make friends with someone who isn’t trying to fuck you?” That makes her scoff.

“How many times do I have to tell you? He wasn’t trying to fuck me. Besides, I’m pretty sure you’ve done a thorough job of letting everyone know that I’m your woman.” Joel seems to consider her words, doing something unexpectedly sweet when he trails his palm down her arm, drawing her hand up to press a kiss over her knuckles.

“That’s right, darlin. You’re mine– my woman. Same as I’m your man. But I think you could use a little reminder of that, huh?” Before she can respond to that with something snappy, he’s shutting her up with another crushing kiss, both his hands returning to her ass as he pulls her hips to slot with his. He smears his lips down her neck, nosing away the collar of her shirt before sucking harshly at the newly exposed skin, making her throw her head back against the brick wall with a sharp gasp.

“Joel– fuck– what if someone sees?” The low thrumming laugh he lets out shoots straight down her spine, pooling syrupy heat through her core.

“No one’s gonna see, not if you’re good and quiet for me. Can you do that, honey? Be so good for me, huh?” It infuriates her, really. How quickly he can melt her down, her usual bite going soft and sweet with each kiss, each squeeze of his hands, until she’s all but whimpering for him to give her more. He continues mouthing at her chest until she tugs him up by her fingers raking through his hair.

“No more fucking teasing– I–I’ll be good– just, please–” he cuts her off with a hard roll of his hips into hers, a pressure that makes her dizzy even through layers of clothes. She has to hold back a whine when he completely steps away from her, leaving her slumped against the wall as his eyes take a salacious path down her body and back up to her face.

“Turn around for me, darlin. Show me what’s mine.” Under any other circumstances, she would have rolled her eyes at that entirely pigheaded statement, but she’s got just enough warmth running through her veins from his touch and the liquor she had sipped on to comply without hesitation, turning around and splaying her palms out on the wall as she arches her back, hips shimmying slightly out. 

He presses right up against her, heat grinding into her ass while his hands knead and squeeze the sides of her thighs. She yelps when his palm comes down hard on the curve of her ass and he shushes her, leaning further against her while his lips trace the shell of her ear. 

“Thought you said you were gonna be good for me. Gotta be quiet right?” She sighs, mind a little too hazy to answer as his fingers curl around her waist to fumble with the buttons of her jeans, harshly yanking them down along with her panties until the fabric bunches just under the swell of her ass. She’s entirely unprepared when he lays another slap to now bare skin, the burn rolling and spreading through her, doing nothing to help the dampness she can feel smearing in between her thighs.

“C’mon, honey. Need you to tell me if you’re gonna be good for me. Else I can’t give you what you want.” Now he’s just being cruel, and she’s had about enough of it, huffing and craning her neck over her shoulder to glare at him.

“I already told you, you precocious asshole. Just fuck me al–” she can’t finish her sentence, not when he’s sliding into her heat in one languid stroke, his hips fitting snug against her ass. Joel groans low, his forehead pressed between her shoulder blades as he stills inside her.

“Precocious asshole – those are some big words, darlin. Don’t want anything in that pretty head of yours except my name by the time I’m done with you, you understand?” She tries to press her hips back, seeking anything more that he’ll give her, but his firm hold on her hips keeps her stilled, aching around his pulsing length.

“Only gonna ask one more time. Do you understand?” He punctuates his question with a deep grind of his hips, the tip of his cock nudging a spot inside her that makes her eyes scrunch tight from the prickling pleasure.

“Fuck– yes! I understand, I understand, just– please, Joel. Need it so bad.” That seems to appease him, and she sighs when he pulls his hips back, finding a slow roll back into her that makes her preen in his grip.

“That’s my good girl, huh? All mine. I’ll give you what you need, honey.” Any slowness, any gentleness, dissolves with the brutal pace he sets, fucking her up against the wall, rough palms bouncing her hips back against his as they both pant heavily into the clear night air. His one hand comes up to rest over hers where its splayed across the wall, and she imagines fleetingly that his knuckles are gonna be scraped from the way he curls his fingers between hers, twining their hands together and grazing against the rough brick with each punishing thrust.

“So perfect like this– fucking made for me, darlin– right? Just for me.” His words are a hot fog in her mind, and it takes everything in her to form a coherent reply.

