Ricky - Blog Posts

Im typing thus witth my pawbs

Idols I wanna see in squid game season 3 even though it's impossible

1- Yeji. Yeji's eyes are something very unique, adding to her natural charm. She's also a very pretty girl (4th gen visual idc), and that's what the director is searching for.

2- Wonyoung. I believe she can be a good actress, judging by her already done small acting (Rebel heart mv etc…)

3- Shuhua. Have you seen her acting with Yuqi???? 🤨

4- Miyeon. I need her to be in a series so she can shine bc she's so underrated

5- Ricky. I don't need to say more.

6- Felix. I'm 100% sure he could play any role

7- Jisoo even though it's impossible bc she's already working so much

8- Karina could definitely nail the smart/distant girl.

9- Minnie bc idk she got that face

10- Yuna bc I said so.

FUCKING KISS HIM GOD DAMMIT FUCKING KISS HIM HES RIGHT THERE KISS HIM ON THE MOUTH FUCKING PUT YOUR LIPS ON HIS LIPS THEY ARE RIGHT THERE YEW STUPID FUCK

KISS HIMMMMMMMMMMM‼️‼️‼️

why did they do that. ok. why. hello. zero straight explanation and everyone knows it. can you guys just fuck each other already. jesus.

I don't wanna eat, I just wanna kiss girls - Ricky Jamaraz

Ricky Jamaraz is the best musical artists ever and I will accept no criticism.

「natural born」

Who are 3 people you want to get to know more, and 3 different people you want to take to bed?

I would love to get to know @tlndstrom, @cosmic-ricky and @pestcontrolpeter.

I wouldnt mind taking @max-riley, @spotlightsandgreenscreens and @kllnmrtl to my mattress.

The Memory Circuit MASTERLIST

⎉: @chaotic-orphan @morning-star-whump Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

The Memory Circuit [I] TW:

The Customer Is Always Wrong [II] TW: sex work, intoxication, dissociation, emotional numbness, implied exploitation.

Get In Line, Mister! [III] TW: physical assault, attempted sexual assault, substance use, internalised trauma, psychological breakdown, imprisonment, coercion, manipulation, surveillance, systemic abuse.

Good Morning, Sunshine [IV] TW: police brutality, physical assault, vomiting, surveillance, systemic abuse.

Bite Down [V] TW: graphic depictions of physical and psychological torture, child abuse, grooming, sexual violence involving minors, institutional exploitation, non-consensual medical/technological procedures, trauma flashbacks, violence, captivity, dissociation, systemic abuse.

------------------------------------------------------

ART!!!!

The Memory Circuit [V]

Bite Down

Masterlist | Previous | Next

⎉: @chaotic-orphan @morning-star-whump Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

TW: graphic depictions of physical and psychological torture, child abuse, grooming, sexual violence involving minors, institutional exploitation, non-consensual medical/technological procedures, trauma flashbacks, violence, captivity, dissociation, systemic abuse.

Line dividers by @sister-lucifer!!!!

It’s in the bones. In the soft tissue. In the places they didn’t bandage, because they didn’t care to.

His ribs are packed wrong—wrapped too tight, maybe broken in three places. His knees are locked in crude external splints. The shoulder—left—burns. Swollen. Dislocated. Maybe shattered? It feels like it. His right hand won’t flex. 

The chair holds him upright, fixed in place. Mechanical restraints at ankles, wrists, chest. A gentle hum. Cold metal bolted to colder floors. Bok can’t breathe easy. He can only sit in the wreckage of himself, eyes half-lidded, mouth dry and sticky.  

He shifts. Just once.  

The pain flares, vivid and immediate.

The door opens.

He doesn’t lift his head. He can hear the steps: unhurried, expensive. A rustle of real fabric, not synthetic. Cotton. Maybe silk.

“You know,” the voice says lightly, “you’ve got a remarkable pain threshold.”

Bok does look, then. Just a little. His neck protests, loud.

The man who enters is not dressed like a soldier. Civilian clothes: deep blue shirt, sleeves rolled up, collar loose; dark slacks. Wavy red hair pulled back loosely, some of it still curling at the sides. A gold necklace glints at his chest. Black gloves sheath his hands, and at his hip, a sleek holstered gun rests.

Pretty. Bok hates that it’s the first thing he notices. Pretty, in that careless, born-with-it way. Sharp nose, clean lines, dry eyes.

Coffee. He’s holding coffee.

Bok stares.

The man sets it down on the table beside him and gestures with an elegant little flourish, like they’re starting a chess match.

“Broke a man’s tibia with your elbow, apparently. While your own leg was already broken. I don’t know if I’m impressed or nervous.”

Bok can’t tell if he’s being mocking or not.

The man walks closer, retrieving the neural tap cable.

“You were still kicking. Still biting. Ribs broken, hand crushed, and you still managed to stab someone. So forgive me—” he glances at the restraints, “—for being a little cautious.”  

He crouches. Close now. Bok can smell the coffee.  

“I’m Ricky,” he says, tone clipped, unbothered. “You and I are going to get very close.”  

Ricky picks up the bit next, turning it between his fingers—black polymer, soft—and holds it up like a peace offering.

“Bite down.”  

Bok doesn’t move.

Ricky rocks forward onto his toes, his face barely beneath Bok’s eye level, but Bok gazes coolly back down at him nonetheless.

“It’s not for me,” Ricky snorts. “It’s for your tongue. Once I go in, it’s going to get ugly.”

He slips it into Bok’s mouth with steady fingers. Bok bites down hard.

Ricky jerks his hand back with a hiss. “Shit,” he mutters, shaking out his hand. “Yeah. Good man.”

He finally rises, shakes out his fingers one last time, then turns and strides to the console.

