"Be yourself; everyone else is already taken." — Oscar Wilde

30 years old. Italian. Bibliophile. Shameless Jack O'Connell fan. Traveler.

[thebookdragon95]

Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me To Sleep Part Four of Four

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

Contains smut; 18+/MDNI

Summary: It was a misguided act of kindness, comforting your captor. Singing one of your mother's songs to him. The likes of which he hadn't received in years, if not longer. It reminded him of a long-dead world, of a childhood he was robbed of... and a mother he lost.

Now, he seeks to rekindle that tenderness with you. The idea is less than appealing to you. You play along, knowing you have few alternatives. But what happens when you begin to need him just as much as he needs you?

Note: This story takes place during and right after the events of 'The Bone Temple'.

Thank you to @lulaaaaaaw for writing so many cool ideas for 'Jimmy Crystal with mommy issues', which wound up inspiring me to write for the first time in a while! The lyrics are 'Prelude 12/21' by AFI. You can listen to it here. Thank you, @jimmythecookiemonster, for letting me use this gif! It's awesome!

Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Three is here.

Warnings: Contains p in v sex, emotional sex, angst, hurt/comfort, religious delusions, and some viscera in the form of crucifixion.

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @lulaaaaaaw, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @anonymous-sylvicole, @madkingcrowley, @sirenssongsofdeath, @darkfantasies606, @leptitlu, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @undead-riv, @saintlucretia, @valzxzx, @vifemme, @ur-honey-child, @sm0key-ravens, @bugs0re, @loup---garou, @uncxltured, @moonsunrisemel, @imakms, @riotjesterr, @sweetxlv, @frenchkimbo, @opticoo, @www-interludeshadow-com, @lhoopz, @hazymoondaisy, @emo-queer-boi, @chris-starlight, @faeriebvbydoll, @cosmic-panels, @delicateheartts, @rottenhalo04, @debbielala, @juneebby, @ifyouknowmeirlnotfyoudont, @honey-eyed-munson, @moons-and-fandoms, @ghoul12, @make-me-your-individual, @opparas1te, @honkpisser, @acrazyfangirlforeva, @strangerhands, @angel1207, @hotfuckingpapa, @l0vel1zzy

You told yourself you didn't miss Jimmy. And sometimes, you didn't. Especially when your rude little mind dragged you back to that barn. Back to the thick, coppery stench of blood. Back to the muffled wails of those poor people. Back to the Jimmies, donning toothed masks and gleefully peeling said people like they were ripe fruit.

Back to Jimmy's latest masterpiece.

The fact that it'd been far from his first salted your wound. In truth, you were almost glad you didn't know how many had come before those poor souls. Some things were simply too much for a person to take.

Especially a person traversing the wilds alone. A person who drank from streams, slept high amid tree branches to avoid the infected, and talked to the stars in lieu of any other company.

A person who sometimes missed the very wretch she'd run away from.

You didn't want to miss Jimmy. There was nothing you wanted less. But just as your mind brought you back to the barn, it forced the kinder moments upon you, too. The way he'd nuzzle your neck in his sleep. The way his entire body relaxed against yours when you sang him your song. The surprisingly sweet way he'd ask for uppies and kissies. The trust in his gaze, so painfully childlike, whenever you cradled him in your arms. The way he'd desperately need your comfort after a nightmare.

"Say yer here wit' me. Promise me, Mummy. Promise ye'll never leave me."

But you had left him. And, despite the thorns wrapping around your heart, piercing the muscle until it bled, you'd do it again.

You'd known that Jimmy hadn't exactly been a good person. Good people don't go around forcing their delusions and traumas on others. Nor do they make other folk fight to the death for the privilege of joining their inner circle.

But the barn had been far, far worse than anything you'd imagined. It'd been worse than any nightmare you'd ever had. Worse than anything you'd ever seen the infected do.

How could you be a part of it, even to survive? Would there be anything left of you worth surviving?

You knew you'd done the right thing. Even when you missed him, you knew.

But sometimes, oh... who knew the right thing could feel so cold? *** When you'd first spied the milk-white spires in the distance, you hadn't known what to think beyond the expected 'What the fuck?'

The first explanation your befuddled brain had provided had been arboreal. Maybe it was a plot of leafless aspens, or dead cypresses. But as you drew closer, you dismissed the idea. Without their cover, cypresses looked like pale, stiff tendrils rising out of the ground. These looked like towers. And none of them had branches, so you decided they couldn't be aspens, either.

Your next guess was that it was some ruin of either ancient times or of Before. Maybe columns from when the Romans passed through here all those centuries ago. It seemed a bit closer to the mark, but not quite. With so many columns, wouldn't there be something more? The crumbled remains of a fallen rooftop? The occasional stump that'd once been a wall? The armless deities of a long-dead world? And yet, even as you drew closer, you saw none of those things.

But you did eventually get close enough to see what the strange structures were made of.

If the architect hadn't been there, you'd have screamed yourself hoarse.

And that was how you met Dr. Ian Kelson and Samson. ***

You were on a first-name basis with him before the first week was out.

Ian was a good man. Kind and gentle despite the horrors he'd experienced. He explained that the Bone Temple was a memorial to the dead, and that even now he searched for bodies to add to the ossuary. Tried, in his own small way, to give peace to the dead.

He provided you with food and shelter. Shared his music and books with you. Set up a cot for you in his bunker. Told you his stories but didn't ask for yours.

In return, you did what you could for him. You cleaned and sharpened his tools without needing to be asked. You kept the lager full of meat, fish, and eggs. You mended his clothes. You ravaged every clinic and hospital you could find and brought back what you could—in particular, the iodine he covered himself in.

And, once you got over your terror, you also did whatever was in your power for Samson, the Alpha that kept coming back like a tomcat looking for fish heads. You fed him meat, and was glad that he seemed to like venison and mutton over human. You brushed and braided his hair. You found him shorts. You got into the habit of speaking to him, slowly convincing yourself that he could understand you as well as Ian. When Ian claimed he might be able to treat the Alpha, you promised to help. And, indeed, whenever Ian concocted a new cocktail of medicine for Samson, you were there. Not just as emotional support, but to intervene with a bat if needed. Ugly business, but thankfully you only had to knock the Alpha out once.

It was a strange life, but a good one, too.

You kept it free of Jimmy. He was your secret, your cross to bear. Your mother? Sure, you told Ian and Samson all about her. Your many homes? Absolutely; you were happy to talk about them. Learning to hunt and ride and read the stars? No problem. But not Jimmy Crystal.

Embarrassment was the first and more shallow reason. From the outside looking in, you thought it all sounded messed up. Creepy. Funny, too. A full-grown man suckling on his captive's breasts like a baby attempting to nurse? Sitting on her lap while she sang to him or read him fairy tales? Her spoon-feeding him?

But beneath the embarrassment and the fear of judgment... you just couldn't. Jimmy haunted your dreams and lingered in your peripheral vision. You found yourself thinking of him even as you brought back game to the Temple or accompanied Ian on supply runs. You'd hear the song you always sang to him if the wind blew through the wild grasses just right. And sometimes, at night, you'd close your eyes, cup your own cheek, and pretend that the hand touching your face was Jimmy's.

You hated it. Made yourself remember the barn. But as the days ripened into weeks, your gentler feelings for him refused to fade. If it was already so bad with your secrets crowding the back of your throat, how much worse would it be if you let them out?

And again, you feared judgment and possibly banishment. Sure, you hadn't harmed anyone, but you'd been with someone who had. Worse yet, you missed him. A cult leader. A killer. A monster.

Who was worse, really? The monster, or the person who knew what the monster was and loved him anyway?

The thought stopped you dead.

'Love'? ***

That night, over bowls of rabbit, carrots, potatoes, and onions, you began to talk about Jimmy. It was like a summer storm: Once the words started, they came down hard and numerous.

You told Ian—and Samson, who was tearing into the rabbits' organs like a child pigging out on candy—about the night the Jimmies happened upon you. About how you could've run once you'd freed yourself, but how you comforted their weeping leader instead. You recounted the two months you spent cooking Jimmy's meals, listening to his sermons, holding him when he cried, and letting him call you 'Mummy'. You described how you went from playing his game for the sake of survival to slowly returning his feelings, warped as they were. You spoke of your complicated feelings; how you'd always been aware of how disconnected Jimmy was from reality, how dangerous he could be, but how it'd been impossible to feel anything but affection when he'd cry in your chest and beg you never to leave him.

Then, you told them about the barn. About running off. About how Jimmy's wails and pleas followed you all the way to the forest... and, sometimes, found their way in your dreams.

You hung your head afterward, feeling hollow despite the warm, savory stew sitting in your belly. You stared down at the empty bowl, wondering if you'd just had the last good meal you'd find in a while.

Gentle arms wrapped around you, the chemical scent of iodine filling your nose. You blinked, stunned, as Ian held you as though you were made of glass... and Samson placed a hand on your knee in silent support.

"I'm so sorry," Ian whispered. "I had no idea you were going through so much."

"You...?" You blinked. "You don't think I'm messed up?"

"Of course not," Ian drew away, smiling softly at you. "People can be blamed for many things, dear, but their feelings are not among them. Do I think this relationship, if that's what you can call it, ideal? No. The power dynamic is unstable, and the man's delusions and traumas are worrisome. I believe, though, that underneath all that madness, he really is just a scared child desperate for love and connection. Of course, this doesn't excuse what he's done, but it cannot be ignored, either."

You sighed. "I never signed up for something this complicated, Ian. I just wanted to keep breathing! I never expected to start feeling these things!"

"We seldom do," Ian assured you. "Still, we're only human. We love whom we love." He paused, considering. "Who knows? Maybe I could treat this Jimmy of yours."

He's not mine, you almost said. But you stopped yourself for reasons you weren't ready to face yet.

Instead, you asked, "Do you really think so?"

Ian gave a small chuckle. "Why not? If I could help Samson, why not Jimmy?"

"I hope you're right," you muttered.

Ian patted your shoulder. "We'll see what happens, dear," he told you. "Whatever happens, happens." *** Jimmy's breath hitched when he saw you through the binoculars. The others were too dazzled by the presence of Old Nick to notice. But Jimmy barely gave the old man a sideways glance. He only had eyes for you.

You were as beautiful as the day he lost you.

Jimmy lied to his Fingers. What remained of them, anyway. The barn had been a fucking disaster. Jimmima and Jimmy Jimmy were dead, Jimmy Jones was wounded, and everyone's spirits were in the negatives.

That was why, the more he thought about it, the more Jimmy realized what a blessing this might actually be.

He told them to wait. That he had to square it with 'Old Nick' before having the rest of them meet him. When they opened their mouths to protest, he shot them a death glare. And then, his heart pounding at a million miles per hour, he stepped into the Temple.

It was as beautiful as it was terrifying. Spires of femurs tall enough to block out the sun. Garlands of pelvises. Small finger joints rattling in the breeze. And in the center, a tower of skulls. Some were old, gray, and flaking, while others shone like pearls in the daylight.

A crow cawed. Jimmy jumped.

He could see Old Nick living here... but why were you here?

His thoughts ground to a halt when a gentle, familiar voice reached his ears. "Jimmy?"

Jimmy froze. Slowly, fearfully, he turned towards it. Saw you standing there, between two columns, with the sun in your hair and tears in your eyes.

Jimmy felt like he'd been kicked in the chest by a horse. For a long time, all he could do was return your stare. Then, in a voice he could barely call his own, he croaked out your name.

You inhaled shakily. "What're you doing here?" You didn't sound angry, though. You almost sounded scared.

"I..." Jimmy tried, and failed, to clear his throat. "... Jimmy Ink found this place. Saw Old Nick." He gave you a nervous smile. "Ye hate Him, and me, but... it's good tae see ye, lass."

"I don't hate you, I—" You stopped, frowning at him. "Wait, Old Nick?"

Jimmy blinked. "Aye, I just saw him with me binoculars."

"So you think...?" You shook his head. "Oh, no, baby, it's not Old Nick! He's human. He's a doctor. And he's really nice, too!"

Jimmy's lower lip wobbled when you called him 'baby'. Had you even realized you said it?

The rest of what you said finally sank in. "He's not Old Nick?"

"No!"

"But he's orange, and he lives here—" he gestured wildly to your surroundings, "—and yer here! Placed back onto me path! How can he not be Old Nick?"

The two of you had been steadily closing the distance between you with every word exchanged, neither of you aware of it until you were within reach of each other.

It was too small a distance to ignore what you'd once been to one another. What you continued to be.

"Jimmy..." you sighed, hugging yourself. "... I... I can't live in your world. Not anymore. I can't be what you need me to be."

Jimmy's heart lodged itself in his throat. He tried to speak, but couldn't. His hand drifted towards your face, but stopped short of your skin. As though he feared touching you without permission. Considering your shared history, it'd have been funny if it hadn't been so heart-wrenching. "May I?"

You swallowed. Hard. "Yeah."

Jimmy's fingers were gentle as they curled against your cheek. Instinctively, you leaned into them. Jimmy stepped even closer. At this point, you were breathing the same air. You didn't even realize your hands were on his jacket until you saw them there, white-knuckled and trembling against the purple velour.

"I missed ye," he breathed, his voice raw and vulnerable in a way you'd never heard during the day. "Missed ye like fuckin' crazy. I... I know I was bad. But... but please, donnae leave now."

You didn't. Instead, you coiled your arms around his neck and pulled him into an embrace. A low, wounded noise spilled from his throat as he melted against you, burying his face in your neck. One of his hands came up to cup the base of your skull, while the other pressed against the small of your back.

You felt so perfect in his arms. Familiar. Warm. Comforting. Jimmy began to cry at the painful beauty of it all, not giving a fuck if Old-Nick-But-Not-Old-Nick walked in on you both and saw his tears. And you began to hush him gently, nuzzling his hair and kissing his temple. "It's okay," you whispered in his ear, "just breathe."

"I'm sorry, Mummy!" he apologized, his voice breaking. "I shoulda been yer good boy. Instead, I scared ye away. I'm sorry. I'm so fuckin' sorry..."

You sighed even as you moved one of your hands on his back, gently sliding it up and down his spine.

Jimmy wished he could find the words to fix what he'd damaged. To get you to look at him like you used to. But he couldn't. What could he say? That he'd stop charity? Stop paying tribute to Old Nick? How could he? Old Nick was the reason Jimmy was still alive. He'd shielded him from the demons. He'd guided Jimmy through the wilds. He'd given Jimmy countless Fingers over the years. He'd shown him the way, no matter how cruel or brutal it was. How could he turn his back on his dark lord now? Even if Old Nick didn't strike him down for his betrayal, what would Jimmy Crystal be if he couldn't be a Sir Lord?

He could be yours again. Your good boy.

But could he? Would you even want him back?

Eventually, you pulled away but kept your arms around each other. Pressed your foreheads together. It was healing and painful at the same time, like squeezing pus out of a wound.

Jimmy gave a trembling sigh. "... What now?"

You licked your lips nervously. "Well, for starters, I could introduce you to Ian." You looked up at him. "But, Jimmy, I wasn't taking the piss. He's really not the Devil. I..." you chuckled humorlessly, "... I don't think anyone is. It's just us. We're alone."

"No, we're not," Jimmy insisted, tapping his temple. "He's right here. Always."

You closed your eyes. Said nothing.

Until you delivered his damnation and salvation in the same sentence. "Jimmy... It's him or me. I'm sorry, but you can't have both."

Jimmy stared at you, feeling like he might collapse.

"I missed you, too," you whispered. "And I think about you every day. A part of me still hates and fears you. I mean, how could I not? But," you shook your head, "that's not all there is to it. Far from it." You swallowed. "I... honestly think there's something still good inside you. Something capable of love and gentleness and warmth, even if it's not what you might call 'conventional'. But it's tangled up with so much darkness, and if you keep giving in to it, Jimmy, it's gonna swallow you up."

"The darkness is honest, (Y/n)," Jimmy replied softly.

"Yes," you agreed, "but are you to yourself?"

Jimmy didn't know how to answer that. Didn't know how to answer to anything you'd just said.

Instead, he burrowed back into your embrace, hiding his face in your neck. Sighed when you ran a hand through his hair.

The man could wait. His peeps could wait. Hell, even Old Nick could wait.

He just wanted you. Just for a little longer. Just you. ***

Ian didn't want you at the Temple that night. He said that it'd be a gamble, that with a bit of luck the Fingers would believe the charade, Jimmy would be satisfied, and they would leave. "He said he'd come back for you," Ian added, "but the question is: Would you receive him?"

You rubbed your eyes. They were itchy with exhaustion. "Wish I knew. Seeing him today was..." You swallowed. Looked helplessly at your strange but dear friend. "Ian, Jimmy's a monster. How can I love a monster?"

Ian chuckled warmly. "Even monsters have hearts. And even when we spoke, I sensed that Jimmy's already belongs to you."

You sighed. "And what am I to do with it?"

"Ah, I can't tell you that," Ian replied. "No one can. You can only make that choice, and then live with it. That's all anyone can do."

You were almost glad to be excused from that night's sham. But you stayed closer than Ian had asked. Drawn by the people you'd known, the one who'd taken you in... and the one you loved despite it all.

You heard the music. You saw the faint blasts of fire. And then... nothing.

It wasn't peaceful, though. There was a tension in the air, as though the night itself were holding its breath. And for the life of you, you stayed rooted to the spot. Waiting for it to exhale.

Instead, you heard the rhythmic thud of a hammer. And screams that chilled your blood. They were great, terrible wails that devolved into sobs.

And you knew the voice making those sounds.

You had never moved so fast in your life. And what you found at the end of that desperate run branded itself into your mind.

Samson, covered in blood but clear-eyed, carried Ian's body out of the Temple. You cried out, stumbling into the Alpha's path. He stopped. Let you look at your friend's serene face... and the knife in his side. Your eyes brimming, you looked to Samson. "Where will you take him?"

"Somewhere safe," Samson promised. His voice was gentle thunder.

"And... will you come back?" you inquired.

Samson shrugged. "Sometimes."

You nodded. "I'll be here." You hesitated, glancing at the entrance to the Temple. "Is anyone alive in there?"

"Boy and girl left," Samson replied. "Two others dead. Man dying."

Your throat sealed itself shut. "What man? I..." You stopped yourself. You'd find out soon enough. "Okay." You found Samson's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. "See you around, my friend."

Something in Samson's face softened. He nodded. Squeezed your hand back.

You let him go then. Ran into the Temple despite the hornets making a nest of your innards.

Instantly, you recognized the two bodies. Jimmy Jones and Jimmy Snake, within inches of each other. But no sign of the boy or Jimmy Ink. Of that, you were relieved. They'd been better to you than the others. You hoped they found a nice, safe place. Someplace with plenty of food and few, if any, dangers to deal with. A place to call 'home'.

A pained whimper caught your attention. When you turned towards it, you gasped. Your hands flew over your mouth.

You recognized the upside-down cross, large and heavy with lies. You'd seen Ian make it that very afternoon. An extra prop, he'd called it. Jimmy, stripped of his shirt, jacket, and jewelry, had been nailed to it. You could see the huge nails digging into his wrists, his fingers twitching helplessly as blood dribbled onto the grass. A puncture wound sat on his side; a glaring red eye weeping blood all the way to his collarbone. His hair hung around his face like tendrils of seaweed.

His face. Red, from the blood rushing to his head. Slick with sweat and tears.

You approached, numb with horror.

When he saw you, he cried out. "Mummy," he croaked.

You stumbled back.

"Mummy, please," he spoke faster now. Desperate. Panicked. "I... It hurts, please... Father has forsaken me... Ink and Young betrayed me... Please... Donnae leave me, too..." He was full-on crying at this point, his tears falling from his eyes and getting caught in his tangled locks. "Please... I'll forsake Old Nick right back... I'll be good, always... Always be good for ye... Yer all I've got left in the world, please..." his face crumpled like wet paper. "I love ye..."

His words devolved into sobs. Broken, childish wails fraught with pain and misery.

You stood there, unsure of what to do.

You thought of the barn, and of the countless other places like it. Places where Jimmy had sacrificed innocent people to his delusions. Places where he'd spilled blood, defiled flesh, and ended lives so brutally... and all with a smile.

Then, you thought of him cradling your face in his hands. Looking at you with the most loving eyes when you spoon-fed him. Lying in your arms, trusting you completely, as you sang to him or read him stories.

You could leave him. Let him die, either through the infected, dehydration, or an internal hemorrhage caused from being upside-down for far too long.

Or you could yank those nails out. Tend to his wounds. Be his mummy again, and hope that he remembered your ultimatum.

"You can only make that choice, and live with it."

You took a deep breath. Got down on one knee, Grabbed one of the huge nails pinning Jimmy to the cross. The metal was slick with blood.

You looked at him. Met his eyes. "I love you, too."

Then, you pulled hard. *** Ian had been the doctor, not you. But you'd been taking care of yourself, and your mother, for years. And in the time you'd been with Ian, you'd filled the gaps in your knowledge by watching him work.

And so, with trembling hands guided by a steady heart, you mended your broken boy. Soaked his wounds in disinfectant. Sewed them shut. Bound them in gauze. Washed his body with cloths dripping with river water. Spooned stew in his mouth. Held him when he sobbed. And he sobbed so much in those early days.

But as the days matured into weeks, Jimmy's tears dried just as his wounds healed. His fingers had lost some of their dexterity—for now, at any rate—but he was awake, lucid, and devoted to you in a way you'd never seen before.

He did what he could around the Temple. Tidied up your clothes, brought you wildflowers, fetched water from the river, and dug up roots for you both to eat. Whenever Samson visited, Jimmy always stood nearby with a blade, ready to defend you if necessary. And sometimes, when you dozed off before him, he sang to you. That song. Always. Every time.

He claimed that he couldn't hear Old Nick's voice anymore. "But even if I could," he insisted, "I'd ignore him. He left me," he cupped your face, "but ye came back."

You hesitated, caught between fear and love. Between what you knew and what you hoped.

