My name is Bambi, Im 33 years old, Im from a small town in Northern Indiana. I post anything I like. Thank you to anyone who likes my blog!!! This is my real picture of me!!!
Like #75, I drew this with a pen brush that's a little outside my comfort zone. But I think it turned out well enough, and it's faster than my usual method. So I think I'll keep working with it.
Although Rick and Michonne still devote much of their time to making their world a better place, living in such a large community has its perks. Gone are the days of midnight watch shifts, killing walkers at the gate, and getting up so early they can't even have morning sexytimes. Instead, they get to focus on big picture, save-the-world type issues, which leaves plenty of time for little everyday joys, like a spontaneous dance date.
Horny Richonne #76 is also available on AO3 and Deviantart.
Throwback to when Rick saw Ezekiel propose to Carol, and then decided to find a ring for Michonne, and then went home and made The Richonne Baby™️ the next morning. Rick saw how happy everyone was after his hard work and leadership, and decided that he wanted that happiness with his wife.
cw: dubcon, brief violence, choking, restraints, coercion??/prostitution??, fingering, mean rick
summary: you’re not who you say you are. your cover’s blown and rick’s left to deal with you. can’t have you running that pretty mouth and spreading their secrets. awful shame to have to kill you, though.
he could feel eyes on him when he walked through the gates. prying and prodding stares, lingering on the dripping gash on his eyebrow and the blood matted above his swollen lip. he felt their eyes shift behind him, noting the absence of the person he’d left with. realizing that you didn’t make it back with him.
he stalked past them all, his sneer growing with every nervous, tittering question thrown his way.
“where is she?”
“what happened?”
“is she alright?”
“the hell happened to you?”
rick glanced up from the sink and met daryl’s eye. he stood behind him, scrutinizing his reflection in the bathroom mirror. it was silent between them, only disturbed by the thin trickle of water pattering down from the faucet. the porcelain was tinged pink, blood curling through the water and swirling down the drain.
his jaw ticked. anger simmered, the heat of it wavering on the surface of his skin. he threw down the rag he’d used to clean up and turned to face him. “she’s been spying on us. you know that?”
daryl’s expression hardened. he shifted on his feet. his voice was low and rumbling. “for the saviors?”
rick stared silently, tongue prodding his cheek.
you had been in alexandria before they even got there. sweet, bubbly thing, always helping out wherever you could. they were off-put by how cheerful you seemed, brushed it off as you having no idea what the world was like outside the walls. but you did. you did know because you would go out alone. every week. and every time, you would come back completely unscathed and bearing the most random assortment of supplies.
he had known something was off about you from the start. he just never put his finger on it. it didn’t click until one day when he was watching carol chirp about with the other women in the community. with you. you both had the same look in your eye. some dark, steely glint hidden beneath a rosy film. like a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
you slipped up, eventually. mentioned something you shouldn’t have known about, action you hadn’t been a part of. you forced his hand.
“n’you took care of it?” daryl asked after a moment, staring back at him. he didn’t seem surprised — the benefit of forever being wary of everyone and everything in the world. rick envied him of that.
“yeah. she’s not gonna be a problem anymore.”
you should have known things weren’t right when rick insisted on coming with you on your run. no one had ever pushed as hard as he did, or carried enough weight in the community to force you to let them come.
a thousand possibilities ran through your head as you drove with him in the passenger. you could fake where you were headed, find some wayward pharmacy instead of returning to the sanctuary. you could swerve off into a tree, pull your gun on him, take him to negan — just cover it up and say a swarm got to you and you were the only one to make it out. but he beat you to it.
his voice was steady when he spoke. casual and unassuming. “hey, stop up here. think i saw something.”
you thought playing along was the right move. that maybe if you just continued your charade, you’d be able to keep your cover and go on with what you’d been sent out to do. that’s why you listened.
but then you stepped out of the car, and he scruffed your neck with a massive palm and shoved you face-down onto the trunk without a second thought.
you sputtered, kicking and clawing at him while he pressed you flat to stop your writhing. you managed to land a few blows as you tried to push him off before he wrestled a hand into your hair and slammed your head back down on the metal.
the air ringed and distorted around your ears. you only vaguely made sense of the arm snaking around your neck, the crook of his elbow crushing in on your throat, making your every breath draw tighter and tighter.