The rig hums to life. The tap slides into position, and Ricky’s fingers fly over the controls, quietly humming to himself.

“Not personal,” he adds—and hits one last switch.

¶¶¶¶

Whatever it is slams into Bok’s skull like a hammer.

He jerks in the chair. Screams against the bit. His back arches. The restraints groan. Every nerve lights up like a live wire.  

On-screen, the first images begin to flash.

¶¶¶¶

Age 13. Training Facility: Unit 17

A dorm. Sterile. White. He’s naked from the waist down.  

A clipboard passes between two adults. One nods. The other gestures.  

The handler steps forward. Grabs his jaw. Lifts it. Examines him like a horse.  

“He's grown,” they note. “Ready for evaluation.”  

He tries to speak. Voice cracks. They slap him. Open hand. 

He’s twelve. Maybe thirteen.  

The handler grips his shoulder. Turns him. Presents him.  

“You’ll be perfect,” they murmur, adjusting his collar. “Lower your eyes.”  

Bok watches from the chair, shaking.  

NO. No no nonono stop—stop this—no more, not now—

But it only digs in further.  

¶¶¶¶

Age 14. Night Session: Red Room

A velvet bed. Cameras in every corner. A glass wall.  

Three men sit behind it. Watching. Grading.  

Bok is told to strip. He does.  

Hands guide him. Lotioned palms. Voice at his ear.  

“Do it sweet this time. Smile like you mean it.”  

Sharp cologne. Bok kneels.  

His eyes are dead. Inside, he’s somewhere else.  

Behind the glass, someone nods. A ‘pass’.

Bok clenches his fists in the chair. Restraints grind against metal.  

His whole body is taut. Teeth digging into the bit.  

Ricky shifts. He clears his throat. Tries to skip ahead.  

Bok slams a mental wall in place.  

The machine screeches. Screen fuzzes. Glitches.  

But it finds another path.

¶¶¶¶

Age 15. First Kill

A hotel room. Expensive. Marble tub.  

A client lies back, champagne in one hand. His pupils are slow.  

Bok is dressed in silk. Lipstick.  

He laughs. Touches the man’s shoulder. Drops something into the drink.  

“Bottoms up.”  

The man drinks.  

Thirty seconds. His lips go slack. Bok leans in. Whispers something that isn’t picked up. Then drives the needle into his neck.  

The body spasms.  

Bok pins him with a knee. Watches the light fade.  

Then calmly strips the bed. Wipes the prints. Changes clothes. Twirls the keys, pockets them, gone. 

The whole act—flawless.

On screen, it replays twice.  

Ricky exhales. 

“Why did they pivot you to assassination?” 

Bok curls his lip. “Maybe I got bored.”

¶¶¶¶

Age 16. Assault

A handler. Drunk. Furious. Slams Bok into the wall.  

“You want to make me look bad?”  

He’s been failing evaluations. Slipping.  

Too much resistance.

The man forces him down. Belt off. No camera this time.  

It’s fast. Violent. Bok doesn’t scream.  

Afterwards, he lies there. Eyes open. Something gone.  

¶¶¶¶

Bok thrashes in the chair. Screaming now. Wordless. Gut-deep.  

The restraints dig into broken skin.  

On screen, the memory degrades. Fragments. Blurs.  

Then another—

¶¶¶¶

Age 17. Redress

A locker room. Same handler.  

Bok follows, humming.  

Injector in hand. Sharp. Fast.  

Stab to the neck. Hold it. Hold it—until the body stops moving.  

The blood freckles Bok’s cheek.

He laughs—soft, breathless.

¶¶¶¶

Back in the chair, Bok shoves with every ounce of mental force left.  

The screen hisses. Static. Feedback stutters.

Bok’s pushing back against the onslaught. Slamming doors in its face.

Ricky types frantically. Tries to reroute.  

Fails.  

Tries again.  

Fails.  

Overload. 

Sync disruption. 

Neural resistance spike: critical. 

“Stop fighting,” Ricky snaps. “Stop it—”  

Bok glares at him. His lips are bleeding dark.

He spits the bit to the floor with a slick clack.

“You get off on that, Ricky?” he sneers, voice tight, eyes wet, betraying him. “You enjoy it?”  

The screen explodes into white noise. Hard cut.  

Bok crumples. Not quite unconscious. His head pounds.

Ricky stares at the console. Then at Bok.  

His voice is thin.

“You little bastard.”  

Ricky crosses the room. Pages someone on the intercom.  

“We’ve got a failure,” he says. “Tap’s down. No data retrieved. He—overloaded it. I don’t know how.”

A beat.  

“No, don’t send a tech. He fried it.”  

He turns his back, pinching the bridge of his nose. Silence.

He clicks off.  

Ricky stands by the door, one hand resting on the frame, his gaze tracing the tense lines of Bok’s body as his chest heaves with ragged breaths.

“You know,” Ricky’s voice is hollow, the words hanging in the space between them, “I was hoping you’d make this easy.”  

“Go… fuck yourself,” Bok wheezes out.

The door hisses shut behind Ricky, sharp and final.

The lights dim.

And Bok lets his head fall back, eyes shuttering.

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The Memory Circuit [IV]

Good Morning, Sunshine

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⎉: @chaotic-orphan @morning-star-whump Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

TW: police brutality, physical assault, vomiting, surveillance, systemic abuse.

Line dividers by @sister-lucifer!!!!

The door buzzes.

Hal jabs the button again, hard.

Nothing.

Then: “It’s four-fucking-thirty in the morning, Hal.”

Her voice crackles through the speaker like it’s pissed, too. He presses his forehead to the doorframe, eyes closed.

“Hey, Piggy.”

The lock clicks.

