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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

Note

Going on anon bc this is a bit messed up but can you write Alastor x reader where Alastor uses sex as a form of torture?

Fuck your God and His Righteous Hand(s)

Synopsis: Hasn't Alastor always been such generous partner? Hasn't He always provided for you? Given you everything and anything you ever wanted? Except for your freedom of course.

The night you decide to run away from his graciousness, you find out just how generous he could be.

Warnings: noncon, forced relationship, mentions of blood, mentions of murder, physical harm to reader, degradation, smut, over stimulation, tentacles are used (I probably missed a lot, let me know)

Tags: Alastor x fem!reader; dead dove do not eat

MDNI

Your heart beat loudly against your chest, your breath ragged and heavy. Branches and twigs snapped and broke and fell all around you as you ran.

Not that you could hear any of it over the overwhelming sound of static flooding your ears.

As if the dark wasn't terrifying enough, you had to stumble through the woods with tears blurring your vision too. Arm stretched in front of you, swatting away vines in your path as you desperately tried to get away.

You had to get away.

You couldn't get away.

You could almost feel the ground shake beneath your feet. You could almost feel his breath that skimmed the back of your head. There was no use in running, but run you did anyway.

You kept running even when you felt his clawed fingers grab at your shirt; the fabric tearing easily.

You kept running even when you could hear his voice right by your ear. "I think it's in your best interest not to anger me any more, darling."

You couldn't keep running when a heavy, velvety tentacle wrapped around your ankle; your breath knocked out of you as you tumbled onto the forest floor.

Your hand outstretched, palm reaching into the darkness. It was a terrifying, unknown, and threatening darkness—but to you it still meant freedom.

That was the last clear thing you saw before you landed flat on your stomach, the weight of your failed escape weighing you down more than the dark shadow around your leg.

He was laughing.

He was out of breath, panting almost as heavily as you were, but he was laughing.

You heard the crunch of leaves and twigs as he approached your collapsed form. No longer rushing, no longer frantic. He seemed to take his time as he walked towards you, now that he's sure you couldn't get away.

Still, the tentacle holding you down tightened—a warning not to try anything again.

Not that you could. The moment of rest allowed to you as you laid on the ground, made the pain and exhaustion of your body much too apparent for your liking. Your legs felt like led, the numerous scratches from who-knows-where all sung in a harmony of stinging pain.

Even when you knew you couldn't run anymore, your mind frantically whirled through ideas. You tried to think of something, anything, to keep away from the Radio Demon.

At least until his shoes finally came into your view; the red accents bright against the inky darkness. They stopped right by your head, and suddenly it felt too dangerous to even think.

You found the dirt and mud of the forest floor much more appealing than having to look Alastor in the eye, so you kept your head down. Your head shrunk into the ground as the man looked down on you.

"I must admit, I hadn't expected you to run." Alastor said, still a hint of laughter in his tone. Had you looked up then, you would have seen just how much of a mess you've made of the demon. His hand pushed his red hair back from his forehead, sweat trickled down the side of his neck.

But it wasn't his unusual state of exhaustion that would have been shocking if you looked at him right now. No, what would have been surprising—what would have been unnerving— was the wild, desperate look in his glowing red eyes.

While you were scared, desperate to get away.

He was terrified, desperate to get you back.

The view of your small figure as you weaved through trees, dipping in and out of his sight had filled him with such cold, heavy dread.

Almost as much as the sight of your hand nearly meeting that of another demon's.

"Oh! But you're so filled of the unexpected today, aren't you, darling?" You could hear the spite in his tone, but you didn't dare raise your head.

You felt him step closer.

"I mean, I hadn't expected you to try to sell your soul to another demon, either." You cringed, lifting your arms over your ears as the static warped his voice terribly.

You felt a heavy weight on the back of your head. It rested there briefly, before it shoved you down further into the dirt. Your face pressed down into the mud, but you didn't dare fight back. You didn't dare move. The most reaction you allowed yourself was a small whimper of fear.

The sound fueled Alastor's rage, already barely kept under the surface of his smile. His eye twitched in annoyance. Why were you shaking? Why were you afraid?

Shouldn't you be kissing the foot on your head right now? Shouldn't you be thanking him for saving you from making a terrible mistake? A soul as unique as yours would have been wasted on a demon like that.

This ungrateful behavior, this attempt to leave him, just wouldn't do.

His foot left the back of your head, but it allowed no relief. The black tentacle wrapped around your leg swiftly yanked you up.

Your eyes widened in shock and your hands dug into the ground in an attempt to stay there. But it isn't a surprise that your flimsy resistance was easily broken through. The world soon turned into a dizzying blur of colors as you were lifted into the air. The trees floated from above and the sky was a muddy mess of leaves and roots, your arms hung limply above your head. The blood that now rushed to your head didn't help you in making much sense of what was happening.

But none of that mattered when your eyes finally met Alastor's.

As you were held up by your leg, upside down in the air, Alastor's usual wide smile looked like a snarling frown. His narrowed eyes did nothing to help the fear that quickly ate its way through you.

It was silent for a moment. Tension so thick in the air that you found it so terribly difficult to breathe.

But when he finally spoke, you thought to yourself how you actually preferred the suspenseful quiet.

"Have I not been the perfect partner?" Alastor asked. The static over his voice now eerily back to the usual amount. His tone was cheery, light, like this was just another early morning chit chat over breakfast between the two of you.

You couldn't bring yourself to speak.

The black appendage holding you up tightened, your skin already beginning to bruise. Although, it seemed that was the only indicator of Alastor's true mood, as the demon remained composed in front of you.

"Have I not given you everything you wanted?" He asked as he brought you closer to him.

When you didn't respond he brought his clawed hand up to your face.

You flinched, feeling his cold skin against yours, fearing that he'd tear right through your flesh.

But his touch was gentle. His fingers softly brushed away the mud and grime from your cheek.

"I've bought you everything you liked. I've protected you. Fed you." His voice was so soft, soothing. Like an old radio show you would have listened to while you drifted off to a restful slumber.

"I've even fucked you through your pathetic little heats." His claws dug into your skin. Blood gushed down your face, the scarlet liquid stung your eye even as you clenched it closed.

"I've spared useless, disgusting sinners on your request. I've played nice for you. I've given you everything." His hand shifted from your cheek to your neck, his grip tight, threatening.

The static over his voice once again horrid as it deafened you. His eyes, now drowned in black, narrowed into a glare at your form.

Your hands flew to your throat, pulling at Alastor's fingers. "Please, I'm sorry, Al!" You begged as you struggled. Your body flailed and squirmed as he held you above him, looking almost like a fish torn from the sea, desperate to breathe.

"Oh you're sorry?" Alastor's head titled to one side as he watched you. "That absolutely changes everything then!" He said cheerily, mockingly.

The tentacle holding you up loosened out of nowhere, sending you down into the mud for a second time that night.

You managed to keep yourself up by your arms as you greedily heaved in air back into your lungs. Your head still spun from the rush of blood, and you felt like you were about to vomit out whatever flesh Alastor made you eat earlier that day.

You felt something at your chin—Alastor's microphone it seemed—and it tilted your face towards him. Your teary eyes met his cheerful ones, and your chest tightened. It's been a long time since you've even stepped outside, but you now felt more trapped than you ever have before.

He bent down, lowering his face closer to yours as he smiled down at you.

"Since it seems like I've neglected my dear darling partner for so long that they've decided to seek attention elsewhere, I think it's best to spend some nice quality time together. Don't you think that'd be nice, sweetheart?" Alastor's voice held no threats. Promises. Only promises.

You shook your head no before he even finished talking. A desperate shaking hand reached up to him. "No, please. Al. Anywhere but the radio tower again. Please."

"Don't worry, doll. This time will a bit different." He assured.

You moved quickly, hurriedly, scrambling to your knees ready to beg at his feet. But before you could even part your lips to start, Alastor had both of you melted into shadows.

You re-materialize in the one place that haunted your dreams. The one place in Hell that truly, actually, did feel like hell to you.

Your blood felt frozen as you remained on the floor. Eyes wide in fear as you stared at the control panel.

Alastor turned his back to you, humming cheerfully, nonchalantly, as he made his way towards the main seat. "There's no need to look so alarmed," He said, you could almost hear the way his eyes rolled at your stupid expression. "We won't be having any special guests for this broadcast."

You finally tore your eyes away from the contraptions. Your gaze landing on Alastor's wide back as he slowly removed his coat. "You...you won't be torturing some poor soul?" You asked confused—and admittedly a little hopeful.

You couldn't count the horrible days he had made you sit and watch and listen as he took his sweet time tearing souls apart. How he joyously broadcasted the tortured screams for his Hell's entertainment.

Alastor's grin widened, stretched just a tad bit too far, before he turned his head to look back at you.

"Oh," Heavy static morphed his voice once more. "I didn't say that."

You didn't have time to react before his tentacles sprouted from his back, his inner shirt ripping to make way for them. They grabbed at your limbs, slithering around to get a tight hold as they pulled you to him.

A scream ripped from your throat at the sheer suddenness of it, and it made Alastor's heart leap in his chest. Oh how he loved those adorable reactions of yours.

"That is delightful! But do save your voice, dear. I do have to start us off first," He said gleefully as he turned around to fiddle with the controls.

You heart sunk. Eyes wide as the realization hit you. He wasn't going to force you to listen to someone being tortured.

"Alastor, wait—"

"Why hello, you wayward sinners! Hope everyone's having a wonderfully hellish time right now, because boy do I have quite the treat to make your evenings even better!" Alastor spoke into the mic, his eyes gone black as he held your gaze. "Yes, indeed, this one is going to be very special."

"Al, please—" You bit your lip, cutting off whatever pleas you were going to throw at him.

One of his tentacles pressed against your clothed mound as the others held you in the air. It quickly worked its way under your bottoms, ripping through it easily and exposing you to Alastor's lazy gaze.

"Don't, please. I'm so sorry, Al. I won't do it again, I promise, please." You whispered, not wanting all of Hell to hear how you begged for mercy.

"What's that, darling? I'm afraid you'll have to be a little louder for our lovely, horrid, listeners." Alastor mocked, just as the tentacle between your legs started to slide between your folds. Another made quick work of your already torn shirt.