“thought you were fuckin’ slick, huh?” he gritted, knocking his head against yours, mouth ghosting at your ear.
he felt you convulsing beneath him, choking gags spilling from your lips and nails weakly tearing at his skin. raised red welts gave way to raw, bubbling scratches. the blood smeared on your fingers.
your vision swam, black creeping in on the edges and blanketing over your eyes. and then there was nothing.
the first thing you registered was the pounding in your head. it reverberated through your skull, throbbing down your spine and thrumming in the hollows of your bones. every breath you drew was raspy and shallow, the cool, musty air battering its way against your trachea as it reached for your lungs.
the second was the cold bite of metal cutting into your wrists. your arms were stretched wide and your hands hung limp, fingertips buzzing where the blood pooled. you blinked, bleary eyed, and moaned in confusion.
you were in a bed. in a room you did not know. there was a haze of dust that floated stagnant in the air, visible in the dim beams of light streaming through boarded-up windows. a once-cheery yellow quilt dimpled underneath your bare thighs.
it slowly dawned on you that your clothes were gone, that you’d been stripped down to your thin, flimsy tank top and not much else.
a low grumble sounded from beside you.
he was there on your right, settled back into the cushions of an old armchair with his thighs spread wide, the weight of his stare heavy as he watched you sluggishly drift into consciousness. you caught sight of your pistol glinting softly in his hand, his pointer finger tapping rhythmically on the steel barrel. ice ran cold in your veins.
“there she is,” he murmured, tilting his head when your gaze found him. his voice was even and lullingly slow. he might have seemed at ease, but his eyes betrayed him — seething, molten ire all but dripping down his cheeks.
“the fuck is this?” you croaked, the sound grating in your throat. the cuffs jangled against the metal rods of the headboard when you tried to sit up. “rick? what—?”
he cut you off with a wry laugh. scoffed and looked away, shaking his head like you’d said something amusing. it was unsettling, the way his face contorted — jaw tensing, eyes twitching. he scratched his temple with the muzzle of your gun.
“you’re good… had us for a while, there.” his eyes dropped to the weapon in his hand. “y’know, i remember you havin’ a different gun when we met. cute little .38 with a sleek handle. remember you losin’ it too.
“i take stock of the armory everyday — i know what comes in, what goes out, who carries what — but this…” he said, holding it up for you, shaking it in consideration, “i can’t say i’ve seen this one before.”
you frowned the same time he did. dread curled thick in your stomach once you realized what he was getting at. your lips parted in protest, scrambling to plead or persuade. this is a mistake. you’ve got the wrong idea. anything you could to grasp at whatever shreds of your lie remained—
“no— no i have, actually,” he continued. “yeah… ‘bout a week ago, we got in a fight with a bunch of stragglers down by the train tracks. said their names were ‘negan’ — every one of ‘em. and, what’s funny is, they all had this exact same gun.”
his eyes slid back to yours, tongue tracing the grooves of his teeth. “d’you know anything about that?”
your lashes fluttered as you tried to think, but you couldn’t. you couldn’t think. everything moved like molasses under his gaze. the words rose like cotton in your throat, sticking and stretching as they tumbled from your lips.
“i don’t— no. i don’t know what— no.”
“so how’d you get this then?” he asked, waving the pistol at you.
shit. you blinked stupidly, every possible excuse running through your head and dying on your tongue. “i— aaron. aaron brought it back for me.”
his eyes narrowed. he was getting some sick sort of kick out of this — the way you kept squirming and tugging at the cuffs around your wrists, that wide, shifty look in your eyes, darting around like you were a cornered animal. his lips quirked up and he leaned forward.