Jules stands in the doorway in a billowing shirt and one sock, hair a frizzy halo of sleep and pure, undiluted fury.

“You look like shit,” she settles venomously, stepping aside.

The flat smells like chamomile and burnt oil. There’s a threadbare orange blanket on the couch and a spider plant hanging in the corner, definitely named something like Milo. Hal sinks onto the couch, spine curling in on itself. Jules crosses her arms.

“Is this about Bok?”

Hal’s head jerks up.

She sighs, already turning for the kitchen. “I’m putting the kettle on. Start talking before it boils.”

¶¶¶¶

The kettle clicks. Hal’s in the kitchen, shoulders hunched as he pours water into sleek mugs. His hands shake.

Jules watches him from the table, unreadable.

“He’s gone,” Hal says, voice hoarse.

“I figured,” Jules replies. “The silence wasn’t exactly reassuring.”

Hal lets out a slow, ragged breath. “I didn’t know where else to go.”

“Lucky me,” she mutters.

Then: Knock knock knock.

Jules’ eyes snap to the door.

“Please tell me that’s not—”

“Open up, Jules,” comes Ricky’s voice, carrying that signature lilt of his.

She doesn’t move. Hal, already pale, goes corpse white.

Jules opens the door just enough to glare through. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

Ricky smiles coolly. “Just here to chat.”

“Go chat with a blender.”

She tries to shut the door. He plants a booted foot in the frame.

“We’ve got Joyeux,” he says. “You know what that means.”

Her jaw tightens. She steps aside, reluctantly. “You’ve got five minutes.”

Ricky walks in like it’s his flat, brushing droplets off his shoulders. Hal retreats to the sink, one hand braced on the counter like it’s the only thing holding him up.

Ricky’s eyes flick to Hal. “I assume you know Hal was keeping company with a nomadroid.”

He halts mid-pace, catching Jules’s look.

A beat.

“I’m assuming you didn’t know it was unregistered. Fully illegal. Possibly unstable.”

Hal makes a noise—half breath, half choke. Jules glares at him too.

“I know it’s complicated,” Ricky hums. “But Joyeux was dangerous. The raid was clean. We have footage. And Hawkins’ prints.”

“Shut up,” Jules says.

Ricky lifts an eyebrow.

She turns to Hal, voice quieter now. “You didn’t tell me everything.”

Hal can’t look at her.

“Did you love him?”

The air goes still.

Hal’s grip on the counter slips. He doubles over and vomits into the sink, body wracked and shaking.

Jules doesn’t flinch. Just grabs a dish towel, runs it under cold water, and presses it into his hands.

Ricky looks away; pulls out his datapad.

“We’ll be in touch,” he says lightly, and walks out.

The door shuts behind him.

Jules exhales—long, slow, furious.

Hal leans against the wall, towel clutched in his hands, face pale.

“You loved him,” she says again, not asking this time.

And Hal, eyes puffy, just nods.

¶¶¶¶

Earlier.

They blow the door in.

No warning, no pause. Just the shockwave and splinters, smoke curling into the hallway like fingers.

Bok’s head snaps up from the mattress on the floor. He doesn’t move fast enough.

They’re already inside.

Three soldiers. Black gear, black masks, silent. Their eyes glint faintly like glass behind the visors. A flick of motion, and the room is theirs.

Bok reaches for the blade on the counter. Cheap boxcutter. Pathetic. He grabs it anyway.

The first soldier closes in.

Bok swings.

Steel kisses flesh—a shallow cut across a gloved arm. The soldier barely reacts.

Bok bolts.

One grabs his shirt, misses. Another’s faster. A baton slams into Bok’s spine. His knees buckle. He drops, scrambles, still crawling, still fighting—

Another hit—his side caves in around it. Something cracks. He sucks in air.

He twists, knife in hand, jabs upward.

The blade rakes a thigh—deep. The man swears. Stumbles. Bok surges forward.

It doesn’t matter.

A boot catches his shoulder. Slams him sideways into the wall. His skull hits plaster, leaves a dent. He falls.

They’re on him.

He thrashes—kicks, claws, spits black.

Someone grabs his hair, yanks him up. His neck strains. He stabs back—nothing.

A baton hammers down.

His hand breaks. Knife drops. Gone.

They don’t stop.

Two hold him down. One crushes a knee with the baton—crack. Bok jerks, bites his own tongue. Ink floods his mouth.

“Still fighting?” one mutters. Disgusted.

Second knee. 

Crack. 

He goes limp, twitching. Ribs heave. Eyes wide. Still conscious.

One more hit to the jaw. His head snaps sideways. Something dislocates.

They drag him.

By the arms. His head falls back, eyes dull, breath fogging through slightly parted lips. His bare heels scrape against the floor. Sweat clings his hair to his forehead, dripping down his face. The rest of his body hangs limp, trailing behind them like a trainwreck.

“Secure,” one says.

Another checks a watch. “Thirty seconds over. Let’s move.”

They vanish into the hallway.

The door hangs from one hinge. The room still smells like smoke and metal and blood. 

And they’re gone.

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The Memory Circuit [III]

Get In Line, Mister!

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⎉: @chaotic-orphan Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

TW: physical assault, attempted sexual assault, substance use, internalised trauma, psychological breakdown, imprisonment, coercion, manipulation, surveillance, systemic abuse.

Line dividers by @sister-lucifer!!!!

The bar has no name anymore—just a fizzing strip of neon clinging to a rusted beam above the door. Inside, the red light pulses like a hammer, and the air is thick with oil, sweat, and something vaguely metallic, like old blood on iron.

Bok sits at the edge of the bar. One foot hooks around the stool leg, anchoring him. His other boot taps lightly against the floor, in rhythm with the bass that shakes the walls.

