#Minnie Mouse Charm | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

souliebird · 3 months ago

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[[and then I met you || ch. 34]]

Series: Daredevil || Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader || Rating: Explicit

Summary:

A one-night stand years ago gave you a daughter and you are now able to put a name to her father – Matthew Murdock. Everything is about to change again as you navigate trying to integrate your life with that of the handsome and charming blind lawyer’s while Matt realizes he needs to not only protect his new family from Hell's Kitchen, but from the world.

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Words: 4.3k 🌶️🌶️

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It is not often that you get a night to yourself.

Usually, once you get Minnie down, you dive into your laptop to clock into work, but tonight there is server maintenance, and you are free to do as you please. You wish you had checked your e-mail before Matt had given himself over to the streets of Hell’s Kitchen, but alas, you did not think that far ahead.

You don’t mind too much, however, as you use the opportunity to stretch out on the couch, relax, and binge trash entertainment. You allow yourself to be half tucked under a throw blanket that Matt’s cologne clings to and try to turn off your brain. You do not want to think or follow a plot and quickly wind up watching catty women start drama over things like seating charts and the differences between the color lilac and the color lavender. It is fun without being too serious and easily keeps your attention.

You decide you need a glass of wine after two episodes of your show. Even with the distraction, your eyes won’t stop darting to the corner of the screen to check the time and with each siren in the distance, you tense up. You know Matt’s plan is to be out late, combing the Kitchen in search of clues to lead him to people who butchered Enhanced children, but you can’t help but worry.

Daredevil is more than capable of taking care of himself - you have heard and read plenty of stories about his fighting prowess - but whoever is out there seemingly has no morals and that can lead to situations where enhanced senses and fists don’t cut it. You trust Matt to know his limits - only if that trust comes from knowing he would never do anything that would make his daughter cry.

Mouse’s happiness outweighs all of Matt’s faults - at least according to Foggy.

But you will still stay awake until he is safely in bed with you, and you can fall asleep to his steady heartbeat. It is the least you can do for him and under the multicolored glow of the billboard across the street, you lounge, caught up in a world that is so far from your own, trying to enjoy your brief time alone.

You don’t hear it when a pair of feet land firmly on the roof above you and you don’t hear it when the access door creaks open, but when a streak of moonlight shines across worn hardwood floors, you do notice.

You pause your show as you lurch up into sitting, heart racing. You know no one other than Matt would be coming down the stairs, but you weren’t expecting him for hours, and your panic is pointing out you are woefully unprepared for any type of fight. There’s not even a baseball bat laying around so you can pretend you can defend yourself.

Luckily for you, you would recognize the silhouette that comes through the door anywhere - Matt in his ‘Man in Black’ outfit - and your heart turns from panic to worry. You scramble up, shoving the blanket you had been bundled under to the side, and hurry to meet him at the foot of the stairwell.

As he enters into the area of the apartment with enough light for you to actually see in, your heart catches in your throat while simultaneously sending the pulse in your nethers into overdrive.

The Devil of Hell’s Kitchen clearly had a very different night from you. Dried and drying blood cakes his face - coming down from his nose and mouth with smudges on his jaw line. His Muay Thai ropes are grimy and disgusting, and you can just barely see how they are tinted red. His shirt is ripped in various places, and it clings to his torso like it has been drenched in sweat. It has ridden up quite a bit from all his movement, so a band of skin shows, teasing the firm muscles that lie beneath, and his pants hang low, giving a hint of that V you so admire.

Despite the state of him, he oozes confidence and danger. He’s standing straight, head held high, and shoulders pushed back to emphasize how broad he is. Every muscle is pulled taut - ready to jump into action at the slightest of provocation. His chest is rising and falling with each breath, and it makes you wonder if he ran back to the apartment or if he is having trouble breathing through his nose. Either way, it is animalistic, and you are reminded of documentaries showing a predator before it pounces on its prey.

In the dim light, your eyes zero in on Matt’s mouth and you watch with an intensity you know he can feel as he pulls his lips back into a slight sneer and runs his tongue over his teeth.

You decide then and there that you are going to do something Matt has been denying you the chance of for weeks.

You are going to suck his dick.

You have found Matt loves to tease you sexually. Little touches here and there and sly comments with double meanings are his game of choice. He likes to get you nice and worked up and to deliver on his promises with his mouth to the point you are pretty sure enjoys oral more than the act of penetration. While you very much are thrilled being on the receiving end, it doesn’t mean you don’t also want to indulge in giving. Having his cock on your tongue has been a fantasy for quite a while and it is high time you turned it into a reality.