Not knowing what to do, you did nothing. You stayed with him, but kept him at arm's length. You were kind, but never overindulgent. You held him, but didn't kiss him. You turned your head when he tried to kiss you, and silently appreciated it when he didn't push it.

Until one day, as you were changing the bandages on his wrists, his fingers found yours. Laced them together with loving care.

You stared at them, then up at him. He looked at you as though nothing else existed. And maybe, to him, that was exactly the case.

"I ain't askin' ye tae forget what I did," he whispered. "Just... lemme do better for ye. Please."

You swallowed. Regarding him carefully. "No more charity?"

"No."

"No more Fingers?"

"None but the ones on me hands." He wiggled his unoccupied hand for emphasis. The edge of your mouth quirked up despite yourself.

Even so, you had to know. Had to be sure. "No more—"

"No more nothin' 'cept us," Jimmy cut you off gently, leaning forward until your noses almost brushed. His eyes locked with yours, desperate to make you understand. "Yer the closest I've felt tae home since everythin' fell apart. I wanna be good for ye. Wanna..." his voice splintered, "... I wanna come home." The truth, raw and bloody, laid at your feet like an offering.

You considered the man before you once more. Weighed everything you'd seen him do against all he was saying now.

You made your choice...

... and kissed him. Gently. Slowly.

Jimmy kissed you back, whimpering against you. His tears ran down his cheeks and landed on your lips, warm and salty.

Silently, still kissing, you made your way on the cot. Your hands explored each other's bodies in a quiet, mutual reacquaintance. He was as strong and beautiful as ever, and when you felt his hands on your bare skin, it was enough to fill your lower abdomen with warm oil.

You undressed each other, taking care with Jimmy's wounds.

You lay down. Guided him on top of you. Gave his cock a few pumps, smiling when he moaned, and gasped when his fingers glided along your slit.

"Mummy's wet," he proudly stated.

"Yes," you confirmed. "Need you. Need my baby."

Jimmy looked like he might come undone from your words alone. Stopping only to kiss you, he settled between your legs. Hesitating, he looked to you. Only after you'd nodded did he push inside you. Long. Slow. Devoted. You gasped but didn't tell him to stop. For once, you felt that he'd listen if you asked.

Jimmy pressed his forehead against yours, your breaths fanning each other's cheeks. "Mummy," he admitted, "I dunno how long I'm gonna—"

"It's okay," you promised him, tucking his blond hair behind his ears. "I just wanna feel you."

Jimmy's face crumpled. He began a slow and easy rhythm, letting you both find your footing after all this time. You met his movements as best you could, pressing kisses to his lips, cheeks, and neck. Eventually, he turned his head and ensnared your mouth with his own. He kissed you softly, desperately, and you responded with equal fervor.

"I love you, sweetheart," you whispered when you parted.

And just like that, Jimmy couldn't hold back anymore.

"Fuck," he gasped as he began to pick up the pace, "y'feel so good—So warm—missed this, missed ye, missed bein' inside ye—"

You coiled your legs around his waist, heels pressing in the small of his back. "Missed you, too," you replied breathily. "Missed you so much."

Jimmy's hips snapped harder, his breath hitching in your ear. "I'll be good," he promised between groans. "Always—Forever—I'll never hurt ye again—Or anyone—I promise."

His voice was ragged, wrecked, stripped of all artifice. So were his words. So were his thrusts. So were his desperate touches.

You let it all drown you, kissing him hard.

Jimmy began to truly lose it then, sliding his arms under your back and pulling you close to him, his hips stuttering wildly against yours. He kept babbling, swearing to be good, to be yours, even as he kept moaning and gasping and whimpering. An unhinged orchestra of madness and love, all for you.

Then, Jimmy slid his hand down your belly. Found your clit in no time. With every rub, his fingers sent sparks of pleasure climbing up your spine. That, combined with his jackhammering hips and all the sounds he didn't even bother containing, finally sent you over the edge.

Your orgasm hit you so hard, it made your entire body arch. You clung to him with white-knuckled hands, crying out like a wounded animal.

Jimmy followed instantly, sobbing your name as he filled you to the brim. Even when he must've been oversensitive, he didn't stop moving. He just kept thrusting into you, trying to stuff his seed as deep as he could into your warmth.

Until you stopped him with a hand on his cheek and a gentle look.

Jimmy pulled out with a whimper, then promptly collapsed on you. You welcomed him, your arms and legs tightly coiled around him.

You panted against each other's lips, your bodies cooling as you came down from your high.

Jimmy began to gentle caress you. Trace the lines of your throat. Stroke your collarbone. Glide his fingers along your jaw. You let him do it, your own fingers finding their way in his hair. Gently, patiently, you combed out where Jimmy's sweat had matted his blond locks.

"Why?" Jimmy whispered at last.

You turned to him. "Why, what?"

"Why'd ye save me?" he asked. "Why d'ye stay wit' me? I meant it," he added quickly. "I'll make myself over, just for ye. I'll be yer good boy, for real this time. But..." he looked at you helplessly, "... why'd ye give me a chance? Why..." sobs bubbled in his throat, "... why do ye love me, even when I'm this?"

You pressed your forehead against his. "Because we're human," you answered, "and we love whom we love."

Jimmy let out a noise so quiet, you felt it more than heard it. He kissed you again, trembling in your arms, before settling against you. You held him, finding his hand and weaving your fingers together.

You weren't entirely sure if Jimmy could recreate himself, no matter how much he might've wanted it. And even though you believed him when he said that Old Nick's voice had vacated his mind, you couldn't be certain that it'd last.

And of course, even if Jimmy never hurt another soul in his life, you could never forget what he'd done. You could never forget the barn, no matter how much you might've wanted to. Nor could you ever forget that Jimmy had killed Ian, a kind man who'd deserved better.

It wasn't your place to forgive Jimmy all he'd done, nor could you forget about the blood on his hands.

But you loved him. Despite all you knew and all you'd seen, you loved him. You knew that he loved you with all he was, however warped and twisted it was. And you knew that, at the very least, he'd try to be better.

Maybe, just maybe, that could be enough for the both of you to start over. It wouldn't be perfect, nor could it ever be... but it could be yours.

"Jimmy?"

He hummed.

"Could you sing me the song?"

Jimmy gave a nervous chuckle. "Can't sing it as well as ye, love."

"Even so," you glanced at him, "please?"

Jimmy paused for a beat before nodding, planting another kiss on your lips. Still settled against you, he began to sing. The song vibrated between your bodies. A living thing, all its own.

"This is what I brought you, this you can keep, This is what I brought, you may forget me, I promise to depart, just promise one thing, Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep."

[thebookdragon95]

Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me To Sleep Part Three of Four

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

Contains smut; 18+/MDNI

Summary: It was a misguided act of kindness, comforting your captor. Singing one of your mother's songs to him. The likes of which he hadn't received in years, if not longer. It reminded him of a long-dead world, of a childhood he was robbed of... and a mother he lost.

Now, he seeks to rekindle that tenderness with you. The idea is less than appealing to you. You play along, knowing you have few alternatives. But what happens when you begin to need him just as much as he needs you?

Note: This story takes place during, and right after, 'The Bone Temple'. Events have been tweaked a bit, but not much. Also, this was originally meant to be a trilogy, but it wound up growing beyond my expectations. There will be an epilogue, folks!

The lyrics are 'Prelude 12/21' by AFI. You can listen to it here.

Warnings: Oral sex (fem! receiving) and viscera. Part One is here. Part Two is here. Part Four is here. Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @lulaaaaaaw, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @anonymous-sylvicole, @madkingcrowley, @sirenssongsofdeath, @darkfantasies606, @leptitlu, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @undead-riv, @saintlucretia, @valzxzx, @vifemme, @ur-honey-child, @bugs0re, @loup---garou, @uncxltured, @moonsunrisemel, @imakms, @riotjesterr, @sweetxlv, @frenchkimbo, @opticoo, @www-interludeshadow-com, @lhoopz, @hazymoondaisy, @emo-queer-boi, @chris-starlight, @faeriebvbydoll, @cosmic-panels, @delicateheartts, @rottenhalo04, @sm0key-ravens

The smoke had been a lot farther away than it'd looked.

You hadn't really minded. Not when you sensed that you wouldn't like charity, and thus had no problem waiting to finally witness it. And not after being cooped up for what'd felt like forever. Even in the darkness, every little thing stretched your lips into an awed smile. Fireflies blinking in the fields. The gurgle of an unseen brook. The smell of damp soil and moss. The brush of damp grass soaking into your jeans and cool wind on your cheeks. The tartness a few late-season berries you picked and crammed into your mouth before anybody, even Jimmy, could see.

But your good mood was your own. The Fingers grew more anxious with every covered mile, and Jimmy grew angrier. He didn't start yelling or kicking at stones like other men. Oh, no. That'd have been too easy. Instead, you could see the temperature around him dropping to below freezing. Saw his jaw set until the muscles twitched. Heard his breathing grew more labored in a way that had nothing to do with this unexpected hike.

You, like the Fingers, feared what Jimmy might do. Granted, you weren't on the same level as them. Whatever punishment he'd dish out on them for dragging him out of bed—and the afterglow with you—probably wouldn't touch you. After all, what had you done wrong?

Then again, thinking that something was closer than it actually was didn't exactly constitute as a crime, either.

An idea came to you then. You didn't know where it came from, and the meaner part of you wanted to shut it out. But, just like the night that'd sealed your fate, empathy won out.

"Sir Jimmy?" You were careful to address him by his 'title' in the Fingers' presence. "May we rest here for the night, if you please? I'm beginning to get blisters." You weren't, but you spotted the flash of gentle concern in Jimmy's eyes.

Jimmy stared at you for a few beats, visibly wrestling with his choices, before finally nodding. "Yes. Old Nick was just tellin' me that we should set up camp anyway. We need tae be bright-eyed and bushy-tailed fer charity, and how can we do that if we walk from here tae the fuckin' coast, howzat?"

"Howzat?" they all echoed, looking a bit relieved but still mostly on edge. Waiting for his wrath.

None came. Jimmy simply chose Jimmy Jones to have the first watch, lay on a soft bed of moss, and gestured for you to join him. You did, feeling the eyes of his followers on you like burrs.

They understood why you'd made everyone stop. Not for your sake, but for theirs. To ensure that Jimmy wouldn't get any angrier, and thus less likely to dole out a punishment.

They saw your kindness for what it was. But fuck if they knew what to do with it. ***

You didn't reach the smoke the next morning, either. Or the next. Or the next.

You did what you could to keep Jimmy's anger to below-critical levels.

You held his hand when the others weren't looking, smiling to yourself when he laced your fingers together.

At night, as you lay in Jimmy's arms, you whispered his favorite fairy tales in his ear.

While the Fingers hunted for food, leaving the two of you with the remaining rations, you fed him without having to be asked, taking care to be extra gentle and patient.

When he cut his hand when the lot of you had to climb the crumbled remains of a bridge, you treated the wound yourself and kissed it better.

You coaxed him to a nearby river to bathe, insisting on washing him yourself.

One evening, you insisted he lay on your lap with his head on your chest. You curled an arm around the back of his head, just as one would with a baby, and spooned stew in his mouth. He nearly swooned.

By the end of your third night, Jimmy was so pleased despite the delayed charity that he regaled everyone with a story about Tinky Winky, Po, and all the rest. The logic was insipid to you, the characters odd, but it was sort of nice not to land in the role of storyteller for once.

The Fingers acted like it was the pinnacle of storytelling. You were half-convinced they were exaggerating their pleasure for their lord's sake. Even so, you sensed the genuine relief beneath their broadcasted enjoyment.

More than once, you caught their eyes. Discreetly, they nodded at you. Jimmy Jones gave you the last cupful of her broth. Young Jimmy shot you a timid smile. Jimmy Ink looked at you with something akin to respect. It made you feel... good. Proud. Almost happy.

And that night, when the rest of the Jimmies dozed off, Jimmy took your hand and led you away. The moment the camp was out of sight, he began to kiss and touch you like he'd been starved for it. Leaving wet kisses all over your face and neck and slipping his hands under your clothing.

"Ye've been so sweet tae me lately," he mumbled into your skin. "So wonderful."

You knew better than to tell Jimmy the truth. Instead, you gave him a weak smile. "I just... wanted to coddle you a bit. My baby boy."

Jimmy met your eyes, his own glimmering with unshed tears. Even though you knew it was for your survival, a small part of you felt guilty for lying to him. "I know, Mummy." He kissed you so softly, it made you wish for a kinder reality. One where he'd been sane. Where you could've had a healthier, more normal relationship. "Yer so good tae yer baby." Jimmy nuzzled you like a housecat. "Treat me better than anyone ever has."

Your heart clenched. Burdened with what could've been. With what should've been.

With more gentleness than you would've expected, Jimmy pinned you against a tree. "Wanna make Mummy feel good," he panted, pressing his groin against yours. You could already feel him swelling against his purple velour track pants. "Wanna make Mummy happy."

You knew what would've made you happy: Jimmy sane, your relationship with him a choice, and your mother still alive. Impossibilities, all of them.

You shook your head, gently pushing Jimmy away. "Please. Not now, baby."

Jimmy looked genuinely hurt. "Ye donnae want me?"

You blinked back tears. "It's not that, I just..." You trailed off, unable to find the words to make him understand. Your body may have been willing—you could already feel heat beginning to pool in your belly—but your heart wasn't so easily persuaded.

Jimmy let out a low whine, nuzzling you again. "Just wanna be good tae Mummy."

You took a deep, steadying breath. Forced your feelings aside. It didn't matter, what could've been. This was how things were. "Okay."

Jimmy pulled back a bit, his eyes meeting yours. "Really?"

You nodded. "Yes, baby. Go ahead," you carded a hand through his blond locks, "make Mummy feel good."

From the way his face lit up, one would've thought you'd just given Jimmy all the gold in the world. "Mummy..." He kissed you again, long and yearning, as his body guided yours down to the ground. The moss was soft and cool against your back. A contrast to the firm heat of Jimmy's body hovering over yours.

For a minute, it seemed like all he'd do was kiss you. Then, he began to slide down your body, pressing butterfly pecks into your skin as he descended. When he made it to your trousers, he dragged the zipper down and pulled the material down your ankles. With a nod from you, he gave your underwear the same treatment.

Jimmy paused, his gaze traveling across your exposed pelvis like a physical touch. You could hear his breath stuttering, could feel the way his hands were trembling atop your thighs.

"Fuck," he whispered, "yer wet already, Mummy."

You gave a helpless little shrug. "Sue me."

Jimmy chuckled. "I'd rather make ye come, like the good boy I am." With that, he leaned in.

You felt his breath first. Hot. Damp. Excited.

Then, his tongue flattening as it traveled up your seam. A slow, deliberate lick that made you gasp and shiver.

Jimmy groaned as he tasted you, adjusting his grip so as to keep you open for him. "Ye taste like Heaven," he told you, sounding half-drunk. "Like beauty. Like love. Like everythin' I thought was gone from this world."

Sentiment cracked through lust, making your breath catch. Your hands found his hair. Not to pull. Not to steer him. Just to touch. Just to connect.

Jimmy leaned back in, licking you with sloppy desperation. There was no technique, no plan. He simply ate you like a starving man, plunging his tongue in as deep as it could go before gliding it from end to end. The tip of his tongue danced across your clit, the pleasure as sharp and bright as starlight. It was a wild, chaotic pattern that soon had you squirming on the forest floor.

You didn't even realize you were grinding your hips against his face until Jimmy encouraged you to do so. "That's it, Mama," he purred against your flesh. "Use me. Use yer baby. Baby wants tae make Mummy feel good."

You cried out. A short, desperate wail. Your nails lightly scratched his scalp. His moan vibrated against your folds as he dove back in, curling his tongue deep inside your entrance before sliding back up to your clit. Suckling it as he would your nipple. The act poured oil over the fire building just beneath your skin.

"More," you found yourself begging. "More, please, Jimmy, don't stop—Please don't stop—"

Jimmy let out a strangled noise. "Say me name again."

"Jimmy," you breathed.

"That's right," he praised. "Say me name as ye come on me tongue." He doubled down, sucking on your clit while his tongue flicked over it relentlessly. You cried out, your breath coming in short bursts while your thighs trembled. And just when you thought it couldn't get any better, he slipped two fingers into your entrance. Began to pump them at just the right pace.

It hit you like a lightning bolt. Bright. Hot. Blinding.

Jimmy's name dripped from your lips like honey as your body twisted, lost to the throes of ecstasy.

Jimmy moaned as though your euphoria were his own, continuing his movements without pause. Prolonging your pleasure.

Then, just before bliss could sour into discomfort, Jimmy stopped. Raised his head, panting like he'd just run here all the way from Wales. The lower half of his face shone with you, his lips were pink and swollen, and his eyes were pits of adoration. For a moment, he simply looked dazed. Then, the biggest smile spread across his slick face. "Howzat?"

You giggled in spite of yourself. Soon, you were both laughing like children. Feeling warm in ways that went beyond the afterglow, you gestured for Jimmy to come closer. He complied, though not before pulling your underwear and jeans back up. Lying on top of you, his head on your shoulder, he asked, "Was I good, Mummy?"

You nodded, not a trace of dishonesty this time around. "Very good." Without thinking, you used your sleeve to clean his face of you. "You did so good for me."

Jimmy grinned, his eyes shining with joy, before nuzzling your neck.

You hesitated before asking, "What about... you? Do you want a turn?"

"Ah, no," Jimmy shook his head. "No need, Mummy. I came, too."

"You...?" Craning your neck, you eyed his track pants. Saw the dark stain spreading across the front. "Oh." You swallowed. "First thing tomorrow? It's bath time, mister. No excuses."

Jimmy pouted. "Only if Mummy gets in with me."

You rolled your eyes, though the edge of your mouth was twitching. "I did last time, didn't I?"

"True." Jimmy gave you a hopeful look. "Until then: Kissies?"

You couldn't reach his lips. Thus, you contended with kissing his forehead. He purred like a fishmonger's cat, settling more comfortably against you. "Sing tae me, Mummy."

Maybe it was the afterglow. Or maybe it was just your getting more accustomed to your new role. Regardless, you asked him a rhetoric: "What do we say?"

"Please, Mummy?"

You nodded. "Good boy." Coiling your arms around him, one hand tucking some hair behind his ear, you began to sing.

"This is what I brought you, this you can keep,

This is what I brought, you may forget me,

I promise to depart, just promise one thing,

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

This is what I brought you, this you can keep,

This is what I brought, you may forget me,

I promise you my heart, just promise to sing,

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep.

This is what I thought, I thought you'd need me,

This is what I thought so think me naïve,

I'd promise you a heart, you'd promise to keep,

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep,

Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep, Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep."

Jimmy was slumping against you by the last few lines, his breaths evening out. You were nearly dozing yourself when you heard him whisper, his breath warm against your jaw.

"I love ye, Mummy."

You blinked. Stared down at him. He was already asleep, his face made innocent by his dreams.

Soon, his visage blurred.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you rested your cheek against the crown of his head. No matter how you tried to reel it in, to keep your sobs at bay, your tears began to dampen his hair.

You didn't doubt that he meant it. As far as you could tell, he loved you as much as he could love anybody.

But that didn't make it healthy. Or right. Or good.

And that knowledge, more than anything, gave you grief. *** Aside from the pregnant woman fleeing and that idiot dumping the pot of boiling water on the table, missing every single Jimmy—and you—by at least a foot, everything was going as smooth as silk. Jimmy's latest offering to his father, these remaining souls bound and gagged in a derelict barn, was about to commence. Everyone's bellies were full. And for the first time, Jimmy had his father and his mummy here.

You looked unsettled by it all. Kept shooting him confused looks. But Jimmy didn't break character. Not for a moment. He knew that you'd understand. All you had to do was watch.

Jimmy could barely keep his voice even as he began the usual sermon. Spoke of how Old Nick saw how the World of Man had failed and knew only disharmony. He spoke of how Old Nick released His demons onto the World of Man, making it His domain. Eagerly, he got to his favorite part: The part involving himself. Even now, even after all these years, the words were as clear as they had been that day.

"You are now Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, and you shall be my right hand, which shall be strong. And you shall have seven Fingers, and each Finger shall be a claw. And you shall offer charity to the World of Man. And for this, you alone shall be my heir, and your seven Fingers shall hold your crown!"

The charitable act Jimmy chose, after a moment's careful consideration, was the removal of the shirt. He watched with serenity and pride as his Fingers slipped on their masks. Blessed their deed with a simple nod before moving away, his eyes on your visage.

Waiting for the epiphany. The joy. The pride. The love.

Instead, all he saw was shock, quickly followed by horror.

As the flesh began to peel, as the blood started to flow like water after a storm, you looked to him with that strange expression. Begging him, with your watering eyes, to stop this. Jimmy simply shook his head. Bit his lip. Discouraged by your knee-jerk reaction but held out hope that you'd see the light.

Removing someone's shirt was a slow business, even for an experienced hand wielding a sharp blade. That was why Jimmy had chosen it: So that you'd have that much more time to have the wool pulled from your eyes and see the true order of things.

Instead, your face just kept getting grayer. Your expression, more horrified.

Then, Jimmy Fox pulled off a sheet of flesh from the old man's belly, letting his organs spill forth like wet jewels.

You slapped a hand over your mouth.

You bolted.

Thoughtlessly, Jimmy ran after you.

He found you ten feet away, the wild grasses nearly reaching your waist. You were holding onto a rusted road sign for dear life, vomiting the eggs you'd eaten that morning. You gasped and coughed, your entire body trembling like a leaf in a gale.

A cold, bony hand reached into Jimmy's chest and squeezed his heart. Pushing aside his anxiety at your reaction to charity, he hurried over to you. Placed a hand between your shoulder blades. "Mummy?"

You jerked away as though he'd burned you. Looking back at him, you revealed the tears flowing from your eyes. In those eyes, he saw only disgust. Only horror. None of the warmth he adored so much. None of the tenderness he'd been starving for.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go. You weren't supposed to take it like this.