“liar.”
“what— i’m not lying,” you sputtered. your chest seized. “if you don’t believe me, let’s go ask him. both of us. you and me, let’s go ask him right now.”
“right now?”
“right now,” you nodded. “yeah, just— just take these off, and we can—“
“nah, i think those can stay on,” he hummed, leaning back with a satisfied grunt when you froze. your face twisted in confusion. or fear. he didn’t care for the difference. your lips parted, jaw falling open and stuttering shut.
“rick, i’m not…” you tapered off, staring at him wide-eyed.
“not what?”
your patience was growing thin. he knew it. maybe that was his goal, but you were getting more panicked by the second and you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. you tugged your fists forward, feeling the metal press into your skin.
“i don’t know,” you panted. “i don’t know what ‘cause you won’t explain anything to me. like, why you fucking choked me out and— and chained me to a bed. or where where the hell we are or why my fucking clothes are gone...”
his eyes fluttered at the last part, shifting down from your face as if you’d reminded him. you watched his jaw clench when your thighs squeezed together, your knees tilting away from him. he met your gaze again.
“y’know, i’ll tell you what. i think you’re a fuckin’ rat,” he spit, the word landing cold and sudden like a glob of saliva on your cheek. “chewed your way in though our walls, duckin’ out whenever you can to go report to this ‘negan’ guy. that’s why you’re here. so you can’t keep running that pretty mouth of yours.”
there it was. your secret, unraveled and stripped raw, out in the open, sitting between you two. his chin ticked up when you didn’t say anything, when that soft look in your face dripped away, shed like a second skin. his tongue dipped out to wet his lips.
“and as for your clothes, that was, uh…” his mouth lifted at the corner. “a safety precaution.”
he watched your nose flare, your lips twitching into a snarl. seems the ‘nice girl’ act was done with. your eyes burned straight through his.
“oh, quit cryin’. y’still got some clothes on, don’t you?” he taunted. he seemed delighted in the way your chest had started to heave, the way your arms pulled and pulled at the restraints, doing nothing but rubbing deep, sore grooves into your skin. “be grateful you’re not lyin’ there naked.”
your struggling slowed when you watched his gaze drop. a dewy sheen had broken out on your skin, your chest and shoulders gleaming in the soft light. his eyes were dark. pale blue gone, absorbed by the black hole of his pupils.
“they’ll come for me,” you breathed. “they’ll come looking for me.”
his eyes tore away from the curve of your neck, sliding back to yours with a glare like you’d interrupted him doing something important. he sighed. “will they?”
your head tipped in a nod — a twitchy, vehement thing that made his teeth ache, his tongue suck at his canines. he leered at you and leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. your pistol dangled from his hands, hanging between his legs.
“yeah, well, they don’t know where you are,” he murmured, his voice low. “no one does.”
he stood from the chair with a grunt, looming over the bed and looking down at you. he could see that spark of fear starting to creep its way through your body, like a smoldering ember settling in a field of dry grass.
something passed behind his eyes, some silent, internal dispute and its quiet resolution both burrowing deep inside his head. he nodded to himself, still lingering above you. then, he backed away. stepped toward the door.
“be good.”
your lungs seized. your fists pulled at the handcuffs. “rick? hold on, rick, i— so what, you’re just gonna leave me here?”
he slowed, rounding the foot of the bed. you had your feet planted on the mattress, your legs folded up as you tried to tug yourself upright. you looked at him with crazed, wide eyes, your chest heaving and your knees falling apart.
something sick twisted inside him at the sight — you, all nice and splayed out for him, your thighs soft and open and your skin glowing, your eyes, wide and wet and pleading. all for him.
he cleared his throat. gave a gruff nod. “‘til i figure out what to do with you.”
he forced himself to turn around, to reach for the door knob. a panicked huff escaped your lips, stuttering as you fervently tore at your restraints. anxiety crawled over your skin.
what if he wasn’t coming back? was rick that cruel? would he let you starve to death on this bed? lay there waiting for some walker to wander inside and ravage you?