You grit your teeth and clenched your eyes closed. Stubbornly, you refused to make a single sound from Alastor's ministrations.

But you know how this ends.

You're hardly the first soul he had broken during a broadcast.

You, of all people, knew that well.

Another one of his appendages slithered its way to your core. It teased at the entrance, pushing, testing your hole.

"I hope everyone has a lovely time!" You hear Alastor speak to his listeners, just as a scream ripped through your lips.

You weren't nearly wet enough to take him. Your walls resisted, but not enough for his strength. The black shadow pushed its way deep into you, others coiled at your legs to spread them apart. One remained by your clit, lazily flicking along.

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" You cried as Alastor fucked his tentacle deep into you. The harsh thrusts sending your ample chest bouncing.

Alastor didn't respond, he rarely ever does to his victims. He preferred to let the song of their anguish play uninterrupted. But he did find himself paying more attention than he usually did to the way your body reacted to him.

His gaze locked at the way his black shadow disappeared into your slick hole. How it came back to light drenched in your juices, only to push back in harsher. How your little pussy stretched wide around his tentacle to accommodate its size.

His eyes traveled further up, watching as he wrapped one tentacle around your breast and squeezed. A lovely horrified sound coming from your lips from his actions.

He watched as you sobbed, attention fully on him. Only on him. And he couldn't deny the rather unfamiliar heat the pooled in his stomach at that fact.

The tentacle at your clit moved faster, pressing down just the slightest bit more at that little bud. You tried your damndest to silence the screams from your throat, but as your mouth fell open, you could only do so much.

The coil in your gut snapped easily. Alastor tightening his hold on you as he kept your spasming form in the air for his entertainment.

Your juices flowed down his dark appendages as it kept up the pace. Tears forming in your eyes as they gave you no reprieve, no time recover.

You fight against his hold, aching to close your thighs and catch your breath but the dark shadows merely pulled them apart wider. You pulled at you arms, wanting to push away the damned things from your core but you were merely held back the same way.

"Wait, please, stop." You were barely able to form a coherent sentence. The tentacle inside you opting to curl just the right amount to hit that soft, perfect spot inside you with every thrust. That spot that Alastor knew drove you wild when he fucks you through your heat, after a lot of begging on your end, at least.

You clenched down on it, that being the only thing you could think of that you could still do to slow this down. It unsurprisingly did nothing but make you feel more of each drag and pull against your walls.

Another orgasm is stolen from you as a tentacle began to grind itself up and down your sloppy slit, drenching itself in your slick as it attempted to join the one already fucking you. Your screams broadcasted for all of Pride Ring to hear.

It doesn't stop. He doesn't stop. His dark shadows held you still, fucking into your cervix without mercy, playing with your clit, your breasts. Pulling yet another sloppy orgasm from you.

"No more," You heaved. Alastor's assault seeing no end near. "I can't. Al, please." You begged.

You craned your neck over to look back at the demon. You find his gaze no longer on you or your body, but on the papers in front of him. His script.

He was idly jotting down notes, chin rested on the palm of his hand and a lazy smile on his face. He almost looked bored, but the twitch of his ear as you called out his name showed you he was still paying you some attention.

"Alastor, please," You tried again. "I am sorry. I won't do it again. I won't leave you again." You sobbed.

The tentacle inside you pulled out to your brief relief, only for it to slam harshly, deeper back into you. It's pace at breakneck speed that even with the tight hold around your limbs, your body was moved with every push and pull.

"Oh, I'm sure you won't, darling." He finally replies to your pleas, although he didn't even glance your way. He continued correcting his notes, your sweet begging made for a wonderfully sweet background song. "Because why would you ever leave someone as generous as me?"

He ripped orgasm after orgasm from you. Your release dripped and drenched the floor of his radio tower. You begged til your throat was raw for some reprieve, for some forgiveness. But Alastor went about his way around the studio. Fixing this and that. Barely paid you any mind.

It was only when you've stopped pulling against his hold. When your legs had gone slack in the air, and your screams faded into whimpers did Alastor finally approach the control panel again.

"Wasn't that just darling! A wonderful performance, if I do say so myself," He laughed into his microphone. "I'm sure you lewd folks enjoyed yourself as much as our star of the night here, so make sure to keep an ear out for my next broadcast!"

His eyes finally land on your exhausted body. Your chest heaved with every labored breath as Alastor's tentacles finally slowly pulled out of you. A wet shlop of your juices dripping out as it did.

He slowly lowered you onto the ruined floor, and your dazed eyes locked with his.

"There will definitely be more of where that came from." He said, less of his usual cheer. His tone lower. Threatening—no, promising.

You didn't move—you couldn't move—from the floor. You simply watched as Alastor shut down his broadcast and took his time straightening out and cleaning up his work station. He was humming cheerfully, seeming to be in a much better mood than when the night had begun.

When he was finally satisfied, you watched as he walked to where you were, stopping by your feet as he smiled down at you.

"Well, you've definitely seen better days." A laugh track followed his mockery.

"I'm sorry." You heaved out. You hoped this was the end of it. You hoped he would just throw you back and lock you in his room again. Anything but stay in this wretched radio tower. "I'm yours. I won't try to run anymore."

Alastor chuckled at your response, moving to rest his cane against the wall before he reached up to his neck. He slowly loosened his bowtie and unbuttoned his shirt. "Oh I know you know that." He said waving off your words as if they didn't matter.

He lowered himself over you, his towering figure blocking out what little light you had. "But I'm afraid I need a bit of a reminder about who you belong to."

His hand made quick work of his trousers, pulling his hardened cock free.

His claws were at your waist and they pulled your limp body closer to him. Not that you offered any resistance.

"You can do one more for me can't you darling?" He wasn't really asking.

You can't. But you nod your head anyway.

He pushed into you easily. Your previous releases coated him and allowed a slicker entry.

Your back arched despite exhaustion, and Alastor drank in your pained expression. "There's a good girl. Always ready to ruin herself for her lover." You heard him say. "Don't worry, I won't make this long."

But of course that was a lie. He pulled back so slowly, revering in the way your drenched walls felt around him; how they clenched around his cock like how he saw them do around his tentacle. Then he thrusted himself back harshly into your sloppy hole, forcing what little sound you could still make out from your lips.

He fucked into you, slowly, deeply, maddeningly. Making sure you both felt each and every drag of his heavy cock.

He wasn't one to crave sex as much as most of hell, but when it was with you—his precious partner, he had to admit he didn't hate the sensations all too much. And if it meant reminding you who was in control, if it meant making you owe him, making you dependent on him, making you crave him, then it was all the more enjoyable to see you fucked out and speared on his dick.

One of his hands made its way to the back of your neck, pulling you up into his lap. He fucked up into you as your head lolled to the side, struggling to keep your body upright.

Alastor drank in your expression. Your glazed over eyes, the tear stains that smeared through the mud and blood along your cheeks, the drool dripping from your split lips. Yes, this is what you deserved for even daring to leave him. This is what you needed to be reminded on just how good a partner he is.

He wrapped a tentacle around your hips, keeping you steady as he pounded his cock into you. His free hand now moved between you, to your clit.

Your hips spasmed as he drew quick circles on the bud, but you fought the instinct to squirm away. You wouldn't leave him.

You can't leave him.

You know that now.

Alastor's grin widened when he noticed your actions. "There's a good girl." He purred again, leaning down to your neck to lick up your skin.

"Let me feel you cum on my cock now, darling. Let me feel how much you want me to fill you up." He whispered, his sweet voice right by your ear as he pressed down harder on your clit.

You whined, tears pouring from your eyes once more as he tore yet another orgasm from your weakened body.

Your fluids drenched his dick, soiling his pants as you came around him. Alastor all but tore your skin as he gripped you tight. His own pace finally picked up.

You felt him twitch inside you, before the hot feeling of his seed soothed your battered cunt.

"Tell me, would that scum have let you cum like this?" Alastor whispered in your ear. He held you tightly, his head still at the crook of your neck.

"No," You responded weakly. You felt him twitch inside you again.

You tried your hardest not to think back to the poor sinner, ripped limb from limb in a blink of an eye. Their body likely still stomped down into the mud of the forest floor.

"Would any other wretched soul be able to give you what I give you?" Alastor asked again. He playfully nipped at your ear.

"No," You responded again.

"So who do you think can treat you, treasure you, best, my dear?" He pulled back, his smug smile loomed over you as he held your chin for you to keep his gaze.

"You, Alastor. Only you can treat me this good." The words were bitter in your mouth

You hadn't sold him your soul. And he would never ask for it.

But you were his and his alone, nonetheless.

"And don't you ever forget it." He mused, pushing you back down to the floor as he began to fuck himself inside of you again. His previous release slowly pushed out with every slow thrust.

"Be still for me, darling," He whispered sweetly. "Let me have my fill of you for now."

I don't usually write smut but this request sent me haywire. Hope I didn't disappoint, anon! I loved your demented request ♪

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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

Text

𝘐𝘯𝘴𝘢𝘯𝘦? 𝘔𝘦?

18+, MDNI

i was craving some human! alastor x murderer wife! smut, and this is what happened. i hope you guys enjoy~

warnings: violence, blood, smut, breeding (kinda), murder, dark themes

word ct: 2,414

•°•♡•°•

"I'm worried for you, you know." You looked up from your cup of tea to the woman speaking. "Whatever for?" You half-laughed, sitting the porcelain down. "Well- if I'm honest, it seems as though your husband is quite.. eccentric."

The woman, Valerie, was an acquaintance from a few years prior that you'd drifted from; someone you'd never particularly liked, however it was difficult to say no when she'd showed up at your door, requesting to reconnect over a spot of tea.

"I beg your pardon? Please, elaborate." Your smile was now strained, and you crossed one of your legs over the other. You'd told her just a bit about your life; your darling husband, Alastor, who spent most of his time broadcasting on the radio, and how you were a happy housewife with plenty of chores- but that you didn't mind the busying. You had also made mention that you wanted children, but hadn't really tried yet.