He tried again. Reached for you with a trembling hand. "Mummy, I—"

"This is charity?" You looked at him like you'd never seen him before. "How... how many times have you done this?"

Jimmy balked. "What?"

"Did I stutter?!" You growled, wild-eyed, as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. "How many, Jimmy?!" With every word, your voice grew louder. More heated. Nothing like the gentle one that sang him to sleep. "How many people have you killed?! Tortured?! My God, Jimmy, how fucking many?!"

"I dunno!" he admitted, his tone matching yours. "Why're ye actin' like this?! This is what we do! This is what Old Nick commands! I was tryin' tae show ye that!"

"All you've shown me is how monstrous you are!" you screamed.

Jimmy recoiled, hurt punching through his righteous fury like a hammer through tinfoil. "I... I'm... I'm Old Nick's heir," he meekly stated. "He wants souls, always does... Mummy, I—"

"I'm not your fucking mummy!" you shrieked. "The only reason I comforted you that night was because I felt sorry for you! Now I wish I hadn't! At first, I played your game, did what you wanted, because I was terrified of what would happen to me if I didn't! But..." your face cracked like cheap plaster, "... but then, I... I started feeling things for you. Fondness. More."

Jimmy's breath hitched. Something in his chest twisted.

"But now, I..." You trailed off, your expression absolutely wrecked.

Jimmy stood there. A sir lord, favored son of Old Nick, and he was as powerless before your gaze as a butterfly pinned to a board.

You shook your head. Taking a step back. Then, another. And another. "You know what?" you asked, fresh tears filling your eyes. "I'm glad your mother's dead. If she saw what you've turned into, she'd wish you'd died that day." You paused. "God knows, that's what I'm thinking right now."

Jimmy wanted to be furious at your words. Wanted to hate you. Wanted to order his Fingers to come out here and commandeer you. String you up and flay you, too.

But only for a heartbeat. Maybe less.

His knees hit the ground, crushing a dozen green stalks in their wake. He tried to grab at you, but you spun on your heel and ran.

Taking everything good in his world with you.

"Please!" Jimmy cried after you. "Mummy, please! Please come back! Please, I need you! Please!" He was bawling now. Great, heaving sobs, the likes of which only ever belonged in his nightmares.

But this was worse than any nightmare he'd ever had.

Jimmy found himself crying out your name. Not 'Mummy'. Your name. Screaming and begging you to come back.

But you were already beyond his reach. Beyond even Old Nick's.

Just like the Before. Just like Jimmy's mother. Just like his sisters. Just like his innocence.

Gone, his heart supplied from its place within his ribcage. Every beat sounded like that horrible word. Gone. Gone. Gone.

[thebookdragon95]

Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me To Sleep Part Two of Four

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

Contains smut; 18+/MDNI

Summary: It was a misguided act of kindness, comforting your captor. Singing one of your mother's songs to him. The likes of which he hadn't received in years, if not longer. It reminded him of a long-dead world, of a childhood he was robbed of... and a mother he lost.

Now, he seeks to rekindle that tenderness with you. The idea is less than appealing to you. You play along, knowing you have few alternatives. But what happens when you begin to need him just as much as he needs you?

Note: This story takes place during, and right after, 'The Bone Temple'. Events have been tweaked a bit, but not much.

The lyrics are 'Prelude 12/21' by AFI. You can listen to it here. Part One is here.

Part Three is here.

Warnings: Contains p in v sex, a handjob, mommy kink, religious delusion, nightmares, and codependency.

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @lulaaaaaaw, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @anonymous-sylvicole, @madkingcrowley, @sirenssongsofdeath, @darkfantasies606, @leptitlu, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @undead-riv, @saintlucretia, @valzxzx, @vifemme, @ur-honey-child, @bugs0re, @loup---garou, @uncxltured, @moonsunrisemel, @imakms, @riotjesterr, @sweetxlv, @frenchkimbo, @opticoo, @www-interludeshadow-com, @lhoopz, @hazymoondaisy, @emo-queer-boi, @chris-starlight, @faeriebvbydoll, @cosmic-panels, @delicateheartts, @rottenhalo04, @sm0key-ravens

Jimmy was wiping bacon grease from his lips, the last remnant of the breakfast you'd cooked and served him, when his 'Fingers' awakened. One look your way instantly banished any lingering sleepiness from their eyes. It wasn't just that you were free and unbound. No. It was the visible shift in your status. No longer a prisoner, but not a potential future Finger, either; else, you'd have already been given a weapon.

What you were... was something else entirely.

Jimmy elaborated as such the moment all seven of his Fingers were sitting up. With a glance, he summoned them before him. With a wave of his hand, he had them all on their knees.

"This," he proclaimed, gesturing to you, "is tae be my personal servant, handpicked by Old Nick Himself. She will obey me in any and all ways I deem fit, which is why she won't be fightin' to replace any o' yous. Her place is right here." His hand found the back of your head, caressing it tenderly. "Next tae me."

The Jimmies shared baffled looks, but were wise enough to hold their tongues.

"She is tae be respected," Jimmy continued in that voice that left no room for argument. "Fed. Given second dibs to showers and spoils, the first still bein' mine, o' course. And if anybody lays a hand on 'er..." he tightened his hold on your hair, his eyes flashing dangerously, "... they lose the hand. Howzat?"

"Howzat," they all echoed, their gazes hardening as they switched back to you.

You sat there, enduring their envious and angry looks with blank-eyed silence. You wished you could tell them you didn't want this, that you hadn't sought this new favoritism any more than a mouse seeks to wind up in an owl's talons. But they would never have believed you, even if you'd tried.

If only they knew what your role really was. What all these privileges were in exchange for.

Already, you'd had to begin your role as Jimmy's 'mummy' by cooking him breakfast and feeding it to him. Yes, feeding him. Not content to have you bring him a platter of fried bacon and eggs, he'd handed you the fork and told you that he wanted you to coddle him just that little bit more. So, feeling awkward and tense the entire time, you'd spoon-fed him every bite. Waited for him to chew and swallow before bringing him the next forkful. Wiped his chin with a nearby rag when a bit of egg spilled over. Forced to endure his eyes on you the entire time. Those eyes that'd glinted like slabs of ice in starlight.

It'd almost been a relief when he'd demanded 'kissies'. At least you'd had the luxury of closing your eyes.

Jimmy ordered the Fingers to take down the camp. To pack everything up. One of the three female Fingers, whom he called 'Jimmy Ink', was sent ahead to find 'pastures new'. She obeyed. But not before shooting you a seething look.

"Jealous?" you wanted to bark at her. "Wanna be his mummy?! Go ahead!"

Instead, you turned to Jimmy. Already, you loathed the fact that the only companionship you'd get around here would be from your deranged captor. Like drinking water from a poisoned spring because there are no others to be found. "What's pastures new?"

Jimmy simpered at you, tucking some hair behind your ear. "Our new home," he purred. "At least, until Old Nick demands fresh souls. It could be a week, could be a month. But donnae worry," he lowered his voice a bit, "once we're on the move again, I'll keep ye safe and close."

"Oh," you replied, careful to keep your tone neutral, "I know you will."

Jimmy's simper split his face in two.

He rose then. Went off to do who knows what, far from the riff-raff doing his bidding.

You didn't watch him leave. Didn't watch the Jimmies pack up. Instead, you looked inward. To the image you had of your mother, maintained in the years since her passing. What would you do? you asked helplessly.

Your opportunity will come, baby, she comforted you. Just wait. Watch. Learn.

You knew she was right. She'd nearly always been right. But oh, it'd be such a difficult wait! ***

Jimmy Ink found pastures new before late morning, and you'd all moved in by lunchtime.

According to the rotting sign on the front lawn, it'd once been a bed and breakfast. A cluster of small cottages, each with their own little picket fence and garden, connected to one another by a winding path of white stones.

Of course, every single one of those cottages was cloaked in ivy, the fences gone and the gardens overgrown with wildflowers. But they were free of infected, miraculously enough, and they all had a few key luxuries. Fireplaces. Beds with blankets, albeit musty ones, and—by some bizarre quirk of fate—running water.

Jimmy claimed the largest cottage for himself and you, letting the other Jimmies pick their own accommodations. It was a lovely space, you had to admit to yourself. The wooden beams along the ceiling, reminiscent of the ribs of a whale you saw in a book once, made you feel safe. Pressed flowers, still colorful despite the passage of time, hung on rusted nails. The carpet was dusty, but plush under your tired feet. There was soft-looking furniture, a teal-painted bookshelf loaded with yellow-paged tomes, and some brass pans hanging on hooks in the kitchen.

If only you and Mum could've found this place. You could've seen the two of you putting down roots here, once you'd erected a new fence and cleaned it up a bit.

Hell, you could've seen yourself settling here with a man. A different man. One whose every tender instinct hadn't curdled inside him.

Instead, you had Jimmy Crystal. And he had you. God above, he had you.

Jimmy stretched like a cat, his bones playing a symphony of pops and cracks that echoed in the silent room. Casting a satisfied look your way, he stated, "I think I'm in the mood for cuddles. What about ye, Mummy?"

You swallowed nervously. Caught between revulsion for this man and a pathetic desire for physical contact. Even though you regretted it now, considering what it'd brought you, you'd liked cuddling with Jimmy the night before. Not just because your stupid empathy had been in the driver's seat, but because it'd been so long since you'd found yourself in anybody's embrace.

You doubted, though, that that was all Jimmy wanted.

Your stomach grumbled in that moment, and you realized you hadn't had a thing to eat since the day before. Since before the Jimmies found you. Since before your life had ceased to be your own.

"Um..." you looked in Jimmy's direction without actually meeting his gaze, "... mind if I eat something first... son?" The word tasted rotten, but you hoped that it might please Jimmy enough to acquiesce. He'd said he'd take care of you, but given his definition of 'charity', you weren't convinced his idea of 'care' matched yours.

Jimmy looked like Christmas had come early. "Of course, Mummy." Smiling, he hurried to his backpack. It was purple, of course, and smaller and lighter than any of his Fingers'. Unzipping the front pocket, he produced a fistful of deer jerky wrapped in aluminum foil. Peeling the foil back, he held the jerky out to you. "Here y'go."

You accepted it with mumbled thanks. One bite fully awakened your hunger, and before too long you'd scarfed it all down. Jimmy watched you eat as though he, too, were being nourished.

Once you were done, he took your hand. You hated how nice it felt. Warm, lightly calloused, and just tight enough. "Come, Mummy," he purred, "cuddles, now."

Your heart drummed in your ears as you let him guide you to the bedroom. It was as pleasant as the living room had been, despite the dust and cobwebs. The bedspread was stamped with colorful butterflies, and there was a pleasant view of the field just outside.

A few does were grazing in that field, two of them accompanied by their spotted fawns. Sweet, tender, natural life. Not this warped reality you found yourself in.

Jimmy spun on his heel, smiling at you. His hand tugged at yours. Pulling you closer. You let yourself enter his orbit, no different from a meteor dragged into a planet's gravity. The moment you were close enough, he kissed you with a whimper. You flinched, barely stopping yourself from pulling away.

After a few seconds, though, your fear ebbed a bit. It'd been years since you felt someone's lips on yours. Even if it was coming from him, you found yourself starving for more.

Without breaking the kiss, Jimmy led you onto the bed. Lay you down on the duvet and placed himself between your legs. You instinctively parted your legs for him, and he moaned against your lips. One hand trailed your thigh, squeezing it firmly, before climbing up your stomach and chest. When it finally made its way to your breasts, Jimmy began to tug at your shirt.

You knew what he wanted. What a tiny part of you wanted, too. So, breaking the kiss and ignoring Jimmy's whine, you pulled your shirt and sports bra over your head. You lay back on the bed, letting Jimmy look at you while you yourself didn't look at him. You didn't want to see the wild hunger in his eyes.

"So perfect," Jimmy whispered, both hands tracing your breasts as though memorizing their shape. "So mine." He latched onto your left breast, suckling like a baby. You gasped, eyes widening at the feel of his tongue and teeth on the sensitive skin. And when his hand began to squeeze your untended one, tweaking the nipple between ringed fingers, you bit back a yelp.

"No, Mummy," he drew back, staring at you with laser-blue eyes, "I wanna hear ye. Wanna hear how good I make ye feel. What a... what a good boy I am." He nuzzled the valley between your breasts. "Am I a good boy, Mummy?" You heard the despair in his voice. The need. It was both pitiful and frightening to behold.

You swallowed. Hard. Caught between relief at finally getting some physical contact and trepidation at the man giving it to you. "Y-yes." You tried again, hoping to sound more convincing. "You're good, Jimmy. My good little boy."

Jimmy exhaled, kissing your sternum before moving on to your right breast, giving your left one its twin's previous treatment. This time, you didn't contain your noises. They spurred Jimmy on. Encouraging him to lick longer, to suckle slightly harder.

Your hand combed through his blond locks. You had no idea how it'd ended up there.

Jimmy groaned at the touch, leaving your damp breasts in favor of your neck. He kissed and nuzzled the soft skin there with a gentleness that simply didn't belong on someone like him. And when he slid his arms under your back, pulling you even closer to him, you felt his hands trembling against your shoulder blades.

For a moment, you felt sorry for him. He, too, was touch-starved. He, too, needed the comfort of warm skin.

If he'd simply asked... if yours had been a more conventional encounter... if he'd been able to distinguish kindness from cruelty... you'd have given it to him. Happily. Willingly.

You'd never wished to live in a differently reality more than you did in that moment. Not even Mum's tales of the Before, of bountiful food and simple luxuries and no infected, had ever made you long for something you could never have.

But you hadn't forgotten the promise you'd made to yourself. You would find a way through this. Maybe not out of it, but through. Like a little girl in a fairy tale making her way through a haunted forest.

In the meantime, you'd do your best to play along. To be what he wanted.

Thankfully, Jimmy was both willing and able to give instructions. To leave no room for misinterpretations.

He tugged at your jeans. "Take these off," he whispered heatedly. "Take it all off. I wanna see what Old Nick brought me."

Jimmy lay on his side, allowing you room to unzip your trousers and shimmy out of them. As he watched you expose more and more of yourself, he began to palm the growing tent in the front of his pants. Sighing. Groaning. Almost drooling.

"Need ye." The words were punched out of his chest. Taking your hand, he slipped it past the waistband of his velour tracks. Immediately, you felt him. Thick. Hard as stone. Warm and soft-skinned. Instinctively, your fingers shied away. But he didn't release your hand. "Touch me, Mummy," he begged. "Make me feel good."

You nodded, using your free hand to tug his trousers down his strong thighs. His cock was nestled in wiry blond hair. Long and thick, but not so much that you feared it not fitting—because at this point, even a blind person could see where this was going.

Excited, Jimmy unzipped his velour jacket and practically ripped the white shirt underneath in his haste to get it off. He was, you had to admit, a very pretty man. Slender, yet sinewy. Broad shoulders. Strong arms. A smooth, flat belly. Pale skin decorated with paler scars.

You moved a little closer. Wrapping your hand around his cock, velvety and hot, and beginning your movements. Up, down. Slowly. Carefully. Uncertain of what he liked.

"Harder," Jimmy supplied, as though reading your mind.

You stroked him harder, watching as he began to thrust into your fist. All sorts of moans and whimpers began to spill from his fetid mouth, his eyes squeezing shut. You kept going, soon going on autopilot, as you saw his reaction for what it was: Confirmation.

You weren't powerless in this situation. You did have a way through this. Already, he was like putty in your hands. Somehow, you had to use this to your advantage.

And, of course, you had to make him like it. You sensed that if you displeased him, he wouldn't simply let you go. Oh, no. It'd be charity for you. You still didn't know what it was, nor did you want to find out.

Jimmy grabbed at you. For a split second, you ducked back. Afraid. But when you found yourself in Jimmy's embrace, your bare chest against his and your face pressed into his neck, you relaxed... a bit. He smelled like the wilds. Smoke. River water. Moss. And, underneath it all, the coppery tang of blood. Despite the undertone, you closed your eyes and basked in his scent. Letting yourself think of outside. Of the life you'd been dragged from.

It would've worked if Jimmy's throat hadn't hummed with all the little noises he couldn't hold back. Groans. Whimpers. Gasps.

And words. So many words.

"S'good... Feels s'good... Mummy... Mummy makes me feel... Ohh, fuck, keep goin'... Mine..."

You kept going, your hand gliding up and down his now slickened cock. You could feel it throbbing in your grip. Could feel Jimmy's fingers digging into you, not unlike spurs encouraging a horse to go faster.

So you did.

Jimmy's thrusts grew sloppy. His breath shattered.

"Fuck," he gritted out, "M'gonna come—Fuck, Mummy, make me come—!"

Without thinking of anything but making him climax, of securing your position with him just a little, you bit his neck. Poured all of your unspoken emotion into it. You tasted his skin, and the faintest hint of blood.

Jimmy screamed as he came, his entire body shuddering as he spilled between your bellies. Hot, sticky ropes of come oozed down your fist and stained the duvet below. Jimmy ground against your hand, whimpering like a dog left in the rain, and you found yourself holding the base of his skull. Comforting him through the aftershocks.

Eventually, he stopped. His ragged breathing hot against your ear, he slumped against you like a marionette with its string cut.

You pulled back a little, eyeing the mark you'd left on Jimmy. You could see the ring of toothmarks stamped into his skin, most of them dotted crimson. Inexplicably, you felt a jab of guilt. You leaned in again, nursing the punctures carefully. Almost apologetically.

For his part, Jimmy either didn't notice or didn't care about the bite. He simply buried his face in your hair, sighing contently. "Old Nick was generous, sendin' ye tae me." He sounded so relaxed, it bordered on sleepiness. His lips brushed the crown of your head. "Sing tae me, Mama. Sing that song tae me."

You hesitated, aware of the come gluing you two together. It was cooling. Congealing. "Let me clean us up first."

"No." Jimmy tightened his hold on you. "Song."

Like a child making demands from its booster seat. Except most children weren't dangerous.

Resisting a sigh, you began to sing once more. Mum's song, now yours. Now this madman's.

"This is what I brought you, this you can keep, This is what I brought, you may forget me, I promise to depart, just promise one thing, Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep."

Jimmy hummed, his body curling around yours. Possessively. Almost protectively.

You kept singing, trying to ignore your discomfort.

"This is what I brought you, this you can keep, This is what I brought, you may forget me, I promise you my heart, just promise to sing, Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep." You sang through the whole thing, in a voice as soft as butterfly wings, until you felt Jimmy grow heavy in your arms. Even when he began to softly snore beside you, his grip on you remained vice-like.

You sang that song one last time before lapsing into silence. That final time, you sang for yourself.

*** Every day lasted a year. Weeks put a chasm between the life you'd had before and the life you led now.

The first had been wild, unpredictable, fraught with peril. You'd had to hunt and forage to feed yourself, and that could go well as often as it could go poorly. You might go days or even weeks without bathing, lacking a river or lake to dip into. You could, at any moment, have to either run or sneak past hordes of infected. You'd been lonely. You'd missed Mum. But you'd be free.

Now, you were safe and surrounded by pleasantries you'd rarely experienced before. You got to bathe every day with hot water and soap. You ate regularly. You didn't have to hunt or forage; just dust and tidy up here and there. You didn't have to fear the infected because there was always a lookout and a rapid dispatch.

But you knew what you were, and how small your world had become. It was barely bigger than the cottage, really.

You read. You napped. You lounged. You kept the cottage tidy. You kept your knife, which you eventually persuaded Jimmy to return to you, nice and sharp. You were allowed to go out into the fields, though it'd taken a lot of begging and the cringeworthy statement of "please, be good to Mummy". But you were never permitted beyond sight of the cottages. Sometimes you'd sit on the ground, looking at the world beyond. Imagining an escape even though you knew exactly how such an attempt would end.

And of course, you were Jimmy's mummy.

You cooked for Jimmy three times a day, the two of you taking your meals together like a real couple. Sometimes, he wanted you to feed him like you had on that first morning. Other times, he was able to do it himself just fine—and indeed, sometimes he fed you. It was strange, being on the receiving end of such treatment. Strange... and kind of nice.

Evenings were when you really got to work. Cuddling him—and sometimes, it really was just cuddling. Singing that song to him. Reading to him from an old book of fairy tales you found in the spare bedroom. Giving him kissies and letting him sit on your lap whenever he demanded it. Letting him 'make love' to you, doing what he asked and taking note of everything he liked.

Praise was a big turn-on for him, and you made sure to shower him with it once things got going. And saying 'no' didn't really do anything, so within days you'd stopped using it. If Jimmy wanted you, that was it. Luckily for you, he was good at getting you ready.

And, of course, you comforted him whenever he cried in his sleep.

Most days, you were left to your own devices. But when Jimmy preached, he wanted you there. Perhaps he wanted to teach you the ways of Old Nick. To help you understand the narrative he'd slipped you into. Every time he preached, he kept you close to him. Within arm's reach. Which was just as well, seeing as the Fingers treated you like a bad smell.

You got to know them the way one might get to know birds or badgers or squirrels: Via distant observation. God knew none of them let you get too close.

There were Jimmy Snake and Jimmy Jones, a couple never far from one another. Always holding hands or cuddling. Looking exactly like the sort of relationship you'd have liked to be in someday.

Jimmima was childish and saccharine, with eyes as pretty and lifeless as a doll's. She was always as eager to kill something as she was to do what Sir Jimmy called the 'Dipsy Dance'. You saw it once, from the window, and couldn't for the life of you see what was so entertaining about it.

Jimmy Fox was strong and fast, but not terribly remarkable. He was simply... there.

Jimmy Ink, renamed as such for her many tattoos, was quiet and strong. She was one of two who didn't mock or mistreat you. Instead, she regarded you with pity. Better than the others' derision, but not by much.