“you’re not gonna kill me?”
he stopped again, just underneath the doorway. his hand — the one wrapped around your pistol — rose to grip the wood. you watched him tilt his head sideways, his profile sharp and nauseating as he barely took a look at you.
“i don’t know yet.”
you fought with your handcuffs until your wrists were rubbed raw. the rest of the day and all through the night, you writhed around on the bed, contorting your body, stretching your legs, pulling your arms until your shoulders popped in their sockets.
hours and hours of that resulted in several fits of tears, which only exhausted you further. you passed out at some point. cried yourself to sleep imagining all the horrific ways you were bound to die.
dehydration, starvation, being eaten alive, torture…
you still weren’t sure if rick was coming back or not. but you knew that if he was, it wouldn’t end well for you anyway.
you’d seen what he did to jessie’s husband pete. heard all the stories of the things he’d done to others. the more you thought about it — your mind conjuring up gruesome images of him tearing a man’s throat out with his teeth and spitting out the blood, or him covered in gore after slaughtering ten men with a single machete — the more you were starting to believe that dehydration would be a mercy.
the room was stuffy and hot when you finally woke up, the sound of the door creaking open startling you awake.
“afternoon.”
rick shuffled into the room, his steady, confident gait all but mocking you as you laid there on the bed waiting for him. you knew what a mess you’d made of the place — blankets kicked off onto the floor, armchair pushed up against the wall, both nightstands tipped over on their sides.
you knew you looked a mess too, with your eyes swollen and puffy from crying, and your hair tangled from fighting against the mattress all night. though, the way he looked at you, you wouldn’t have known it.
”you here to let me go?” you mumbled, your voice still thick with sleep.
“hah, no,” he scoffed softly, stepping beside you and righting the chair you’d kicked away. he set down a heavy bag and dug through it with his back to you. “no, i’m here to make sure you’re alright, check in on ya’.”
you blinked. you might have laughed if your wrists weren’t throbbing were the metal cut into them. “are you fucking serious?”
he ignored you, still sifting through whatever he’d brought with him. you gave up glaring and chose to stare glumly at the rotting boards of the ceiling. better fucking sight than him.
“here.”
when you looked back, you found a plate waiting in his hands, torn chunks of meat and bread piled on top. he’d turned around, holding it in front of you for you to see. you eyed it warily, turning your nose up at it.
“what, d’you put rat poison in it or something?”
‘aloof’ was what you were going for. ‘cool’ and ‘unbothered’, even in the face of being kidnapped — and possibly tortured and killed, it was still early — but he shut that down real quick.
“yeah, that’d be fitting, wouldn’t it?” he laughed lightly.
fucking idiot. heat washed over you as you remembered the conversation from the day before. ‘i think you’re a fuckin’ rat…’ he paid little mind to your embarrassment, much to your relief.
“no, it’s just food. regular food,” he sighed, stepping closer. he lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, the mattress caving under his weight. you pushed yourself away, as far as you could, to avoid touching him.
he pinched some of the food between his fingers and held it to your lips. your head jerked back and you grimaced. “don’t—“
“what?” he asked flatly, drawing his hand back an inch. he tipped his chin to nod at the cuffs around your wrists. “don’t have hands, do you? would y’rather me set it down, let you lick it off the plate like a dog, ‘cause i can do that—“
“okay. fine. just— fine,” you huffed.
you missed the grin that tugged at his lips when he took in the furrow in your brow, the embarrassed pout playing on your own lips making his chest heave.
he pressed his fingers further into your mouth than you’d expected, face twitching at the salty taste of his skin on your tongue. with every bite, he would linger just a second longer, dip in a little deeper, waiting for you to lick the grease from his digits before bringing them back to the plate.