After making sure he isn’t about to bleed out on the floor.

“You’re home early,” you breathe out as a greeting, gaze still firmly locked on his cut lips. You want to kiss and bite them, but not in their current state. As much as you want to jump him, you do not know whose, or what’s, blood is covering his face, and you do not want it getting in your mouth.

The man in front of you tips his chin up just slightly, head tilting in a way you know means he is examining you. By the way his sneer turns into a smirk, you know exactly what inputs he is receiving. You don't need super smell to know your panties are already soaked through.

“Didn’t expect the Irish to be setting up shop in the tunnels,” he replies, voice low and rumbly and going right to your core. You let the shiver run through you and try to not react as your nipples pebble under your shirt.

“They certainly don’t belong there.”

You force yourself to turn away from him then. You don’t want to fall into the trap of becoming flustered while Matt teases you - if he gets his hands or mouth on you, he will be insistent on pleasuring you and you won’t get what you truly desire.

He follows you like a shadow into the kitchen, barely letting you stay a literal step in front of him. You can feel the heat from his body against your back and the smell of his sweat and whatever he rolled in is wrapped around you like an all-consuming cloud. He practically boxes you in as you grab some paper towels and when you go to wet them, he looms over you.

When you do turn to face him, your breast just barely brush against his torso. You have a feeling he wants to crowd you into a corner and get you onto the counter so he can eat you out, but you won’t allow it. Your body is thrumming with need and want and that is overruling in any anxiety and doubt you may have.

You know he likes to tease. You know he likes to banter and push back and that helps to embolden you as you reach up and begin to wipe his face. You want to play his game right along with him.

“They aren’t the ones hurting the kids, are they?” You start, trying so hard to be nonchalant. You know you are both very aware how your bodies are responding to each other, but that is part of the teasing.

He allows you to clean away the blood, but he doesn’t lean into your touch - he remains tall and cocky, like he’s still on the streets. “No, they’ve got a warehouse with an access hatch. They were trying to store things. Probably weapons.”

You hum, taking in the information as you dap up gore that may or may not be his. He does not appear to be particularly injured, but you know he can hide that pretty easily - and stories and your own experiences tell you he will pretend he is perfectly okay, even when he isn’t. But, still, you probe because you want to be thorough in your care before you get your mouth on him.

“Do you need any stitches?”

He huffs in response, and you take that as a ‘no’, which makes things much easier. You aren’t sure how much your desire would fade if you had to focus on needles and thread.

As you begin to finish running the paper towel over his face, Matt moves impossibly closer to you - he presses forward, his knee starting to wedge between your legs, and it takes everything within you to not adjust so he can slide fully between them. He ducks his head to be closer to your face and tells you in that low, growly voice of his, “I might need a chest wrap, though. Why don’t you check to see if you agree?”

You understand the challenge he is giving you and you accept it. You toss the dirty paper towel into the sink, then drop your hands to hover in front of the hem of his shirt. Your heart pounds loudly in your chest, in your ears, in your cunt, as you hook your thumbs under the fabric and push it up. You go at a snail’s pace, letting your touch ghost over defined abs and feeling them flex under you. You only look down to examine the damage once his torso is almost fully exposed.

He will most definitely need a chest wrap. Bruises are already blooming around his ribs, and you can see they go around to his back.

You make a soft, sympathetic noise in the back of your throat, “I think you might be right.”

Again, Matt moves. His hands skirt over your hips, teasing at the fabric there and you are fully aware you are probably right where he wants you. This is confirmed when he bumps his nose, which is still hidden under his mask, against your cheek and drags it up to your ear.

“Do you know what else I think?” he breathes, voice pitched low enough to make your entire being quake in want.

You know he is about to say something absolutely filthy, something that will make your knees give out - something that will have him winning this little game.

And you can’t allow that.

So, you tilt your head to the side and up, brushing your nose against his, and say in your own low voice, hoping you sound alluring, “I think you should go sit on the couch.”

Fabric crinkles as Matt’s brows raise in surprise and a tinge of Pride shoots through you at that. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting push back from you and his mouth curls up into amusement.

“Mmmm, and why should I do that?”

You resist the urge to wet your lips, not wanting to seem weak. Instead, you slowly start to guide his shirt back down, so he is covered again.

“Because I want you there.”