His glass is half-empty. The liquor is acrid and sharp, coating his throat like engine fuel.

A man drops onto the stool beside him. Loud jacket, richer than the rest of the room. A slick grin follows.

“You working tonight?” the man asks, voice pitched low.

Bok doesn’t answer. Just lifts the glass to his lips, sips.

The man leans in closer. “You’re too pretty to be sitting here alone.”

Fingers trail up Bok’s thigh, casual. Bok stiffens. The glass in his hand trembles. He shifts his weight, the stool wobbling slightly beneath him.

The man chuckles. “You shy, sweetheart?”

What was meant as a term of endearment lands like a blow.

The man reaches up, runs his fingers through Bok’s damp hair. His hand tightens—bunching it in his fist.

Bok exhales slow through his nose. His knuckles whiten around the glass.

“Come on,” the man murmurs, leaning in close enough to smell his cologne. “I know what you are.”

Bok stands suddenly, too fast. The stool scrapes loud across the floor. The man grabs him by the back of the neck this time, tries to yank him near—but Bok spins, shoving him off-balance. He stumbles into the bar, curses sharp.

A fist flies. Bok ducks. His palm hits the counter for leverage. Light hair falls into his eyes—he shoves it back with slick fingers, knuckles at the ready.

The man lunges again. Bok pivots low and slams his elbow into the dude's ribs. The sound is wet, guttural. The guy staggers, then roars and swings—

This time it connects. Bok’s jaw snaps sideways with the force. Pain explodes down his neck. Ink spatters across the bar.

People are shouting now. Moving back. Watching.

Bok wipes his mouth, black smearing across his palm. His chest heaves. He steps forward—gets in one good hit, right to the man’s throat.

Then they’re grappling—hands, fists, elbows. The man claws at him, snarling. Bok’s hair is grabbed again, yanked hard. His body slams into the bar, ribs cracking against the edge.

He tastes salt and metal. His ears ring. And still, his body moves.

He’s not trying to lose.

Bouncers shove through the crowd. One grabs the guy. Another seizes Bok, jerking him backwards. Bok tries to loosen himself, but they’re already hauling him.

"Out."

The door opens. The city screams.

And then they throw him.

He hits wet concrete with a grunt, shoulder flaring white-hot with pain. The door slams. The music vanishes like a heartbeat cut short.

He lies there for a moment. Breathing.

Rain spatters down, cold and biting. Night blooms in slow spirals around his knuckles, washed away by gutter runoff.

His chest rises, falls. Again.

I almost let him.

His jaw tightens. Teeth grind.

A tremor takes him, small and violent. He presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. Ink and water run down his arms.

He stays like that, hunched and shaking, for a long time.

No one stops.

The city keeps moving.

¶¶¶¶

Hal stares at the ceiling of the room where they keep him.

Fluorescent light hums, flickering at irregular intervals beneath the sparkling chandelier.

His wrists are cuffed to the chair again, tighter this time. His ribs throb under soaked bandages. Each breath pulls at the place where flesh tried to close around pain.

Ricky is already there, leaning against the wall like he’s waiting for a friend. A file folder sits open on the table—thick, heavy, bloated with things Hal already knows.

“You were one of ours, Hawkins,” Ricky says at last, tapping a photo with two fingers. “Senior clearance. Protocol Valparaíso access. You wrote part of the legislation that governs automaton integration.”

Hal doesn’t speak.

“You knew the regulations,” Ricky continues. “You helped draft the punishments. You were the one who suggested neural tagging in the first place.”

A long pause. Ricky walks around the table, slow.

“And then you go off-grid, shack up with one. A freelance nomadroid. Unmarked. Off-record. Illegal.”

Hal raises his eyes. They’re dry, exhausted. “He wasn’t—”

“No,” Ricky interrupts, voice sharp. “He wasn’t just a droid. You’re right. That’s what makes this worse.”

He drops another photo. This one is of a disassembled model. Wiring exposed. Liquid black pooled around the table where the skull used to be.

Hal flinches. Just slightly.

Ricky leans down, smile thin. “You know what happens if this goes public, right? If your involvement leaks?”

Silence.

“Your clearance. Gone. Your name. Smeared. Pensions, benefits, citizenship? Stripped. Your friend’s address is still listed in the system. Do you think she’ll appreciate a midnight raid?”

Hal’s jaw tightens.

“So,” Ricky says, flipping the folder closed, “we're offering you a free route.”

Another folder. This one thinner. Sleeker.

“Conditional release. You'll be tagged, tracked, watched. You’ll check in every seventy-two hours. And when we find Joyeux—and we will—you will help us. Or everything comes out.”

Hal swallows. He flexes his hands in the cuffs.

Ricky’s smile grows. “So? What do you say?”

There’s no real choice. There never was.

The cuffs hiss open. The chair scrapes as Hal stands.

He doesn't look at Ricky. He just turns, and walks.

¶¶¶¶

Outside, the rain is louder.

Bok leans against the alley wall, a cigarette trembling between his fingers, though he hasn’t lit it. His jaw is swelling. Blood still clings to his collar.

His breath clouds in the cold air.

Behind his eyes, the fight plays again—frame by frame, sensation by sensation. The hand in his hair. The pressure on his throat. His own hesitation.

You’re too pretty to be alone.

He doesn’t feel pretty now.

The cigarette falls from his fingers.

He presses his back to the wall and slowly sinks down. The rain keeps falling. The city doesn’t stop.

His hand touches the edge of his coat, fingers finding a hidden seam inside the lining.

Bok shuts his eyes.

Tonight, he just breathes.

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The Memory Circuit [II]

The Customer Is Always Wrong

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⎉: @chaotic-orphan Let me know if you'd like to be added or subtracted from the taglist!