the weight of his eyes on you was oppressive. you could feel them prodding at the side of your face, drifting along your lashes, your cheekbones, your lips closing around the pads of his fingers. you felt them drop lower, emboldened by your refusal to call him out on it, or to even look him in the eye.
his hands kept steady, bringing the food to your mouth without pause, but his focus was on your body, sprawled out limp beside him. the slope of your neck, the shift of your throat every time you swallowed, the sweaty sheen glowing on the curves of your chest, the tense way you had your knees knocked together.
the repetitiveness of it lulled you into a sort of daze after a while. you’d settled so deeply into it that the sudden sound of his voice made you jolt, your restraints clinking against the metal rods of the headboard.
“been thinkin’,” he drawled, breaking the silence. his fingers were still in your mouth, unconsciously petting your bottom lip. he nodded at the room, “about this, ‘bout you.”
your eyes narrowed.
“you’re more useful to us alive than dead, so what i’m gonna do is keep you tucked away here for a bit,” he lilted, his attention refocusing on you. “i promise to keep you all safe an’ sound, but — i’m gonna need somethin’ else in exchange.”
it felt like the air had been lit on fire, like flames were licking down your throat and burning the oxygen right out of your lungs, your breath trapped smoldering in your chest. it scalded when you swallowed, the shift of it under your skin drawing his scorching gaze.
you weren’t stupid. it was the end of the world, and you were half-naked and chained up to a bed, and he wouldn’t stop looking at you with those eyes, and the pads of his fingers were still wet and shining with your spit.
your thighs squeezed together before you could stop them, and shame dripped down your spine when his eyes followed. you felt it curl though your loins and drool from your core and you hated yourself for it. you should have been repulsed. you should have reared back your foot and kicked him off the bed. you should have leaned forward and snapped your teeth around his hand. anything.
instead, you pressed yourself into the mattress and did everything you could to ignore the slick slipping between your thighs. and he fucking smiled.
“information, sweetheart,” he said in a patronizing tone, watching the way your chest stuttered. his grin only grew when your expression remained the same, totally unconvinced. you flinched when he groaned and patted your knee. “what i want is for you to tell me everything you got in that pretty little head of yours about these ‘saviors’ you’ve been snitchin’ on us to.”
your head felt hot. too hot to think. you couldn’t. not with his thumb absentmindedly rubbing circles into your skin. not with how you could feel your panties — the last bit of fabric hiding you from his eyes — growing damp, sticking to you as you twitched. you cleared your throat.
“and then?”
“‘and then’ what?”
“i tell you what i know, and then what?” you asked. your voice was quiet — any louder and he would have heard what was broiling inside of you, frothing up your throat. “you kill me? you keep me chained up here? that’s the deal?”
he squinted, tilting his head to the side. “deal? wasn’t aware we were bargaining.”
“isn’t that what this is?”
his thumb stilled, grin faltered. you felt his palm settle around your knee, tendons wavering under the force it took for him to keep his touch light. you felt it threaten to snap when you instinctively twitched further into his hand. a sharp sigh escaped his nose and he looked away. anywhere but at you.
“listen kid, what i want is what you know,” his voice was low, grumbling. he shook his head. “now, i don’t wanna have to kill you, believe me, but it’s gonna take a hell of a lot of convincing for me to take these cuffs off of you — and seein’ as you’re stuck here ‘til i get what i want outta you, it doesn’t look like you’ve got much else to offer me.”
“… don’t i?”
he went rigid. his eyes dragged back to yours, dark and guarded. you could see his resolve slipping. you could see it fracture where his fingers pressed into your skin, the cracks webbing over his knuckles and shattering up his arm. he clenched his jaw and looked down.