“You want me there?” He confirms as he pulls his head back enough you can see his full face. His hands, however, are defiant - they finally settle on your hips, and with the slightest of tugs, you are flush against him and can feel his hardness pressed against you. Your cunt clenches around nothing in desire and you mentally chastise it as Matt grins like the Cheshire cat. “I think you want me here.”

Your mind races for a solution. As long as your body is weeping for his touch, Matt is not going to back down about getting what he wants but you need him to let you be in control. With his senses and with his suaveness, he has the upper hand. You need to undermine that.

You need to use his advantages against him.

Plus, the one unique advantage that he has given to you.

You decide the only way to control the Devil is to tell him exactly why he is going to listen to you.

You bite your lip, trying to be a bit coy, then whisper out as confidently as you can, “I want you on the couch so that I can get on my knees and get my mouth on your cock. So, you are going to do that because I know you can smell and taste how wet the idea of sucking you off makes me, and you said that you are mine. You are mine and this is what I want, so that is what you will do. Understood?”

Matt doesn’t respond at first and you try to not panic about pushing the boundaries too far.

But then his lips part just slightly, and his nose flares and you can practically see all of his bravado crumbling. He tightens his grip on your shirt for just a moment before he lets you go and slowly, slowly steps back.

“Yes, ma’am,” he finally replies, his voice not as growly, not as deep.

“Good boy.”

You watch him back away from you until he pivots to be able to head towards the couch, relief flooding through you. You wait until he has actually sat down to grab the first aid kit from its hidden cupboard and make your way to the living room.

Matt has manspread so that you can comfortably kneel between his tree-trunk thighs, and as much as you want to take your place there, you do need to actually wrap his chest. His Muay Thai wraps are going to keep him from taking his shirt off, but you don’t mind that much. The idea of him staying in the Man in Black outfit is rather thrilling.

As you go to sit beside him and open the first aid kit, you direct him, “lift your shirt up.”

You expect a comment or resistance, based on his teasing earlier, but he is surprisingly quick to obey you. He sits up straight and tugs his shirt up as high as it will go, giving you plenty of room to work with.

Wrapping is one of the things you have practiced doing on some of Minnie’s toys, so you feel well versed in the task. The gauze is much better quality than what you have, but the motions are the same and Matt is stoic as you bind his ribs. With each rise and fall of his chest, your cunt drips with anticipation, and you wonder if his dick is twitching with the same. You consider taking your time with wrapping, but you don’t want to drag things out for yourself.

You want your reward for taming the Devil.

You clean up your mess once finished and set the kit on the coffee table, so it is out of the way. Matt’s attention on you is nearly physical in how aware of it you are. It makes your insides bubble with delight.

You let yourself make a show of standing up and stepping to stand between his legs. Matt’s hands are planted on the couch, and you watch the way his fingers flex and curl as you lower yourself to your knees.

“This is what you want?” he confirms as you settle yourself. His voice is losing that harsh edge, and he sounds so much more like the Matt you are used to.

“Very much,” you purr. “It’s all I’ve thought about for days.”

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat in response, and you watch it as you place your hands on the inners of his thighs and slowly push them up towards his crotch. You then deviate, going around where you know he wants you to touch him and going instead for the buckle of his belt. As you do, you lean up and forward to kiss at the skin just under the gauze.

You give light, soft little pecks as you make your way down his stomach and Matt arches up into it, fully giving himself to you and stopping with his tough guy act. Pleased with this reaction, you nuzzle him before sinking your teeth into his flesh and starting to suck, determined to make a mark.

Under you, Matt hisses in pleasure. His hips buck up with want and all his former words about wanting to be scratched and bit flood your mind. He likes the bruises. He likes the pain.

So, who are you to deny him when he is being so good for you and you very much like the idea of him having reminders of why it’s a good idea to listen to you.

You treat his washboard abs like a canvas - you bite and suck and scratch, leaving all sorts of different traces of you on him. Matt paws at the cushions, unwilling to put his hands on you for some reason, as his breathing turns harsher and needier. He doesn’t moan, but your name starts to slip out like a prayer and that is the motivation you need to keep going.

You are not satisfied until you’ve touched all the bare skin on the front of his body.

Only then do you undo his belt and pop the button keeping you from your prize.

Hard doesn’t begin to describe Matt’s cock - it's swollen and red and leaking like a faucet. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he had already cum all over himself and wouldn’t that have been the ego boost of the century?