Then, there was Young Jimmy. A boy, his voice still breaking and his cheeks still hairless. He always looked like he'd rather be anywhere but here, but he was by far the best archer. Once, you saw him shoot a squirrel through the eye from seventy yards away. He'd meet your gaze, try to smile, nod, and quickly scamper away.

But Fox? Snake? Jones? Oh, they were a wretched bunch.

Around their Sir Lord, none of them dared anything beyond a glare. But on the few occasions they caught you alone, usually while Jimmy napped or discussed matters with his father, they took shot after shot at you. Either not caring that you might tell on them, or figuring that you wouldn't dare.

They mockingly bowed their heads when you passed, right before pinching or tripping you. They knocked things out of your hands. Yanked on your hair. Spat into a cup of water right before offering it to you. Asked you, in the most sardonic of tones, what all-important task you'd done for Old Nick and His favored son today. Had you sucked his cock? Rubbed his feet? Washed and braided his hair?

You told yourself you didn't care. That you didn't want their friendship, that they were a bunch of sadistic children anyway, and that what they thought didn't amount to a hill of beans.

Once, and only once, did you try to befriend Ink and Young. Young seemed willing enough, but Ink planted herself between him and you. Like you were an infected. She met your gaze, not unkindly, and shook her head. Backed away. "Yer his," she stated with terrible finality. She then guided Young Jimmy away.

She may as well have kicked you in the stomach. It would've hurt less.

That night, you were the one who cried in her sleep. Jimmy comforted you. Kissed you. Nuzzled you. Asked you if you'd had a nightmare. You clung to his affection like a starved thing, but didn't answer his question.

Things carried on like that for what felt like an eon.

And then... charity. ***

You'd been with Jimmy and his cult for nearly two months when you awoke to the sound of whimpers.

By now, you knew what it was. Even while under the thick fog of sleep, your brain no longer wondered what was happening. Automatically, you turned over. Faced Jimmy. Found him sobbing in his pillow.

Despite everything, seeing him like this always tugged at your heartstrings. He was never a leader in these moments. Never a killer or a sinner or a devil worshipper. Just a scared little boy who'd grown up in a world of monsters and never gotten over it.

With practiced ease, you pulled him into your embrace.

Jimmy came willingly, burying his face in your chest. Crying like a wounded animal, he clung to you as though letting go meant death. Instantly, your nightgown began to grow damp.

You hushed him softly, playing with his hair and rubbing his back. "It's all right," you kept whispering. "It's okay, Jimmy. I'm here. Mummy's here, sweetheart." It was surprisingly easy to use your title in moments like these.

Jimmy let out a miserable little whimper, burrowing even deeper against you. "Ev'ry time, it never gets easier," he lamented. "Ev'ry time I watch 'er... I watch them all..."

Normally, you let him exhaust himself into slumber, sometimes singing or letting him have at your body if that was what it took. But tonight, you decided to try your hand at a different technique. Treat this whole thing less like you were just waiting for it to be over and more like you honestly wanted to help him. Because, for reasons you couldn't entirely sort out yet... you did.

You tucked some hair behind his ear. "There's nothing you could've done."

"I was the son o' Old Nick!" he cried. "I coulda saved 'em!"

You shook your head. "No, you couldn't have. No more than I could save my mum."

Jimmy kept crying. You dried his cheek, for all the good it did. Just as you'd wiped away his tears, fresh ones replaced them. "Jimmy," you crooned, "baby, look at me."

Jimmy did. He was the picture of glassy-eyed misery.

You cradled his face in your hands, wiping away his tears as they spilled. "You were eight years old. The... the son of Old Nick, yes, but still only a child. You couldn't be expected to do anything, not yet."

Racking your brain, you came up with as apt a comparison as you could. "Can a lion cub be expected to take down a gazelle when it's only a few weeks old? Can a baby bird be expected to fly the moment it hatches? No, of course not."

You paused, hoping that you were getting through to him. "You are... a great leader," you prayed you sounded convincing, "and a worthy heir of Old Nick. And now you're in your prime. But you weren't then. And really, I don't think your mum would want you blaming yourself like this."

"What if it were ye?" Jimmy asked. "If ye'd been the one I let die? Wouldn't ye wanna haunt me, too?"

You shook your head. Ideally, you wanted Jimmy to let you go. Failing that, you wanted a room of your own. The ability to say 'no' when he tried to come onto you and have that word actually be heard. The freedom to choose your role instead of having it be thrust upon you. You wanted to be able to have friends, to make connections outside of him. You wanted to be his 'mummy' because you wanted to be, not because you had to survive.

But one thing you wouldn't want was for him to torture himself over your death, especially if he couldn't do anything to stop it.

You didn't answer with words. Instead, you lifted his chin and kissed him. Slow. Deep. Tender.

When you pulled back, you clenched your jaw. Jimmy's eyes were so soft, the sight was painful to behold.

"C'mere," Jimmy whispered. He reached for you with both hands, fingers opening and closing in a grabby motion that had no right being as cute as it was. This time, you went along with it. Let him climb on top of you, caging your body with his. He tugged at your nightgown until you got the memo and pulled it over your head. Then, without waiting for him to do it himself, you freed him of his purple silken pajamas.

He reached between your thighs. Smiled at the slickness he found there. Maintaining eye contact, he popped his damp digits into his mouth. Moaned at the taste. "Mummy tastes so good."

You rolled your eyes as subtly as you could as you gripped his shoulders.

Jimmy sank into you with a long, slow push. One that filled you with him all the way to your throat. You took it with a gasp, your legs automatically coiling around his waist. Jimmy's forehead fell against yours, his golden hair curtaining both your faces. Cutting off everything that wasn't him, you, and this moment.

You breathed the same air for a few beats, enjoying a small pause that Jimmy had never allowed you.

Then, Jimmy started moving. Slow at first. Deep rolls that dragged his cock against every inch of your insides, sowing heat wherever it touched. You moaned in appreciation, your hands moving to hold him close. But not as much as Jimmy. He groaned. He gasped. He let out the most delicious "ah, ah, ah"s that fanned the flames growing inside you.

"That's right, baby," you encouraged, both in remembrance of what you'd observed and genuine passion. "That's so good, baby boy. You're making Mummy feel so good."

With a whine, Jimmy angled his hips to drive into you even deeper. "Mummy... Mummy..." he kept moaning like a mantra, his breath hot against your cheek, "... y'feel so good, so tight, so wet f'me..."

Your nails scratched lightly at his back. "You feel amazing."

You felt Jimmy smile against you. "That's 'cause nobody could fuck ye like yer lovin' son."

That shouldn't have turned you on. And yet.

The room crowded with the sounds of your coupling. The slap of skin against skin. Your voices mingling like paints on a canvas. The headboard tapping against the wall. All of it, rising to a fever pitch.

"Say yer here wit' me," Jimmy begged, his lips brushing yours. "Promise me, Mummy. Promise ye'll never leave me."

It wasn't something you could promise. It wasn't something anyone could promise. Not in the world you lived in. And besides, you were his captive. His prisoner, no matter what narrative he might've crafted in his head. When you couldn't leave out of fear of what would happen if you did, could you really promise to stay?

But in that moment, only partially due to the desire saturating every cell in your body, you only had one answer for him.

"Never." You brought your foreheads together. "Never, Jimmy."

Jimmy came with a sob, spilling deep inside of you. His fingers dug into your hips and held on through it. Riding the aftershocks as his breath came in wet, shattered gasps. His forehead never left yours.

He said your name then. Not 'Mummy'. Your name.

You came not a heartbeat later, your orgasm hitting you like a ton of bricks. Your back arched. Your body clamped down all around him. Your lips shaped his name, but all that came out was a high-pitched cry.

The two of you lay there, your heartbeats in sync and your sweat mixing. Jimmy pushed himself up on one elbow so that he wasn't crushing you. The moonlight shone upon his face, revealing his wild hair and bruised mouth. His eyes found yours, as soft as dandelion fluff.

He looked... wrecked. Vulnerable. Human.

Looking at him, you knew you should've felt bad for enjoying it. After all, he was your captor. The man who was imposing his weird mommy issues on you. And while you were scared of him, you knew that it was nowhere near as much as it probably should've been.

No. Looking at him now, all you could register was a strange fact.

He needed you.

And... you were starting to need him, too. Not just to survive, either.

A sharp knock snapped you out of your thoughts. Jimmy twisted his body, further covering yours, and glared at the door.

For a second, you were confused. Then, it hit you: At this angle, all any intruder would see is Jimmy's naked back. They wouldn't see much of you except, maybe, your arm.

The surprisingly gallant gesture made something swell in your chest.

"What?!" Jimmy barked. "This had better be good!"

"Sir!" Jimmy Fox exclaimed through the door. "Jimmima saw smoke! A campfire!"

"Ah!" In a blink, Jimmy relaxed. "Very good, Fox. Go tell the others tae get ready. I'll be out soon."

"Yes, Sir Jimmy." Jimmy Fox's footsteps faded into silence.

Jimmy looked back at you, beaming from ear to ear. "Mummy, tonight's our lucky night. We've got souls tae deliver tae my father. Charity, Mummy!" He sounded like a child on their birthday.

You swallowed. Not knowing what charity was, but doubting it was anything good. "Charity, eh?"

"Aye." Jimmy's hand found your cheek. A surprisingly tender gesture. "Would ye come wit' us? Please? It would please Old Nick... and me."

You hesitated. Almost certain you wouldn't like what you'd see.

But you knew that, in order to improve your own lot in life, you had to do things you wouldn't like. Up until now, all you'd had to do was read Jimmy fairy tales and sing him your song and comfort him when he cried. This, however, was bigger. A guarantee to win points with your captor. Could you really let such an opportunity pass you by?

Finally, you nodded. "Okay, baby," you conceded. "Just let me throw on some clothes, yeah?"

Jimmy beamed. Kissed you softly. You kissed him back.

All the while, you prayed to any god you could think of that charity wasn't as bad as you feared.

Not just for whatever poor souls might receive it, but for yourself as well.

Because, despite knowing that you shouldn't, you were starting to feel things for Jimmy. Things that a prisoner shouldn't feel for their captor. Things as fragile as bird bones.

Would they survive Old Nick's charity?

[thebookdragon95]

Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me To Sleep Part One of Four

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

Contains smut; 18+/MDNI

Summary: It was a misguided act of kindness, comforting your captor. Singing one of your mother's songs to him. The likes of which he hadn't received in years, if not longer. It reminded him of a long-dead world, of a childhood he was robbed of... and a mother he lost.

Now, he seeks to rekindle that tenderness with you. The idea is less than appealing to you. You play along, knowing you have few alternatives. But what happens when you begin to need him just as much as he needs you?

Note: This story takes place during and right after the events of 'The Bone Temple'.

Thank you to @lulaaaaaaw for writing so many cool ideas for 'Jimmy Crystal with mommy issues', which wound up inspiring me to write for the first time in a while! The lyrics are 'Prelude 12/21' by AFI. You can listen to it here.

Part Two is here.

Warnings: Contains a mommy kink, religious delusion, nightmares, and codependency.

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @lulaaaaaaw, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @anonymous-sylvicole, @madkingcrowley, @sirenssongsofdeath, @darkfantasies606, @leptitlu, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @undead-riv, @saintlucretia, @valzxzx, @vifemme, @ur-honey-child, @sm0key-ravens, @bugs0re, @loup---garou, @uncxltured, @moonsunrisemel, @imakms, @riotjesterr, @sweetxlv, @frenchkimbo, @opticoo, @www-interludeshadow-com, @lhoopz, @hazymoondaisy, @emo-queer-boi, @chris-starlight, @faeriebvbydoll, @cosmic-panels, @delicateheartts, @rottenhalo04

When you were a child, your mother had always been there to wake you from a nightmare. To hold you close, kiss your brow, and promise that it'd just been a dream. That even though the world itself seemed to be having a nightmare, she was with you and all was well. But there was no waking up from this. The ropes binding your wrists and ankle were too tight. The hunger piercing your belly was too sharp. The fear crystallizing in your chest was too intense.

You leaned against the tree you were tied to, trying to make yourself as small as possible. As insignificant to your captors as you could. Hoping against hope that they'd forget you were there.

You shouldn't have bothered. They were crowded around a fire, eating the food you'd spent days scavenging from abandoned stores and houses, and reclining in pillows and blankets you'd been washing and mending for years. With the exception of one boy, young and scrawny and thoroughly miserable, the lot of them were having a ball. Laughing, chatting, teasing one another, and acting like nothing in the world could touch them. Their merriment washed over you like oily rain, echoing across the otherwise quiet night.

If it weren't for their leader's occasional gander in your direction, you'd have sworn they'd forgotten you were there.

God. Their leader. At first glance, he seemed odd. Almost funny. Wavy hair brushing his shoulders, kept in place by a plastic tiara. A purple velour tracksuit that didn't have so much as a speck of dirt on it—nothing like his followers' suits, which were overrun with stains and patches. Gold and silver rings gleaming on his fingers, gems sitting along the knuckles like large bugs. A lot of glitz and glamor to hide his rotting teeth.

But one look in those eyes, and nobody would think of laughing. Here was a man who wore power as naturally as his own skin. Who'd spun an absurd yarn for himself and all those around him, and who was ready to spill blood to lend it believability.

When you'd been dragged to this little encampment, exhausted from your doomed effort to fight them all off, this man—Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, he'd styled himself—had talked your ear off about why the World of Man had fallen. How Old Nick had unleashed His wrath upon us all, and chosen 'Sir' Jimmy to bring charity onto all he found.

'Charity'. A word he'd warped, just as this world had warped him.

Apparently, that was what awaited you come morning. 'Sir' Jimmy had said that Old Nick wanted to reward them all with food and rest. Hence, their taking your things. Your food. Your pillows. Your blankets. Your handful of worldly comforts.

Not your bow, though. Or your knife. The former had been the first thing to go into the campfire, the high-pitched plink of the string snapping as it overheated breaking your heart in two. The latter had been claimed by the Sir Lord himself. He'd even had the gall to admire it. To hold it to the light like a gem, purring, "'Tis a fine gift me father's given me."

You slumped against the tree, letting the soft moss growing there cushion your head. Turning away from the Jimmies, you instead raised your eyes to the stars. Watched them shine. Remembered your mother teaching you the constellations. You could still hear her voice so clearly. You knew it better than your own.

"See, my little love? There's the bears. Ursa Major and Minor. Mama Bear and Baby Bear, just like you and me. Then there's Orion, the Hunter, almost as good a hunter as you. And Andromeda, so beautiful even Aphrodite was jealous of her. Just like you'll be beautiful someday, my darling..."

You didn't even realize you'd dozed off until you awoke with a jolt. Cold. Hungry. Motherless.

The moon stared down at you like a great, blind eye. The stars shone, silent but supportive. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. The campfire had died down to a few, ruddy embers. It was the kind of night to make you forget daylight had ever existed.

Instinctively, you tried to hug yourself. But the ropes stopped you. Frustration flaring inside you, you tugged at the bonds with your teeth. You may as well have tried to bite through wire. After a few, painful seconds, you gave up with a harrumph.

Your eyes landed, then, on the rope connecting your foot to the tree. A cursed umbilical cord, keeping you as helpless as a baby. Biting your bottom lip, you began to fidget with the knot with cold-blunted fingers. Hope against hope that you could free yourself.

More than once, you failed. More than once, you considered giving up.

Then, you remembered what awaited you at daybreak and tried again.

And again.

And again.

Finally, something loosened. Finally, a lucky break.

You kept at it. Kept glimpsing at your captors to make sure they wouldn't awaken.

And then, at long last, the rope loosened its grip on you. Revealing a band of whitened, dented flesh that burned with fresh blood flow. It was a delightful agony. One that stopped you from walking, at least at first, but did nothing to deter your limping.

Stopping only to grab one of the snoring Jimmies' knives, even if it was a poor replacement of your own, as well as a can of strawberries you were relieved they hadn't gotten to, you prepared to hoof it. To put as much distance between you and these madmen as you could.

Thankfully, it hadn't rained in a while, so the soil wouldn't leave prints. A skilled hunter could probably find you anyway. But, frankly, none of these folks gave you the impression they could track anything smarter than a dodo.

They'd chanced upon you. A bit of chaos. It wouldn't happen again.

You were so deep in thought, you almost missed the sound. But once it caught your ear, it refused to let go.

It was the same noise you'd made every night for the first year following your mother's death. A pathetic, wet whimper, barely muffled by blankets. The ruckus only a frightened child makes.

You hadn't expected the frightened child in question to be Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, but there he was. Curled up in his sleeping bag. Shivering. Tears bathing his cheeks. Nestled amid his cries was a single, unmistakable word.

"Mummy."

Over and over. Like a mantra. Like a prayer. Like an echo, resounding into an abyss.

You shouldn't have cared. In fact, you should've reveled in his torment. After all, this was the man who'd led his pack of freaks on the hunt for you, no better than an old-timey aristocrat sending his bloodhounds after a fox. This was the man who'd made you a prisoner, your things claimed and your fate a grim prospect. He deserved no compassion, least of all from you.

And yet, your feet remained rooted to the spot, your eyes tracing his tear-streaked visage.

He looked so scared. So miserable. Just as you'd been when you lost your own mother. You, too, had gone back to being a frightened little girl.

No one had been there to comfort you. You hadn't even had a photo of her to gaze at, to keep in your pocket. You'd been completely alone. An adult, yes, but it'd been hard to feel like one when you'd been by yourself in a world full of things that just wanted to hurt you.

One of those things was before you now, crying brokenly in his sleep.

Because even the worst monsters have mothers.

Despite your survival instincts screaming at you to run, to flee, to save yourself, you edged towards the weeping man. Knelt before him. Watched him sob as though his very heart were breaking.

Your hand moved on its own accord. Gently dried his cheeks.

Jimmy's wails subsided ever so slightly. Without stirring from his uneasy slumber, he chased your hand. Nuzzling it with the desperation of a starving mutt. "Mummy..." he whined, his face a kaleidoscope of hope, despair, love, and fear.

That reaction, that whimpered word, trapped you like the rope around your ankle never could.

Careful not to break contact, you lay on the dirt directly before Jimmy, coiling your free arm around him. Even through the material of his sleeping bag, you could feel his taut body already relaxing. He kept nuzzling your hand, his tears dampening your fingers.

Without realizing it, you began to hum for him. A gentle tune from Before, rising from the back of your mind like mist off a lake. As you watched his face, you graduated to softly singing.

"This is what I brought you, this you can keep, This is what I brought, you may forget me, I promise to depart, just promise one thing, Kiss my eyes and lay me to sleep."

You didn't sing it as well as Mum had. But you did your best.

Little by little, Jimmy's cries died down to quiet sniffles. Which, in turn, eventually faded. You stopped singing, but you didn't move away. If anything, you drew closer. Kept your arm around him. Ready to keep watch in case his nightmares returned.

You didn't mean to doze off.

Just as Jimmy didn't mean to wake up. He took you in with wide, teary eyes. Felt your arm around him. Still heard your lullaby in his ear. ***

Jimmy's nightmares were nothing new. He'd had them since the Fall; not every night, but often enough that it made little difference. They were, Father had explained, for his own good. Meant to remind him that he'd survived the Fall when so many had died. That he was Old Nick's favored son and heir, and his fleeing the demons had been his earliest demonstration of being worthy.

Jimmy never would've admitted, especially not to Father, that all he could ever remember about those nightmares was his mother. How she'd urged him to run. How she'd closed that door, locking herself in with the demon, so that he could have enough time to flee. How her cries had gradually turned into a demon's mindless screeches.

The worst part? Jimmy could remember all of that, but not the little things about her. Not anymore. Not her face. Not the kind of perfume she'd worn. Not the color of her clothes. Not the sound of her voice. It'd all faded, like a photograph left in the sun.

Only the horror remained.

Then, you came along. Doing what she would've done.

Jimmy lay there for a long time, staring at you. Realizing, with growing excitement, why Old Nick had placed you squarely on his path.

Jimmy could never reunite with his mother. She'd never been meant for Old Nick's domain; not in life, not in death. But now, he had you.

Jimmy slipped an arm out of his sleeping bag. Mirroring you, he coiled it around you. Pulling your sleeping body closer. Your foreheads almost touched.

Jimmy smiled at you. Tracing your jawline with a feather-light touch. "Mummy..." *** When you awoke to find yourself in Jimmy's embrace, his hair catching fire in the dawn's first light, you cursed yourself for that one act of kindness. Never mind that he was holding you like you were something precious, rubbing your back and caressing your hair. Never mind the way his feverishly-bright eyes were beholding you now. You should've fled. Ignored your empathy. But that ship had sailed.

Jimmy shocked you by cradling your face in his hands. His touch was gentle, a touch desperate, but you sensed how that could all change in a heartbeat.

"Ye were so good tae me last night," he whispered, his thumbs caressing your cheeks. "Like a mammy comfortin' 'er lil' bairn." He smiled at you, exposing the disorganized assortment of his rotting teeth. "Nobody's done that fer me in a long, long time."

Was he just thanking you? Showing his appreciation? Fuck, you doubted it, but you still clung to that feeble strand of optimism even as you saw the awed hunger in his gaze. He looked at you like a believer. Like a sinner. Like a child.

"You'll stay wit' me," he stated. Not loudly. Not roughly. He didn't need to. "Be me mother. Me comfort. Me warm, precious secret. In exchange, you'll be safe from anythin' and everythin'. You'll never go hungry. Never get hurt. I'll protect ye like a good son should. It is Old Nick's will, as well as mine own."

You were trembling so badly, you thought your bones might pop right out of their sockets. You could only register the signs of early morning—sweet birdsong, the tall grass glittering with dew, the stars winking out one by one—as though from far away.

Instead, you found yourself in a portrait painted by Jimmy's words. You saw yourself traveling with the people who'd tied you to a tree and stolen your things. Living as their prisoner, or perhaps their den mother. Listening to this man's insane ramblings for hours on end. Comforting Jimmy every time his ghosts came back to haunt him. Letting him call you 'mother'. Singing him the lullabies your mother used to sing to you in order to soothe his wretched spirit.