“you’re— hah… got no fuckin’ shame, do you?” he scoffed. but he didn’t move his hand away — just shifted, only slightly. his palm passed over the slope of your knee, fingertips now dimpling on the inside of your thigh. you tensed. “s’this what you do with them? with negan?”
he looked up at you through his lashes and you shook your head. the corner of his lips lifted. “oh, no? just for me, then?”
your eyes fell to your lap in embarrassment. his mocking had started to burrow under your skin, each new cruel jab leaving you mortified and throbbing between your legs. your brows knit together and you huffed.
“so?” you mumbled softly. “i tell you what i know, and you don’t kill me, right? i— we do this… and you let me go. deal?”
heat crept up the back of your neck when you glanced up at him. rick’s grip on your knee tightened the moment you laid eyes on the mean twist of his lips as he tried to smother his grin.
“yeah, and what’s ‘this’?” he taunted, relishing in the sheepish look on your face. “huh? wanna be a businesswoman so bad, gotta make it clear what it is you’re sellin’.”
you scowled. “don’t be a dick.”
“y’want those cuffs off, don’t you?”
the glare you gave him pulled a soft, rumbling laugh from his chest. “okay, fine. why don’t we make a game out of it, then. no more bartering.”
you eyed him curiously as he rose from the bed and turned his back to you. it was unnerving, how quietly he stood there, rubbing a hand over his chin as he mulled over whatever it was he was going to do to you. it made your pulse flutter, your breaths come slower and slick gather between your legs. the metal around your wrists clattered against the headboard when you shifted, drawing his attention back to you.
rick appraised you as you laid before him, pale eyes trailing over where your knees pressed together, the plush line of your thighs where they bent at your hip, the stuttery rise and fall of your chest.
he sniffed, swallowing hard. “rules are simple — just keep talking. if y’stop talking, you lose. easy.”
“… and if i win, you’ll let me go?” you asked, warily watching as he took a slow step forward.
“if you win,” he drawled, sucking his teeth, “i’m thinkin’, i’ll bring you back with me to alexandria — see if you’ve got any use to us there.”
he set a knee on the bed. pushed himself up to loom over you. your brows furrowed and you gave him a look. “that’s not letting me go.”
“maybe not. y’won’t be chained up, though,” he said, reaching over to tug at the links hooking you to the bed. you drew your legs in as he kneeled in front of you, tucking them into your chest, but he wasn’t going to have that.
his hands circled your ankles and tugged your feet back to sit on either side of him. he held them there too, palms sliding up to take a firm hold of your calves, keeping you still and spread for him.
“so, tell me,” he started, “who’s negan?”
your voice abandoned you when his hands shifted, smoothing over your knees and pressing into your inner thighs. your lips parted when he started to pet over your skin.
“he, uh… he’s the leader,” you murmured, breathing shallowly. you could feel yourself pulsing as his fingers brushed lower, tracing down over your skin, inching closer and closer to your cunt. heat rushed up to your head, making your thoughts swim. “s’the leader of the saviors.”
he hummed thoughtfully, prying your legs apart another inch. you could have kicked him away, knocked him square in the chest and battered him off the bed. but you stayed still. stayed pliant.
extra points for you.
“right, and these ‘saviors’ — where’s their community? where are they based?”
your lashes fluttered. “uh, i don’t— i would need to look at a map, i don’t know—”
“landmarks? street names? anything?” his hands slipped lower, ghosting over your soft skin. your brain short-circuited. “hey. don’t go quittin’ already. talk to me.”
you blinked at him, eyes pulling away from where his fingers dimpled in the fat of your thighs. “sorry.”
your words died on your tongue when he pushed your knees flat against the mattress, your thighs twitching where his legs pressed into yours. you could feel his stare lingering where he held you open, and you prayed he couldn’t see how much he was affecting you, how much slick had drooled into the flimsy clutch of your underwear from him doing nothing at all.
