A/N: My attempt at humor, dedicated to ❤️ Team Family! I was one of the very first to create Richonne Lemon Shots 🍋 back in 2014—distinct, emotionally layered, sexually charged, and unapologetically original stories featuring Rick and Michonne. Please note: these were written before I knew anything about the character Jesus/Paul, so he’s very out of character here based on what I know now. 😉
I was in a deep sleep, deeper than I'd been in years. The kind of sleep you only get when you know you're safe-and I owed that to Michonne. My angel, my goddess, made love to me last night in a way that made everything else fade away.
But then, something tugged me from my dreams. The floorboards creaked, soft but unmistakable. Someone was in the room. If it were Carl, he'd have stomped right in, so this was someone else.
My survival instincts kicked in like a jolt of lightning. I shot awake, senses razor-sharp. My sudden movement woke Michonne, too-she was instantly alert, already reaching for her sword. We moved in sync, grabbing our weapons, ready for anything.
That smug bastard who calls himself Jesus was standing in our room, hands up like he was posing for a damn painting. But his eyes weren't on me. No, he was staring at Michonne-couldn't even pretend to care about the Colt pointed between his eyes.
"I bet you're wondering how I got out of your 'jail'," he said, making air quotes like he was on a talk show.
"Not really," I shot back. What I really wanted to know was why the hell he was in my room, ogling my woman.
"Who are you?" Michonne asked, voice cool and steady.
I glanced at her-still breathtaking, still nude, and still deadly. If he made one wrong move, we'd both take him out. Before Jesus could answer, I cut in.
"That's the guy I told you about last night," I said, never taking my eyes off him.
He had the nerve to blush as he kept staring at Michonne.
"Get out," I growled, cocking my gun for emphasis. He struck me as more of a thieving escape artist than a killer-otherwise, he'd have tried something already.
Finally, he tore his eyes away from Michonne and, as he backed out, we scrambled to get dressed and followed him out.
Rick's rough hands nudged me awake, and my eyes snapped open like floodlights. My heart hammered in my chest, but I didn't hesitate grabbed my sword and moved with Rick, ready for anything.
A shadow stood in the room, perfectly still. Too still. No one could be that calm, not even me. I wondered how long he'd been watching before Rick's instincts kicked in. He was already staring at me, his face trying for serious but failing-there was a smirk tugging at his lips.
Then his eyes dropped, and kept dropping…
He was smirking at my body. I glared at him, annoyed by his obvious appreciation. His face turned red, and I saw nothing but pure, unfiltered lust.
"I bet you're wondering how I got out of your 'jail'," he said, way too casual for a man with two weapons pointed at him.
"Not really," Rick replied, sounding as irritated as I felt. This guy had interrupted my sleep and a potential encore performance.
"Who are you?" I asked, my grip tightening on my katana.
He'd better have a good reason for being here-or at least an army outside. Otherwise, I was going to wipe that smug look off his face. Not that I'd mind… much.
"That's the guy I told you about last night," Rick said.
Interesting. My hand tightened on my sword.
"Get out," Rick ordered, cocking his Colt. The smirk faded-finally. Lucky for him, Rick had other things to do, so the man called Jesus would live to see another day.
I wasn't sure how long I'd been standing there, but the scene was… memorable. They looked like they'd had a very good night.
But it was her who held my attention.
I couldn't look away from her-her skin glowed in the early light, her beauty striking in a way that had nothing to do with golden curls or porcelain skin. She was all cool confidence, her eyes sharp and serene, her sword ready to strike.
For a second, I thought, "Nothing that pretty could be dangerous, right?"
The way she held that sword, I knew she'd kill me without a second thought. Her eyes pinned me in place, and I couldn't look away.
"I bet you're wondering how I got out of your 'jail'," I quipped, trying to keep things light.
They'd learn soon enough-drywall and a padlock weren't going to keep me in. My mother used to say I was mischievous; I just call it having an eye for opportunity. She hunted bargains, I hunt for fun. She got cheap veggies get cheap laughs.
"Not really," Rick said, glaring at me. I couldn't blame him; I'd be pissed too if someone interrupted me with a woman like that.
"Who are you?" the woman asked. I almost forgot how to speak.
"That's the guy I told you about last night," Rick said before I could answer.
"Get out," Rick ordered, cocking his gun. I knew he wouldn't shoot, but I wasn't about to test my luck.
I backed out, already planning my next move. After all, it's not every day you get to wake up the king and queen of the apocalypse.
"What are you doing in our house?" The kid demands, gun steady between my eyes. I'll call him Jack Sparrow-he's got the attitude, and he's definitely his father's son.
"I'm waiting for your mom and dad to get dressed," I reply, deadpan.
But nothing beats the look on his face when his parents shuffle out, half-dressed and still wearing the afterglow of last night. Clearly, the little pirate had no idea that Lovely Locs and The Lucky Leader were an item. I'd heard her calling out "my name" all night- if only I'd been the cause of those moans. As they lead me to the kitchen, I can't help but smirk.
Then, right on cue, backup arrives: an Asian guy, a burly ginger, and Daryl, the man I spooned in the backseat last night. They burst in, guns drawn, but once they see I'm not a threat, the focus shifts. Now it's all about the awkward tension between the couple, the kid, and my not-so-subtle observations.
I'm guessing Rick and Michonne have been keeping their relationship under wraps-or maybe it's brand new.
Either way, these two fascinate me.
There's something about Michonne's energy that draws everyone in. Before the world ended, I bet she had men falling at her feet and women vying for her friendship. One look, and you're hooked.
She's beautiful, dangerous, and impossible to ignore. When Rick asks how I escaped, I can see Daryl wants to know too.
Truth is, I was never really knocked out-just playing along. By the time we reached their compound, I was already plotting my exit.
Instead of answering, I steer the conversation to why I'm really here.
His name might be Jesus, but he's no saint. What is it with this guy and my chest? He can't finish a sentence without his eyes wandering. I keep my expression neutral-not for his sake, but for Carl's. The kid's watching us both, and I can't tell if he approves of Rick and me.
That's a loaded question. A sullen teen is bad enough in the old world; in this one, it's a powder keg. I push the thought aside and focus on the stranger. He's definitely been sneaking around-he knows too much about our supplies to have just wandered in.
Rick's distracted by Jesus's wandering eyes and Carl's silent judgment, so I step in.
"You said you've been trading with other communities?" I ask.
He nods, settling into his chair with a confidence that borders on cocky, never once looking away from me.
According to him, our world is about to get a whole lot bigger.
This guy is really asking to get knocked out-again. I'm trying to get answers, but he can't keep his eyes off Michonne. It's like he's still picturing her naked.
"Hey, I'm asking the questions here," I snap. He's addressing her like I'm not even in the room. I get it-Michonne's a distraction even fully dressed. But this is getting ridiculous.
How the hell did he slip past Rosita and Carol's watch, inventory our armory, and snoop through our pantry? He's got skills, I'll give him that. But he never answers how he did it.
Instead, he says he's from a community like ours, and they need weapons. Maybe they need women, too.
"I'll be right back," I mutter, leaving the group without waiting for a response.
Time to get Maggie. This guy wants to talk business-guns for food. Sounds good to me, but no one's really listening, least of all Rick. Jesus keeps eying Michonne, and Rick looks ready to lose it.
If Curly snaps and decks this guy, we might just lose our shot at a meal.