His musk is nearly intoxicating as you dip down to rub your nose and lips against his head, smearing precum all over yourself.

“Please,” Matt begs from above you, voice ragged and needy. It sends an electric thrill through you and you can’t help but want to tease him.

“Please, what?” You ask, throwing it back at him like he always does with you when you are a mess. “Use your words, baby.”

“Put your mouth on me. Please suck my cock,” he mumbles, rolling his head back and pushing his hips up like you have no clue where to find what he is asking for. “Please. Take what you want. I’m yours. Please.”

“Don’t worry, my good boy, I’ll take care of you,” you promise before wrapping your mouth around him.

The burst of saltiness has you moaning and very suddenly your goal shifts from taking care of Matt to taking care of yourself. You’ve thought so long and so much about this experience, and you want to enjoy it exactly how you have imagined it.

You haven’t given a blowjob in a very long time, so you take your time adjusting and exploring. Your tongue swirls around as you bob up and down, taking more and more in each time until it feels like too much. Then you back off and start again, continuing the process over and over until you no longer gag around him.

He is heavy on your tongue, filling your mouth and making your jaw work to take him. It's perfect and how you pictured it in your mind. You know, in another time when you weren't so determined with your task, you could get lost in him fucking your throat.

The thought makes you drool, and you pay no mind to the spit gathering in your mouth and dripping down to soak Matt’s pants.

You know he doesn’t mind being messy.

When you feel you have thoroughly mapped Matt’s cock by swallowing it do you switch tactics. He whimpers and writhes as you pull off of him only to start panting when you attach your lips to the underside of it. Years of reading dirty books and sex tips has you knowing the frenulum is sensitive and you imagine Matt’s is doubly so. You are proven correct when you start moving your tongue and the filthiest sound you’ve ever heard comes from deep in his chest.

You relish in how you are undoing Matt. You drag your lips and tongue up and down his length, sucking and flicking your tongue to get different responses. You want to know which one gets him moaning the most, so you are sure to take your time experimenting and learning. One hand wraps around his base to pump slowly, so no part of his cock is neglected, while the other reaches up to resume clawing at his skin.

Praise and need and begging come pouring down from above you and you want more. You want Matt to feel as good as you do when he lays you out under him. You swallow him again, taking as much as you possibly can in, and when you reach your limit, you stay there. Your hand above you finds the gauze you wrapped around his chest and you move it to where you know the worst of the bruising is hidden.

Then you press down.

His cock twitches hard in your throat, a single salty spurt coating your insides, and you know he is right on the edge with the way he moans your name.

You want more.

You need more.

Your cunt is pulsing and gushing at how much you want to make the Devil into a pretty mess, and you know just how to do it.

You pull back to give yourself room to maneuver, but you keep your mouth on him, worshiping the tip of his cock as the hand wrapped around his base drops to go between your thighs. It is easy to push your sleeping shorts and panties to the side, and you begin to coat your fingers in your own slick. You are so very wet, and your own touch leaves you quivering, but you know your time for physical pleasure will be soon enough.

You make sure your fingers are absolutely dripping before you remove them from between your legs and enact your plan.

With your mouth still on him, you reach up, your fingers pointed forward and Matt does not need to be told what you are wanting of him. He practically dives for them, slurping them up greedily - like he is parched, and they are his salivation. You push your fingers more into him, until the heel of your hand is flush with his chin, making him start to gag and drool around them.

As you do that, you swallow him down again and dig your other palm into his bruised ribs.

The result is instant, and you get no warning as Matt’s hips buck and stutter and he fills your throat with his seed.

You drink it as greedily as he drinks you down when he is between your legs. You very much understand the pleasure he gets from it - you’ve barely just finished, and you already want to lay him out again. Pulling away from him feels like a Herculean Trial - you yearn to stay there with his cock in your mouth until it gets hard again, but you know you should check on him to make sure he enjoyed himself.

You give one last tease as you drag your fingers from his mouth, though, letting them tug as his lips and smear spit and slick down his chin, timing it so his cock falls from your mouth at the same time.

You can only see the bottom half of his face, but he looks pretty blissed out. Matt’s lips are puffy and red, and he has this dopey, pleased smile on his face - something very contrasting from his all-black outfit. You are gentle as you tuck him back into his pants and even more so as you push yourself up so you can climb into his lap, straddling him.

His hands are on your hips immediately, looping around to tug you flush against his chest. You brace yourself on his shoulders and smile down at the masked man.

