Chapter Text
You were born before the outbreak, not that you have any memory of it.
All you know of your parents is what you've been told. That they were careless, and greedy, and fell victim to the infected within the first months. That being their progeny meant you, too, were too weak and daft to ever be trusted on the outside.
The ones who took you in kept you alive, but you could not say they treated you kindly. In fact, you don't ever say anything at all.
They built up a village upon the skeletal remains of Housesteads Fort, erecting new brick and mortar upon the Ancient Roman stone to keep the infected out. Incidentally, those same fortress walls did well to box you in.
Each day they reminded you of just how useless you were—you couldn't even talk!—but once you were old enough, some of your protectors discovered they could use you in other ways.
Sometimes, you'd get locked in a room for days to be enjoyed without interruption. A prison within a prison within a prison.
They liked that you kept silent. That you would never tell a soul.
The one thing that kept you going was hope. Every second of every minute of every day, you dreamed of your escape. Your ignorance of the world beyond meant you couldn't do much to make an actual plan, but you imagined it in a million different ways, a million different times. These were your rehearsals.
And then finally, you saw your opportunity. One day, as a foraging expedition set out to embark, they dawdled, and the fortress gate hung wide open.
It was now or never. You slipped out. No one had seen you. At least, that's what you prayed.
And you knew you'd die. Torn asunder by infected, most probably. If not, your skill set included hiding, and little else, so perhaps you'd die of thirst, or starvation, or freezing, or poisoning first. You figured violence would be preferable. You’d give yourself to the rage virus, if it came to that.
Still, all of those choices were far superior to keeping put.
So you ran until your bare feet bled, stopping only to conceal yourself from the not-quite-human beings that roamed this land. They were even more terrifying than you'd imagined, and while you could evade the lumbering, slow infected that crept along the forest floor like slugs, you knew enough to wait out the fast ones, allowing them to pass before continuing onward towards some unknown destination.
You'd been on the run for hours, hoping the brightest star in the evening sky would not lead you astray as you shook against its frigid cold, when you spotted a small fire blazing in the distance. Its promise of warmth called to you, and you approached it to thaw your chilled limbs.
“Well, aren't you a lovely thing?” cooed a voice from the dark, giving you a fright that left you frozen in place.
You were so entranced by the flame’s heated glow that you didn't notice the figure grinning idly behind it.
They were right about you. No survival instincts.
“You dinnae need to fear me,” he went on, his hands raised. You recognised this as a symbol of surrender, and though his accent and manner were strange to you, you understood them well enough.
“I'm Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal.”
The name took you aback, but you knew you didn’t show it. You’d overheard murmurings of a lunatic beyond the gates who flayed travellers alive, dismembered bodies, and carved his name into corpses. That Jimmy made a game of ensuring his prey fell to the infected. They’d said he wasn’t sending a message. He was having fun.
He put a hand, adorned in many rings, to his heart, and stepped closer to the blaze, giving you a clearer look at him.
Jimmy was more handsome than you’d have guessed, his looks hardly marred by his stained teeth, and in his light hair, which fell to his shoulders, he wore a dainty crown.
Even without his name, you knew better than to trust his stately title, or his beauty, or the darkness in his smile, and especially not the inverted symbol of Christ dangling from his neck amidst many more chains.
But trust was not what you sought now.
“What can I call you?” he enquired.
You didn't answer. You couldn't, even if you’d known yourself what name to give him.
You braced yourself for the backlash. They always got very cross with you when you didn't answer them. Even those who knew you'd never spoken a word. You were used to being screamed at. Smacked around. Worse.
But Jimmy simply nodded, lowering his arms.
“Perhaps we'll give you a name yet,” he said, and you found the calm, unhurried tone in his musical voice unfamiliar.
Then he bent downward, grabbing some kind of long pole off the ground, and quickly rose before coming directly at you. You forced your eyes shut, still glued to the spot, anticipating the hurt.