TW: sex work, intoxication, dissociation, emotional numbness, implied exploitation.

Line dividers by @sister-lucifer!!!!

The city thrums with restless energy. Rain glides off glass and metal, pooling in the cracks of neglected streets. Overhead, neon burns in artificial constellations, flickering with the air, carrying the scent of ozone, of damp pavement, of banks and smog.

Bok moves through it all, drifting and drowning.

He is warm with liquor, a heat that coils in his gut and dulls the static fuzz at the edges of his mind. The club had been suffocating—smoke and sweat, bodies pressed close, hands lingering too long. But out here, beneath the buzzing glow of a malfunctioning streetlamp, it is cold. Cold enough to bite through the feigned haze of his intoxication.

A cigarette dangles between his fingers, its ember flaring as he takes a slow drag. Smoke unfurls from his lips, curling into the damp night air.

A voice reaches him, smooth, expectant. “Looking for company?”

Bok glances up through strands of damp blonde hair, eyes lidded and unfocused. The man before him is tall, well-dressed, an air of shrewdness about him.

He doesn't answer. Not immediately. He sways slightly, the world tilting at an odd angle.

The man chuckles, pulling out a slim card between two fingers. “I’ll make it easy.” A number. A sum. More than most.

Bok blinks slowly, then takes it.

¶¶¶¶

Bok falters after the figure, credits heavy in his pocket, though his body feels lighter than ever. The neon haze outside the bar stains his skin in shifting colours: red, blue, green.

The stranger leads him through a narrow corridor, past flickering signs and the hum of electrified advertisements. Their breath fogs together in the cool night air. Bok doesn’t ask where they’re going.

Inside the chartered room, the lights are dim, and the bed is clean. The stranger—tall, dark-eyed—shrugs off his coat. Bok sways, catching himself against the wall, blinking at his own reflection in a cracked mirror. He looks different here, distorted, his hair a mess of damp strands, lips parted.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” the man murmurs, stepping closer. A hand grazes Bok’s jaw, tilting his chin up. His pupils contract automatically at the proximity. The stranger’s grip is firm, assessing. “You’re more pleasing than I expected.”

Bok exhales a soft laugh, tilting his head to expose more skin. “I know.”

It doesn’t matter. Nothing does. Just the press of hands, the exchange of currency, the contract that follows.

¶¶¶¶

Hal Hawkins sits in a cold metal chair, wrists bound, the sting of the restraints biting into his skin every time he moves. Across from him, Agent Ricky watches, expression unreadable, hands clasped on the steel table between them.

The room is sterile, suffocating in its stillness. The kind of place where time distorts, where confessions are extracted like rotting teeth.

“I am going to ask this once more, Hawkins.” Ricky’s voice is calm, deliberate. “Did your charge exhibit these characteristics?”

A flick of fingers. A projection hums to life, casting eerie blue light against the dull walls.

Photographs, sketches. Rows of servants, their smooth heads imprinted with the signature navy star, and a smaller star at their commissure; their bodies identical in stance.

Hal grits his teeth. “No, because I didn’t fucking know—”

Ricky barely reacts. He studies Hal as if dissecting something small and predictable. “And yet you harboured him. A freestyle automaton, even, of sorts. A security threat.”

Hal exhales sharply through his nose. “I harboured a human person.”

Ricky tilts his head slightly. “Is that what you told yourself?”

Silence stretches between them, thick and suffocating.

Ricky leans forward, eyes narrowing. “You had relations with this servant, Hawkins.”

The words land like a blow. Hal stiffens, fists clenching against the cuffs. The motion tugs at the wound beneath his ribs—a sharp, lancing pain that flares outward.

He feels the slow dampness under his shirt. Every breath pulls at the stitches, raw and unhealed.

The wound is still a weakness. A liability. A reminder of the night he nearly died on his bathroom floor.

A reminder of Bok, standing above him—eyes wide with something that might have been horror. Or grief. Or nothing at all.

—The memory presses against his ribs like a phantom limb.

Ricky notices.

A slow, knowing smile creeps onto his face. “No, he wasn’t. But you didn’t know that, did you?”

Hal says nothing.

Ricky watches him for a long moment, then stands, smoothing down his cape. The projection flickers, then vanishes.

The door slides open. A second officer enters, leans in to whisper something into Ricky’s ear. Hal can’t make out the words, but he catches the way Ricky's lips curl at the edges, the amusement in his eyes when he turns back.

“Your nomadroid is still active.”

Hal doesn’t move.

“We’ll find him,” Ricky says, voice light. “And when we do, he’ll be dismantled. Piece by piece.”

Hal’s nails dig into his palms. The restraints bite into his wrists, the sharp sting cutting through the dull ache in his side.

Ricky leans in, voice dropping. “For your sake, Hawkins, you better hope he doesn’t remember you.”

¶¶¶¶

Bok wakes in a bed that isn’t his. The room is dim, quiet save for the distant hum of city life beyond the window.

The stranger is gone. The money remains.

Bok exhales, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes, as if to scrub something away. His fingers linger against his temples, then drop. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, feet meeting the cold floor.

The air smells of cologne and sweat. He stretches, listening to the hum of the city outside. His fingers ghost over his skin, over the places where hands had been, and he wonders if Hal would have looked at him differently if he knew.

Hal.

His chest tightens. He pushes the thought away.

There is work to do. There are more nights to survive.

Bok lights another cigarette. Inhales. Holds it. Lets the smoke pool in his lungs before exhaling slow, watching it coil toward the ceiling.

There is work to do. There are more nights to survive.