"Well, I- I'm going to be honest. I tune into the radio every evening." Valerie's face had become somewhat stressed. "I listen to your husband quite often; often enough to know that, based on how late you said he returns home, he stays after for at least a few hours.." You were baffled. "What in the world are you insinuating, Valerie?" She sighed, "Look.." Valerie stretched her arm across the table and placed an unwanted hand on your forearm. "I'm sure you've heard of the recent murders."

You pulled your arm away and stood, nearly knocking your cup over. You were getting angry. Valerie withdrew, but her face hardened. "Have you already thought of the possibility that your husband is the killer?" You scoffed. "Excuse me? What in the world makes you think that?" Your face was twisted in disbelieving anger. Valerie stood. "(Y/n), if Alastor is the killer, nobody would think the person spreading the news was responsible!"

You twitched. "I don't know wh-" The ringing of a timer cut you off, and you regained your composure. You wiped the front of your dress before clearing your throat. "That would be the cake, I'll be back in a moment. Don't go anywhere, I'd like to finish this conversation." You turned and left the parlor room, heading towards the kitchen.

Despite your now calm expression, your hands were shaking with rage and your ears were ringing. You thought silently to yourself as you slipped on your oven mitts and removed the cake from the oven. The scent was lovely, which brought a small smile to your face. Alastor would love it when he returned home that evening. You sat the cake on the counter atop a folded kitchen towel, and then removed the oven mitts. Wiping your hands, you turned and returned to the parlor room.

"(Y/n), dear. I hope you know I'd only say something if I was absolutely sure." Valerie's eyes seemed apologetic, and you smiled softly. "I apologize for getting so worked up. It's quite the thing to imagine, your lover being a murderer. Have- have you mentioned anything about this to anyone else?" Your eyes met Valerie's, a worried smile painting your face. "Honestly, no. My husband thinks I'm at the salon, actually- he would call me crazy for trying to figure something like this out." You let the smile fall away, and you sighed. "I'd be lying if I said the possibility hasn't crossed my mind. I-I've seen him come home with a crazed look in his eyes and I- I just.." You buried your face in your hands. "I just love him so much, I never thought that he was capable of.."

Your voice broke at the end of your sentence, and you hear Valerie gasp softly as she made her way to you. She wrapped her arms around you, and you returned the gesture. "I feel so deeply for you, but we have to bring this to the authorities." You sniffled into her neck as your hand reached towards the table next to you. She began to pull away. "Perhaps I'm overstepping, but maybe it's a good thing you don't have children. You really could be next."

Your fingers wrapped around the telephone on the table and you quickly brought your arm back, slamming it down onto the side of her head. It hit her with a sharp crack and she screamed, stumbling a bit as she brought a hand up and pressed it over the wound. You could see blood seeping between her fingers as you yanked, pulling the telephone cord out of the wall. "You-you're INSANE!" Valerie blabbered, stuttering on her words. "Insane? Me?" Valerie tried to turn and run, but you wrenched your arm back and hit her in the head again, harder this time. She stumbled more and fell, the back of her head smacking the edge of the coffee table.

Thick red blood seeped out of Valerie's head and onto the hardwood floor as she convulsed a bit. She let out a gargling whine, and you pulled her under you by her legs, smearing the small pool of blood around her head. You flopped down on her chest, forcing the oxygen from her body and her chest lifted off the floor as she tried to draw in a breath. "This really is unfortunate- I've already cleaned the house once today."

You brought the telephone down on her face, splattering blood all over your face and the front of your body. Her fingers and legs twitched as her face was quickly coated in her flowing blood, and you brought your arms back up again. Alastor's face flashed in your mind as you slammed it back down.

Her skull caved, crushing her face under the base of the telephone. Blood was everywhere now; coating your dress, hands, and telephone. More was splashed up onto the ceiling as you pulled the telephone out of her unrecognizable face and began to repeatedly bring it down onto her. She was, without a doubt, dead; but adrenaline shot through your body as you watched her blood pool around her.

You were in the middle of swinging when the front door opened. "Darling, I'm home! I had a short-" Your husbands eyes locked onto yours as the telephone connected with the pile of bloody flesh and bone, and he froze. "-day." Your chest was heaving and your eyes were wild. "Hi, honey!" You grinned at him as he entered the house and closed the door behind him, locking it. If there was one thing he enjoyed more than seeing you naked, it was seeing you covered in someone else's blood.

He walked over to you, removing his vest as you looked down, huffing and tossing the telephone to the side. More blood splatters. "I see you've had an eventful day. Who's this?" He leaned over, scooping you up into his arms. "Do you remember Valerie? She was at our wedding." You wrapped your bloody arms around your husband, who brought his face to yours in a quick, loving kiss. "Mm, I believe so. That was the one who tried to get into it with your sister, correct?" You nodded as he looked down at the body.

"What was she doing here?" He asked, rubbing your hip with his thumb. "She said she wanted to reconnect, so I invited her in for some tea. She got me talking and then, unbelievably, she accused you of being the NOLA murderer. Said that I'd be next. How ridiculous." You teased, using his collar to bring yourself closer to him. You peppered kisses on the side of his neck. "Absolutely preposterous." Alastor tilted his head, giving you better access to his neck as he stepped over the body and walked towards the hallway.

You began nipping at his flesh, teething softly before giving a decent bite. His grip on you tightened as he made it to your shared bedroom. He walked in and tossed you down on the bed. Alastor kicked his shoes off and crawled onto the bed, caging you under him. You bit your lip as you grabbed the collar of his button up and pulled him into a hungry kiss.

His lips danced with yours as his hands trailed down your body to the bottom of your dress. He tugged up on it and you lifted your back off of the bed, helping him remove it. The both of you broke the kiss to pull the dress off of your head. He leaned back and observed you, admiring.

The blood splattered on your collarbones, neck, and face had him darkly aroused; his cock had been prodding against his pants since he walked in on you atop the bloodied body. He licked his lips as he removed your bra and began to place feathery kisses on your navel. You shuddered and grabbed Alastor by the shoulders, flipping him so that he was under you. Alastor possibly would have resisted, had he been expecting it. His glasses were half-way off of his face as he looked up at you, some strands of brown hair covering parts of his face.

You leaned down, pressing your lips against his as you began to unbutton his shirt. His hands travelled up to his face as he removed his glasses and tossed them up onto the pillows. His hands quickly moved to your waist and hip, his fingers gripping your flesh and as you finished the last button, you pulled his shirt partially open and slowly trailed your hand from his chest, down to his stomach. He groaned into the kiss as your palm rubbed against his clothed cock.

You pulled away from the kiss and he opened his eyes, thankful that he could see your gorgeous, bloodstained face. Your eyes were dark, something he'd seen in himself many times, as your fingers skillfully undid his belt. His hand cupped your ass before he gave a gentle squeezed, followed by a sharp slap. You bit your lip as you brought your hips down. The tip of his cock rubbed against your smooth, clothed cunt and your rested a hand on his chest for leverage as you pulled your underwear to the side.

His hand instantly found your heat, which caught you by surprise. Your eyes closed and your jaw fell slack as his fingers slipped between your folds, coating you in your own arousal. As he pulled his fingers away, you brought his cock into your hand and stroked it a few times before lining him up to your entrance. You sunk down, moaning as he filled you so perfectly; just like always.

His eyes fell closed as he let out a deep, shaky breath. You sunk all the way down, gasping desperately at how deeply he filled you. You wasted no time in dragging your hips up and down, slowly at first. His hands dug into your hips as he began to fuck up into you, matching your pace. Your hips began to connect as you started bouncing harder. You began to whine, throwing your head back as you sat up more. The straighter your back was, the deeper that he hit as you brought your hips down onto his. "Fucking hell, (Y/n).." Alastor's voice was almost shaking, and you clenched around him at his words.

"Nng- Yes, my love?" You practically moaned the word 'love', and Alastor lifted you off of him. "Wha-" You were cut off as Alastor, in one motion, moved out from under you, flipping over and shoving your chest against the mattress. You dug your nails into the covers as you felt him pull your ass into the air by your hips. You bit down onto your lip, but it was short lived as Alastor slammed his cock into you. You turned your head to the side, a moan tearing itself from you.

Alastor's pace was almost ungodly. You had to outstretch a hand, placing it on the headboard to prevent yourself from inching up the bed. You felt Alastor's cock smashing against your cervix, pounding into you so roughly you thought you might die from absolute pleasure. "Alastor-" You dragged his name out into a whining moan; you could feel the orgasm building up inside of you as you clenched around him. Your panties were now soaked in your fluids.

"Hmm?" Alastor's eyes were closed; the heat of your soft, wet cunt around his cock was enough to make him crumble, he knew it'd be over if he looked down at you, face buried into the mattress, holding yourself stable while hardly keeping your composure as he fucked into you. He could feel your oncoming orgasm with the way your cunt pulsated around him and your legs shook.

He snaked his hand around your leg and pressed his index finger against your clit. He barely had to move his finger at all.

"Oh, fuck!" You clawed at the headboard, scratching into the wood as you screamed Alastor's name in a moan. His pace quickened, and he leaned down to your ear. "Do you want me to fill you with my seed, darling?" He grunted as you let out a series of small, whining moans as he continued fucking into your sensitive pussy. "I'll need an answer, Ma chère." He whispered into your ear, and you whimpered. "Fuck- yes, please-" Your cunt was tightening around him again as you somewhat recovered from your high.

He put a hand on the back of your head, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulled you up. You arched your back, gasping at the new sensation. The muscles in your stomach stretched as he fucked up into you. "Ple-please- Alastor-"

You writhed, trying to shove your face into the bed as you screamed out another moan. Alastor had shoved himself as deep inside of you as possible, letting out a deep, shaky moan. He leaned over, pressing his face against your back as his cock twitched and jerked, filling you with his thick, hot cum. You whimpered, your chest heaving as you panted. Alastor allowed himself to finish breeding pumping his cum into you before pulling out. He fixed his pants as you relaxed against the bed, still panting. You rolled over just as he leaned over and placed a kiss on your forehead.

He picked up his glasses, returning them to his now sweat-soaked face. "I'm going to run us a bath, I'll be back in a moment." You hummed in response and nuzzled into the bed.

You'd deal with the mess in the parlor later.