But it didn't come. That's when you heard a set of heavy, quickly approaching footsteps behind you.
You refused to look, but you heard the struggle—two men grunting, and the repeated sounds of a blade slicing flesh before it ended, and a body thumped heavily to the ground.
“You're all right, sweetheart,” Jimmy announced. “He won’t hurt you any longer.”
Finally, you gathered the strength to turn around and peek.
In an instant, the sight of your murdered pursuer made you weep, not from grief or concern, but relief. He was the brashest of your abusers, and he never would touch you again. You took a sick pleasure in knowing your village had lost its fiercest hunter.
You turned again to Jimmy, who appeared to be watching you quite carefully.
Expressing your gratitude wasn't an easy thing, but you nodded once, and put on a smile through the tears. Still, you felt wary of your saviour.
“You'll be in need of protection,” he said. “You're such a pure, clean thing, and these lands are anything but.”
He didn’t know it was a falsehood. Only you knew the things you’d done. That you were anything but untouched and pure.
And though his intentions with you were likely anything but innocent, the words warmed you from within.
Affection had always been a dangerous instinct. You knew that anyone who made your heart race, your skin flush, your loins respond, could destroy you more thoroughly than anyone you wanted dead from the start. The safe thing was to ignore your desires entirely.
“I believe fate brought you to me this night,” Jimmy went on. “A child of God, to the spawn of Old Nick. Balance. So, no more running. I’ve no right to grant you charity. I’m here to keep you safe from harm.”
His words—the ones you could parse, anyhow—were the ones you'd always yearned to hear. While you refused to fully believe him, you were enchanted, and when he offered a hand, you took it.
His palm was strong and calloused, but he handled you gently, leading you carefully through thick brush to a concealed door alongside the ruins of a country mansion and unlocking it with a bronze key.
It creaked open, leading to a room, and even knowing how foolish you were being, you followed him into the dark.
But then Jimmy switched on a torch, illuminating the space. It was small, but the ceiling was high, and an opening somewhere kept the air crisp, but not too cold.
In the centre was a large bed, piled high with blankets in a rich purple. Mostly empty shelves on either side housed colourful plastic figures and plush creatures, and atop a table were red-yellow apples and some kind of dried meat wrapped in thick paper, with a ceramic pitcher of water. In the corner was a bucket for the toilet. It was preferable to being offered nothing.
“This is all yours,” he whispered, leading you to sit on the bed with a crooked grin. “Of course, no one else can discover you. They cannae know their all-knowing leader worships yet another. This’ll be our wee secret.”
He took the water jug, and a clean rag, and kneeled below you to attend to your feet.
“It won't do to have you all manky and bloodied,” he hummed, first gently cleansing your battered soles, and then washing the grime away. He scrubbed thoroughly up to your knee, but didn't venture any higher, and tenderly touched your dark and ghastly bruises. For now, he kept to his promise not to hurt you.
He was cleaning you up to fuck you, you were sure. You were desperate now for that to be the case.
So you grew hot with frustration when instead, he stood, and made his way to the door.
“You can get changed. There are fresh suits in the chest of drawers,” he said. “But I'll fetch you something better soon. You're no Jimmy. You're so much more. Not one of my fingers, but my very conscience. Promise me you'll remember that.”
You nodded, though you had no idea what he could mean by it.
“Eat and drink what you need,” he continued. “I'll return to see after you in the morn.”
And with a lascivious smile, he shut the door behind him, locking you inside all over again.
That should have filled you with a renewed sense of dread, but you were too fired up and horny to focus on anything but how sensitive and eager and unsatisfied you felt.
You already knew precisely what Jimmy wanted. So why hadn't he claimed you already?
Pouting, you stripped out of your ragged clothing and discarded it in a pile. When he came back to you, you'd be wearing nothing at all, and then maybe he'd do something about it.