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i would like to take a second to thank this song for getting me obsessed with ricky montgomery last year

ㅤㅤ! ֗ ๑ 𝅼 🍂 ۫ ∘ ִ 𖣠 ˙ ∘ 🏛

❥𓂃𓏧 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙 ෆ ˚₊‧꒰ა 🕊️ ໒꒱ ‧₊˚

Some school oc doodles

Blabbermouth gang!! I loav them <3

Bonus Ricky cus he's the best

Shades Of Cool

Rick Grimes x Fem Reader

Warnings: age gap (reader is in her 20s), dry humping, fingering, oral (m receiving), face fucking, a bit of cum eating, intercourse and a bit of a breeding kink. let me know if I missed anything!

A/n: so this fic is inspired by this pic and there’s no walkers nothing just regular shmegular Rick Grimes because I just had to make a fic for this picture!!!

You and Carl were friends. The two of you actually met on your 21st birthday and you two had been inseparable ever since; but that’s all you were, friends. Carl wasn’t really your type, but you know who was? His father. Rick Grimes.

The first day Carl brought you over and his father was home, you weren’t expecting your knees to wobble at the sight of him. From that day onward, anytime you would come over, you’d steal little glances at Rick when he wasn’t looking and you thought he hadn’t noticed but each and every time you stared at him, practically undressing him with your eyes, he felt it, and it made him smile every damn time.

You had begun dressing in the skimpiest of clothing every time you went over to the Grimes household; one time you were dragging Carl with you to a festival and you came to pick him up. You had a bikini top on that barely fit, a bit of under-boob peeking out, paired with your favourite low-waisted jeans. You knocked on their door expecting Carl to answer since you had texted him that you were here but to your surprise, Rick had answered the door. His eyes almost popped out of their sockets that day as he looked at you, his eyes quickly looking down at your chest and back up to your face. He invited you in and you couldn’t stop smiling to yourself as you waited for Carl, as that little look Rick took of you had not gone unnoticed by you.

You were currently on your way to their house right now. Carl had asked his father if he could invite you to the little vacation they had planned and Rick said yes.

You arrived at the house and spotted Rick at his car, loading some bags into the trunk. You had parked your car into their garage and soon moved to the back of your car to get your bags. You were just about to grab them and bring them over to Rick when he took them from your hands.

“I’ve got em.” He said as he looked at you, raking his eyes over your figure before giving you a smile and making his way over to his car.

“Thanks Mr. Grimes.” You said as you made your way to him, handing him a bag that was on the ground to put into the car.

“You can call me Rick ya know?”

“I know, I just like teasing you.” You said as you smiled at him, your attention moving to the figure behind him.

“Hey stink!” You said as Carl came into your view, handing his father the last bag before making his way to you.

“Out of all the names you call me, that’s gotta be my least favourite.” He said as he brought you in for a hug.

You pulled away from Carl and crouched down to the little girl next to him, hugging her before lifting her into your arms.

“Hey Judith.” You said as you smiled at her, handing her a lollipop you brought specially for her.

“So we all packed in?” Rick said as he looked to you and Carl. Both of you nodded your heads before you all made your way to the front of the car.

You lowered Judith into her car seat before looking back at Carl.

“So where ya gonna sit?”

“I’ll sit at the back with Judith, you can sit in the front.” He said as he slid into the back seat.

You smiled to yourself at the thought of sitting in the passenger seat with Rick, blush creeping onto your cheeks. You quickly calmed yourself down before opening the passenger side door and sliding in.

Rick looked at you and let out a little laugh to himself before looking back at his son.

This was going to be a long ride.

****

The four of you soon arrived at the holiday house you’d be staying at. You grabbed your bags and made your way to the room you picked, you picked this one because it was really pretty and it had a great view (it was right next to Rick’s room).

You were just about to start unpacking when Carl barged into your room, plopping down onto the bed.

“We’re all going to the beach so get dressed. ”

You gave him a thumbs up before shoving him out of your room to get dressed in your bikini, placing a crocheted skirt over.

You grabbed your beach bag and made your way outside, waiting for the rest of them to come.

Rick was the first to come through the door, his eyes moving straight to your ass in the bikini you were wearing, that left little to the imagination.

You turned to face the door as it closed, eyes landing on Rick as he held a surf board and placed it against the wall.

“You can surf?” You said as you turned to face him, your eyes raking over his body. God he was hot.

“Yeah, I learnt when I was younger.”

“Cool. Maybe you could teach me one day.” You said before the door opened again, revealing Judith and Carl.

“Well don’t you look pretty.” You said to Judith as she made her way over to you, grabbing your hand. Rick smiled at the little interaction before the four of you started making your way down to the beach.

You and Carl had found a great spot on the beach and set your things down on the blanket you brought with. You handed Judith a slice of watermelon before removing the crocheted skirt. As the skirt slipped down your legs, Rick couldn’t take his eyes off of you, moving his gaze along your legs as the skirt slipped off.

He quickly cleared his throat as you looked at him, rolling your eyes before settling back down onto the blanket.

“I’m gonna head in, watch Judith okay Carl?” Rick said as he made his way to the water, giving you a once over before getting into the water.

You watched as he surfed a few waves, your eyes never leaving his figure.

Carl passed you a bag of chips, taking one out before popping it into your mouth.

“Dude you need a haircut, right Judith?” You said looking towards the younger girl. She nodded before looking at Carl, smiling as she placed herself down onto your lap.

“Woww, so you’re not going to be siding with your brother Judy?” Carl said as he looked at his sister.

She shook her head before Carl grabbed her and began tickling his sister, causing her to burst into a fit of giggles. You smiled as you watched her writhing around as she laughed.

You looked back up and saw Rick coming out of the water. His hair was wet and the second skin clung to his toned body as he walked towards you with the board under his arm.

God he looks amazing, you thought.