•°•♡•°•

i was feeling a bit morbid, my bad y'all

taglist: @certainlygay, @writer-girl99, @mcntsee, @moonmark98, @olive-frog, @goat-cannibal, @purplerose291, @angelofthorr, @peachedtvs, @hazelfoureyes

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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

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I think they'd have a hilarious dynamic. [Royalflush/Lucihusk]

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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

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Still the favorite!

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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

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The #cursedcatalastor is all over Twitter so Alastor is making good use of his new army 😌

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alicevanderlinde · 2 months

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youtube

Its a bad day to be Ghost.

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alicevanderlinde · 3 months

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Thank you to everyone who got me to 100 likes!

I'm bad at saying thank you but thank you, it may be a small milestone but I'm truly happy qnd thankful to each and everyone of you.

😘- AliceVanDerLinde

Echos of Love

TW: Torture, Blood, Gore, Mutilation, Amputation, mentions of death, starvation, dehydration- the works. If you're easily triggered by any of those things above, I highly suggest you don't read this.

Additional tags: Angst, Love, Emotional (I cried while writing this) Dark, Tragedy, Hurt, Pain, Recovery, mentions of pregnancy, Pregnancy. There's more I probably should add but my two brain cells have worked hard on this and I think they've reach max capacity sooo... Yeah.

I left this off on a small cliffhanger but I do have intentions of finishing it but also I was thinking about writing about the events leading up to this, so if you're interested please let me know.

Word count: 7064

Anyway with that, let's get into it. Hopefully you enjoy!

Alice's body jerks as the sensation of ice-cold water cascades over her, silencing her gasp with a cloth gag. Her eyes snap open, momentarily startled by the unexpectedness of the situation before quickly shutting again, wincing at the harsh brightness that intensifies her throbbing headache. The muscles in her arms ache, pleading for relief under the weight that agonizingly strains them. Judging by the relentless pain coursing through her, she surmises that she has been suspended like this for a significant amount of time.

Summoning all her strength, Alice forces her eyes open once more, only to find three men standing before her. While two of them remain unfamiliar, the man in the middle is unmistakably Colm O'Driscoll, her father's long-time rival. Alice scolds herself internally for allowing herself to be apprehended, despite her valiant attempts to elude them. She had resorted to violence, even inflicting harm upon some of them, but it all proved to be in vain.

In contrast to his associates, Colm appears immaculate, save for his unkempt, graying hair. Dressed in a white suit and matching hat, he exudes a certain elegance that clashes with the rough appearance of his companions. He commands the others to depart, and they promptly comply, leaving Alice alone with him.

"I must say, Miss Van Der Linde, or should I say Mrs. Morgan, I am delighted that you could join us." Colm remarks, his tone dripping with an unsettling satisfaction.

Alice mumbles something unintelligible, her words muffled by the gag. Frustration pushes her to exhale forcefully through her nose, eliciting a pleased chuckle from the well-dressed man.

"You see, my dear, it is quite rude to speak with your mouth full." He taunts with a touch of amusement, his grimy fingers tenderly tracing her cheek. Alice instinctively pulls her face away, desperate to escape his nauseating touch, but her bound position restricts any significant movement.

"I thought your daddy would've taught you better by now." Colm jests, his fingers now slowly exploring the contours of her jawline and descending towards her exposed chest to the small swell of her belly.

As Colm's fingers trace her small baby bump, she shudders, desperately trying to pull away, but the unforgiving chains that bind her keep her in place. She feels dwarfed and helpless, like a mouse trapped in a lion's den.

Tears stream down her face, uncertainty gnawing at her as she wonders if Dutch, her father, or Arthur, her lover, even know where she is. She had never meant to run off like she did, but the overwhelming influx of pregnancy hormones and anger had driven her away from the safety of the camp. Surely, they would've figured something was wrong by now, it's been weeks.

"Now, I demand answers, and you will provide them to me," Colm states, pausing momentarily to remove her gag. "If not, I will be compelled to do something I would rather not."

Her glare is defiant, but she remains silent.

He retrieves a cattle brand from the glowing embers of the fireplace, brandishing it dangerously close to her face, the intense heat radiating towards her. She instinctively closes her eyes, exhaling a breath she had unknowingly been holding.

"I won't tell you a damn thing." She declares with unwavering confidence, despite the fear coursing through her veins.

Shaking his head in disappointment, Colm clicks his tongue disapprovingly. The brand makes contact with her ribcage, causing her to scream in agony as she tries to lurch forward. Her hands, securely tied above her head, prevent any significant movement, intensifying the numbing pain that had plagued her arms for what felt like an eternity.

Her stomach churns, threatening to reject whatever little contents it holds as the stench of seared flesh lingers in the air. Struggling to catch her breath, every gasp a reminder of the torment, her cries transform into mocking, humorless chuckles.

"Go to hell." she croaks, her voice dry and hoarse from dehydration. Her head hangs low, her body growing weary from weeks of relentless torture. Every inch of her being throbs with excruciating pain, no part of her spared from these unspeakable acts.

"Now, I've instructed my boys to go easy on you because of your condition, but my patience is wearing thin, and your time is running out." he sneers.

Lifting her sunken head, she meets his gaze with a hollow chuckle. How could he possibly consider daily beatings as a lenient treatment? "You can't kill me... I'm too valuable, and we both know it."

"Don't flatter yourself, Alice. You're just as disposable as your mother was." he says, his voice laced with a sinister chuckle, aware of the pain those words cause her.

Her face twitches with sadness, the mention of her mother striking a devastating chord within her.

"You remember that, don't you? The way her head rolled on the ground after I severed it." he cruelly recalls.

Of course, she remembers. She was forced to witness the horrifying act as he took her mother's life. Her mother's agonized cries still echo in her mind to this very day.

As if on cue, the two men from before enter the room, brandishing the very axe used in her mother's brutal demise. The blade, still stained with her mother's blood after all these years, glistens menacingly.

She closes her eyes, desperately trying to transport her mind to a different place, but Colm grabs her chin with an iron grip, forcing her to confront the horrifying reality before her.

"Bring her down." Colm demands to his men, and they swiftly comply, handing the axe to Colm before approaching her and releasing the chains that had bound her wrists.

She collapses to the ground, her legs tingling painfully from being suspended for what feels like an eternity. Before she can gather enough strength to lift herself, the men forcefully drag her to the coffee table, compelling her to extend her right arm onto its surface. She resists, but his henchmen quickly remind her of her defiance by pressing a knife against her throat, while another firmly holds her arm in place.

Colm stoops down, examining the exquisite wedding ring on her finger-a symbol of the love Arthur had bestowed upon her-while the axe remains slung over his shoulder.

"Morgan spared no expense, did he?" he remarks, before straightening himself up and bringing the axe down with a brutal force that severs her arm right at the crook of her elbow. A blood-curdling scream escapes her lips, so loud and chilling that she can hardly believe it emanates from her own lungs. Through tears clouding her vision, she witnesses the vivid crimson spurt from the wound.

She slumps to the ground, clutching her severed arm, tears streaming uncontrollably as the pulsating pain resonates with each beat of her heart. All she yearns for is to be in Arthur's comforting embrace, where he would cradle her and whisper reassurances, promising that everything will be alright. However, the harsh truth sinks in-she is all alone, bleeding out.

Lost in her anguish, she fails to realize that Colm and his men have abandoned her, perhaps assuming she poses no threat or could easily escape.

With every passing second, her strength wanes, and she desperately scans the room for something to stem the bleeding, only to find nothing. Just as hope begins to fade, her gaze lands on the glowing embers in the fireplace.

Tears streaming anew, she shakes her head in disbelief. "Oh God, please, no!" she pathetically whispers, her throat raw and sore from her agonizing screams.

Summoning every ounce of strength, she painstakingly drags herself along the floor, reaching the fireplace. With great effort, she pulls herself up the small step, cautiously bringing her severed limb closer to the flickering flames. Through whimpers of pain, she feels the warmth searing the agonizing spot. Deep down, she knows that unless she cauterizes the wound now, death will be inevitable. Bracing herself, she presses what remains of her arm directly into the scorching flames, releasing a gut-wrenching scream as searing agony engulfs her.

She senses the blood curdling under the intense heat, every flicker of the flame reverberating through her entire being.

With sheer determination, she grits her teeth and forces herself to maintain her severed arm in place, emitting pitiful cries as the wound sears shut under the scorching flames. A mixture of relief and anguish washes over her when she finally deems it sufficiently cauterized. Slowly, she withdraws what remains of her arm, gasping for precious air as she teeters on the edge of consciousness.

The gang's tireless search for Alice has yielded no results, except for the sight of her trusted steed abandoned on the roadside, alongside her discarded weapons. The absence of any clue regarding her whereabouts, the unknown identity of her captors, and the uncertainty of her survival all mount with each passing day.

Over a month has elapsed, and the flickering flame of hope, once burning bright, now wavers perilously close to extinction.

Dutch bears the weight of guilt more heavily than the other members, haunted by the memory of pushing Alice away in a fit of rage when she dared to voice her dissent about their outlaw lives. She never revealed the reasons behind her stance, yet her resolve was unmistakable-leaving Dutch tormented with regret.

Arthur, returning from a mission assigned by Dutch, remained blissfully unaware of his wife's absence until a week had passed. Eagerly anticipating Alice's customary warm welcome upon his return home, he was instead met with somber faces and evasive gazes from his fellow gang members. In that moment, the sinking feeling of something being terribly amiss settled deep within him, amplifying when John urged him to speak with Dutch.

Reluctantly, Dutch disclosed the devastating news to Arthur, who, despite his exhaustion, roused himself and ventured once again into the unforgiving wilderness, embarking on a desperate quest to find his beloved.

Arthur, Dutch, John, Javier, Charles, and Kieran persistently continue their nomadic search for Alice, yet every day seems to lead them to another disheartening dead end. Assailed by sleepless nights, Arthur rises at dawn, unable to find solace in more than an hour of rest at a time, acutely aware of Alice's absence and longing for her comforting presence. He, in turn, rouses his weary comrades, commencing their search before the sun truly graces the sky.