You wanted to take your chances in the wilds. That is, if you weren't certain that Jimmy would hunt you down to the ends of the earth.

And once he caught you... charity.

"Mummy?" Jimmy's voice softened. Like a velvet sheathe hiding a blade. "You'll stay, then? Be wit' yer devoted son?"

"I..."

I will find a way to work through this, you swore to yourself. Somehow, I will.

Licking your lips, you slowly nodded. "I'll stay."

Jimmy smiled at you. The mad joy in it was terrifying. "Good." Still holding your face, he leaned in. Brushing your lips with his. Already, you smelled the rot of his breath. Of his soul, it felt like.

Your heart jackrabbiting against your ribs, you closed the tiny gap between you. Sensing what refusal might bring.

Jimmy moaned in your kiss, his hands trembling as they kept you in place. He tilted his head, deepening the kiss, and his tongue tapped against the seam of your mouth. You let him in. Felt him glide inside your mouth, caressing your tongue with his own. Foul in taste and relentless in movement. It was all-consuming. A black hole of thought and stimuli and desperate longing.

And just like that, it'd become your lot in life.

But would it stay that way?

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you would never let ai write fanfics for you

[thebookdragon95]

Amen!

[thebookdragon95]

My Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal Masterlist

The 'King, Lover, Dog' Trilogy

King, Lover, Dog

Your Kiss, My Drug

Safe in Eden's Womb

The 'Finding You' Duology (A Bone Temple/Sinners Crossover)

Part One

Part Two

One-Shots

Nightmares and Sweet Dreams Sacrificial Lamb

The 'Kiss My Eyes and Lay Me To Sleep' Quadrilogy

Part One

Part Two Part Three Part Four

[thebookdragon95]

Finding You

Part Two of Two

Pairing: Remmick x Jimmy x fem!reader

Summary: After losing all seven of his Fingers and nearly dying himself, Jimmy has never felt so lost. So stranded. So devoid of purpose. He prays to his father for a sign. Instead, he is met with a vision: You, an uninfected woman, making love to a red-eyed Alpha. One who speaks, touches you with care, and ensures you enjoy it just as much as him. The sight overwhelms Jimmy. Fills him with fantasies and desires he never thought possible.

He returns to that spot, driven by loneliness and a desire for you both.

Neither you nor your Alpha lover, Remmick, wants to harm him. No. You want to keep him.

Part One is here.

Warning: Contains threesome (m/m/f), oral sex (male and female receiving), voyeurism, begging, enthusiastic consent, talking during sex.

Likes and reblogs are much appreciated!

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @h3r3t1c, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @ellie-luvsfics, @ibsbarbie, @mangos-and-cream, @scrprints, @samueldendro, @emmawrites-stuff, @lonelyryro, @wolverineswaifu, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @kaszz-216, @mariosmith, @fabulousfay009-blog, @bleedingsunlight, @madkingcrowley, @foxtufts, @rhardossantos, @thymedbubbles, @mingapace, @scrprints, @dumptruckmaintenance, @strangerhands, @sleepy-sloth-doodles, @clovrrr-star, @daffodil022702, @rebel-shaw, @eona-nightshade, @imjsananalogpersonindisguise, @sexyuncleleen, @mooniemenace, @rhardossantos, @l3tm31nn0w, @captainautism34, @snuggle-fangs, @jimmythecookiemonster, @werewolfhousewife, @h3r3t1c, @darkwing-katy, @kteezy997

In his most restless dreams, Jimmy relived the Fall.

The screams drowning out The Teletubbies.

The sounds of his sisters' flesh being ripped from their bones.

His mother shouting at him to run, her words dissolving into wrathful howls.

His father... his father... Red eyes... Demons...

And then running. Running, running, running, clutching the gold crucifix in his small, sweaty fist. Running until he simply couldn't anymore.

Jimmy had been weak then. Lost. Without purpose.

But it hadn't been long after that that his father had begun speaking to him in his head. Comforting him. Telling him of his purpose. Teaching him how to survive.

Jimmy, ever the dutiful son, had obeyed. And grown stronger.

He'd dodged the demons, and mortals who were no less vicious. Found others like him; children without parents or homes, left to fend for themselves. He'd taken them in. Shown them the way. Taught them to worship his father, Old Nick, in exchange for His unholy protection.

Which, as far as Jimmy was concerned, beat so-called 'divine' protection by a long shot. After all, the World of Man had fallen, and God had done nothing to stop it. To save it. To save anybody.

But sometimes, even Old Nick failed. Jimmy's friends fell, replaced by new ones. And those, in turn, died. By accident. By disease. By demons. By other people. By themselves, sometimes. Here one moment, gone the next.

Beatrice. Jack. Patrick. Eunice. Hank. Anna. Colom. Zoe. Seth. Lucy. And so many more. All echoing in Jimmy's head, as throaty as crow caws and as loud as bells.

Until, one day, his father told him what to do. Told him how to make the names disappear: By replacing them with his own.

And so, the Jimmies were born. Seven, because Father demanded it, and all of them were Jimmy. From the moment they joined to the moment they died, they were Jimmy.

For years, they'd been Jimmy. The nicknames had changed. The color of their tracksuits had changed. The faces under the wigs had, too. But ultimately, they were all Jimmy. Even when they died, they were replaced. Because Jimmy was the favored son of Old Nick. Because Jimmy could not die.

Until he almost did.

Jimmy could still feel the fire, close enough to singe the delicate hairs on his fingers. Could still smell the oily smoke every time he exhaled. Could still see the barn's rooftop falling apart, one burning beam at a time. Could still see them landing atop his Fingers. Some died quickly. Others didn't. Those ones called for him. Begging him not to leave them. But he had. Not because Old Nick told him to, but because he'd been scared.

As scared as that eight-year-old boy fleeing the only home he'd ever known, with only the clothes on his back and the golden cross in his hand. And almost as weak.

Jimmy wasn't sure how long he wandered the woods. Long enough for hunger to come, to go, and to come again. Long enough to stick fistfuls of snow in his mouth to quench his thirst. Long enough to forget what dry, warm socks felt like.

Long enough to recall what it meant to be alone.

No Jimmies. No victims. No family. Not even Father came; He abandoned Jimmy, as He'd done whenever Jimmy was too weak to heed His call.

Jimmy didn't even bother talking to himself. The sound was too damn lonely.

Then, one night, he heard a different sound. Not birds. Not the crack of thawing ice. Not squirrels. Not even the distant yowls of demons.

Something different enough to compel him, no different from a siren song.

And that was where he saw it, right in the middle of a small clearing across the river. Surrounded by blackberry brambles.

A man, as pale as the moon above them, crouching in the melting snow. His hand was on his cock, furiously pumping. His mouth, between a woman's thighs. And the moans that woman was making were sweeter than any words of worship Jimmy had ever heard.

Jimmy couldn't have looked away even if he'd wanted to. The muscles in the man's back, rippling beneath skin as white and smooth as marble. Your face, like a delicate flower, raised heavenward as you moaned. Your shared pleasure, growing hotter by the second.

It was the most beautiful thing that Jimmy had seen in a long time.

Thoughtlessly, he took a step forward.

His foot landed on a patch of melting ice. It snapped cleanly in two.

The man stopped working on you. Sat up. Spun his head towards the forest. Jimmy ducked behind a tree—but not before he saw the man's glowing red eyes.

The eyes of a demon.

For a long, terrible moment, Jimmy was too terrified to even breathe. He just stood there, pressing his back into the soggy bark, silently begging his father to protect him. To dissuade His demon from coming closer, from investigating.

He squeezed his eyes shut. Waiting for death or Old Nick's mercy, whichever came first.

And for the briefest of moments, he saw his mum. More clearly than he had in years, in fact.

Golden hair cut in a practical but stylish bob. Clothes that were modest and usually cool-toned. Grays, typically, or blues. Mum hadn't smiled a lot, but when she had? She could outshine the sun. She'd wrinkle her nose while deep in thought, take her tea with two sugars, and liked to sleep in on weekends.

Tears prickled in Jimmy's eyes. His throat clogged up. He gritted his teeth, trying to stay quiet.

Until another sound pierced the night. Voices. The demon's—smooth and smoky—and yours—higher-pitched and sweet as morning dew.

Talking at first. Laughing.

And then, the most delicious of moans, this time coming from the demon.

It slipped under Jimmy's skin, burning away his fear and replacing it with something else entirely. Something far less familiar, but infinitely more welcome.

Desire.

Even though he knew it was risky, that the demon could hear any false move Jimmy made, he couldn't resist a second longer. He was ravenous, and the two of you were a feast.

His blood roaring in his ears, Jimmy stepped out from behind his tree—though he stayed close enough to hide behind it once more, should the need arise.

You'd changed positions, you and your demon lover. You were riding him like a queen, and he was moving with you. Locked in a heated embrace, you kissed as though every touch of each other's lips was precious oxygen.

The demon was facing away from Jimmy, but he found he didn't mind. He could admire that gorgeous back. Those arms, stronger than Jimmy's and threaded with veins. And every so often, Jimmy could see the demon's claws, long and sharp as knives. Yet they touched you with the greatest care.

Jimmy felt himself growing hard in his stained velvet slacks. Could feel his breathing hitch. He wanted to be held in those arms. Wanted to touch that lovely back, feel the muscles pulsing under his fingertips. Wanted to taste the demon's kiss.

And yet, he didn't want you out of the picture. In fact, you were a gorgeous accompaniment to the demon. Jimmy couldn't see much of you, save for your limbs and visage. But what he saw, he adored. Your arms and legs were strong, your hands and feet small and kissable. And your face. Mercy, your face. Eyes closed, mouth open in ecstasy, and cheeks flushed.

Jimmy wanted to cup those rosy cheeks. Wanted to press his lips to yours and drink in your moans. Wanted to feel your hands carding through his hair and your legs flanking his thighs. He wanted to be inside you.

The realization crept up on him. Slowly. Insidiously. Like fungus devouring a corpse.

He wanted both of you. Together.

Of course, the old ways were dead. Convention was a thing of the past. In the new world, you could always make new rules to live by.

Even so... Jimmy hesitated. Stopped himself from doing what his body was begging him to do. Because the longer he watched you two, the more he saw the love shining through the lust. The sweet way you kissed. The careful way the demon cradled you body in his clawed hands. The joy that shone in your eyes. The moans that, at times, almost sounded like laughter.

It felt... wrong, somehow, to touch himself to that. Like he'd be soiling something pure, even if nobody would know but him.

The irony wasn't lost on him. He'd skinned and disemboweled dozens of souls. He'd failed to save countless Jimmies, just as he'd failed to save his mother and sisters. He'd done all sorts of horrific things in the name of his Father, and he'd relished in pretty much all of it.

And, again, he wanted this. Wanted to be part of that sweet embrace. Wanted to feel some of that love you two shared so readily, so shamelessly, despite living in a world that only ever seemed to breed hatred and pain.

But this? This was where he drew the line, thick and black.

That was when your eyes opened, right as you were kissing your way from the demon's jawline to his shoulder. Your gazes locked, rooting Jimmy to the spot.

Jimmy should've fled and hoped that you didn't send the demon after him. Should've at least looked away. But he couldn't. The two of you were beauty itself. To look away from the pair of you would've been, to his child self, like looking away from God.

But you didn't seem angry. That instantly puzzled him. You kept your eyes on him, even as you keened and writhed against your demon lover. The sight was even more spellbinding than before because, now, it included him. Whether it was simple indifference, smugness, or lust addling your judgment, you were adding him to the equation. Fixing your lovely eyes on him even as your demon lover thrust into you with increased desperation. Even as you, too, were approaching your peak.

God, Jimmy wanted to feel both your rapture. Wanted to taste it. Bask in it. He'd have gladly traded ten years of his life for a moment of your love.

You nodded at Jimmy then.

His eyes widened, his heart somersaulting in his ribs. Had you really...?

You kept your eyes on him. Eyes that were warming by the second, until they made Jimmy forget he'd ever been cold in his life.

You'd given him your blessing. Erased the line.

"No," Father hissed in Jimmy's ear. "They are souls for me. Mewling fodder. You should be skinning them, not being intimate with them!"

For the first time in his life, Jimmy blocked out the voice.

He loved his father. But he needed this.

He untied the strings of his slacks. Pulled himself out. Began to stroke himself, biting his lip to keep quiet, and imagined it was someone else's hand on his cock. Yours, or your demon's. Either would've been amazing. A dream.

Jimmy was part of it now. In his own, small way. He could bask in your love, in your passion, if only for a little while. And it felt transcendent.

He saw your lips move. Saw the demon's movements unraveling. Heard your whimpers, your grunts, your moans, if only from a distance.

Jimmy tried not to move too fast. Tried to savor it. But he couldn't slow down. Couldn't take his time. The noises you were making, that gorgeous back moving, the powerful yet desperate thrusts, your love-drunk expression... It was perfection. It was the Holy Grail. It shook him apart.

And when your eyes found his again, it was as good as a physical touch.

Jimmy's climax tore through him with sharp claws, his entire body shuddering as he emptied himself. Thick ropes of cum painted the half-melted snow, narrowly missing his soggy shoes.

Even as the ecstasy ebbed, the aftershocks still stole his breath.

When he finally came down enough to think clearly again, Jimmy knew that he had to leave. The moment was over, and with a sinking heart Jimmy realized he hadn't really been a part of it. You weren't even looking at him now. You and your demon were basking in the afterglow together, trading lazy kisses and sweet caresses.

And Jimmy wanted that. Wanted it so much it hurt. Even as his body trembled, as his basic need was taken care of, Jimmy found himself wanting more. Wanting both of you. Wanting to be part of that lover's embrace.

But he knew better.

Jimmy inhaled through his nose. Wiped his hand on a nearby patch of snow. Then, tucking himself away, he retreated deeper into the woods.

He'd be back, though. Even though he knew it'd hurt, he'd be back. Because the sweetness he'd feel, the warmth, the illusion of being part of things, would be worth it.

*** Every day, the snow receded. More and more flowers and stalks of grass poked through, bursting with delicate, eager life. The small streams shed their icy skin, gurgling with noise and fish once more. Hibernating animals, like dormice and hedgehogs, began to show their faces once more. On one fine morning wherein you and Ian were skinning the hares that Remmick had hunted that morning—six in total, more than enough to eat your fill, salt the remaining meat, and boil the bones for broth—a cuckoo called out from an unseen locale.

And your mysterious blond man kept returning.

Always from a distance, always quick to disappear, but reappearing so often it bordered on recklessness. For all the stranger knew, you were a bunch of violent psychos. And yet, he kept returning. A flash of gold amid the greens and browns of the forest.

Ian noticed, but did nothing. "He might just be lonely," he remarked. "If he ever comes closer, I'll be happy to set out an extra plate for him."

Remmick was less certain. He'd sit atop the hill sometimes, scanning the horizon with those ruby eyes. At first, you worried that he might attack the man. But then, one day, you both spotted him. A blast of purple, hair catching the light. There one second, gone the next.

The edge of Remmick's mouth quirked up. "Persistent," he stated. "I'll give him that." ***

It started to become more on an early morning, when you were returning from a foraging trip. Your bag was stuffed with hairy bittercress and wild garlic—Remmick hated the latter, but it was undoubtedly useful for Ian's more rustic remedies. You found a small gift waiting for you at the woods' entrance. Right where you'd been not two hours ago, your footprints still visible in the sleety mud.

A small bouquet of wildflowers, delicately picked and bound together with a long blade of grass.

You blinked at the present, then looked around. Searching for whoever had left it there.

Already, you had a feeling.

When you found no one, you crouched down and picked up the flowers. Breathed in their sweet scent. Smiled into their soft petals.

"Thank you!" you called out, hoping they would hear.

Then, you brought the flowers home. Filled a cup with water and lemon juice, ensuring they'd last longer, and admired them for a long time.

Remmick wasn't thrilled when you told him where the flowers had come from. But he didn't throw them out, either. In fact, by dinnertime, he'd chosen his favorite blossom and tucked it behind his ear.

And later that night, before you both went to bed, you spotted Remmick leaving something just outside the Bone Temple. A bundle of clothes, as well as a few slices of Ian's delicious brown bread.

The next morning, it was gone.

A gift for a gift. *** As the last of the snows melted, the air sweetened by thousands of blooming flowers, the gifts became a weekly occurrence. The blond man left everything from firewood to fish at your door, as well as little knickknacks that were of no inherent use but you all still found charming. Power Rangers action figures. A ukulele. A bracelet of plastic jewels. A coloring book, complete with an unopened box of Crayola.

That last gift wound up being surprisingly handy for you. Even though you still loved reading to Remmick, or having him read to you, or listening to him play his banjo, there was something relaxing about coloring in drawings. Making them beautiful.

The three of you, in return, left things for the stranger. Clothes. Food. Books you'd read and thought he might like. A bar of Dove soap you'd found in an abandoned delivery truck. Ian even left out some first-aid: Gauze, disinfectant, and some antibiotics.

Every time, the gifts were accepted.

*** A nightmare woke you up. Scared you enough to fear falling asleep again, even if dawn was hours away. And so, after pecking a sleeping Remmick's cheek, you slipped out of bed, tucked him in, wrote a quick note for him and Ian to find, and claimed three essential items: Your spear, a flashlight, and the book you were currently devouring. Jurassic Park. A good one.

You climbed high into a tree, your legs swinging over the thick branch's edge, with your back propped against the bark. Your spear was within reach, while you used the flashlight to read.

Hours passed. An owl hooted. The wind sighed through the trees' skeletal branches. The river murmured.

Eventually, the eastern sky went from black to navy. Which, in turn, became azure. Clouds became bruise-colored. Stars winked out.

You dog-eared the page you were on and flicked off the flashlight. Content to watch the world wake up.

The sun finally peeked through, the deep orange of an egg yolk. As it emerged, it painted the world golden. The shadows became stark and black, stretched out like scars.

That was when you saw him. Your blond stranger. Curled up along the banks, using one of the jackets you'd given him as a makeshift blanket.

Overtaken by curiosity and something else you couldn't name, you reclaimed your spear and climbed down the tree.

You approached the sleeping man, taking care to be quiet. Crouched beside him. Getting your first good look.

He was a lovely man. Beautiful, like Remmick was. But while Remmick was a dark beauty, all marble skin and inky hair and crimson eyes, this man had the loveliness of a spring morning. The way his blond hair caught the dawn's first light seared into your memory banks.

And he looked... sweet, if a little scared. His brows were furrowed, his breathing short. After a moment, you heard him mumbling.

"No... no... Mummy..."

Your chest aching with compassion, you reached out. Stroked the man's hair. Caressed his unshaven cheek. Tried to make him feel, if only distantly, that all was well.

After a few seconds, it seemed to work. The lines in his forehead smoothed out. His breathing calmed. And he leaned into your touch like he was starving for it. One of his hands even slipped out from under his jacket, finding yours. Pressing it to his skin.

You could've retracted your hand. Left. But you didn't. Not until his hand fell away, sleep fully reclaiming him.

Not until you'd pecked his forehead, and seen the corner of his mouth lift.

*** It was a warm day, the sky the color of a robin's egg and the air alive with bees humming and birds singing. Off in the distance, a couple of wild horses were grazing.

Ian was sitting beside the skull tower, carefully mending one of Remmick's torn shirts.

You were babysitting the stew pot, stirring regularly and stealing the occasional, savory spoonful.

Remmick was sitting on a log, strumming his banjo and humming to himself. There was an old, half-forgotten song lurking in the back of his mind. Slowly making it way back to the front. And with every twitch of his fingers, every word he mumbled, it got a little closer.

So did something else. Someone else.

Remmick heard him coming from a mile away. Quite literally. Could smell him, too. Amid all the scents of flora and fauna, here was an aroma that simply didn't belong. Dove soap. Unwashed teeth. Desperate loneliness.

But he didn't look towards him. Didn't interrupt his playing. Even as his instincts, the ones that'd kept him alive during his days as a full-on infected, told him to tear the intruder apart. To protect his pack. Because something in him, something that sounded a lot like your voice, told him that it was okay.

The words came to him then. Covered in dust, uncertain, but there.

"Will ye go, lassie, go?"

Unbidden, his fingers began to play a tune he knew he'd heard in his first life. Trying to recall those days were like trying to look through a shattered window, but this was coming through loud and clear.

"Oh the summer time has come And the trees are sweetly bloomin' The wild mountain thyme Grows around the bloomin' heather Will ye go, lassie, go?"

From the corner of his eye, Remmick could see that blond hair. Could hear the man's stomach growling. Pretending to be none the wiser, he kept playing.

"And we'll all go together To pull wild mountain thyme All around the bloomin' heather Will ye go, lassie, go?" The man sat on the farthest edge of the log, moving like someone far older than his years. Trying to be quiet and inconspicuous. Remmick kept feigning ignorance, his fingers strumming the melody.

But before Remmick could sing the next part, the stranger took over. His Scottish accent was thick, his voice pleasing to the ear. "I will build my love a bower By yon cool crystal fountain And round it I will pile All the wild flowers o' the mountain Will ye go, lassie, go?"

Remmick finally glanced at the stranger, who flinched at the sight of his eyes but didn't run away screaming. That was something, at least.

"It's okay," Remmick promised him. "I'm an Alpha, yes. But I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"Oh! Well, all right, then." The man gave a nervous chuckle. "I suppose Old Nick made ye special, eh?"

Remmick blinked. "Um. Sure."

The man was... rather handsome, Remmick saw that right away, and not just because he was wearing clothes Remmick had seen you personally wash and mend. He was fair-skinned, with a build that was more slender than strong, with golden hair brushing his shoulders and eyes the exact shade of cornflowers.

Unfortunately, his teeth were appalling. Yellow, some of them black. Even from this distance, Remmick could smell his breath. And Remmick, who prided himself on having a strong stomach, thought that it could peel the paint off a wall.

