We're The Ones Who Write would like to submit The Final Chapter of our Comfort Sex Prompt Challenge. Closing us off is the incredibly gifted Thematsaidwelcome. We call her the Smuff Queen ; she's out here doing the most by gifting us with what we love, Richonne fluff and smut! Catch up on her other gripping stories on her fanfiction page.

Thank you for your continued support. Stay tuned, there's more coming!

Enjoy!

We're The Ones Who Write

I told her she needed to rest, to heal, she told me the same thing. Maybe, I did, but right now was not the time, we were going to war. What I needed was to touch her, and hear her, smell her and taste her, see her, find comfort in her before I leave. Allow her to fill my senses, overload my brain and saturate my mind with all the pieces of her that calm me. I can't lose her, no matter what I said before. We're trying to build a future, reorder things for Carl and Judith and Alexandria. She needed to feel me and I needed to feel her too.

Her warm softness an extreme contrast to the cold hard steel that I'll be picking up later to fight. Her slender neck against my hand, the thump of her pulse on my thumb and her heartbeat when I move my hand down to her chest. It sings a song of life and love. When I placed my hands on her hips and waist, I felt her tremble at my touch, I also can feel something else just underneath her belly, something she hasn't told me about, it's another tangible reason to go out there and fuck up the world so that it can be put back together and we can start living, not just surviving. We go slow, steady and cautious in our movements. We're both still healing, but I'm starting to find my strength deep within her walls, giving me more motivation and healing my wounds, soothing my soul.

I wanted to hear her moan my name, scream in ecstasy and cry out in satisfaction. I needed her voice to course through my ears and fill my eardrums with the sexy melody that is only Michonne, my wife. "Does it feel good?" I asked her. She hummed her answer low and powerful from deep within her diaphragm like a symphony and it was beautiful, hypnotic. Easily one of my favorite things in this world, no matter how fucked up it is. I store it away for later when I'll need it to dull the groans and terror yells of war as they assault my hearing until I'm almost deaf. The outside world too loud in its suffering and too quiet in its treachery. "Say it Michonne. Tell me." Michonne's voice is all honey and melodic, like an anthem that will lead me back home when she tells me how good I feel. I thrust a little harder, to get deeper to push that button that will have her voice in my ear saying my name, whispering her delight and pleasure.

I want to breath in her scent for just a bit longer, smell her and fill my nostrils with the sweet fragrance of her, her skin, her hair. I needed to inhale the smell of us, that mix of her and me that we create when we make love. When we come together, our cum together, it's intoxicating and heady and is oozing out and dripping onto my dick and balls right now. It'll make it's way to the sheets soon and hopefully the lasting smell of us will keep my wife in bed so she can finish healing. I inhale again hoping it stays in my nose to remind me of us, of her. It's comforting, like warm blankets on a cold day or ice water to a thirsty man. This is what I need before the sour scent of gunpowder and the repugnant aroma of rotting flesh and death tinge my nose with its sickening stench.

The taste of her is what I need, on my tongue, in my mouth, down my throat. The taste of her skin as she starts to sweat when we make love, it's tangy and addicting and tastes good as it starts to bead and trickle down her forehead and nose stopping on her lips as I sweep my tongue across them. A welcome savory flavor to my taste buds, sweet and salty and every bit undeniably her, nothing can compare to it. I want it to stay in my mouth so I'm committing it to memory, tucking it away to use for later. Later when the wages of war are all around me and the taste of death takes over.

I needed to see her face as she crumbled around me. Watch her eyes slowly close as she's hit with wave after wave of bliss. I needed that. That beautiful face that I wake up to, the face that I picture during the darkest times. I need to see her, all of her. She's staying behind, I won't see her beyond the gate. I'll only see the gruesome cruel world of nightmares that we somehow live in. "Look at me Michonne." Right now I'm going to stare into her eyes and get lost in their amber color that although shows worry, also holds hope for the resurrection of a wonderful new world where we can laugh out loud and our children can play and grow. I have to tell her again, hope that my words are comforting and unquestionable. That they quell that urge within her to join in the fight, I need her to stay and heal. "We're gonna win this and I'm coming back to you. All of you. I promise."