“it’s a factory— the sanctuary, it’s this, uh, old, run-down factory. somewhere near here, i don’t know,” you mumbled. “there’s others too. there’s this— this place with like, a massive satellite on it, and a, uh, a chemical plant, or something...”
you hated how anxious you felt waiting for his approval. though, not more than how quickly that anxiety dissipated at his proud, gentle smile.
“that’s a girl,” he murmured. you should have been repulsed by yourself with how easily you were turning to mush in his hold. but his hand had drifted lower again, thumb now petting softly at your clit over the wet, clinging fabric of your panties, and you lost all ability to think. “see? not so hard.”
you jolted at his touch, thighs jerking up, only for him to push them down to the mattress again. your hands tugged uselessly at the restraints, and he bit back a laugh. “stay focused, sweetheart. you wanna win, don’t you?”
the frown you gave him was short-lived, as he trailed his thumb lower, over your seam, pressing cruelly into the sticky cloth covering you. it pulled an embarrassed mewl from you, one that had you biting your tongue and twisting your lips together in efforts to stifle any more that threatened to slip from your throat.
“next question, y’ready?” he asked, ignoring the way your hips twitched into his hand. sensitive thing. “how many people do they have? what’s their fightin’ force like?”
you huffed, glowering at him. how could he expect you to think with his finger tugging at the gusset of your underwear? with your blood runny and pounding in your ears? your throat bobbed when you swallowed.
“i don’t know. i was never there for very long. i know they’ve got— oh fuck, rick—” you broke off. he had pulled the fabric back while you were speaking, and was now dragging his fingers through the sticky mess between your folds. he caught on your clit, grinning when you jumped.
“yeah? go on.”
“i— okay… uh,” you sniffed, trying to swallow down the feeling of him stroking your cunt. your fists balled together at the headboard. “he’s got a bunch of, uh, people, hah… um, it’s like, two— two hundred, or s-something, at, uh—“
the tip of his finger teased past your puffy lips and crooked into your entrance. your breath shuddered. he was slow, deliberate and taunting with how he pet over your velvety walls. slick spilled over his knuckles, all but streaming down his wrist with how wet you were for him.
blood ran thin, circling through your brain pointlessly. it sat viscid in your veins, sluggishly pulsing to the steady pump of his hand. he bullied in another thick digit, making you wince at the squelch that sounded through the air.
you sucked in a sharp breath. nodded. “um, two hundred at the sanctuary. but— but there’s a lot more at the other places. s’lot more…”
breathy whines were slipping through your lips, no matter how hard you tried to bite them back. he could see the filmy glaze that was covering your eyes, the tight pinch of your brows drawn together. you yelped when his thumb came to knead at your swollen bud.
he had to bring his other hand to your hip to stop your squirming. writhing around, bucking into his touch like a novice whore with her first customer. you were getting close, as much as you tried to fight it — your belly clenching, thighs twitching. you could feel it slithering down the back of your throat, curling around your spine, making you shiver.
he grunted when you squeezed around his fingers, walls clamping down on him like you didn’t want him to leave. you were gushing around him, your slick dripping down the cleft of you and smearing between your thighs. it pooled in the clammy grooves of his palm, pulling a wet slap with every crook of his hand.
“there we go, baby,” he cooed when your eyes slipped shut, your face scrunching up as you tried to twist away from him. “doin’ so good, telling me all the right things.”
he pulled you further down the bed, laying you flat with your legs spread wide on either side of him. you couldn’t move — couldn’t move your arms, couldn’t press your thighs together, could barely wriggle your hips enough to get away from his touch. he held you down, held you still, so that he could wring your release out of you.
“rick, wait—” you gasped, feeling it spike through your nerves. his thumb moved quicker, slipping faster over the throbbing swell of your clit, and you sobbed. you tugged at the handcuffs around your wrists, ignoring the bite of metal cutting into your skin.
your head fell back into the pillows in frustration, tears prickling at your eyes. you just had to take it — the curl of his fingers, coaxing you closer and closer to your breaking point, the pass of his thumb swirling around your swollen bundle of nerves — he wasn’t going to let you do anything else.
your core tightened up, and you keened, feeling it surge in like the tide, the wave of pleasure tumbling over itself, barreling straight towards you. your back arched off the bed, and rick’s hand was there the whole time to steady you.