But that mouth was stretched into a timid smile. Despite the odor, Remmick found himself simpering back.

"How'd you know that song?" he inquired.

The man blinked hard, like he was trying to get something out of his eye. "Me... me mam used t'sing that tae me. When I was a wee bairn. Her mam was Irish."

Remmick's smile softened. "I... don't know if my mammy sang it to me. But I sing it for my mate sometimes, and she loves it."

The man stared at him. "Yer... mate?"

Remmick shrugged. "The only word that feels right. 'Girlfriend' seems juvenile, and 'wife's too stuffy."

The man considered it, then slowly nodded. As though it actually made sense to him. Then, he placed a hand on his chest. "I'm Jimmy."

Remmick hummed. "Jimmy."

"Actually, it's Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal," Jimmy added, "but no, yer good. Jimmy's fine."

The title sounded fairly ridiculous. Like something a child might come up with. But instead of saying anything, Remmick simply inclined his head. "Name's Remmick." He straightened, gesturing to the trees around them. "Do you live out here? All alone?"

Jimmy nodded. "I do now, aye. Ever since..." He trailed off, and his eyes darkened with sorrow. Despite hardly knowing Jimmy, and worrying that he might harm his pack, Remmick felt a pang of sympathy for him. There was genuine sorrow in his eyes. Grief. Perhaps a bit of guilt, too. The kind that comes from living when everyone else died.

Remmick wondered what that must be like, to recall one's friends and family like that. He couldn't remember anyone he'd known before becoming an Alpha, but he could faintly recall his love for them.

Which was worse? To forget? Or to remember?

Jimmy shook his head like a dog trying to rid itself of fleas. "Anyway, I still got me father. So, it ain't too bad."

Remmick scratched his chin. "Haven't sensed anyone else around here. Just you. Does your old man live far away?"

Jimmy shook his head. Tapped his temple.

Remmick frowned. "You... hear him in... your head?"

"All the time," Jimmy confirmed.

Oh, great, Remmick thought. He's beautiful, but he's mad as a March hare.

"But... y'know..." Jimmy shrugged, evading eye contact. "I never get tae sit wit' him or see him. Be wit' him like... like ye and yers."

Those words, so drenched in vulnerability, tugged at something deep inside Remmick. Something you and Ian had awakened.

Remmick wasn't sure what he could do or say. He opened his mouth, hoping the right words might emerge—

"Sweetheart!" Your sweet voice rang through the air. "Lunchtime!"

Remmick turned to Jimmy. "You're... welcome to come. If ya like."

"Oh, no," Jimmy glanced away, cheeks bright pink. "Father wouldn't like that. He's cross enough wit' me enough as it is."

Remmick arched a brow. "Why?"

Jimmy nibbled his bottom lip. "Let's just say I ain't been too obedient lately."

Remmick shrugged. "Suit yourself." Holding his banjo close, he rose. "But if ya ever change your mind..."

Jimmy blinked. Then, to Remmick's shock, began to tear up. "I..." His throat constricted. "Thank ye. I'll... keep that in mind."

Remmick nodded at him before jogging down the hill, eager to grab a bowl of stew and sit next to you. And maybe, if Ian was willing, to listen to some Iron Maiden.

*** Jimmy watched him until he made it back to the Bone Temple. Saw you greet Remmick with an embrace, a broad smile, and a sweet kiss. Saw Ian clap Remmick on the back.

A tear ran down his cheek. Almost angrily, he wiped it away.

"Charity, son," Father whispered. "I demand charity. Those three would do. Especially the dark-haired man. An Alpha with a mortal mind? Very valuable indeed."

"No," Jimmy replied out loud.

"You idiot!" Pain shot through Jimmy's head, strong enough to make him cry out and fall to his knees. "I give orders, and you obey! That is how this works!"

"They..." Jimmy did his best to speak through the pain, clutching at his skull as though that'd do any good. "They've been kind t'me, Father!"

"And what about me, then?" Father snarled. "Where would you be without me?! I saved you! It was ME! You SURVIVED because of ME!"

"Go away!" Jimmy whimpered, still grasping at his head.

Instead, Father did what any parent would do to a disobedient child:

He punished. ***

Jimmy didn't return the next day. Or the next. Or the next.

You found yourself missing him. Remmick did, too. He'd told you and Ian about their interaction. About how cute Jimmy was, if a bit loopy. About how he heard his 'father's voice in his head.

Ian had gone quiet for a while. Disappeared in his lab until morning. Then, he'd shown you both an old prescription bottle. "I don't know if it'll work, especially after so many years of his issues going untreated," he'd admitted. "But maybe, if he ever trusts us to come here, we could try treating him."

"And you think it'll work?" Remmick sounded doubtful at best.

Ian shrugged. "How will we know if we don't try?"

Remmick was still unconvinced. But Ian had once used those very same words with you, regarding Remmick himself. Back when he'd been a full-fledged Alpha, snarling and wrathful.

You'd taken a chance, and found love.

Who knew what would happen this time?

You took a deep breath. Plucked the bottle from Ian's hand and slipped it in your pocket. "I'll go look for him," you said. "Offer him these."

Ian gave you a stern look.

"What?" You threw up your hands. "He hasn't come in a spell. Might be hurt, or worse. I mean, he's an undiagnosed schizophrenic living alone in the woods. I'd say there's a damn good chance that he's less than optimal right now!"

Ian sighed. "Reasonable."

"I'm coming with you," Remmick stated. When you turned to him, he added, "Not because you ain't capable, darlin', but because I wanna be there. For both o' ya."

Your expression softened. Leaning in, you stole a quick kiss. Without another word, you collected your spear.

"Do you have the flare gun?" Ian asked. "Just in case you need help?"

Remmick reached into his jeans' back pocket and held up his prize.

Ian nodded, satisfied. *** You found Jimmy in a cave, curled up like a shrimp and clutching his head like he thought it might fly right off his shoulders. His face was wet with tears, his awful teeth gritted in agony.

You and Remmick didn't hesitate. You placed Jimmy's head on your lap while Remmick draped Jimmy's legs on his lap, caressing them soothingly.

"Please..." Jimmy kept whispering, eyes squeezed shut. "Please, Father... Stop... Stop..."

You and Remmick shared a look. Summoning the prescription bottle, you unscrewed the lid. Plucked out a pill. Held it before Jimmy's face. "Here," you cooed. "It'll help with... with the voice."

Jimmy shook his head. "He's me father, I..."

"No father would put you through this kind of pain," you told him. "Please. Take it. It'll make you feel better."

Jimmy shook his head. Harder. Like a child trying to make the bogeyman go away. "I-I... I'll be alone."

Your heart broke. Right down the middle. You looked at Remmick and saw that his had, too.

You pursed your lips. "You won't be alone." You tucked some hair behind his ear. "We'll be here."

Jimmy opened his eyes then. Stared at you, and then at Remmick. More tears leaked from his eyes. Without thinking, you wiped them away. Remmick reached out and took Jimmy's hand, squeezing it comfortingly.

Jimmy let out a deep, shuddering breath. He gave a slow, solemn nod. Opened his mouth. You slipped the pill past his lips. An act of communion. Of kindness.

Jimmy swallowed. Then, he looked back at you two with something close to fear. "Really ye... ye won't leave?"

You shook your head. "We're right here."

"We ain't goin' nowhere," Remmick chimed in.

Jimmy burst into tears then. You hoisted him into a sitting position before pulling him into a hug. He buried his face in your hair, sobbing like a lost child. Remmick came closer, pulling you both into his strong arms.

Jimmy wept for what felt like hours, soaking through your shirt and dampening your hair. His cries eventually left, taking his strength with them. He dozed off in your arms, clinging to your shirt with white-knuckled hands. You looked at Remmick, finding the same tender expression you could feel on your own face.

"Can we keep him?" you whispered.

Remmick gave you a brief but sweet kiss. "I think we already are."

*** By high summer, Jimmy had more good days than bad. Ian had had to fiddle with the medication a bit. Find a cocktail that banished the voice the longest while delivering the least amount of side effects. Jimmy never complained. Never made a fuss. Never refused to take it. And all he wanted was a pat on the head after taking his pills.

Indeed, he dragged his feet more about brushing his damn teeth. But you, Remmick, and Ian all refused to yield on that front. At some point, you even chased him around the field, a toothbrush in one hand and a tube of toothpaste in the other. When he finally collapsed from exhaustion, you tackled him and brushed his teeth with the determination of a prospector digging around for gold.

After that experience, Jimmy started brushing his teeth more. Not enough for them to be white, but enough so that his breath smelled better.

He slept on a blanket at the foot of your and Remmick's cot. Set up snares in the woods, bringing back rabbits and badgers for everyone to eat. Accompanied Ian on his long treks to one hospital or another. Learned to cook and sew. And when either you or Remmick read, Jimmy was there. Sitting at either of your feet with wide, awestruck eyes.

And so, one day, you and Remmick decided to treat Jimmy. Took him to the blackberry bushes, each of you armed with a bucket. Jimmy walked between you. And, after a moment, he took each of your hands. You stared down at your hand, enveloped in Jimmy's, and couldn't help but smile.

For every berry that you collected, two wound up in your mouths. Soon, the three of you had reddish-purple stains all over your lips and fingers. You took one look at each other and laughed. Even when you went back to picking, you were still chuckling under your breath. Shooting each other mirthful looks.

It was the happiest you'd felt in a long time.

Until you heard Jimmy's voice, closer than you thought it'd be. "Um... (y/n)?"

You turned to find Jimmy looking oddly bashful. "I, er..." He presented you with a berry the size of an acorn, dark and bursting with flavor.

You lit up. "That's perfect!" You looked at him. "Thanks, Jimmy."

Jimmy smiled, though there was a nervousness to it. "May I...?" He held it between his forefinger and thumb.

Oh. Oh.

Feeling your heart beginning to race, you nodded.

Jimmy, looking as nervous and as excited as you felt, placed the berry between your lips. You took it into your mouth. The moment you bit down on the berry, summer bloomed on your tongue. Sweet, tart, and warmed by the sun.

Jimmy looked at you with pupil-blown eyes. "Is it... good?"

Your gaze flickered to Remmick, who'd paused in his picking to watch the display. Smiling, you asked Jimmy, "Why don't you try it for yourself?"

Jimmy blanched. "I... What?"

You smiled. Held out your hand. "It's okay."

Jimmy stared at you, and then at Remmick, who looked at you both with a mixture of hunger and affection. Never looking away, he prowled over to you. Embraced you from behind, nuzzling your neck until you simply had to card a hand through his hair. He chased your hand, kissing your stained fingertips. Meeting Jimmy's gaze over your shoulder, he nodded.

Jimmy let out a broken little whimper. One that only made your heart beat faster.

Nervously, yet grinning from ear to ear, Jimmy accepted your hand. Let you pull him closer. His hand found your cheek, tracing it gently. "So pretty..." he breathed out, blue eyes darting like swallows. "Both o' ye..."

You bumped your nose against his. "You're not bad-looking yourself, sweetie."

Jimmy whined at the term of endearment. Remmick chuckled against your neck.

Then, without further ado, you kissed Jimmy. His lips tasted like berries as they moved clumsily against yours. You guided him, threading your fingers together. Remmick moaned softly against your skin, his fingers trembling against you. Savoring the vision before him.

It was different from kissing Remmick. But lovely in its own way. And the longer you kissed Jimmy, the more you felt like maybe you could try to build something together. The three of you.

When you finally pulled apart, Jimmy's eyes stayed closed for a second. He looked like he was in the middle of a lovely dream. When he opened his eyes and saw the two of you, his dopey smile stretched from ear to cherry-red ear. "Ye taste better than the berry, hen."

"That she does," Remmick purred, peppering kisses along your hairline. You giggled, basking in the attention, before reciprocating with a peck along his jaw.

Jimmy watched you two with undisguised tenderness. He glanced at Remmick then, giving his kiss-bruised lips a nervous lick. "R-Remmick, may I...?"

Remmick grinned at him, sharp teeth flashing. "I thought you'd never ask." Giving you one last peck, he moved closer to Jimmy. He took yours and Jimmy's hands, still interlocked, and brought them to rest over his heart. Then, taking a moment to tuck some hair behind Jimmy's ear, he leaned in and pressed his lips to Jimmy's.

Their kiss was a bit rougher than yours had been, but no less emotional. When they parted, Remmick was beaming and Jimmy looked ready to walk on air.

Remmick turned to you, an invitation already on his lips. But you beat him to it, giving him a tender kiss.

That last kiss felt like a seal. The last link in a light, glittering chain binding you three together.

"Is this what it's always like?" Jimmy asked softly.

"Nah." Remmick winked at him. "Just with the right person. Or people." ***

It wasn't long after that kiss that Jimmy came clean. Told you both the extent of what he'd done. Who he'd been. It was difficult to tell and even more so to listen to. For a moment, you thought you'd made a mistake. That you'd let a wolf in sheep's clothing into your home. But when you looked into those desperate blue eyes, you didn't see a monster. You didn't see a killer or a cult leader. You just saw Jimmy.

"I'm not askin' ye tae forgive or forget what I did," he supplicated. "I'm just askin' for the chance to be better."

Remmick nodded. Took Jimmy's hand and brought it to his lips. "Okay," he whispered. "A chance. That's what I got. That's what you'll get, too."

Indeed. What if you hadn't given Remmick that chance? What if Ian hadn't given you that chance, all those years ago, but decided that an orphan was more trouble than she was worth?

You exhaled, slowly, and nodded. Pulled Jimmy into an embrace that he quickly melted in.

*** The three of you never said it. Never made it official. But that didn't make it any less real.

You found an old cot in a former bed and breakfast. It took a lot of sweat and elbow grease, but you managed to drag it back to the Bone Temple. From there, it was easy to push it against the cot you shared with Remmick, redo the sheets, and make a queen-sized bed. The first night Jimmy slept with you and Remmick, sandwiched between you, he cried happy tears.

Jimmy began to read to you two. Clumsily at first, stumbling over the bigger words, but gradually gaining skill as well as confidence. And when either you or Remmick read aloud, Jimmy insisted on being on the orator's lap, his head on their chest. It was too damn cute to discourage.

Ian kept playing his music whenever Remmick confirmed that no infected were nearby. Some nights, Ian's poor record player crooned out tunes until well past the witching hour. There, beneath the moonlight, you'd all dance. You'd spin and flail, not giving a damn how you looked because you were having too much fun. Remmick would dance an Irish jig recalled from his former life. Ian sang along to all the words as he danced, contorting his body like a snake's. Jimmy's dance was a beautiful thing to behold: He danced like a chicken, but he did it with such enthusiasm, the rest of you couldn't help but laugh, cheer, and clap.

As the days began to shorten, as the temperature started to drop, you taught Jimmy how to make cider.

Ian taught Jimmy the same things he'd taught you: How to clean and suture a wound, how to set a broken bone, and how to deal with a sprain. Jimmy was a quick study, and like with his medication, all he wanted was a pat on the head when he got it right.

Jimmy told you two all about his childhood staples, namely the Power Rangers and the Teletubbies, whom he called 'glorious'. Neither you nor Remmick understood a word of what the blond man said, but you still listened and asked the occasional question—for all the good it did.

One night, when Remmick was shivering, Jimmy took a blanket and wrapped it around his shoulders.

Once, when you came down with a cold, Remmick and Jimmy fussed over you. Jimmy pressed a cool, damp cloth to your forehead and spoon-fed you soup. Remmick sang you to sleep and cajoled you into taking Ian's homemade remedies. Ian himself barely had to do a thing, but he still checked in on you twice a day. Even at your lowest—when your body pendulated between unbearable heat and terrible shivers, all you wanted to do was sleep, and you barely had the strength to string two thoughts together—you felt loved and cared for.

Once the geese migrated, you all took it as a sign to start stocking up for winter. You and Remmick hunted more than ever, bringing back game every other day. Stags. Fish. Pheasants.

Under Ian's patient tutelage, Jimmy learned to skin, salt, pickle, smoke, and pressure-can your and Remmick's spoils.

Ian made sure all your blankets and furs were accounted for, and Remmick spent three whole days chopping firewood—sometimes ripping the log in two with his bare hands, if the axe didn't meet his standards. By the end of his self-imposed chore, the lot of you had enough kindling to last three winters.

You made dozens of new beeswax candles, stowing them away in preparation for the encroaching darkness.

Jimmy used some of the pheasants' feathers to fashion a necklace for you and a bracelet for Remmick. You were both so moved, you ganged up on him, kissing him senseless.

Ian never missed a chance to pat Jimmy on the back, ruffle his hair, or call him 'son'.

You and Remmick showered him with soft kisses, caresses, and plenty of cuddles. Letting him know, little by little, how much he meant to you. ***

On the night it finally happened, none of you expected it.

It started off innocently enough: The three of you making out in the clearing, drunk on each other and the lingering sweetness of blooming blackberry flowers. The moon was a thin smile above you, the stars hard little pinpricks against the velvet sky.

Then, slowly, it grew heated.

Kisses deepened. Touches roamed under clothes. Pupils expanded.

You'd been kissing Jimmy for the last few minutes, with Remmick kissing his way up Jimmy's spine, pulling up his purple shirt as he ascended. But now, as you parted, you cradled Jimmy's face in your hands like the treasure it was. "Jimmy, sweet pea," you crooned, "would you like to go further tonight?"

Remmick moaned, rutting against the back of Jimmy's legs at the prospect. "You watched last time, sweetheart," he remarked, eyes glowing like lanterns. "Why don'tcha partake this time around?"

Jimmy froze up, jaw clamping shut.

Remmick's gaze softened. "Hey," he crooned, kissing Jimmy's shoulder, "it's okay. We don't gotta do anything ya don't want."

"Yeah," you nodded, beginning to withdraw your hands. "We can wait—"

"No, I want tae!" Jimmy exclaimed, covering your hands with his own. Keeping them on his face. "I wanna, me loves, I do, it's just..." he hesitated, glancing down. "I've never..." He cleared his throat.

The realization hit you like a truck. You shared a wide-eyed look with Remmick before reverting your gaze to Jimmy. "Never?"

Jimmy shook his head. "I was..." he gave a self-deprecating laugh. "I was s'possed tae be the favored son o' Old Nick. Untouchable. Unreachable. Like a god. Plus, I..." he rolled his shoulders. "I was scared tae let anyone that close. Scared tae feel things fer someone, and then lose 'em, so I... kept me distance, I did."

You felt your face crumple. You began to caress his cheeks. "Oh, honey..."

Remmick spoke up. "We can go slow, if ya like. Stop if it gets t'be too much. Sound good?"

Jimmy nodded, his face shifting between anticipation and anxiety. "Aye, that sounds grand." He looked at you, then at Remmick, and then back again. "How d'we start?"

Remmick chuckled. A deep, rich sound. Like thunder smothered in honey. Reaching around Jimmy, he touched your shoulder. "How's about I start us off, darlin'?"

You nodded. "Go for it, babe."

Remmick smiled, leaned in, and thanked you with a kiss. Then, he gently turned Jimmy to face him. "The three of us," Remmick stated, "are gonna shake the very foundations o' Heaven." He captured Jimmy's lips in a kiss then. One that was gentle, almost chaste. Letting your sweet virgin ease into it.

Jimmy mewled in the kiss, cupping Remmick's face as though it were made of porcelain. You leaned back on the blanket you'd brought, watching as your men made out. It didn't take you long to feel the first stirrings of desire sparking deep inside you. But you held off on touching yourself. You wanted to savor this.

Remmick gradually upped the heat, kissing Jimmy with more passion. More tongue. And Jimmy was all for it, whimpering into the kiss and clutching Remmick's shirt so hard you thought he might tear the fabric.

Then, Remmick slipped a knee between Jimmy's thighs. Grinding slowly, almost teasingly.

Jimmy ripped free from the kiss to let out a filthy moan. One that went straight to your core. Even without moving your hand, you could feel yourself beginning to grow hot. To grow slick. To get ready for what was to come.

Jimmy moaned again, head lolling back as though it suddenly weighed a tone. "Fuck, please—R-Remmick—Don't stop—"

Remmick chuckled, his carmine eyes finding yours as he slathered Jimmy's jaw in kisses. "I'd say he's likin' the experience so far. Wouldn't you say, honey?"

"Oh, yes," you purred. "And let's keep it that way, hmm? Make it good for our boy."

"Of course," Remmick promised, nuzzling Jimmy's pulse point.

Jimmy whimpered. "I—I'm your boy?"

Remmick brought their faces together again, but didn't kiss him. Not yet. All the while, he kept grinding his knee against Jimmy's crotch. "Yes, ya are," he replied with surprising solemnity. "Our beautiful boy."

Jimmy's whimper compelled you to come closer. Nestle behind Jimmy, hugging his torso. "Our boy," you repeated, kissing and combing back his tresses. "Our sweet boy. We love you so much."

Jimmy let out a noise that was somewhere between a whine, a moan, and a sigh. He kissed Remmick fully, filthily, before turning around and kissing you with equal vigor. The kiss made you feel lightheaded, all the while making the flame inside you grow hotter.

"Love ye too," he replied. "So much." He stole another quick kiss. "More," he begged you and Remmick. "Please. More. I want ye both so, so bad."

Remmick smiled. "Your wish is our command." He removed his knee from Jimmy's crotch, prepared to pull those purple trousers down, but stopped. Looked back at Jimmy.

Jimmy whispered, "Please."

You held him closer. "Do you want me to undress your top half, sugar?"

Jimmy nodded almost frantically. Helping you unbutton his shirt and peel it off his heated flesh. You undid his gold chains, one by one, and lay them out on the blanket. You took each of his hands, kissing the palms and the inside of his wrists, as you removed his rings and placed them next to the necklaces.

Suddenly, Jimmy wailed. For a split second, you were alarmed. Then, you looked down and saw Remmick taking Jimmy's entire length in his mouth. He was making a show of it, too, hollowing out his cheeks and moaning as though Jimmy were the best thing he'd ever tasted. His ruby eyes locked on you both, shimmering with lust and love. A pale, clawed hand reached lower. Cupped Jimmy's balls, squeezing them just enough for him to feel it.