Weeks turn into an agonizing blur of fruitless endeavors, leaving the men utterly fatigued. While their shared worry is palpable, hope has relinquished its grip on all but Arthur. His heart relentlessly yearns for his love, shattering a little more each day in her absence.

"Arthur, my boy, I understand your anguish, but we must return." Dutch's fatherly tone contends as Arthur finally succumbs to the overwhelming weight of exhaustion.

"She's out there somewhere, Dutch... We cannot abandon the search now." Arthur pleads desperately, his entreaty conveying the depth of his desperation.

"We will take two days to rest and regroup. We're going to find her, son." Dutch states firmly giving Arthur's shoulder an reassuring squeeze.

As Arthur prepares to protest, his gaze traverses the countenances of his comrades, their visages mirroring the toll their relentless quest has taken. Their exhaustion is unmistakable.

Arthur's thoughts consume him, separating him from the company of his fellow men as they journey back to camp. Haunted by the ghosts of Eliza and Issac, his mind is plagued by the agonizing memories of when he failed his own family. Fear grips him tightly, leaving him to dread the possibility that Alice will too become nothing more than a specter, leaving behind a trail of haunting recollections of their once cherished moments. Every stolen glance, every tender kiss, every loving embrace, and every passionate night of affection will be transformed into memories too painful for him to bear. Though these moments were filled with happiness, they now serve as cruel reminders of his own shortcomings.

Lost in his own inner turmoil, Arthur fails to notice the men have moved ahead, drawing nearer to the familiar refuge of the camp, hidden within the embrace of nature's lush thickets. The weight of the world seems to collapse upon him, draining the very life from within. His heart throbs with an anguish he could never have conceived, not even when Mary had shattered his heart.

Silence engulfs the world around him, depriving him of the once beautiful songs of nature. The vibrant hues that once charmed his eyes and mingled to create breathtaking sights are now invisible to his desolate gaze. Lost and trapped within the depths of this darkened pit of despair, Arthur finds himself unable to locate the way out, sinking deeper into the abyss.

The piercing shriek of a woman from the gang shatters Arthur's thoughts, snapping him into action. Urging Boadicea into a fierce sprint, he leaves the other men trailing behind in a swirling cloud of dust.

As Arthur reaches the scene, a cluster of women obscures his view, shielding him from something he is unsure if he is prepared to witness. Dismounting with remarkable speed, he moves through the gathering, his heart racing with desperate hope for answers.

Navigating through the crowd, a glimmer catches the corner of his eye, drawing his attention. And then he sees it: her arm, severed and coated in a crimson sheen of blood. His gaze fixates on the ring he had once given to her, still adorning her finger - A promise of a better future. It serves as a grim message delivered to the gang, a haunting message directed squarely at him.

A roar of anguish rumbles from Arthur's core as he crumbles to his knees. In that moment, all the pent-up emotions that had been simmering within him surge forth, overwhelming him. The hope he had clung to for finding her alive starts to slip away, leaving only a void of despair.

The men wade through the scene, their gaze fixated on the gruesome message laid bare before them. Dutch's eyes meet those of his gang members, seeing the distraught in their eyes, it break him. They yearn for his charismatic words of guidance and inspiration, but in this moment, his well of eloquence runs dry. He turns his back on the gang, just when they need him the most.

A heavy silence settles upon the group, broken only by the sound of shared sobs intertwining with Arthur's anguish. In this harrowing moment, every untamed soul within the gang is subdued, their spirits momentarily quelled by the weight of grief.

Alice stirs, awoken by the sharp pang of pain coursing through her weary and battered body. Trembling, she musters the strength to rise from the unforgiving ground, her every movement a testament to the weight of her abuse and the loss of her own precious blood. Leaning against the wall for support, she feels its steadfast presence providing a meager solace.

A deep breath steadies her as she observes her now cauterized arm, the wound still fresh and angry, radiating heat. The acrid scent of seared flesh lingers in the air, intensifying the nauseating feeling swirling within her gut.

Closing her eyes and tilting her head back, Alice's left hand begins tracing gentle circles on her belly. Throughout her cruel captivity, she has watched her belly slowly swell, a constant reminder of her entrapment. Bound and without respite, she has longed for the chance to touch and connect with the life growing inside her, a torment in itself.

Yet, a sense of empowerment surges within her as she realizes that this growing life within her has endured every ounce of suffering the O'Driscolls inflicted upon her. Against all odds, this child has clung to her, bringing a flicker of hope amidst the depths of her nightmares. Tears well up as laughter escapes her lips, envisioning the resilience and stubbornness inherited from his father. From the moment she discovered her pregnancy, she knew deep within that she would be blessed with a son.

And then, in that fleeting moment, she feels it-the delicate flutter of a tiny kick dancing at the tips of her fingers.

A loving smile graces her chapped lips as tears of joy spill from her eyes. "We're going to make it, Jr." she murmurs tenderly, embracing the glimmer of faith in their shared survival.

Grasping the mantle of the fireplace with a whimper, she hauls herself up, the soreness crashing over her body in relentless waves. Every fiber of her being protests, aching with the weight of agony she endures. Yet, fueled by an unwavering determination for her son and Arthur, she persists, forging ahead despite the torment.

With a sense of haste, she rummages through drawers, desperately searching for anything to cover her exposed flesh. Finally, she uncovers a worn shirt, its size engulfing her form, but she lacks alternatives and time is of the essence. Slipping it on, she finds solace in the makeshift garment, even if it embodies the appearance of a nightgown. Carefully, she knots the sleeve at the site of her missing arm, a task made all the more difficult without the aid of her right limb.

The longing for freedom tugs relentlessly at her heartstrings. The thought of breathing in the fresh air and feeling the comforting warmth upon her skin consumes her thoughts. As her fingers brush against the cold metal of the door handle, a gentle yet distinct kick in her belly redirects her attention, drawing her focus to the hushed voices of the O'Driscolls looming just beyond.

She scolds herself for allowing her desires to cloud her judgment, realizing the potential dangers that lie beyond the walls that confine her.

Realizing that her initial plan of simply walking out of this place is highly impractical, she starts to formulate a new, more cautious strategy. Being surrounded by O'Driscolls in their territory, she knows she must proceed with extreme caution to ensure her safe return home.

Without a clear idea of her location or the distance to camp, she understands the importance of careful planning and execution to navigate her way back.

She finds a fire poker and arms herself, preparing for whatever may lie ahead. She carefully assesses her surroundings before quietly making her way through a window, mindful of her limited mobility caused by the absence of her right arm. In a moment of misstep, she accidentally hits her seared stump against the window frame, suppressing a cry of pain and biting her lip to mask it. Instinctively she adjusts her position to protect her pregnant belly from any harm, landing on her side directly on her nub.

Lying face down in the dirt, she takes a moment to compose herself, determined to remain as inconspicuous as possible, breathing softly so as not to draw attention to herself.

She resents her own weakness, engulfed in feelings of self-pity as she becomes acutely aware of her helplessness in this moment. Overwhelmed by defeat and fury, she unleashes her frustration by forcefully punching the ground, silently weeping as the unrelenting pain taunts her body.

Upon hearing approaching footsteps, she swiftly hoists herself up from the ground, seeking immediate cover behind a crate. Her grip on the fire poker tightens so intensely that her pale skin turns even whiter.

For a brief moment, she closes her eyes, fully cognizant of the potential consequences her next move may bring. Her ears strain to catch the distinct crunch of gravel as the man's boots draw closer, his spurs audaciously jingling, taunting her senses.

As the man notices the open window, cursing under his breath, he becomes aware of the fact that she must be somewhere out here. He begins to open his mouth, likely to alert his comrades, but before he can utter a word, Alice bursts out of her hiding place, consumed by an unhinged rage. With a swift and brutal strike, she delivers a devastating blow to his head, splitting his skull open, causing his eye to violently dislodge from its socket.

He collapses to the ground lifelessly, already gone before his body hits the earth like a sack of potatoes. Alice, consumed by a red haze of rage, continues mercilessly attacking his lifeless form with the fire poker. With each crushing blow, his head becomes an unrecognizable mess of blood, skull fragments, and brain matter.

Gasping for breath, she fights to steady herself, battling the encroaching dizziness as she surveys her surroundings. Her eyes lock onto the horses tethered a few yards away from the entrance of the dilapidated cabin, but to her dismay, she realizes that four O'Driscolls are standing alongside them.

Her trembling hand retrieves the revolver from the fallen man's gunbelt, attempting to aim it at one of the O'Driscolls. But the horrific shaking in her hand, coupled with the fact that her dominant arm had been severed, makes it almost impossible to steady her aim.

In a desperate attempt to assert herself, she fires a warning shot into the air, hoping to catch their attention and draw them towards her location. Her heart pounding, she swiftly heads towards the woods, her plan to lead them away so she can seize one of the horses and embark into the unknown wilderness.

Moving with a lightness in her step, she cautiously observes the O'Driscolls from a safe distance as they cautiously approach their fallen comrade. Desperation fueling her movements, she sprints towards the horses, pushing against her body's desperate plea for rest.

With a swift motion, she mounts the closest horse, urgently digging her heel into its side, urging it into a full gallop. Struggling to control the horse with her remaining hand, she dreads the prospect of having to relearn everything. However, for now, such thoughts must be set aside. The sweet taste of freedom is tantalizingly close, and she is determined to grasp it.

She desperately scans her surroundings, her line of sight flickering in search of any clue about her location. Determined to focus on the journey and the destination rather than the pulsating pain at the end of her severed arm, she tries to ignore the agonizing throb that intensifies with each powerful stride of the horse. However, her hopes are dashed as her gaze is met only with the vastness of untouched nature stretching along the road. Normally, she would relish these moments, savoring the sights of new places at her own leisure. But now, her mind is consumed with finding her family.

Just as despair begins to creep in, her eyes catch sight of a weathered road sign, its carved wooden surface revealing the word "Annesburg." Relief washes over her, knowing that she has found what she sought. However, a heavy sense of trepidation settles in her heart. Recalling from memory, she realizes that Annesburg is a challenging two and a half days' ride from her current location, and that's without any breaks. Already drained by exhaustion, dehydration, and malnutrition, the thought of enduring such a grueling journey fills her with apprehension. She knows she must remain vigilant, constantly watchful for any danger lurking in the shadows.