“Did you like that?” you ask, pitching your voice to be sweet and flirty.

His response is to lean in and begin to kiss your neck, nice and slow and leisurely. You tilt your head to give him better access and he makes his way up to your ear, purring out a ‘yes, ma’am’ as he does.

His breath against your skin has your core thrumming and reminding you that you need your own release, and you do not plan to deny yourself of that.

So, as Matt begins to nuzzle and nip at your neck, you pull his mask from his head, tossing it to the side before you tangle your fingers into his hair. You let yourself be rough as you yank his head back so his sightless eyes can stare up into yours, all while clawing your other hand into his shoulder. You then contrast that by giving him the sweetest peck on the lips.

“Good. Because you still need a shower, and I need your cock in my pussy for at least an hour. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

---

This one goes out to @pastafossa . Matt always needs a good Domming session.

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#soulie writes #fanfiction #and then i met you #matt murdock x reader #daredevil #matt murdock x you #smut

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riaa-moony · 6 days ago

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The day everything changed - J. miller (1)

(part one), part two, part three, part four

i’m planning on making this a series that follows the show some, the game some, and some scenes will be from my imagination. everyone is aged down (joel 27, reader 24), sarah doesn’t die.

warning canon violence towards the end, mentions of blood, guns, they get handsy, my first time writing for joel, but i couldn’t find this anywhere so we gotta do what we gotta do. joel is a bit whipped. english isn’t my first language.

pairing joel miller x f!reader

September 26th, 2003

The Texas sun poured in through the sheer white curtains, casting long stripes of gold across the hardwood floor. Morning was just beginning to stir, and the house smelled faintly of vanilla and fresh flowers. A fan hummed softly in the corner, and a small toy truck rolled lazily on its side near the foot of the couch, evidence of toddler play the night before.

Joel stirred beneath the sheets, his bare arm reaching out across the bed instinctively, searching for warmth. His hand landed on soft cotton instead of skin, the bed beside him empty. He cracked one eye open.

There was a soft sound from down the hall. A hushed giggle, followed by the clink of something metallic, then a whisper. Two voices, tiny and mischievous.

Joel smiled. “Already up to somethin’,” he muttered, voice still rough with sleep.

He sat up slowly, his dark curls tousled and sticking up in every direction. The clock read 7:08 AM. On any other day, he might’ve groaned about not sleeping in, but today was different. And apparently his girls had plans.

In the kitchen, chaos had already unfolded in the most charming way possible.

Flour dusted the countertops. A pink mixing bowl was half-filled with a lumpy batter, and 3-year-old Amara was seated on the counter in her pajamas — the Minnie Mouse ones Tommy had gotten her on her birthday two weeks ago — wielding a plastic spoon like a weapon. She had batter in her hair, on her nose, and somehow, on her toes.

Sarah was reading instructions off the back of a cake mix box with serious determination. “mommy, it says we’re supposed to use three eggs. You only used two.”

Y/N, dressed in Joel’s oversized flannel and a pair of black shorts, looked up from cracking the final egg with a smirk. “One was a tester egg. It didn’t survive. We’re improvising.”

Sarah groaned like she was sixty, not nine. “Dad’s gonna notice if it tastes weird.”

“Oh, you mean like the time you tried to make lemonade with salt instead of sugar?” Y/N teased.

Sarah gasped, scandalized. “It was one time!”

“And we still drank it,” Y/N laughed, sticking out her tongue. “Because we love you. Your dad will survive if humpty dumpty wasn’t put together again.”

Amara clapped her batter-covered hands and shouted, “we make cake!”

Y/N turned to her and planted a soft kiss on her chubby cheek, wiping the batter from her nose. “Yes, sweet pea. Daddy’s birthday cake.”

Joel padded softly down the stairs and stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. His brown eyes swept over the scene. Flour footprints on the tile, no doubt from his toddler before his wife had to put her on the counter to avoid more mess, Sarah arguing with a box, and Amara cross-eyed and licking the spoon like it was made of chocolate gold.

And despite everything, his heart swelled. He had never imagined himself here. A father again — a husband. A job he hated, a body that already ached in the mornings, and a kitchen that looked like a pastry bomb had gone off in.

But this? This was everything.

“Y’all gonna make me clean this up?” he drawled, voice scratchy and amused.

Sarah jumped. “Daddy!”

Y/N turned around, and her smile hit him like a warm breeze. “Morning, birthday boy.”