And boy did Jimmy feel it. Moaning helplessly, he bucked into Remmick's mouth. One hand pawed behind him, searching for you, and wasn't satisfied until he cupped your cheek and pulled you into a frantic kiss. The other hand grasped Remmick's hair. Not to pull at those locks, but to anchor himself.

Remmick moaned, the vibrations making Jimmy mewl in your kiss. Almost reflexively, you slid your hands up Jimmy's torso. Caressing his stomach. Tracing his ribs. Loving how the muscles jumped at your touch. And when you brushed his nipples, he thrust into Remmick's mouth. Remmick groaned, gripping Jimmy's hips in an attempt to still him. You were sure there'd be bruises there come daybreak... and Jimmy would wear them like he always wore his jewelry.

Smiling against Jimmy's lips, you rolled one of his nipples between your fingers. Tweaked it gently. Jimmy's responding groan was barely muffled by the kiss.

Remmick pulled off Jimmy, wiping his mouth. His eyes were glowing brighter than ever, nearly outshining the stars. "Taste so good, baby." He gave Jimmy's hipbone a gentle peck.

As you and Jimmy pulled apart, Remmick patted the other man's thigh. Summoning his attention. "How ya wanna do this?"

Jimmy swallowed, visibly unsure of how to respond.

"We can go slow," Remmick promised, caressing Jimmy's stomach. "And ya can always say no. This is all about feelin' good, Jimmy. If you ain't havin' fun, neither are we." He looked to you. "Right, darlin'?"

"As rain, sweetheart." You pushed an errant lock from Jimmy's eyes. "Just tell us what you want, and we'll do our best to make it happen."

Jimmy swallowed. "I just... wanna feel ya. Both." Blushing, he added, "At the same time."

Remmick considered it, then nodded. "Okay." Reaching into his hoodie's pocket, he produced—

"—A bottle of lube?" You exclaimed, equal parts shocked and delighted. "Where the hell did you find that?"

"Pharmacy," Remmick winked. "Found it on the last supply run with Ian. Held onto it, just in case."

Jimmy did the math in his head. "Ye've had it for two weeks?!"

Remmick's sweet smile melted your heart a little. God, you loved this man. "Didn't wanna force anything. I thought it best just to have it until we got to this point."

Jimmy moaned, his head tipping back and landing on your shoulder. You blew some of his hair out of your face. "Why is the thought o' ye goin' around wit' lube in yer pocket so hot?"

You grinned, giving Jimmy's peck a playful squeeze. "Because right now, you're horny as fuck. I'm pretty sure a light breeze could make you come right about now." As Jimmy nodded in agreement, you turned back to Remmick. "Shall you do the honors?" Nodding at the tent in his pants, you added, "I can touch you while you work our boy open."

Remmick shook his head, still smiling. "Nah, it's okay. I can wait. In fact, it'll make it that much sweeter." He arched a brow. "But maybe our boy can work on ya while I open him up." He traced Jimmy's hip with feather-light claws. "What d'ya say, Jimmy? Wanna taste our girl?"

Jimmy's eyes lit up. "Can I?"

In response, you shed your clothing and lay on your back. When Jimmy turned to behold you, you smiled at him as you opened your legs. "I don't know, Jimmy," you teased, reaching down to circle your clit. "Can you?"

Jimmy dropped to his hands and knees, crawling towards you with single-minded determination. Remmick chuckled at his enthusiasm as he stripped down. Both sights—Remmick exposing more and more of that pale, sinewy body to the cool night and Jimmy making his way toward you, his eyes glassy with both lust and love—made heat flare in the pit of your stomach.

Jimmy reached you at last. His trembling hands climbed up your calves, your knees, and your thighs. His touch was worshipful, almost painfully so. His gaze weighed by a thousand emotions. And when you felt his hot, excited breath on your entrance, you shivered.

Jimmy looked up at you with eyes as blue and glassy as marbles. "Are ye ready, petal?"

You nodded. Caressed his jaw. "Go ahead, Jimmy."

Jimmy smiled at you. A genuine, sweet smile. One that made your heart twist. You and Remmick had been right to keep him.

Jimmy put his mouth on you then.

He was gentle at first. Slow, reverent licks from end to end. Tasting you with care. Even when you looked up to see Remmick sliding a finger inside Jimmy, Jimmy didn't change his rhythm. Just moaned as he licked into you, his fingers digging into your thighs.

As Remmick pumped that one finger into Jimmy's hole, he gazed at you both with open hunger. Drool began to dangle from his lips, the strands glistening in the moonlight.

"You two're so perfect like this," he whispered. "So blissed out. Heaven-sent."

You keened in reply, feeling beautiful and desired and utterly loved. One hand reached down, cradling Jimmy's cheek as he worked his tongue into you. The other made its way to your lips. You kissed your fingers, then blew the kiss at Remmick. He beamed before blowing a kiss right back.

Jimmy's tongue found your clit then, licking it with the perfect amount of pressure. You gasped, back arching, as that dexterous muscle circled that bundle of nerves like a shark.

Remmick watched Jimmy take you apart like he was starved for it. He slipped a second finger inside Jimmy, who shuddered and mewled against your folds.

"So good," Jimmy whimpered against you, his face wet with your slick. "Both o' ye... So good." He sounded dazed, almost drunk.

"So do you." Remmick gave Jimmy's ass a good squeeze, all the while working him with unyielding patience. He looked painfully hard, the head almost purple and weeping precum. But he focused on prepping Jimmy. On beholding you. "Hot and tight. Can't wait to fuck you blind, Jimmy, and have our girl ride you while I do it."

The mental picture made you cry out and thrust your hips against Jimmy's mouth. He took it as a sign to lick your clit faster. To slip two of his own fingers deep inside you.

"Fuck!" you cried out, gyrating your hips even more. "Fuck, Jimmy, so good... You're doing so well, baby, I..." You cut yourself off with a moan.

Jimmy detached his lips from your clit, but his fingers kept pistoning inside you. "Ye gonna come, bonnie?"

You gave a quick nod.

"Good girl." Jimmy lowered himself again. "Give it tae me. Give it tae us. Please."

His tongue returned to your clit. Quick. Sloppy. Relentless. Moving almost as quickly as his fingers. It was a wonder his hand didn't cramp up.

"Guys," you gasped, "I'm—I'm gonna—" You shattered, hips bucking wildly against Jimmy's tongue and fingers. Your back arched, your eyes sliding shut in bliss.

When you finally recovered enough, when your broken pieces came together again, you looked up at your sweethearts. Jimmy clutched at your thighs, whimpering and mewling as Remmick finished prepping him. Remmick was thrusting three fingers into Jimmy, drinking in his needy little noises while still gazing at you. "That was beautiful," he whispered.

"D-divine," Jimmy managed to say around a keen. "S-su-sublime." He yelped as Remmick gave a particularly powerful thrust.

Remmick stopped. "Sorry," he sounded legitimately concerned, his free hand petting Jimmy's hip. "Too much?"

"No!" Jimmy shook his head. "No, it's perfect." He looked between you both with eyes feverish with desire. "I'm ready. For ye both. Please."

Remmick hesitated, weighing his judgment against Jimmy's plea, before finally nodding. "Okay, honey." He slowly withdrew his hand, and Jimmy let out another debauched moan. Squirting a generous amount of lube in his palm, Remmick slicked himself up. Then, he sat on his knees.

Grinning at Jimmy, Remmick patted his sturdy thighs. "Come now," he purred, "sit on Daddy's lap."

Jimmy did, but not before giving you a quick kiss. He crawled to Remmick, giving you a truly excellent view of his firm, round ass. Remmick smiled, leaned down, and gave Jimmy a searing kiss of his own. Jimmy responded instantly, cupping Remmick's cheeks as he let the Alpha guide him into a straddling position, facing you.

The kiss broke, Remmick staring into Jimmy's blue eyes with his crimson ones. "Ready, darlin'?"

Jimmy nodded at Remmick over his shoulder. "Are ye?"

Remmick groaned, rubbing his nose against Jimmy's. "I been ready for you two for years."

Jimmy smiled even as his eyes grew dewy. "Me, too."

Then, he sank down. Taking Remmick's cock inch by inch. Both men moaned at the contact, panting and clutching each other with white-knuckled hands.

You rubbed your thighs together, desperate for friction, as you waited for your turn.

Eventually, Jimmy was fully seated in Remmick's lap, his own cock hard and leaking against his stomach. It was smaller than Remmick's, though not by much, but thicker. You were tempted to touch it, but you didn't want to smother Jimmy. God knows he already looked overwhelmed, breathing in short bursts and twitching and squeezing his eyes shut. If you hadn't heard him whimper, "Feels so good..." you might've worried.

Even so, you stroked Jimmy's abdomen. Traced a few of the scars there. Let your soft touch ground him. Smiled when you saw some of the tension bleed out of him. And, when you saw that Remmick was gripping Jimmy's hips, taking care not to incise the skin with his claws, you covered one of Remmick's hands with yours. Remmick interlaced your fingers.

You waited until they'd caught their breath before asking, in a tone that was both saucy and soft, "Room for one more?"

"For you?" Remmick replied. "Always. Ain't that right, Jimmy?"

Jimmy grinned, looking at you with half-lidded devotion. "Yes. Ye. Only ye."

He offered you his hands. You took them. Let him hoist you up. Your thighs flanked his hips, your shins brushing against Remmick's. You smiled at your Alpha lover, leaning in to meet him over Jimmy's shoulder. Remmick kissed you like he hadn't seen you in years. Jimmy showed no jealousy, no pettiness. Just held you close, helping you stay balanced on his lap as you gave Remmick some attention.

To thank Jimmy, to show your appreciation, you kissed him in return. Jimmy moaned at the taste of you and Remmick, a combination of flavors he couldn't hope to go without ever again.

Your hands found Jimmy's shoulders. Then, maintaining eye contact, you sank down on his cock.

Jimmy's head lolled back, landing on Remmick's shoulder. A broken moan spilled from his throat. Remmick combed his hand through Jimmy's hair, whispering soothing words you couldn't catch.

Those ruby eyes met yours. You can do this, they said. I know you can.

For a split second, you weren't so sure. Jimmy was even thicker than he'd looked. It stung for the briefest of moments, your body adjusting to the sudden intrusion. But you were aroused, Jimmy had done an excellent job on you, and Remmick's gaze gave you the strength you needed. Before Jimmy was fully sheathed inside you, the pain had turned to pressure. Which, in turned, bloomed into pleasure.

You cupped Jimmy's cheek. He chased your touch, raising his head once more. He looked just about ready to pass out.

"Are you okay?" you whispered.

Jimmy nodded, looking as blissed out as you felt.

"'Course he is," Remmick kissed Jimmy's cheek, making it go bright red. "He's our strong, perfect boy."

You giggled. "Yeah, he is." You leaned in, skimming Jimmy's lips with yours. "Really, though. If you need a second—"

"N-no, I'm all right." Jimmy pressed his forehead to yours. "What about ye, hen? How're ye doin'?"

"I'm making love to my darlings, so," you pecked his lips, "yeah, I'd say I'm doing pretty fucking well."

Jimmy chuckled as he adjusted his grip, sliding his hands down your sides to cradle your hips.

You, in turn, coiled your arms around his neck. "Don't let me fall," you half-joked. After all, you were on Jimmy's lap, and Jimmy himself was doing a reverse cowboy on Remmick. Not exactly a stable structure.

Jimmy gave your hips a comforting squeeze. "Ain't never lettin' ye go," he swore.

"Neither o' us are," Remmick promised. Then, as if to prove it, he reached around Jimmy to placed a clawed hand on your back. Helping you find your balance.

Then, together, you began to move. Instinctively. Innately.

Your blood sang in your veins, your heart pounding like a rabbit's on cocaine. The drag and pull of Jimmy's cock inside you, the fullness, the echoes of every one of Remmick's thrusts... it almost felt like a feedback loop. Like you couldn't tell whose pleasure was whose.

But really, you knew: It belonged to all three of you.

You moved in a dance all of your own. Like you wanted to crawl under each other's skin and live there forever, nestled against your bones. The clearing filled with your symphony: Skin slapping against skin, the wet glide of your kisses, and your noises. Whimpers. Moans. Whispered words of praise and endearment. You were so drunk on both of them, it was hard to imagine a point in your life when you'd never even met them. Nor did you especially want to.

Maybe that was what love was, at the end of the day.

The thought made you hold Jimmy closer. Reach behind him to give Remmick whatever affection you could. Breathe them both in. Let the pleasure grow until it felt like you were inside it rather than vice versa.

Until it was about to consume you.

You buried your face in Jimmy's neck, reaching out behind him to grasp Remmick's shoulder. "I'm gonna come, darlings," you moaned. "But don't stop, please don't stop."

Jimmy's eyes widened. He nodded, kissing you fiercely, as Remmick quickened his pace. Moved harder, faster, every nerve spitting sparks.

You moaned into Jimmy's mouth, cradling the back of his head while your other hand reached behind him and found Remmick's cheek.

Jimmy's hand slid down to just above where your bodies were connected. His fingers found your throbbing clit, rubbing it with frantic revelry.

You cried out, bucking against him. Chasing your peak, that sweet oblivion.

"Let go, me love," Jimmy urged against your lips. "We've got ye, sweet pea. Please. Come for us."

Your second orgasm crashed around you like a wave, hot and sweet and roaring. Your entire body went rigid, a raw noise bursting from your throat and spilling into the night air.

Feeling your climax triggered Jimmy's own. With a broken cry, he pulled you to him in a crushing hug as he pumped you full of his seed. His orgasm went on and on, waves rolling over him until both you and him nearly fell off Remmick's lap.

Remmick wasn't one to let go easily, though. And he wasn't done, either. One arm remained coiled around you both, keeping you in place. The other curled around Jimmy as Remmick kept thrusting. Frantic. Uneven. Driven by the need for both of you.

Jimmy began to whimper. Wince.

Remmick stopped at once. "Shit," he embraced Jimmy from behind, nuzzling his neck. Kissed the delicate shell of his ear. "Sorry, darlin'. I didn't mean to hurt ya."

Jimmy shook his head, his hand finding Remmick's and giving it a squeeze. "I-it's fine."

"You sure?" You cupped Jimmy's face. "Do you need to stop?"

"N-no," Jimmy promised, leaning into your touch. "I'm fine. I-I can do it."

Remmick nibbled the inside of his cheek. "I don't know..."

"Please." Jimmy looked beseechingly at you, and then at Remmick. "Please, me loves. Got another one in me. I wanna keep goin' if ye two are still willin'."

You pursed your lips, weighing his words and studying his expression. Nothing but certainty looked back at you. Satisfied, you assessed your own body. It was still sensitive from its own orgasm, but not overstimulated. It could take some more.

Finally, you nodded. "Okay. I'm good to go."

Jimmy sighed happily, pulling you closer.

You looked at Remmick over Jimmy's shoulder. "What do you say, babe?"

Remmick nodded. "Okay. But the second either of ya need to stop, you tell me."

With a frustrated groan, Jimmy jerked back against Remmick.

Remmick gave Jimmy a careful slap on the ass. "Brat." But the word was said too affectionately to truly be a reprimand.

He drew out, almost exiting Jimmy entirely... before thrusting back in.

Jimmy moaned, clutching you close. You returned his embrace, meeting Remmick's eyes as he fucked into Jimmy like a man possessed. The sight of you only seemed to rile him up more. He thrust harder, deeper, than before.

You could feel echoes of it through your connection to Jimmy, and it felt wild. Feral. Gorgeous.

Jimmy moaned like a zombie in an old movie, loud and mindless and utterly desperate. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach, both on you and on Remmick. Gorging himself on both your tastes, no better than a man at a banquet. When Remmick caught Jimmy's lips in an all-consuming kiss, all tongue and teeth, you could feel how much Jimmy enjoyed it. Could feel him hardening inside you again.

His arousal calling to your own, you thrust against Jimmy. Alternated between kissing and nibbling on his neck. Tightened your muscles against his shaft. And, remembering your earlier ministrations, you gave his nipples a light pinch.

Jimmy pulled away from Remmick's lips with a cry. "I'm so close!" he wailed.

You grinned, playing with a lock of his hair. "Yeah? Gonna come again, baby?"

Jimmy nodded, nearly sobbing.

"Me too, sweet pea," Remmick leaned over Jimmy's shoulder, kissing you fully. "Let's do it. Together. Yeah?"

"Together," Jimmy agreed, his voice cracking. With white-knuckled hands, he kept holding you and pawing at Remmick. "Please, please, please, I—"

Without thinking, you bit Jimmy's neck. Just hard enough to dent the skin.

Jimmy screamed, actually screamed, as his orgasm took him. He shuddered between you two as you felt him fill you up a second time, his seed spilling down the inside of your thighs and dripping onto the ground.

It was enough to give you one last climax. Brief but brilliant, like a firecracker.

Remmick moaned at the sight of Jimmy filling you. Of you biting Jimmy. "My beauties," he gasped, thrusting hard. "Love ya both—so—goddamn—much—" He came with a broken moan, burying his face into Jimmy's neck as he emptied himself inside him.

The three of you collapsed on the blanket together, breathing hard and trembling from the intensity.

Five whole minutes later, you were still breathless. Still shaking. But you noticed that Jimmy was clutching you both like he was scared to let go. Instantly, you pulled him in your arms. Remmick, in turn, pulled you in his arms. Curling his body around yours and Jimmy's, protective and loving. You three were entangled, no better than the blackberry brambles around you.

Jimmy made a small noise that you felt more than heard. Something between a moan, a whimper, and a sob. The sound one makes when they're utterly overwhelmed with something wonderful.

You kissed the crown of his head. "You're all right," you whispered.

"Yeah," Remmick caressed Jimmy's back. "We're right here, lovey."

Jimmy slowly raised his head. Looked at you both with a mixture of disbelief, hope, and the same emotion you were nursing in your chest. He kissed Remmick first before moving onto you. Gentle. Unhurried.

"Love ye," he whispered. "Both o' ye. Wit' all me heart. I..." he gave a weak, frayed chuckle. "Kinda lost it for a while. Me heart, I mean. But now I found it." He sniffed. "And it's yers. All of it."

You tightened your hold on Jimmy. "We love you too," you whispered.

"Always," Remmick confirmed. He looked at you, eyes like liquid rubies.

You guided him into a sweet kiss of your own. When you parted, Remmick nuzzled you like a cat. His whiskered cheeks rasped delightfully against your smooth ones. That simple yet sweet sensation, combined with Jimmy's face nestling against your throat, brought you close to tears.

The three of you fell asleep like that. Under the stars, locked in a three-way embrace. Safe. Content. Together.

[thebookdragon95]

Shoutout to @perfume-and-oatmilk for making this gorgeous cover art for my duology Finding You! You are terrific, bestie! Thank you so, so much!!

[thebookdragon95]

Finding You

Part One of Two

Pairing: Remmick x Jimmy x fem!reader

Summary: After losing all seven of his Fingers and nearly dying himself, Jimmy has never felt so lost. So stranded. So devoid of purpose. He prays to his father for a sign. Instead, he is met with a vision: You, an uninfected woman, making love to a red-eyed Alpha. One who speaks, touches you with care, and ensures you enjoy it just as much as him. The sight overwhelms Jimmy. Fills him with fantasies and desires he never thought possible.

He returns to that spot, eager to see your lovemaking again. Eager to be part of it, if only by watching.

Neither you nor your Alpha lover, Remmick, wants to harm him. No. You want to keep him.

Warning: Contains threesome (m/m/f), oral sex (male and female receiving), voyeurism, begging, enthusiastic consent, talking during sex. Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @h3r3t1c, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @ellie-luvsfics, @ibsbarbie, @mangos-and-cream, @scrprints, @samueldendro, @emmawrites-stuff, @lonelyryro, @wolverineswaifu, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @kaszz-216, @mariosmith, @fabulousfay009-blog, @bleedingsunlight, @madkingcrowley, @foxtufts, @rhardossantos, @thymedbubbles, @mingapace, @emmawrites-stuff,

"I believe that the infection can be treated." Three months since Dr. Ian Kelson, who'd long ago become 'Da' to you, had spoken those words, yet they still clanged within your skull like rusted church bells. He may as well have said that fish can fly, or that hemlock was a great seasoning. It would've been just as preposterous.

When the virus struck, you'd spent the first three days of the new world's existence cowering in a broom closet with your parents' lifeblood drying on your clothes. If Ian hadn't found you... you'd have been there still, nothing but bones and dusty clothes. He'd taken you in. Loved and nurtured you. Taught you everything he knew. Been there for you. Yours wasn't just gratitude, but genuine love for the man.

That was why, for the first week or so after he'd made his declaration, you'd tried time and time again to talk him out of it. Told him that it wasn't possible. That even if the rest of the world had found a cure, they'd written off the British Isles as lost, all those living there as not worth saving now that the virus had been cleansed everywhere else. And leaving wasn't possible, either. Not with powerful eyes watching the islands, ready to bomb any vessel they saw to Kingdom Come.

"And even if you did find a cure, somehow," you'd carried on, "whatever meds you have are finite. You'd never be able to cure every single infected here."

Ian had given you a sad smile, his chlorine-blue eyes crinkling with affection. "I know, dear," he'd said, "but if I can cure even a small handful of people, then that'd make all the difference."

You'd groaned. Begged. Insisted that it was a pipe dream. But in the end, when he'd gone hunting for an infected to bring back home, you'd seized your weapons and shadowed him.

As the morning mists curled around the hills, the sun a silver coin just beyond the tree line, the two of you had set a trap. Laid out the boar organs you'd been intending to grill and stew. Made sure the line was nice and taut. Then, you hid in the blackberry bushes, which were just starting to bear fruit.