But first, you were famished. You ate until you were unpleasantly full, claimed a stuffie of a purple creature with a kind, nearly human face off one of the shelves, and then crawled into bed squeezing it tight. You contemplated masturbating before the luxurious warmth and plushness of the sheets dragged you immediately into slumber.
When you awoke, the unfamiliar setting startled you, leaving you feeling paralysed until the memory settled in and your rigid muscles relaxed.
Jimmy was sat at the edge of the bed, watching again. His gaze fell upon your naked body, eyeing every bared bit of you.
“I see you’ve met Tinky Winky,” he said. “And that you’ve had some brilliant dreams.”
The physical signs of your arousal were obvious, and he was right—the dreams you couldn't recall had only increased your want.
You supposed it was time. You laid back for him on the bed, spreading your bent knees, and waited.
Jimmy only waggled a finger at you before sliding in beside you in the bed.
“If you cannae tell me what you want, you'll need to show me,” he said, with reverence, plucking the toy from your hands, and placing it back on the shelf. “Take what you want from me.”
You'd never led the act before. It had never, ever been guided by your own pleasure. You didn't know where to start.
So you hesitated, and he waited.
“Go on,” he encouraged. “Or have me be gone. The choice is yours. Always.”
You didn’t want him to go, so you tugged down the waist of his soft purple trousers, with the white stripes down the sides, and his pants beneath them. They slid away easily, revealing a rock-hard cock.
Jimmy just watched with a bizarre look of wonderment on his face as you decided what to do next.
You spit on the head of his dick, spreading the wetness with your hand, before lowering yourself onto him, his girth stretching your hole. He let out a beautiful cry upon feeling you wrapped around him, and his sounds only got more and more desperate as you bounced down on him until his entire length filled you to the hilt.
His fullness was bliss, and you loved engulfing him within you. For once someone felt all yours, and once your body was suited to him taking up its space, you were able to ride him with reckless abandon.
And he grinned, and let out gleeful giggles even as he moaned, watching you take precisely what you needed, desperate for his contact.
But this was all up to you, and he didn't move a muscle or lift a finger, even when you started using a hand to stroke yourself, building up the power of the sensation, inside and out, to push yourself to climax.
He chuckled further when you came. Despite your silence, your expression and the way you clenched around him, writhing and spilling all over him, must have made it obvious.
“You’ve made such a beautiful mess,” Jimmy said, trailing a pinky in the fluids leaking from you.
He licked the finger, tasting you, and smirked with a delighted quiver.
“I haven’t disappointed you. Good. But you can demand more of me. You must. Now, howzabout we continue?”
You nodded, and he slid the small crown he wore from his hair, placing it atop your head. It was much lighter than you expected.
Then, with fervour, Jimmy threw you back, without ever slipping outside of you, and fucked you senseless.
He muttered feral nonsense with each thick, heavy, slapping stroke, your delirious pleasure mingling with the pain as he covered you with all of his weight. His eyes squinted shut as he yelled out different names—majesty, angel, spirit, and holy ghost. You realised he was seeking your name.
And he let out a guttural growl as he came close with one final title—”your almighty highness”—before pulling out and wanking to completion, loosing hot semen all over you, from your neck down to your belly.
“I should’ve warned you before,” Jimmy said, now trembling as he shook his head, “but you must never let me come inside of you. The evil in me shall not come to corrupt you.”
He kissed you on the forehead, his demeanor somehow timid and meek, now, before wiping you each down with clean towels, and pulling up his trousers.
“I’ve my own subjects to tend to now, your almighty highness. But I’ve brought you books, if you can read them, and fresh scran and water. In the meantime, think upon how I can prove my devotion to you. If it’s not possible for you to tell me how to best worship you, I’ll discover it myself.”
Again he left you to rest, alone in your new cage. You found it better than the one at home, certainly.
And you looked forward to when he might come to worship you next.
Maybe if did his job well enough, you’d even let him live.