Amara shrieked with delight and held out the spoon. “Daaaddyyy! Cake!”

Joel walked over, lifted her off the counter with one arm and kissed her cheek. “That so? Y’all makin’ me a cake?”

“With…uh…” Sarah glanced down. “Two eggs instead of three.”

“And possible eggshells.” Y/N added.

He laughed. “Well, hell, long as it’s got sugar.”

“More than enough,” Y/N smiled, licking batter off her finger.

Joel glanced at her, his eyes briefly dipping to the way his flannel slid off one shoulder, exposing smooth skin and the curve of her neck. Heat stirred somewhere in his chest. She caught the look and raised a brow.

He smirked at her, kissing her cheek.

“The kids will be spending the night at Tommy’s tomorrow. He wants to take them roller skating. I already prepared their bags, but he’s picking them up at eight.” Y/N said, licking batter off the wooden spoon in her hand.

By late morning, the cake was out of the oven, and the living room was a minefield of wrapping paper and hand-drawn birthday cards.

Joel sat on the couch with Amara curled in his lap, her curls pressed against his chest as she fiddled with his wedding ring. Sarah sat beside them, proudly handing him a box wrapped in gift paper.

He peeled it back to reveal a brand-new watch.

His eyebrows shot up. “Sarah…”

She bit her lip, suddenly shy. “It’s from all of us. I saved up. And… Mama helped a little.”

Joel stared at the watch. A black leather band, silver trim. Classic. Beautiful.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” he said quietly, voice thick.

Sarah smiled. “I wanted to. You always say you’re late for everything. Now you won’t be.”

He reached over and pulled her into a one-armed hug, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “Thanks, baby girl.”

In the afternoon, the family curled up together on the couch with the sounds of cartoons on in the background, the half-eaten cake still on the table, and the house quiet. Joel leaned back with Y/N tucked into his side, his arm draped over her shoulder.

“This was perfect,” he murmured, picking her lips softly. “You made it perfect.”

Y/N shifted in Joel’s lap, her thighs pressing against the sides of his hips. He held her like he always did, strong but gentle, like she was something solid in a world that didn’t offer much to hold onto. “The kids’re asleep. And the day’s not over yet.”

Joel glanced down the hallway where Sarah’s door was cracked open and Amara’s tiny nightlight glowed beneath it.

“You know,” she murmured, brushing her nose against his, “for a man who claims he doesn’t like birthdays, you sure looked happy with that cake.”

Joel chuckled, low in his chest. “You saw how Amara sang ‘Happy Birthday’ like it was a war cry. How’m I supposed to fight that?”

Y/N smiled. “You’re not. That’s the point.”

He pulled back just enough to look at her, brushing his thumb across her cheek. The sun casts a soft light on her face, tracing every line he’d memorized over years of stolen mornings and long nights. He let his hand slide down to her jaw, cradling it as if she might slip away if he let go.

“You still look at me like I’m the same dumb twenty-three-year-old you married.”

Y/N tilted her head, smirking. “You still are.”

Joel raised an eyebrow. “Careful.”

“I’m serious,” she snorted, tapping his chest with one finger. “You’re a bit older, sure. And you pretend to hate birthdays now, like some grumpy lunatic, but underneath all that gruff… you’re the same man who used to sneak into the kitchen to steal frosting off the cake before it was fully done.”

“I was testing it.”

“Sure you were.”

Joel leaned in again, pressing his mouth to hers, slower this time, deeper. His hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, fingers resting against warm skin, tracing the familiar dip of her spine. Y/N shivered under his touch, the callouses on his fingers making her let out a moan, one hand fisting gently in the fabric of his T-shirt.

He tugged at it, barely breaking their kiss. “This comes off.”

She laughed against his lips. “Say please.”

Joel gave her a look. “Darlin’, I’ve got my hands full with a smartass wife, a three-year-old with lungs like a fire alarm, and a nine-year-old who thinks she knows more than me. I ain’t beggin’.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. “No?”

“I’m askin’ real nice.”

She leaned in until her lips were just a breath from his. “I didn’t hear a question.”

Joel groaned. “Take your shirt off, sweetheart, please,” he said, voice rough with want and affection all tangled up together.

She did. Slowly. Deliberately. Letting the cotton fall somewhere on the rug.

Joel’s hands were on her again, this time sliding over bare skin, memorizing her like he hadn’t already done it a thousand times. His mouth traced a path down her neck, leaving wet kisses in its wake. Y/N leaned back just enough to meet his eyes, her breathing a little uneven now.