Adding to her worries, she has no idea how to navigate her way from Annesburg to Horseshoe Overlook. The mental image of the map Arthur had gifted her is now nothing but a blurry recollection, leaving her feeling disoriented and lost.

Arthur finds solace within the confines of his tent, purposefully keeping the cloth flaps closed to shield himself from the outside world. Tears flow freely down his face, grief consuming him like never before. Clutched tightly in his hands, he holds onto the dress she wore on that fateful day, the day she became his.

As his fingers delicately trace the intricate designs woven into the soft fabric, memories flood his mind. He recalls how she transformed into a vision of ethereal beauty, her hair cascading in lustrous black curls, dancing freely in the wind. Accentuating her curves, a dress Arthur bought embraced her figure flawlessly. In that moment, she seemed otherworldly, a goddess worthy of adoration.

Arthur is forever captivated by the sparkle in her emerald green eyes, which shone with the warmth of the setting sun. Those eyes, filled with unconditional love and unspoken promises, are etched in his memory, an everlasting testament to their unbreakable bond.

He had always felt unworthy of her affection, constantly believing that she was far too good for him. She possessed an innate goodness, a selflessness that pushed her to help everyone within the gang and extend her helping hand to strangers in need. She would even put herself in harm's way to protect those she held dear. It was through these selfless acts that he had uncovered the depth of her feelings for him, as well as his own for her.

Their hidden emotions were finally revealed during a harrowing encounter with Bounty Hunters on a job. Surrounded and outgunned, fear may have gripped her heart, but her stoic facade remained unyielding. In the face of danger, her unwavering strength ignited a fire within Arthur, inspiring him to fight tooth and nail to escape the perilous situation they found themselves in...

As they cautiously made their way back to safety, Alice couldn't shake off the unease that lingered in her gut. She expressed her worry to Arthur, a faint whisper hinting that they were still being watched. Yet, her concerns were swiftly dismissed, her nervousness brushed aside as baseless fears. Arthur assured her that there was nothing to be concerned about, oblivious to the imminent danger.

But Alice's instincts proved sharper than his awareness. In an instant, she spotted the glint of a sniper's scope, long before Arthur even registered its presence. Time slowed as she valiantly threw herself in front of him, taking the bullet intended for his heart. It was a kaleidoscope of surrealism as a mist of crimson paint splattered the air, staining his face, forever etching the price she had paid for his safety. They narrowly escaped the ambush, and Arthur emerged unscathed, shielded by Alice's selflessness.

Her body bore the consequences of her heroic act, hanging on to the last remnants of consciousness. The following day, as she awoke from her slumber, Arthur hovered nearby, a mixture of anger and regret clouding his expression. He unleashed a torrent of emotions, blaming her for her recklessness, unable to comprehend why she had thrown herself into harm's way to save him. Initially, he allowed no room for her to respond, cutting her off at every attempt. But then, something within her snapped, and her voice rose defiantly, declaring, "I did it because I am in love with you!"

As her words hung in the air, Arthur fell silent, his hand absentmindedly rubbing the back of his neck. He yearned to protest, list all the reasons why she should not love him, highlighting scars and mistakes that marred his being. Yet, before he could utter a single word, she took advantage of his slightly agape mouth, meeting his lips with her own in a tender, passionate moment. In that unexpected kiss, he realized the truth - that those stolen glances, those blushes, and that sweet, innocent smile she reserved for him were all a reflection of her love. A love that accepted him for who he was, flaws and all, warming even the coldest reaches of his heart.

His lips quivered with a bittersweet smile as he recalled the extraordinary transformation that unfolded from that fateful day. A love story that once seemed unimaginable had unfolded before his eyes.

Their first time together was a tapestry of vulnerability and tenderness. He couldn't help but notice the scar on her shoulder, a permanent reminder of the sacrifice she made for him. It haunted him, threatening to overshadow the beauty that lay before him in the dimly-lit hotel room they had sought refuge in. Overwhelmed by guilt, he turned away, fearing for her safety and the uncertain future they faced. But, in that moment, she reached out and gently took hold of his hand, her eyes speaking volumes.

Their stolen moments of affection, concealed from prying eyes and her overbearing father, burst forth after a night of drunken vulnerability. Craving each other's touch, they longed to break free from the confines of secrecy. And, fueled by their profound connection, she summoned the courage to defy the disapproval of Dutch, choosing to stand by Arthur and declare her love.

The day he proposed to her was a moment suspended in a world beyond their troubles. Overwhelmed with stress from Dutch's interference in their relationship and her own fears of Arthur pulling away, she had been carrying a heavy burden that week.

Unbeknownst to her, Arthur's distant behavior was not due to Dutch but rather his own struggle to find the perfect way to propose. His heart ached with memories of Mary Linton rejecting his marriage proposal, her father's disapproval leaving him feeling unworthy. That night, as the gang gathered around the comforting glow of the campfire, Arthur felt a surge of determination.

Taking her trembling hand, he admitted his regrets for the distance between them and revealed his intention to make amends. With a tender sincerity, he knelt down before her, offering a ring he had saved for months. The emotions consumed him, causing him to deviate from the rehearsed poem he had written. Instead, his heartfelt confession of love flowed effortlessly from his lips, surpassing his anticipation.

The joyous reaction she unleashed as he slipped the ring onto her finger remains etched in his memory. The exhilarating sound of her excited squeal reverberated through his mind, propelling him to rise and meet her lips with an overwhelming surge of affection.

And on the day they joined in matrimony, a month before her eventual disappearance, everything fell into place with a sense of urgency and secrecy. With the assistance of his loyal gang members, Arthur orchestrated a spontaneous celebration, transforming the camp into a romantic haven. John, understanding the importance of the day, took Alice into town to keep her occupied.

Little did Alice know, as she went about her day, that her own secret was about to be revealed. Seeking answers for occasional sickness, she had visited a doctor who confirmed the miracle growing within her womb-an unexpected pregnancy already one month along. Overwhelmed with worry that Arthur might abandon her, she confided in John, who reassured her that Arthur would embrace this second chance for family.

As the day wore on, anticipation built within Alice. John brought her back to camp, her eyes widening in astonishment and disbelief at the sight before her. A trail of delicate rose petals guided her, until she found Dutch standing proudly, his arm outstretched to escort his daughter down the makeshift aisle. Tears brimmed in Dutch's eyes, a mixture of joy and bittersweet emotions as he fulfilled his role.

Arthur, having taken meticulous care to prepare himself, stood awaiting his bride. He had meticulously groomed himself, receiving a fresh haircut and trimming his beard to a handsome 5 o'clock shadow. He even had a suit tailored for the occasion. Alice's heart swelled with love and admiration as she took in his dashing appearance.

To set the perfect ambiance, Javier strummed his guitar, serenading the couple with heartfelt songs of love. The melodies filled the air, enhancing the profound significance of the moment.

The kiss they shared in that poignant moment, right after sealing their vows, transcended any previous display of affection. It was an electrifying connection that stirred their very souls and left an indelible mark on their lives.

Aware of the profound impact this news would have on their future, Alice made a conscious decision to keep her pregnancy a secret for the time being. She understood the responsibilities of Arthur's upcoming lengthy and perilous job, which would separate them for at least a week. Alice was determined not to distract him or inadvertently endanger him.

The entrance of the tent allows a stream of blinding light to infiltrate, momentarily obstructing Arthur's vision. Shielding his eyes with his arm, he discerns the silhouette of a familiar figure, John.

"Hey Arthur, how are you?" John's voice carries a blend of hesitancy and sorrow.

Arthur's mind is consumed with thoughts of Alice-how she's faring, or if she's even alive. "I'm... alright." he musters weakly, hardly convincing even himself.

"I know you miss her, Arthur. We all do." John offers empathetically.

"She ain't your wife." Arthur retorts defensively, unintentionally lashing out amidst a whirlwind of emotions. His frustration unwittingly directed at John.

"No, but she's like a little sister to me." John utters with a heavy sigh, taking a seat on the chair beside the cot. His eyes dart nervously, while he rhythmically taps his knees.

"John, I appreciate you checkin' in on me, but right now, I just want to be alone." Arthur confesses solemnly, yearning for solitude with only her presence.

"There is something I need to tell you... about Alice." John discloses, sensing Arthur's eagerness. However, an overwhelming hesitation freezes him, unsure if he should share the information.

John's continued silence exacerbates Arthur's sense of foreboding.

"What?" Arthur presses, observing the wheels turning in John's mind.

"I... It can wait. It ain't my place to tell." John says, shaking his head. He alone bears the knowledge of Alice's secret, the life growing within her, and the burden weighs heavily upon him. John acknowledges that Arthur deserves to know he will be a father once again, but he can hardly begin to fathom how Arthur will react. With the uncertainty surrounding Alice's well-being, adding news of her pregnancy to the mix would only deepen Arthur's anguish.

"What the hell do you mean it's not your place to tell me?!" Arthur stands tall, gripping John's shirt and forcibly lifting him from his seat. "What do you know about my wife?!"

"Arthur, you can't handle what I have to say!"

"Tell me, damn it!"

"I can't." John insists.

"You sure as hell can!"

"Arthur, please calm down."

"Just tell me! I can't stand not knowin' any more!"

"She's pregnant, Arthur!" John finally confesses. In that frozen moment, the world stands still. Arthur's grip on John's shirt loosens, causing John to stumble and collapse onto the ground.

Arthur's anxiety causes his chest to heave uncontrollably, his world crumbling around him with even greater intensity. Observing the flicker of unwavering determination within Arthur's piercing icy-blue eyes, John quickly rises and places a steadying hand on his chest.

"Arthur, you can't venture back out there." John pleads urgently.

"I won't waste another moment waitin'. I'm goin' to find her." Arthur declares resolutely, forcefully bypassing John and striding purposefully across the camp.

"Arthur, you ain't in the right state of mind. You need to rest." John implores, trailing closely behind.

"And sit idly while whoever has her inflicts more harm? There's no way in hell I'm stayin' here." Arthur retorts, his gaze fixed ahead as he forges onward, with John doggedly following in his wake.