Rick immediately caught you staring before smiling at you, causing your cheeks to heat up.

“I want ice cream.” You heard Judith say as she looked at her brother.

“I’m gonna get her some, just let my dad know where we went when he gets here yeah?” He said as looked at you before grabbing his sisters hand and walking off.

Rick soon got to the little spot you guys had, looking at Carl and Judith as they walked off to find an ice cream truck.

“Where they headed to?” He said as he looked down at you, grabbing a towel and drying his face off.

“Judith wanted ice cream.” You said as he sat down next you.

“Hey uh do you mind helping me with sunscreen, I can’t get my back.” You said as you held the sunscreen out. Rick looked at you before smirking, grabbing the sunscreen from you as you turned around, sitting on your knees in front of him.

You loosened your bikini top strings, bringing your hands to your front to keep the fabric on your breasts.

Rick spurted some sunscreen on his hands before placing them on your back. You immediately jerked at the touch, causing Rick to laugh.

“Relax, it’s just me.” He said as he moved his large hands all along your back, massaging along your neck.

His hands moved down to your lower back, spreading the lotion all over before moving back up to your neck, applying pressure in all the tense areas. This caused you to relax against him, letting out a barely audible moan that went straight to Rick’s dick.

He wondered what other sounds you could make.

He tapped your shoulder once he was done, tying your straps for you too.

“Thanks Rick.” You said as he gave the sunscreen back.

All he did was nod his head towards you, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth as you got up and made your way to the water. Rick threw his head back against the blanket, groaning and muttering a quiet, ‘fuck’ under his breath.

He immediately sat up as he heard his daughters voice, straightening himself as he looked at Carl and Judith.

“Where is she?” Carl asked his father, looking towards you as Rick pointed your way.

“I’m gonna join her.” Carl said as he rushed off towards you, almost knocking you to the ground as he ran to you.

Rick watched the two of you mess around in the water, mainly just watching you and your gorgeous body. His attention was quickly pulled to a guy approaching the two of you.

You and Carl stopped messing around once the guy said hi, mainly looking at you.

“So you’re really pretty and I was just wondering if I could get-”

“Nope.” You said as you grabbed Carl’s arm and the two of you went running back, laughing at the previous interaction.

The both of you plopped down onto the blanket, clutching your stomachs as you were laughing.

“What was that about?” Rick asked as he watched the guy walk past you all.

“This dude tried hitting on her and all she said was nope, she didn’t even let him finish!” Carl said as he continued laughing.

“Well he wasn’t my type we all know that.” You said as you looked at Rick, slowly calming down.

“Yeah she’s into the old dude’s.” Carl said, causing you to shove him against the shoulder.

All Rick did was smile at this revelation, looking at you as you brought a water bottle to your lips.

****

You were all currently back at the holiday house, you changed into something more comfortable as the four of you had just gotten back from dinner.

You made your way into the kitchen, grabbing some fruit you had bought earlier on.

You began cutting them up into smaller pieces and placing them into a bowl when your attention was pulled to footsteps approaching the kitchen.

It was Rick.

He made his way to the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water and drinking some of it as he leaned against the counter opposite you.

You could feel him watching you, turning around as you held an uncut strawberry in your hand.

“I can feel you staring, so do you want one? They do taste really sweet.” You said as you approached him, lifting the strawberry to his mouth. He took the sweet fruit between his lips, his beautiful eyes piercing yours as he took a bite.

You lowered your hand and placed the stem of the strawberry into the trash.

Turning back to Rick, you watched as he swiped some juice that was left on the side of his mouth to bring to his lips but you quickly stopped him, bringing his index finger to your lips and taking the digit into your mouth.

Rick was stunned at your bold action, watching you closely as you sucked on his finger. The filthy images that came to mind went straight to his crotch, the fabric of his shorts tightening as his cock got hard.

You lowered his hand once again, moving back to the fruit you were previously cutting and cleaning up the mess.

You were about to leave when you felt Rick behind you, pressing his hard on against your ass and using his arms to cage you in.

You turned around in his hold, looking up at him as he shoved your legs apart with his, moving his thigh against your core and smashing his lips against yours.

You immediately deepened the kiss, letting his tongue invade your mouth as his hands roamed your body.

“Fuck, I’ve been wanting to do this for so long.” He said against your lips.

His kisses slowly moved along your jaw, going down your neck and reaching your collar bone. You unknowingly began grinding your hot core against his thigh, throwing your head back to give him more room.

You were both quickly pulled back to reality when you heard another set of footsteps, Rick moving to the opposite side of the kitchen where he was previously standing and you pretending to continue cleaning up.

Carl made his way to the kitchen, grabbing a bottle of water before moving to you and stealing a piece of fruit from your bowl, causing you to smack him against the head.

“G’night.” He said to the two of you as he made his way back to his room.

Just as he left, Rick was on you again, attaching his lips to yours before you pushed him away.

“Come find me later, preferably when he’s asleep. I’ll probably be in the shower.” You hinted as you grabbed your bowl of fruit and left the kitchen.

Rick ran his hands over his face. You were going to be the death of him.

****

You set your underwear and an oversized shirt on the bed before moving to the bathroom. You climbed into the large shower once the water was warm, running your hands through your hair as you tilted your head back to let the warm water cascade down your face.

You were about to reach for your body wash when there was a knock on the bathroom door, followed by the sound of the door opening.

You opened the tinted shower door, peeking out and seeing Rick, a white towel hanging low on his hips as he made his way to you. The towel dropped as he got closer to the shower, your eyes immediately bulging at his size.

You took your bottom lip between your teeth, watching him as he got into the shower with you, placing his body right under the stream of water and letting out a barely audible moan as the water hit his back.

