Guess the Fic
Sweet as Cherry Wine - blackgirlfairy
Wherever Tainted Wind Blows - LoeysAeri
The Language of Flowers - moonlitpools
Voting ended onNov 5, 2025
Michonne peered at the man sitting on the sofa in front of her, eating the food she and Judith had pillaged from the kitchen; simple porridge but she just hoped auntie Henrietta didn’t notice a few cups of oats missing and some of her herbal tea leaves plucked from the plants sitting on the windowsill. She tilted her head and roamed her eyes over the mysterious man that quite literally dropped into their backyard. She sat with one leg over the other, both hands clutching the edge of the couch as she leaned forward slightly. She was eager, eager to quell her curiosity; a trait that hasn’t served her well in her house mothers eyes but has been the catalyst for her own catalog of knowledge.
He was a beauty, if a bit older. His beard was growing out, giving him a roguish air and his hair was a mess of soft waves and a forest of curls collected at his nape. He sat slumped back on the sofa, bare chest revealing his toned physique but it was his eyes that intrigued Michonne. They were so blue and glinted with something she couldn’t name while advertising a depth that begged interest. She trailed her eyes lower to the manly slope of his nose, skimmed the neat cut of his jawline, down to his full lips and over his pronounced hands. When her eyes slid back up he was watching her and Michonne sucked in a breath, chest hiccuping at being caught. He held her gaze; intensely observing her.
“Is the food okay?” She felt the need to fill the space.
He swallowed what mouthful he had. “Yeah”
His accent was unique, she’d never heard such a rich tone and attractive lilt. It only re-emerged that bitter longing Michonne had, that yearning to see more, be more. She’d been confined to ‘Wysteria’ for most of her life, only knowing the three floors of the main house and the wide berth of the front and back yard. She’d long forgotten what the world beyond the fence was like and what she knew was based on books and imagination and of what her clients let slip as they rambled.
“I’m sorry, porridge was the quickest meal I could make,” she said.
“It’s fine, probably the most decent thing I’ve had in a while…” he scraped another spoonful.
Silence fell between them. It was odd for Michonne, usually she was the listener of men’s woes and frustrations but here she was itching to ask all these questions and he looked at ease with disclosing nothing. He reached to place the empty bowl down and picked up the mug of hot tea when his face scrunched into a wince, his hand rushed up to lay atop his bandaged wound and carefully picked up the mug. When he took a sip, those captivating blue eyes peered at her from over the lip and she smiled.
“What’s your name?” She asked. Her dress moved like liquid as she uncrossed her legs and scooted closer to the edge, hands folded in her lap.
He lowered the mug and sat up as well. “What is this place?” He asked his own question.
Michonne frowned slightly at that but smoothed out her face quickly, easing into another smile. “Wysteria. A place to see beautiful flowers blossom” she recited from memory.
He tilted his head. “So, a whore house?”
Michonne’s frown stayed after that. “I’m not a whore” she said.
He raised an eyebrow. “No?” He lowered his gaze to roam over her form and she felt squirmish under his intense scrutiny.
Michonne felt disappointment blossom at his words but she pushed it down, she wasn’t sure why she wanted him to be different but a man was a man. She adjusted her dress. “I’m an entertainer,” she said with confidence.
“So you sing and dance?” He took another sip and despite herself Michonne’s lips lifted at the corner.
She nodded. “Sometimes I do perform, yes”
He hummed. Michonne looked at her hands and watched him polish off the tea almost greedily and oddly his earlier comment started to feel less like a jab and more of a simple inquiry. It was common for people to see them that way, many men came by thinking they were only objects of sex which Madam Gertie was quick to shut down with a look and choice words. Michonne was a dancer and she performed once a week on top of private showings and clientele one on ones where, true to form, she was obligated to see to sexual needs. This was a livelihood, and despite her aversion, Michonne has known nothing else.
Michonne had carved her worth in such a place, she reigned at the top because of it. Her clients were only a select few much to Madame Gertie’s chagrin but they paid grandly for her and with that worth came perks and she knew how to use them even if she’d gotten a bit bold as of late; like right now, hiding a strange man in her room when she knew she’d be at the end of their house mothers unruly temper if they were caught. She shivered at the thought.
The man set the mug down and rubbed along his side, seemingly in thought. “How did you treat me?” He asked.
“You can’t tell me as well as an entertainer, you are a doctor?” His eyes were inquisitive.
Michonne shook her head. “I know some survival basics, mostly from books I found in Dr. Saddiq’s office, but I called on him instead” she shrugged. “He owed me one for keeping a secret of his and you were lucky it was well in the dead of night so Madam was already asleep”
He nodded slowly and looked down at his bandages. “Thank you” he said quietly and Michonne couldn’t help the smile that formed, maybe he wasn’t so bad.
She went to speak but he got to his feet. “But I should leave, I can’t stay here” he turned away.
Michonne glanced at the clock on the adjacent wall and rushed to follow suit. Worry rushed through her along with a sense of panic and she reached for him as he neared the door, her fingers slipped into his hand and she felt how warm they were from being wrapped around the mug and how calloused they were from overuse. They felt nice but she didn’t dwell on that.
“You can’t!” She clutched at him. He stopped and turned to her, brows furrowed.
“Sneaking me food, cashing in on favors and if what that little girl said was true then clearly this ain’t an ideal situation and I should leave now. I don’t want to cause any problems and I have my own that needs my attention” he pulled away from her and kept going but Michonne slipped between him and the door.
“Stop” she threw her hand out and it landed on his hard chest, she swallowed at the smoothness of his skin and pulled it away quickly.
“It’s almost last light Madam will be making her rounds to all our rooms to make sure we are all going to bed on time, she’s strict in that sense and believes we all need a certain amount of sleep to maintain our beauty” Michonne explained hurriedly. “She can’t see you” she tried to hide her desperation.
“I can sneak out the back” he stared down at her.
Michonne shook her head. “That’s downstairs and you might run into her. Just stay here for now and hide in the closet when I say. We can wait and when Madam falls asleep around midnight, I’ll help you” she suggested in a rush.
He stared at her and Michonne wondered what he was thinking before he closed his eyes and turned around. He went back over to the couch and laid himself out horizontally and she looked at the back of his head resting on the armrest, one arm draping over his eyes. The panic settled some and she let out a slow breath. She just hoped this simple plan was enough, usually she could think things through more if she wanted to defy their house mother but she had been stunted by his pretty blue irises and his persistence and blurted out the first thing that came to mind.
She wasn’t one for doing the easy thing but this was crazy. She had a man locked up in her room like a naughty vixen which was ironic given her line of work, but this all felt a bit more risqué than anything else.
She walked up behind him and watched his chest rise and fall for a moment. “Are you really not going to tell me your name?” She asked to calm her nerves. He grunted.
“Why?” She leaned her head over him.
“I don’t know you,” he said.
He lifted his arms a little and she was privy to those ocean blues once more. Michonne raised an eyebrow, hands on her hips as she waited and he sighed before covering his eyes again.
“Rick,” he told her simply.
Michonne felt an odd warmth circle in her chest at that. For some reason he didn’t seem as unapproachable as his actions were giving off and unlike the rowdy and all encompassing men was used to, there was this steady quietness about him that felt calming.
“I’m Michonne,” she offered. She rounded the sofa and found herself brazenly sitting on the center table, eyeing him.
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