“We don’t have long,” she said.

Joel’s smirk was soft. “That a challenge?”

She shook her head. “That’s reality. I just want to feel you before the kids get up.”

That pulled something deeper out of him. His hands cradled her face like she was something sacred.

And then they were moving again. Not frantic, not rushed. Just slow. Intentional. Her back pressed to the couch cushions, Joel covering her with the weight of someone who knew every inch of her body. Worshipping her like she was a goddess and he’s entered her temple. The kind of touch that said I’m still here. I’m still yours.

Their laughter came in whispers, soft chuckles when his stubble tickled her neck, her teasing whisper when he shivered under her fingertips. They knew each other’s breath patterns, each other’s scars, each other’s tells. They moved like a memory. Like a promise being kept.

Later, when they were tangled up beneath a blanket, legs wound together, Y/N rested her head against his chest, fingers tracing the edge of his collarbone.

Joel didn’t speak right away. Just let the silence settle, let the weight of her on him ground him.

“You’re still the best part of my birthday,” he said eventually.

Y/N smiled, soft and sleepy. “Even better than Amara’s glitter card?”

“Don’t make me choose.”

She kissed his shoulder. “Happy birthday, Joel.”

He closed his eyes and wrapped his arm tighter around her.

“Wouldn’t want to spend it any other way.”

The moon was glowing behind a haze of low clouds now. The cake was long eaten, curtesy of Tommy and Amara. The cartoons had faded into a black screen, and in the silence that crept in as the night grew darker, something began to feel…off.

Joel sat on the couch, absently watching his daughters play. Tommy left about an hour ago, something about the headers. Joel didn’t pay much attention, he had the day off. He’ll deal with it tomorrow, but tonight, he’s going to bask in the peace his house created.

Y/N was across the room, curled up under a knitted blanket next to a window, humming a tune while rearranging the flowers she picked from the garden that morning. She heard a commotion coming from the Alders’ house and looked up. The house was barely lit and as she was about to go back to her flowers, she heard a loud bang.

“babe?” she said softly.

He looked up. Her voice had that undertone. Concern, not panic yet, but real. Real enough to put him on edge.

“Something’s going on at the Adlers’.” she said, pointing to the window.

“Could be Mercy,” he said.

“It’s not,” she replied quickly. “Something’s wrong, Joel.”

Before he could answer, a sudden bang at the door made them both freeze.

Joel was on his feet in a flash.

Sarah stood, hair mussed from playing. “What’s going on?”

Y/N turned and crouched in front of her. “Hey, baby. It’s okay. Just stay right here with me, alright?”

Joel opened the door.

It was their neighbor’s dog— Mercy. He was whimpering and shaking.

“What the hell—” Joel stepped outside, the hair on his arms rising. Y/N gave him a look. ‘see?’

“Stay here,” Joel said sharply over his shoulder, grabbing his flashlight and stepping out into the yard.

“Joel—!” Y/N moved to follow, but stopped when she saw the blood on the dog’s fur.

He crossed the street with Mercy, fully intending on returning him, but before he could, the dog let out a whimper and ran away.

That’s when he heard it. Something breaking from inside their house. He made his way inside, picking up a discarded piece of wood along the way. Inside, he found Mr. Adler choking on his own blood, and then— the growl of something not entirely human.

He rounded the corner of the kitchen and froze. The old woman’s mouth was buried in her daughter’s neck, tearing flesh like it was paper. Her eyes rolled back, cords of… something stretching from her lips to her victim. Joel didn’t wait. He ran.

Back across the lawn. Back to his house.

“Y/N! Get the girls. Now!”

She didn’t question it. Just turned and grabbed Sarah’s hand, lifting Amara into her arms. Her heart was racing so fast she couldn’t feel her own footsteps.

Joel burst into the house and slammed the door shut behind him, locking it. “We’re leaving. Right now.”

“What happened?” Y/N gasped, chest heaving, turning to pick up their daughters bags.

“Doesn’t matter. Go.”

They moved like clockwork. A silent, desperate rhythm. He loaded his gun. Y/N packet a bag for her and Joel. Sarah stood frozen for a second until Joel kneeled down beside her.

“Listen to me, baby girl. I need you to be brave right now. You stay close to me and Y/N. You got it?”

Sarah nodded, lip trembling. “Daddy, I’m scared.”