He reached out towards you, grabbing you by your waist and pulling you flush against him.

“You’re so beautiful.” He said as he looked down at you. You connected your lips to his, deepening the kiss as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

He once again let his kisses trail down your neck, the roughness of his beard sending shivers through your body as he trailed his kisses down your body towards your chest, taking one of your stiff peaks into his mouth. Sucking harshly onto the bud, he looked up at you as you moaned out in ecstasy.

Moving his hands down your body and towards your core, ghosting his fingertips over the area where you needed him most.

“Please..” You said as you moved closer to him, trying to get him to bring his hand where you wanted it, needed it.

“Please what baby?” He said as he looked at you, a smirk spreading over his features.

“Please just- just touch me please.” You begged.

“Where do you need me sweetheart?” He said as he held you, a faux sympathetic look on his face.

You grabbed ahold of his hand, leading it towards your core. Rick wasted no time, applying pressure on your clit.

You moaned out, your head hitting the wall behind you as you let the pleasure consume you.

Your breaths were getting heavy and you let out a particularly loud moan once he sunk two fingers into your dripping pussy.

“Fuck, feels so good.” You said as you closed your eyes, the pleasure combined with the steam from the hot water becoming all too much for you.

“Yeah, it feels good baby?” He said as he sunk down onto his knees, his mouth latching into your clit.

Your knees buckled at the feeling, looking down at the man between your thighs as his free hand moved to your hips to steady you.

“I’m so close.” You breathed out as you grabbed onto your left breast.

Rick quickened his fingers inside you, reaching a special spot your own fingers could never reach. This combined with his hot mouth on your clit sent you over the edge.

You let out multiple short breaths as you came, your body feeling hot to the touch as Rick rose back up, his fingers sinking into his mouth.

Moaning at the taste of you on his tongue, he wrapped his arms around your waist, pressing his lips to yours before pulling back.

“You taste better than I imagined.” He said, causing you to bury your head into his neck.

“Now don’t get all shy on me baby, you were just moaning my name like a whore and now you’re all shy.” He said as he grabbed ahold of your chin, tilting your head up and pressing a kiss to your lips.

“Want you in my-” You said against his lips, stopping as you were unable to get the filthy words out.

“What do you want baby?” He said, his grip on your chin not letting up.

“Want you in my mouth please.”

“Oh do you now?” Rick said, a smile tugging at his lips.

You nodded your head before sinking down onto your knees. Taking his cock into your hand, you pressed his tip to your lips, taking it into your mouth, the salty taste of pre-cum hitting your tongue.

You moaned around his tip, looking up at him as you took more and more of him into your mouth. You started bobbing your head, savouring the taste of his cock on your tongue.

Rick was losing his mind, his hands leaning against the shower wall behind you, loving the sight of you kneeling in front of him.

You tapped his thigh, causing him to look down at you. You quickly reached for his hand, placing it at the back of your head.

Rick immediately caught on, wrapping your hair around his hand to create a sort of makeshift ponytail.

He began fucking your face at an ungodly pace, your nose hitting his pubic bone.

The most sinful noises left his lips, his hips staggering as he got closer to his high.

You could feel him in your throat, tears prickling in the corners of your eyes due to the shear force of his thrusts.

“Fuck.” He moaned out, his load shooting onto your tongue.

“Swallow it.” He said as you nodded your head, swallowing his seed as you stood up.

He brought you back in for a kiss, swiping his tongue across your lips. You allowed him to enter, his tongue dancing with yours as he claimed your mouth as his.

He tapped your thigh as he kissed you, causing you to jump up and wrap your legs around him.

Wasting no time he slipped his cock into your pussy, both of you moaning out at the feeling of him inside you.

With your back pressed against the wall, Rick’s one arm supporting your body and the other next to your head against the wall. His hips snapped against yours, desperate to get you to cum again.

You were a moaning mess, your mind occupied with Rick and only Rick. You grabbed onto his face and brought it from out of the crook of your neck, desperate to feel his lips on yours again.

The kiss was rough and needy, teeth clashing, the feel of his beard rough on your lips; your hips meeting his thrusts as your tongue explored his mouth.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum.” You said against his lips, causing Rick to slip out of you for a split second, turning you around and pressing your chest to the cold tiles. He slipped back into you, his thrusts speeding up as your pussy clenched around him, sucking him in even deeper if it was possible.

Pornographic like moans left your lips as you came, the pleasure making your body tingle all over. Your body went limp as Rick continued thrusting into you, chasing his own orgasm.

“Where do you want it?” He asked as his hips snapped against yours.

“Inside me please.” You begged, your body needing everything he had to offer.

You could sense his smirk at your words, his thrusts becoming sloppy as he was nearing his orgasm.

“Want me to fill you up huh?” He said between thrusts, his hot cum spilling into you as his thrusts slowed down.

He slipped out of you, turning you around to face him and placing a chaste kiss to your lips.

You smiled into the kiss but quickly gasped when you felt his fingers entering you again, shoving his cum deeper inside of you, making sure none of it dared to slip out.

“Too much Rick.” You whined as you grabbed onto his wrist.

“ ‘m sorry baby.” He muttered, wrapping his arms around you.

The two of you cleaned up, Rick washing your hair for you and washing your body too.

You both stepped out of the shower, brushing your teeth before you got dressed.

He slipped under the covers with you, wrapping his arms around you as he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

You knew this moment wasn’t going to last forever but for now you’d pretend it was.

Leaning up, you pressed a kiss to Rick’s lips before sinking back down into his arms.

****

@catt-leya

let me know if anyone would like to be added to this taglist as I’ll have a separate taglist for any rick grimes fics I write :)

requests are always open!

I hope everyone enjoyed lol!