"She wouldn't want you to sacrifice yourself, Arthur." John says, his voice filled with genuine concern.

Those words strike a raw nerve within Arthur, causing him to abruptly turn and stalk over to John. He halts inches away, leaning in close with a dangerous intensity. The scent of cigarette smoke lingers on Arthur's breath, a testament to his inner turmoil.

"How could you possibly know what the hell she would want?" Arthur growls icily, his fists clenched tightly by his side.

"What if something were to happen to you? What if you were to die? If she's still alive, it would devastate her."

"I can't bear not knowin' if she's alive or dead. And now, knowin' that my child is growin' inside of her, I won't rest until I find her, even if it means dyin' in the process."

"What if she returns and you're not here?"

"I failed her once already. I need to find her." Arthur asserts, his voice filled with anguish. "She's my entire world, John. The pain of not knowin' if she's safe is tearin' me apart."

"We don't have any leads on her whereabouts. We don't even know who has taken her. You know she would never forgive herself if anythin' were to happen to you. Alice is strong. She'll find her way back to us... But you have to stay. If you don't, you'll only end up gettin' yourself killed."

With each passing moment, the battle against her exhaustion becomes increasingly daunting. It has been over a day and a half since she escaped, and her body's desperate need for sleep grows harder and harder to ignore. Every second that ticks by serves as a testament to her unwavering strength and determination, pushing through the waves of pain that crash relentlessly against her weary form.

Her eyelids struggle to stay open, heavy with fatigue. A cacophony of growls erupts from her belly, a painful reminder of the hunger that gnaws at her from within, as if her insides are being devoured. The sight of water makes her mouth water uncontrollably, a relentless plea for respite from the unquenchable thirst that courses through her. Yet she soldiers on, fueled by an unyielding determination to reach home, to once again find solace in the embrace of Arthur's arms.

Lost in an unfamiliar landscape, she questions if she's even heading in the right direction. Everything blends together in an indistinguishable blur, creating a disorienting maze of uncertainty. She cannot even be certain if she is still among the living, though the excruciating pain she endures seems inconsistent with her imagination of the afterlife.

In an instant, her senses are blanked out, only to gradually return as she awakens on her back, sprawled out in the unforgiving embrace of the dirt road. Though she has fallen from her horse, the pain that courses through her body somehow feels distant, as if her senses have numbed in response to the impact.

A familiar warmth envelops the tightly wound sleeve that conceals the space where her arm used to be. Weary eyes trace the crimson stains that saturate the grimy fabric, a stark reminder that she is till alive as blood flows from her wound. She shuts her eyes, summoning every ounce of strength within her to rise from the ground, but all she manages is to shift onto her side, slowly dragging herself along the unforgiving road.

As she inches forward, a gradual seepage of blood permeates the threads of her shirt, each step reopening the raw, tender flesh beneath Colm's branded mark. The fabric clings to the jagged edges of her torn skin, amplifying the pain that accompanies this hellish journey.

John successfully persuaded Arthur to take a stroll along the outskirts of the camp, leaving behind a departed Dutch. The gang can't shake off the feeling that their unity is gradually unraveling, similar to the frayed fabric of a well-worn shirt.

The sight of Arthur in such a distraught state is an unfamiliar one for John. He's used to seeing Arthur hold his composure during even the most critical moments. However, something vital has been torn away from him, leaving him disoriented and incomplete, as if a part of himself is missing.

Meanwhile, Dutch has been absent since last night. He ventured into Valentine, seeking solace in a few drinks to clear his troubled mind. Unfortunately, the whiskey only amplifies his dark thoughts and intensifies his longing for his daughter. Ever since Alice's birth, Dutch had made a solemn vow to protect her at any cost.

Still teetering on the edge of intoxication, Dutch sets off, without a clear destination or purpose. He can't determine if his little girl is even alive anymore, which weighs heavily on his conscience. The loss of his daughter, coupled with witnessing the hardship inflicted upon her husband, reminds him of the tragic events surrounding Annabelle. At least, in Annabelle's case, Colm killed her swiftly, sparing Dutch prolonged uncertainty. In this instance, he finds himself caught in a similar torment.

Continuing down the road, Dutch estimates that he's roughly a mile away from camp. Consumed by his thoughts, he edges closer to succumbing to defeat when a sight catches his attention: his little girl, slowly dragging herself along the road in agony.

Dutch's heart both leaps with anticipation and sinks in despair. A trail of blood follows her, evidence of her desperate attempt to find her way home. Tears well up in his eyes as he dismounts his horse and rushes to Alice's side. The sight of her tortured state is gut-wrenching and heartbreaking. Her body is adorned in bruises, and her arm has been cruelly amputated. He already knew her arm was cut off thanks to the horrid message sent to them but seeing it first hand was something he wasn't ready for.

The phrase "My poor baby" escapes Dutch's trembling lips as he struggles to maintain composure. Alice gazes up, her pain-stricken face managing to muster a smile. Through labored breaths, she utters, "Daddy." The relief is palpable as she realizes that he has found her.

Without a moment's hesitation, Dutch scoops her up into his arms. Despite the weight loss she has endured, Alice still feels somewhat heavy in his arms.

"Don't worry, Alice. We're going to make it back home." Dutch reassures her, determination burning in his eyes. He sets off on foot, determined to carry her the entire mile back to camp. He knows that in her current weakened state, it's not safe for her to be on horseback.

Speaking softly, Alice's fragile voice breaks the silence. "Daddy... is Arthur alright?" Her words tug at Dutch's heart, but he masks his worry with reassuring strength.

"He's going to be just fine, sweetheart. Right now, our priority is getting you back home." Dutch responds, his voice filled with both love and conviction. With each step, he holds Alice closer to his chest, enveloping her in his familiar warmth.

A faint, weary smile forms on Alice's lips. She nods briefly, understanding the need to conserve her diminishing energy. Closing her eyes, she succumbs to the overpowering urge to sleep, finding solace in the thought that her father has found her and will keep her safe.

Author's note: I've been in a dark place so this fic got dragged down with with me. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed. I'm bad at this shit, I've also been procrastinating about posting this because like, I'm me and I'm fearful of putting this out there and people won't like this but here we are... Bye

#100 likes #tumblr milestone #thank you

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alicevanderlinde · 3 months

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Listen, this shit right here... Like I feel this so fucking much. Been going through way too much shit lately and this spoke volumes to me. It's short and sweet, yet it relates so much. Anyway, whoever you are, I hope you're having a wonderful day today.

#self love #self care #healing #growth

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alicevanderlinde · 3 months

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HEAR ME OUT (up to you!!)

Part 4 to no mercy where they had the baby and they can actually resume to being rough and negan is just being an overprotective grandpa😭😭

No Mercy Part IV

Carl and Y/N have their son and are finally back to enjoying rough sex after a jealousy drama with Enid. Everyone is 18 or over.

WARNINGS: smut, nsfw, slightly violent sex (consensual)

After your and Carl's son Jamie was born, you had moved out of Rick and Michonne's household and had been assigned your own house in Alexandria. By now Jamie was three months old and you and Carl still hadn't resumed your sex life; mostly you were too tired because of the baby, you were still breastfeeding, plus you were still showing your pregnancy and that affected you because you were unsure if Carl would still find your naked body attractive. There were veins on your legs that hadn't been there before, and your stomach was softer and less firm than before, and milk came out of your breasts at the slightest touch.

Carl was on guard duty and you were taking care of Jamie and tidying the house. You decided to do some laundry.

You froze as you emptied the laundry basket from the bathroom. There was something red dangling from the pocket of one of Carl's jeans. You pulled it out and frowned at it: it was a thong, and it wasn't yours. Jealousy seized you painfully, because you immediately had a hunch who the owner of the panties was: Enid. The thong had a golden butterfly embroidered on the top edge, and you had seen it often enough over the hem of Enid's jeans.

Enid had also made no secret of how angry she was that Carl had ended the relationship with her after you returned to Alexandria and revealed to Carl that you were pregnant by him. She didn't respect Carl's relationship with you and took every opportunity to try to sabotage you. She kept stalking Carl somewhere and trying to change his mind; to get him to leave you and get back together with her. There had already been several bitter arguments between you and Carl about this. Carl swore he was no longer interested in Enid, but Enid just wouldn't give up, and apparently she had succeeded. It hurt so much.

You stifled your tears and quickly stuffed the panties into your own pants pocket as you heard footsteps approaching the bathroom, then your father Negan appeared in the doorway. Ever since Jamie was born, Negan had been paying you regular visits - much to Rick's annoyance. But Negan was completely in love with his grandson. Even now, he carried Jamie in his arms. "Jamie can already turn himself around," he announced proudly, as if this was his achievement. "He'll be a leader one day. He'll be just like me."

You preferred not to comment on it - firstly, Negan wasn't going to change his mind anyway, and secondly, you had other things on your mind. Your father seemed to pick up on your bad mood, and he looked at you inquiringly, asking what was wrong.

"Nothing, I'm just tired," you mumbled and gathered up the dirty laundry to put it in the washing machine. On your way to the basement, you saw a silhouette on the porch, you pulled back the curtains on the front door and recognized Enid, so you dropped the laundry to yank the door open. "What do you want?" you asked rudely. You would have liked to scratch her eyes out, but it wasn't her who had betrayed you, it was Carl.

Enid tilted her head and smiled sweetly. "Is Carl here?"

"No," you replied dismissively. "He's on guard duty."

"Oh, it's just... He left this at my place recently." With an innocent face, Enid handed you one of Carl's boxers.

There were a few telltale stains on the light blue fabric. Your face turned red with anger and pain. Carl hadn't had these underwear for long, so he couldn't have forgotten them during his relationship with Enid. And then there were the red undies in his pocket! The evidence was clear. Enid was obviously hoping for a reaction from you, but you didn't want to give her the satisfaction, so you grabbed the boxers and slammed the door in Enid's face. Now you couldn't stop hot tears from running down your cheeks.

Negan heard you crying. "Tell me what's going on, Y/N," he demanded angrily. "What did that girl want?" Then he spotted the boxers in your hand and put one and one together. "Are these Carl's?" he asked sharply, reaching for them. You nodded. Negan's expression darkened menacingly as he eyed the stains on the fabric. "So Carl's cheating on you. That little bastard; I'm going to kill him," he threatened.