He pressed his forehead to hers. “Me too. But I got you. Okay?”

Joel took the bags and Sarah’s hand, Amara whimpering from her place in Y/N’s arms, sensing the fear in the room.

Joel opened the door as a car screeched into the driveway. His brother jumped out of the truck, eyes wild.

“We gotta go,” Tommy barked. “Military’s blocking off the city. It’s worse than they’re sayin’.”

They piled into the truck. Y/N in the back with both girls, clutching them tightly. Joel was about to get into the passenger seat when the woman came rushing at them, her clothes drenched in blood.

Joel hit her on the head with the piece of wood making her drop and Y/N gasp. While Tommy made sure she was dead, he looked back at his wife, her eyes teary and full of fear.

“Joel?” A voice said making them whip their heads towards it.

“Denis, get back inside the house! You lock your doors, now!” He shouted, before getting in the truck and driving off.

“you take seventy—”

“seventy-one, i know.” Tommy cuts him off before turning right, police cars driving past with the sirens on.

“Tommy, what—?” Y/N asks.

“I don’t know. They’re saying it’s a virus. Some- some kind of parasite.”

“How do you know we’re not sick?”

“They’re saying it’s mostly people in the city. That’s why they got the highway blocked off.” We drove past a house on fire, “God, it’s Jimmy’s place.” Everyone stared at it until it was out of view.

“But you’d have to go a lot, right, daddy? To the city?” Sarah said quietly.

“We’re fine, baby girl. Trust me.” Joel said making her let out a sigh that would’ve been comical if it weren’t for the chaos around.

After taking the field and having no luck, they head north, going through town.

The streets were chaos. Sirens. People screaming. Car alarms going off. Helicopters flying overhead.

Amara was crying now. Sarah sat beside Y/N, trying not to cry, but her hand was clenched so tightly in Y/N’s sweater she’d probably leave marks in it forever.

“It’s everywhere,” Y/N whispered. “Jesus, Joel…”

Joel pointed. “Go around this way—shit! Go! Go!”

They barely missed hitting a family running from something behind them, a man limping and snarling, his head twitching like it was too heavy for his neck.

Tommy swerved, narrowly avoiding another crash, tires screeching.

“We’re not gonna make it outta the city,” Tommy growled.

“We’re getting outta here,” Joel said, his voice low and dangerous. “We go through.”

Another explosion lit the sky, smoke poured into the air like something out of a movie. They tried going through the road, but it was blocked with people. “Back, back, back, back!” Joel chanted, just to be cut off when a deafening explosion happened. A plane crashed a few feet away. The ground shook. The shockwave hit the truck, flipping it onto its side.

And then, darkness.

Y/N blinked, the sound of sirens and Sarah screaming, jolting her awake.

“Mom! Mommy!”

She couldn’t move her legs. Glass was everywhere. Smoke.

“Joel!” she coughed, voice cracking.

“I’m here!” Joel crawled toward her, blood running down his temple. “I got them. I got you. Come on, baby, come on.”

He helped her out first, then reached in and pulled Sarah through the broken window. She clutched his neck, shaking.

Y/N pulled Amara from the truck, making sure she was alright before hugging her to her chest. She pulled out the bags next, slinging them on her back.

Tommy staggered up, limping, from the other side of the truck.

“We gotta get off the street!” he said. Just then, a police car crashes into the truck, making it impossible for him to crawl to the other side.

“Fuck, Tommy?!” Y/N yelled, followed by Joel. “Tommy?!”

Suddenly, his face appears a small gap between the two cars, “head to the river, i’ll find a way! Get them out of here, Joel. Go!”

Y/N shakes her head at Joe, “we can’t leave him, Joel.”

“He’ll be fine. Can you run?” He asked making Y/N nod.

Joel carried Sarah against his chest. Y/N still had Amara in her arms. And they started running.

Through the streets. Past bodies. Past blood. Past screams.

They ducked behind a storefront, chests heaving.

Gunshots in the distance.

Joel looked at Y/N, his eyes rimmed with tears. “If anything happens to me, you run. You get the girls and you run.”

“Don’t you dare say that,” she hissed, shaking. “You don’t get to leave us. You don’t get to give up.”

“I’m not. I swear I’m not.” He reached out, touching her cheek. “I’m gonna get us out.”

Y/N kissed Joel’s knuckles.

“We survive,” she whispered. “All of us.” He nodded.

They moved again. And behind them, the world burned.

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