“Yes, yes– s’for you– all for you– all yours, Joel– please–” A broken cry catches in her throat when his other hand snakes around her hip, pressing firm against her pelvis as his fingers drag sloppy shapes across her clit.

“That’s right, honey. My girl, my woman– no one else’s. You gonna come? Huh? Gonna come for your man?” His words are choppy, disjointed by low grunts and his hips never stutter in the relentless rhythm he keeps. It all becomes too much, her release catching her off guard as her hips jerk in his hold, the only thing she can manage is a crackled whimper of his name as he fucks her through it.

“So good for me, darlin– that’s it– shit–” She slumps against the wall when he pulls out, the ringing in her ears dissipating just enough to hear the wet glide of his hand as he finishes himself off with a few harsh strokes, warmth smudging over her low back, dripping down her ass as he sighs out her name.

They stay like that for a moment, Joel pressing his forehead into her shoulder, she barely holding herself up against the wall as they both catch their heaving breath. Finally collecting herself, she huffs at his cooling spend now smeared over her skin.

“Joel, how the fuck am I supposed to walk around with your come drying on my ass?” He grumbles at her protests, already hoisting her panties and jeans back up her hips, giving her ass a little pat once they’re back in place.

“Don’t worry, darlin. I’ll clean you up real good soon as we get home.” She finally turns around, immediately resting her back against the wall when her knees start to wobble. Joel grins at her, all wicked and smug, as he tucks himself back into his jeans. She huffs.

“You are impossible, Miller.” He hums at that, bringing his hand up to cup her jaw and press a shockingly sweet kiss to her lips.

“So are you, darlin. S’why we work so good together, huh?” She has to smile at that, leaning up to steal another kiss from him, but the moment is over all too soon when someone interrupts them.

“Goddamn it. I leave you two alone for a few minutes and I find you out here necking like a pair of feral cats. This is a family community, have some decency, alright?” Tommy stands at the mouth of the alley, hands on his hips, and an entirely exasperated expression on his face. Joel steps more in front of her while she tries to subtly zip up her jeans that are still hanging unbuttoned around her hips.

“Got it, brother. Sorry– we were just headed home.” Tommy just shakes his head.

“You’re just lucky it wasn’t Maria who saw you two. Jesus– just– go home. Never wanna see y’all making out again. Fucking scarred for life now.” She’s just relieved that was all Tommy saw. 

They sheepishly step out of the alley, Joel tucking her under his arm as she offers Tommy an apologetic smile. Tommy shakes his head one more time before heading off toward the bar. When he’s far enough away, Joel lets out a rumbling laugh. She, however, is less than amused.

“I swear to god, Joel Miller. You are gonna get us kicked out of this damn place one of these days!” She smacks his chest, but he grabs her wrist, holding her palm there as he pulls her into him.

“Me? What about you, huh? Takes two, darlin.” She fights it, she really does, but she can’t help the smile creeping across her face with the way he quirks an eyebrow at her, both of them dissolving into breathy laughter. He sighs, squeezing her hip with his one hand.

“C’mon, trouble. We better get home before the bible brigade comes hunting for us.” She snorts at that, head tipping back in a laugh as they start walking away toward their home. He slings his arm over her shoulders, both of them stumbling along with how close they insist on staying to each other

“You’re ridiculous.” 

“Just for you, darlin.”

[marypsue]

Heathers canon-divergence AU where Veronica and JD still give Heather Chandler a good-morning cup of Drano and fake her suicide note, but when Veronica gets to school the next morning, Heather is there like nothing ever happened. And continues to act - almost - like nothing ever happened, while Veronica's walking around with the sword of Damocles dangling over her head - did she dream the whole thing? She couldn't have, because JD remembers it too. Was Heather not really dead? But she didn't have a pulse. Nobody's talking about her having to go to the hospital, nobody's talking about finding her suicide note, she doesn't seem hurt or sick or anything. Veronica would almost think that nothing did happen, or at least that Heather doesn't remember anything happening -

Except for the way Heather keeps looking at her.

And the potentially-(and-then-actually-)deadly 'accidents' happening to people around Veronica, that are starting to seem less and less like accidents.