"No, do not get involved," you ordered brusquely. "Please take the baby carriage and go for a long walk with Jamie." Carl would be home soon and you wanted to talk to him alone - even if there wasn't really anything more to discuss.

When Carl entered the house a little later, sweaty, dirty and exhausted, you were waiting for him with teary eyes and arms folded across your chest. When he tried to hug you to say hello, you pushed him away. "What's wrong?" he asked, puzzled.

"You're the one asking?" you shouted at him and threw the red thong and his stained boxer shorts to his feet. "You're cheating on me! You are a liar and a cheater!"

Carl looked completely taken aback. "What?" he asked confused and bent down to grab the underwear. He held up the red slip. "I've never seen this before," he said, confused. "What does that mean?"

"Oh, don't play dumb, Carl! You're cheating on me with Enid!" you accused him. "These are Enid's panties, and they were in the pocket of one of your jeans!"

"But that isn't possible," Carl claimed, ruffling his hair. "I swear I've never seen those panties before and I'm not cheating on you!"

"Oh yeah? And why did Enid just come by and bring your boxers that you left at her place after you fucked her? Those are yours, aren't they?" You pointed your finger accusingly at the boxers.

Carl picked it up and inspected it. "Yes, it is," he admitted. "But I don't know how Enid got hold of them, I..."

"Stop lying to me!" you shouted. "Enid had your underwear! And there are cum stains on them! The case is very clear!"

Carl turned red with embarrassment. "I can explain about the stains," he mumbled ashamedly. "It's... the thing is, we haven't had sex since Jamie was born, and... and I... I still have needs, and that's why..."

"That's why you fucked your ex," you said coldly. "Great, Carl."

"No!" protested Carl outraged. "Why won't you let me speak? I wanted to say that... well, I have no choice but to pleasure myself at the moment. I was on guard duty alone recently and... well... I thought of you, and then I... and I didn't have a tissue to clean myself afterwards, and that's where the stains in my underwear come from." With bright red cheeks, Carl looked down at his feet.

"Bullshit!" you snarled. "None of this explains how Enid got hold of your underwear."

"But I don't know that either," Carl tried to defend himself. "Any more than I can explain Enid's panties being in my pocket! All I know is that I tossed both the jeans and the boxers in our laundry basket! Last week already!"

"I don't believe you," you cried.

Carl held out his hands to you, looking desperate. "Please, Y/N, I love you, I would never cheat," he pleaded. "Enid's just jealous, she orchestrated this somehow."

The doorbell rang. "We'll continue talking in a minute," Carl promised and opened the door.

Michonne stood on the threshold. She looked suspiciously from one to the other. "What's going on here? Are you two fighting?" Carl sighed and gave a censored version of events. He left out the part about the stains in his underwear. Michonne frowned. "That's strange," she mused, "because a few days ago, on Monday, I saw Enid come out of your house. From the back door, to be precise. You weren't home, and when I asked her what she was doing in your house, she looked caught off guard and claimed she'd just wanted to return some comics to Carl."

"But I hadn't lent her any comics, and there weren't any comics there either," Carl said immediately. "Enid must have gone into our bathroom to steal my underwear and put her panties in my pocket," he stated angrily. "She wants to break Y/N and me up. That bitch!"

"I want to hear it from Enid herself," you insisted. But on the day in question, you had been home before Carl, and you hadn't actually noticed any comics anywhere.

"Let's go to her and confront her," Michonne suggested. "I can confirm that she was in your house."

The three of you went to Enid's house. Enid grinned gleefully at first when she saw your tear-stained face, but when she spotted Michonne, she suddenly looked panicked. Michonne spoke up. "So, Enid, spill the beans," Michonne said angrily. "What were you really doing at Y/N's and Carl's house a few days ago?"

"I...it was like I said...the comics..." stuttered Enid.

"That's a lie," Carl cut her off, upset. "I didn't lend you any comics."

"Yes, you did," Enid contradicted stubbornly. "You just don't remember."

" Oh really? What comics were they, and where did you put them?" Michonne questioned.

"I... I..." stammered Enid. "On the stairs," she then said.

"But I was home before Carl on Monday, and there were definitely no comics on the stairs," you replied.

"Then... then I put them somewhere else, I can't remember exactly..." Enid squirmed.

"Just admit that you wanted to cause trouble between Carl and Y/N," Michonne demanded angrily. "You could have given the comics back to Carl at any time without going to his house, that's a lie, Enid. I'll tell you what you actually did. You rummaged around in their laundry basket and put your panties in Carl's jeans pocket, and you stole one of his boxers. All to pretend that Carl was sleeping with you and cheating on Y/N. That is so vile, Enid. They have a kid together. Don't make it worse, admit it."

Enid blushed crimson and clenched her fists. "All right, yes, that's how it was!" she hissed, "But it's not fair! Carl should be with me, not her! He just ditched me when Y/N came back and announced she was pregnant! Even though she left Carl without a word!"

"That's not true," you said furiously. "I was sent back to my dad all of a sudden! I didn't even get to say goodbye to Carl! I didn't want to go, I didn't leave him voluntarily!"

Enid didn't respond. "And who knows if your brat is even Carl's? Probably not! You foisted it on him! I'm sure you've fucked several guys!"

Carl stepped forward, his teeth clenched. "That's enough now, Enid," he growled. "You apologize to Y/N right now!"

"'Forget it, I only had your best interests at heart, Carl. She's not good enough for you," Enid raged, slamming the door, but you didn't care if she apologized or not anyway - it had been proven that Carl hadn't been unfaithful to you, and you didn't care about anything else.

You and Carl returned home. Negan was still out with Jamie. As soon as you closed the door behind you and realized the two of you were alone, Carl grabbed you roughly by the wrist, kicked off his shoes and dragged you up the stairs to your shared bedroom, where he pushed you onto the bed and began to undress. "Carl!" you protested, "What..."

"Shut up," he said impatiently. "I want you now." He carelessly tossed his flannel and shirt aside and undid his belt, then unbuttoned his jeans and pulled them down and off, along with his boxer shorts. His cock sprang free, hard as a rock and the tip glistening with precum, veins protruding. The sight and scent of it made you tingle with excitement.

You tried to get up from the bed, but Carl immediately pushed you back and pressed you into the pillows, hastily fumbling with your clothes. "Carl, I'm sure my dad will be right back with Jamie, and I really don't feel like it, it's too soon, I'm still breastfeeding, and..."

Carl leaned forward and bit lightly into your neck, then sucked hard and left a hickey. "I don't care," he murmured, his voice hoarse with excitement. "It's been months since I've been able to fuck you. I can't take it anymore. And I don't care if your body has changed. I miss you, Y/N." He tugged at your clothes, dropping them on the floor beside the bed and ripping your lacy panties in his hurry; he held your wrists together above your head with his left hand and spread your thighs with his right. Carl was so needy that he wasted no time with foreplay, he slid his glans over your clit and the opening of your pussy a few times, then pushed his hard shaft into you, moaning.

You let out a soft cry of pain as Carl's dick suddenly stretched your walls, you weren't used to his size anymore and you weren't ready at all, but at the same time, it felt so amazing. It was so intense to finally be intimate with Carl again.

Carl forced himself to wait a moment for you to relax, then he let go of your wrist and began to thrust hard and fast. "There you go," he gasped. "You're getting wet."

You promptly slapped him across the face. "How dare you just fuck me?" you hissed.

Carl grabbed your throat and gave it a quick squeeze that made you black out for a few seconds. "'Slap me again and I'll turn you on your stomach and take you from behind so you won't be able to walk for days," he whispered. "I'll fuck you whenever, however and whereever I want. Remember? Got it?"

Excited to the extreme, you caught your breath as Carl took his hand off your neck; it was true, you were reacting to him as you always had: With every second he was inside you, the wetness between your legs increased. You began to whimper and moan, digging your fingernails into Carl's back. "Oh my god, Carl. You're so good." You put a hand on his firm butt, feeling the motion of his muscles as he thrusted into you.

Carl propped himself up on his elbows and pulled out of you for a moment. He licked off the milk that had leaked from your breasts and sucked and nibbled a little on your nipples. His cock was dripping wet with the fluid from your pussy, even his pubic hair and the area up to his belly button were wet and slippery. "Look how horny you are for me, Y/N," Carl whispered, grinning naughtily.

"Put it back in," you moaned, writhing on the bed. "Please, Carl."

Carl did you the favor, penetrated you again and increased the speed and intensity of his thrusts. Your pussy was on fire, throbbing, you wrapped your legs around Carl's hips, only now realizing how much you had missed having sex with Carl. The room was filled with both of you moaning, sighing and the wet sounds your bodies were making.

"Cum with me," Carl gasped; pounding even faster, unable to hold back any longer. The orgasm swept over you like a hot tsunami, you screamed out, arched your back and buried your teeth into Carl's left shoulder as your muscles spasmed. Carl shot his load into you, collapsing on top of you, quivering with arousal and exertion. You both were totally breathless, Carl's heart beating hard right next to yours. His weight pressed you deep into the mattress, and you languidly stroked his back. You both enjoyed the afterglow, you kissed and looked deep into each other's eyes. "I love you," Carl whispered. "Only you, Y/N. Just you and me, no one else."

"I love you too, Carl." You feathered kisses on his neck and on the red teeth marks you'd left on his shoulder.

After a while, Carl lay down next to you and you snuggled together under the covers, exhausted, sweaty and happy. "Y/N? Are you home?" you suddenly heard Negan's voice. Before you could react, he appeared in the bedroom entrance and stared perplexed at the scene before him - you and Carl in bed in the middle of the day, the smell of sex in the air and your clothes scattered all over the floor. Negan cleared his throat sheepishly. "I'm... glad to see that things seem to have gotten sorted out between you," he mumbled, rubbing his chin, preferring to retreat to the living room.

Carl looked at you mischievously and you both burst out laughing.

Tags: @knochentrocken0808 @taylormarieee @xxcarlswifexx @tessasweet @richardsamboramylove55

(Sorry that this took so long. I was simply never completely content with the fic)

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