“s’alright,” he murmured, rubbing small, gentle circles into the smooth skin of your hip, “just let it happen.”
the vehement way you shook your head meant nothing to either of you when you came. your orgasm crashed into you, cresting over your head — syrupy and saccharine, heat cascaded through your body, flowing fast as flood waters like a rush of molten molasses.
you felt the way you convulsed around him as he bullied his fingers into your cunt, fucking you through your release. he curled them inside of you, cruelly dragging along that soft, spongy spot that made you cry out and dig your knees into his sides. he kept up the twist of his wrist, steadily pumping into you until you were whining and thrashing against the mattress.
there was a ringing in your ears when he finally pulled away, left trembling and dazed, a hazy fog clouding your vision. you were barely aware of him wiping his hand off on you, smearing your mess over the inside of your thigh, or of him reaching up over you to fiddle with the clasps binding you to the headboard.
relief instantly flooded the sore muscles of your arms. you moaned, absentmindedly, when he gently lowered one hand to the pillow beside your head, wincing at the rush of blood prickling back into your palms. he removed the other cuff and sat back on his knees, looking down at you.
you pouted and rubbed at the grooves imprinted on your wrists. a soft laugh grumbled in his chest. “c’mon, then.”
a soft line pinched between your brows and you looked up at him, your eyes catching on the press of him chubbed up against his thigh in their search for his face. “i thought… you’re not gonna—?”
“what, fuck you?” he rumbled. he grinned when you gave him a shy, sheepish nod. his head tilted to the side, and he hummed in feigned consideration. “yeah, i thought about it. i’ve got a bed at home, though, don’t i?”
you blinked slowly at the hand he extended to you. “you gonna be good?”
it wavered in front of you for less than a second before your palm slipped over his. if you had let your mind wander away from where you were in that moment, you might have been confused with yourself. ashamed. disappointed. but rick had been nice to you. he was gentle, in the end. that was more than you could say for the saviors — for negan. maybe rick was your ticket out.
you’d won, after all.
⤷ oops. sorry if this has too much plot and that it’s like 70% dialogue lol. i kinda got carried away ;-;
“Covered in fear your skin is crawling, come over here my storm is calling, water your heart I feel it growing / I wanna wrap you in my lonely, all of your weight just put it on me, water my heart I feel it growing” 🎵
I’ve been thinking about this scene in ‘What We,’ and wanted to highlight the breathtaking and emotionally moving details of this specific moment. From the expressive eyes/eyebrows, to Michonne holding Rick’s hand to her chest to help him ground, to the wiping of tears off of Rick’s cheek. It is all so beautiful, and carefully acted. I can’t even begin to explain how much I adore the hand over chest gesture - absolutely precious, gentle and such an act of love. She grounded Rick with his home; her heart(beat), her breathing, her being. Whew.
Danai and Andy have such a stunning way of acting through their facial expressions. For that alone they deserve all the accolades. ❣️
For your consideration, an extra-spicy Horny Richonne #75! Now posted as a link only, because Tumblr wouldn't let me show it to you here.
I tried out a slightly different technique for this one. I normally do my line work with a line tool, rather than a standard pen brush. I've always found it very difficult and frustrating to get good consistent lines that way. But! I'm trying to expand a bit, so I decided to try a different pen with this fairly straightforward pose (drawing-wise, at least!). Will it last? Time will tell.
Rick knows a little something about always striving to be better. Especially when it comes to pleasuring his wife. His favorite time to eat Michonne out is first thing in the morning, of course. But sometimes, when they get home early and the kids are still at school, he takes the opportunity to get a little extra practice.
Horny Richonne #75 is also available on AO3 and Deviantart.
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