That last part was your idea. Waiting for a trap to spring could take a while. At least this way, you'd have something to eat. You weren't a fussy eater by any means—hard to be, when you grew up hunting in the woods and scavenging in long-abandoned supermarkets—but blackberries were easily your favorite.

You and Ian munched on a few berries, the juice staining your lips until you probably looked a little like infected yourselves, when something came into view. Sniffing. Tilting its head.

You were holding a rock. Ready to throw it at an animal and scare it away from the trap. But as the thing stepped out of the shadows, the stone slipped from your fingers.

It was an infected. Male. Dressed in a filthy white wife-beater and black trousers, the shoes soggy and full of holes. Its pale skin was marred with dried gore, its dark hair hanging in stiff clumps, and its eyes were rubies. Its fingernails had grown so long, they were practically claws. That old movie, Nosferatu, sailed before your mind's eye. Its teeth, too, were those of a predator. Sharp. Jagged.

It wasn't the biggest infected you'd ever seen. Not by a long shot. It was only a little taller than you, its build strong but slender. But somehow, the way it carried itself was unmistakable.

It was an Alpha.

Anxiety gnawed at you with broken fangs. Presently, Alphas were the crème de la crème of the Rage Virus. Stronger, faster, smarter, and more tenacious than other infected. If an Alpha was ever in a herd of infected, you could bet whatever you liked that they'd be the unquestioned leader.

Honestly, you'd have preferred a weak, pathetic specimen. At least, when Ian's optimistic endeavor failed, the creature would be easy to kill. An Alpha in the Bone Temple? In your home? The thought was too horrifying to consider.

Even so... You couldn't deny that this was a good-looking specimen. Handsome, yes. But beyond that... there was something almost pensive in the way it carried itself. Like a musician trying out a tune in their head.

Who had this Alpha been before being bitten? What had it been like? You knew that whoever he'd been was lost now, with only a rabid carcass to prove he'd existed at all. But as you watched the Alpha inch closer, tilting its head like a curious bird, you felt the faintest stirrings of pity for it. Maybe even compassion.

Ian had rubbed off on you even more than you'd thought.

The Alpha neared the organs, each one glistening in the anemic sunlight like a wet jewel. It began to drool at the smell; thick, viscous tendrils hanging from its lips. Its fingers twitched with anticipation.

It took another step.

The wrong step.

With a snap and a whir, the line went taut and the Alpha was reeled into the air. Its ankle was bound with steel wire, already cutting into the pallid flesh, and its body flailed like a fish out of water. It began to scream and howl in outrage, sending several flocks of frightened birds careening into the sky.

Gone was the pensive gentleness. Gone were the contemplations of who'd lived in this body before. Only the virus remained. Only the madness. Only the Alpha.

You looked to Ian one last time. "This is never going to work."

Ian gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I think it will," he told you. "But even if you're right, dear, even if it's hopeless..." he gave you a beseeching look, "... how will we know if we don't try?"

You looked at him for a long time, seeing the kindness and sweetness that the world hadn't beaten out of him—though not for lack of trying. The same kindness that'd compelled him to build the Bone Temple, take you in, and knock out the infected rather than kill them.

You emptied your lungs of air. "Let's get this over with."

Ian smiled at you. "That's my girl."

The two of you approached the screaming Alpha. Upon seeing you, its furious howls grew louder and somehow even angrier. It tried to force its body towards either you. Reaching out, ready to tear you limb from limb.

Promptly, you hit its head with the butt of your spear. In one, precise blow, the Alpha was knocked out. Hanging there like a side of veal.

Ian cracked his knuckles. "All right," he murmured, "let's work, pray, and work some more."

You grunted. "And get a big dose of morphine ready. Just in case."

*** Ian injected the Alpha with his homemade cure, hope twinkling in his eyes. You were just happy that he'd agreed to chaining the creature's wrists and ankles while it was still unconscious. You kept your spear ready, just in case, the blade sharp and keep and ready for service.

Sitting far enough away to be safe, yet close enough to protect your adopted father, you watched. Waited. Simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to the Alpha waking up and proving you right.

It wasn't that you didn't want it to work. Of course you did. You'd have been over the moon if Ian could cure even one person of the virus. But this world loved to kill hope. Some days, it seemed too much to hope for a stag plump enough to feed you both for a fortnight. Hoping for something as monumental as a cure felt like asking for disillusionment.

The Alpha's eyes snapped open, its pupils blood-red. But instead of lunging for either of you, or fighting against its restraints like you expected, it simply growled. A warning. Nothing more, nothing less. It assessed its environment with something within shouting distance of intelligence, its body stiff with tension.

Ian held his hands up for the creature to see. "Easy," he spoke softly, as though to a spooked animal. "My name is Ian. And this," he nodded in your direction, "is (y/n). My adopted daughter. We don't want to hurt you. We only want to help."

You hummed. A noncommittal reply. It was the best you could do.

The Alpha hissed, but still made no move to attack.

For a long, tense moment, none of you moved.

Then, slowly, the Alpha shifted. Raised its hands.

For a second, you thought it wanted to attack. You tightened your grip on your spear.

Then, you realized what it was doing—and your jaw dropped.

The creature had raised its clawed hands. Imitating Ian.

Ian laughed. You could only stare. ***

At first, the creature remained chained to the bed in the supply chamber. You and Ian took turns feeding it, injecting it with the cure, cleaning it, and simply sitting with it. Keeping it company. It never bit either of you. Never showed any aggression. If anything, it became more docile by the day.

But by the end of the fifth day, it was anxiously tugging at its restraints, looking at the grate leading to the outside.

You could almost see its thoughts. It wanted to run. To hunt. To breathe fresh air, as it had for who knows how long before it wandered into your trap. Ian didn't notice the creature's restlessness. He was too busy taking notes and ensuring the cure's ingredients were stocked.

But you noticed. And, despite a part of your brain screaming at you to not be stupid, to keep the danger to a minimum, you found yourself undoing the straps.

The Alpha massaged its wrists, staring at you without an ounce of hostility. You half-expected it to thank you. If it had, you would've fainted.

Slowly, almost timidly, it got to its feet. Approached you slowly. Your spear was close enough to grab, but you made no move to seize it. You simply let the Alpha get close to you, meeting its gaze. Sensing not anger or madness from it, but simple curiosity.

It was clean now, donned in some of Ian's old clothes. You'd even used some of your shampoo on its hair, its dark waves now glossy in the poor lighting.

That, combined with the almost gentle way it was looking at you, made the Alpha look human.

The creature reached for you. Slowly. Hesitantly. Its long-clawed hand traced your cheek as though it were made of delicate lace. The edge of your mouth quirked up, and the Alpha mirrored you. Was it just mimicry? Or did it feel as you did?

You swallowed. Letting yourself hope, if only for a moment. "What's your name?"

The Alpha's lips moved, but no sound came out.

"My name is (y/n)," you told it in a gentle voice. "Can you say that?"

The Alpha kept looking at you like you were the moon peeking out of a storm cloud. It touched your cheek again. You found yourself leaning into it. "Would you like to go outside?" You pointed to the exit.

The Alpha's gaze lit up, no better than a child being offered candy. You smiled. Widely, genuinely, for the first time. You nodded, moving slowly for the exit. "Come."

It did. You watched the Alpha for the rest of the day, smiling to yourself. You watched it bask in the sunlight as though it hadn't had the chance in years. Watched it splash around in the river. Watched it sniff a flower, try to eat it, and then spit it out in angered revulsion, floored that something that smells so sweet could taste so vile. The display made you laugh. The Alpha turned towards your laughter... and smiled at you. The sight did strange things to your heartbeat.

*** From that night onward, it didn't sleep with any restraints. And, one day at a time, you and Ian began to interact with it more. You assigned it with simple tasks, like fetching firewood or guarding the Bone Temple.

But in between chores, you began to teach the Alpha what it meant to live as a human. Ian played music, fully encouraging the two of you to dance along with it. You taught the Alpha how to play checkers and poker, often letting it win. With the patience of a saint, Ian reintroduced the Alpha to words, holding up the items so that it could make the connection. You talked to the Alpha about this and that, letting it grow used to conversation.

One day, it left. You held back tears. Convinced that it'd abandoned you both.

It came back at nightfall with a stag, carrying it on its shoulders without breaking a sweat. Reverently, the Alpha lay the dead beast at your feet. Looking at you from beneath its eyelashes. Is this good? that gaze screamed. Did I do good for you?

Two things happened that night: The three of you ate well, and you started calling the Alpha 'him'. Both in your mind and with your voice. ***

One day, three months after you and Ian first dragged the Alpha's body to the Bone Temple, you heard his voice for the first time.

You were reading to the Alpha—a daily ritual for you, today's selection was Paradise Lost—when he said something.

A single word.

Your name.

You froze, the old tome nearly falling from your hands.

"Could..." you swallowed hard, "... could you... repeat that, please?"

From his place at your feet, the Alpha smiled at you. He did that a lot. "(Y/n)." He said the word with all the gravitas of a priest quoting Scripture.

You chortled. Just a little at first, then more. Loudly. Happily. Almost overwhelmed by the joy flooding your mind and heart. Putting the book down, you nodded as you abandoned your chair. Moved to kneel on the ground beside him, your hands finding his shoulders. "Yes!" you exclaimed. "Yes, that's right!" Your hand found his cheek, and he leaned into it with a sigh. "You did it! You..." You laughed again, though it was tinged with sadness this time. "But I still don't know your name."

The Alpha looked back at you, saw your distress, and took a few rapid blinks. Straightened. Visibly racked his brains to remember.

"It's okay," you said quickly, wanting to shield him from that potential disappointment. "It's all right, you don't have to—"

"R... Remmick."

Your jaw dropped. For a moment, it was stuck like that. Then, carefully, you echoed him. "Remmick?"

The Alpha brightened. Nodded eagerly.

You giggled even as a couple of hot tears ran down your face. "Okay. Remmick." You exhaled, feeling like you'd just been given a priceless gift. "Nice to meet you, Remmick."

After a moment's hesitation, Remmick reached up and covered your hands. Keeping them on his shoulders. *** Ian was ecstatic. Even more so when, in the following weeks, more and more words bloomed on Remmick's lips like flowers. Warm. Cold. Hungry. Okay. Then, as summer made way for autumn, he began to speak in short but clear sentences. Full moon tonight. Infected nearby. Need more water. I go hunt. And, your personal favorite: One more story?

You briefly freaked out when Ian disclosed, out of Remmick's earshot, that he was going to begin weaning the Alpha off the cure. "He's been taking it for a season now," he explained. "I think that it's well and truly in his system. Giving him more might just be a waste of limited resources."

"Yes," you hissed, your eyes darting anxiously back to Remmick, "or it might keep him human! Son of a bitch, Da, what if he regresses? What if he attacks us? I don't—!" You cut yourself off, but Ian heard the rest anyway. I don't want to lose him.

Ian covered your hand with his. "Let's just see what happens, hmm?"

You worried your bottom lip. And that night, when the time for Remmick's daily dose came and went, you sweated bullets. Watched him closely. Waited for any relapse. Any regression. You were so anxious, you couldn't even eat dinner.

That night, Remmick tapped on the curtain that separated your portion of the shelter from Ian's. And when you let him in, he approached you. His eyes were still red, but clear. His body language, gentle. That alone helped you relax, if only a little.

"Are you okay?" you asked, sitting up in your cot. "Are you still hungry, or...?"

Remmick shook his head. Suddenly looking as timid as a child, he nudged the cot's corner with his foot. "Can I...?" He gave his lips a nervous lick. "With you?"

Your shock must've shown on your face, for Remmick added. "Wanna... be near... you." The longest sentence he'd said so far, each word raw and bloody. His face, ashen with longing and vulnerability.

That was when you knew, beyond any doubt, that Remmick wouldn't hurt you.

You didn't know if the cure's effects would wear off. But whatever tomorrow brought, you knew that for tonight, all he wanted was closeness.

Your heart somersaulting in your rib-cage, you slowly nodded. Remmick smiled. Sweetly, almost childlike. You threw back the blankets and scooted back in the cot, making as much room for him as you could. He crawled in, eyes like embers, and wasted no time taking you in his arms.

You gasped at the sudden contact before slowly relaxing, pulling the afghans to cover you both. Then, once you were both tucked in, you rested your head against his chest. Listened to the steady drumbeat of his strong heart.

His hand found your hair. Stroking it gently.

You two lay there for what simultaneously felt like seconds and hours. Time softened all around you, the world narrowing to this small chamber, the bed, the candle burning on your nightstand, and your intertwining bodies.

"Goodnight, Remmick," you whispered, your eyelids growing heavy. "I wish you good dreams."

"Goodnight, (y/n)," he murmured in reply. Then, you felt him shift against you.

Felt his lips press against the crown of your head.

You never slept better than you did that night. ***

As autumn froze into winter, and Remmick's doses withered away to nothing, he continued to mesmerize you.

On one hand, he never became fully human. His eyes stayed red. His freakish strength remained. And when he was bitten by a couple of other infected—who didn't live long enough to regret their poor decision—the bite marks healed, and that was the end of that.

On the other, Remmick's mind continued to emerge from its virus-induced fog. His sentences grew longer still, his memory coming back in fragments. He began to read to you, just as you'd done for him, his hand never far from yours. He and Ian began to discuss matters over dinner, while you mostly sat back and watched with a mixture of admiration and affection. They discussed politics in the Before times. History. Philosophy. Even cooking shows and music.

Remmick revealed that he'd once played the banjo. That he'd loved it more than air.

Not long after, while scavenging in one of the many desolate towns, you found a relatively intact music store. It didn't take you long to find what you were looking for.

Remmick stared at the banjo for a long time, his eyes and mouth forming three perfect O's. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, he strummed the strings. Notes sweetened the air like perfume.

"Do you like it?" you asked, caught between giddiness and anxiety.

Remmick set the banjo against one of the many pillars of femurs and humerus bones. Then, he turned around, cupped your face, and pulled you into a kiss.

It was gentle, almost chaste. No tongue. No teeth knocking together. You two barely even tilted your heads.

You didn't rush, either. Neither of you did. Just slowly fell into the sensation together, like stones sliding into warm water.

Your eyes slid shut. His clawed hands, capable of rending flesh like tissue paper, cradled your cheeks with the utmost tenderness. After a moment, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you parted, if only a little, you felt as though someone had stuffed your head with wool fluff. Remmick's cheeks were dusted pink, his ears the color of Pepto Bismol, and his pupils were the size of bullet holes. You'd never seen anyone smile so widely, and it was beautiful—sharp teeth and all.

"Wow." The word, more sighed than said, warmed your own, crimsoned cheeks.

You giggled. "I know."

Remmick suddenly seemed to realize something. "I'm sorry I didn't ask first. I was just so happy, and..." he gave a helpless shrug.

You arched a brow. "Do I look upset to you?"

"... No?" Remmick ventured.

You laughed. "How about you kiss me again? Just to be sure you didn't cross any lines?"

Remmick chortled, his unease melting away like spring snow, and he leaned in for another kiss. This time, he coiled his arms around your waist and picked you up as though you were weightless. You cackled against his lips, tightening your grip around his neck, before kissing him back with fervor.

It was one of the happiest moments of your life, bar none. And somehow, you knew that it wouldn't be the last. Not for you, and not for Remmick. ***

Neither of you two said it out loud, but ever since the kiss, you became a couple.

You held hands all the time. You went hunting and foraging together. You shared a bed, often cuddling before sleep claimed you both. You kissed and touched each other over your clothes. You read together, often for hours, sitting shoulder to shoulder with mugs of home-brewed tea and snacks within arm's reach. You talked about everything and nothing. You told each other things you'd never told anyone else. You gave each other little gifts, from necklaces made from small animal bones to flowers to unexpected treasures you found in the wreckage of the Before. When either of you was sick or hurt, the other was right there, ready to help in any way possible. And, now that he had a banjo, Remmick played for you almost every night. His fingers moving with almost instinctual grace, he sang songs that you'd never heard before but still felt deep inside your bones.

Nobody told you how to act in the relationship. Not even Ian. He smiled at you two, his eyes lighting up whenever he saw you together, but he never once tried to dictate your behavior. And even the few romance books you found and read didn't leave much of an impact.

It felt better this way. More genuine. More yours. You did things because you both wanted to, not because you were obeying some pre-approved script.

The more time passed, the more you wondered how you'd gone so long without ever feeling this way. Being in love was like living in a country that was different, brighter, softer than your own. Where colors were more vibrant, food had more flavor, and problems weren't as earth-shattering.

You didn't even realize that was what you felt. Not right away.

But one night, as the first flowers began to poke through the snow, you and Remmick sneaked into the woods in pursuit of some time alone. You found a small clearing near the river. Right where you and Ian had hidden all those months ago. The blackberry bushes were nothing but frost and brambles now. But come summer, they'd be alive with fruit, leaves, and hungry birds. It was the perfect spot to lay out the blanket you'd brought.

It was a beautiful night, clear and starry, with the bright moon painting the landscape silver. That, coupled with Remmick's gentle touches and reverent kisses, as well as the song he'd just finished playing for you, fished the words right out of your throat. They stalled in the air, as thick and warm as the breath that'd carried them.

"I love you."

Remmick froze. Slowly drew back to stare at you with eyes the size of dumplings.

Eyes that were quickly watering.

Your heart nearly broke at the sight. "Oh, honey, no," you began to wipe the tears cascading down his pale cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"I love you, too," Remmick rasped.

You blinked at him, your fingers still wiping his face. "You...?"

Remmick began to nod, clutching at your hands to keep them near his visage. "I do, I really do," he croaked, his eyes locked with yours, desperate to make you understand, "I do, (y/n). I love you. I love you. I..." With a small whimper, he closed the distance between you. Claimed your lips in a deep, slow kiss salted by his tears. And, you soon realized, yours too.

You kissed long. Hard. As though trying to stamp yourselves into each other's DNA. And when you finally parted, you were both panting.

Remmick's eyes, those iridescent rubies you'd grown to adore so much, gazed into yours. His eyelashes were still wet, a few errant tears still gleaming on his cheeks like liquid silver.

In a voice as soft as spidersilk, he whispered, "Kelson may've given me the cure... but you made me human again."

Your heart fit to bursting, you cupped his cheeks and kissed him again. Hoping to pour everything you felt into his mouth and down his throat. Hoping to nourish him with it.

Remmick kissed you back with equal passion, his clawed hands trembling as they held you close. Gently, posed more as a question than a command, he pushed you down.

You let yourself lie on the blanket, tugging Remmick down with you. He covered his body with yours, planting a hand beside your head so as to keep the majority of his weight off you. The two of you continued to kiss, to have a conversation in a language only you knew, until the pesky need for air got in the way.

"Please," you whispered against his kiss-bruised lips, "I want us to make love." Nervously, you added, "I don't think you can infect me. Not when we've been kissing for as long as we have. I..." you traced his face with feather-light fingertips, "... I just want to be with you."

Remmick's face crumpled. "I want the same, love." He leaned in. Not to kiss you, but to nuzzle you like an affectionate housecat. "Lemme make ya feel good?"

You chuckled despite the love and joy threatening to drown you. "How can I turn down an offer like that?"

Remmick grinned, eyes lighting up like distant wildfires. Stealing one last quick kiss, he began to crawl down your body, peppering you with butterfly kisses as he descended. Even through your clothes, you felt his lips and longed for more.

Remmick made it to your trousers. Stopped and looked up at you. You nodded, breathless and eager. Smiling, he undid your buttons and pulled the cloth down your legs. You were happy to shimmy out of them, leaving your lower half completely bare, even as your skin was immediately overtaken by goose-bumps.

Remmick hiked your legs over his shoulders, giving him full access to your entrance. Then, meeting your gaze across the landscape of your body, he grinned. "Ready?"

You grinned right back at him. "Are you?"

Remmick laughed. "Your tongue's quick..." he winked, "but mine's quicker."

Before you could reply, he dove in like a scuba diver from the Before.

The first sweep of his tongue made your knees buckle against his shoulders. By the time you'd caught your breath, he'd already slipped his tongue back inside like it'd always been meant to fit there. His slow, long drags made your whole body lock up. Remmick licked you like he meant it. Like he’d earned it. Like he'd been dreaming of tasting you for weeks, if not months, and had finally gotten his wish.

Remmick worked his jaw, his tongue gliding along your folds, until you were nothing but a trembling, soaking mess.

All thought abandoned you. You were nothing but pure, primal need, desperate for more, more, more. You bucked against Remmick's mouth, combing both hands in his hair to keep him right where he was, and moaned without shame.

Let Ian hear you. Raiders. Infected. You didn't care. You were in Heaven, and Heaven was a long way away from Earth.

Remmick parted just long enough to say, "That's it, baby. Ride my face. Take what you want. I wanna make you feel so good. Better than you've ever felt. Gods," he began to lower himself again, "I love you so much..."

"Y-you, too!" you cried out. "R-Remmick, you feel so good, you're doing so good... God, I love you..."

Remmick groaned. You felt him shifting. Heard his belt buckle clinking.

Then, you felt his arm slide down his own body. Felt ripples of steady movement connecting his body to yours, all the while he kept working you like he'd been born to do it.

You realized it then, through the thickening fog of pleasure: Remmick was touching himself while pleasing you.

The thought was so erotic, it made you cry out. Remmick moaned in reply, muffled by your folds.

The rhythm of his mouth grew sloppier then. Louder. His hand quickened along his length, the slick glide adding to the orchestra of your rapture.

Your toes curled tight. Your clit throbbed against Remmick's greedy lips. You were close, so, so close, legs trembling, stomach tight, ready to reach the zenith of your pleasure.

And just when you were about to come hard enough to see stars—

Remmick pulled away. Suddenly, like a deer hearing a twig snap.

Even as you mourned the loss, you sat up. "Are you okay?"

Remmick didn't answer right away. He scanned the woods just beyond the river. His face looked like it'd been carved from soap.

In that moment, he wasn't your lover. He was an Alpha. A predator.

Gently, you touched his claw.

Remmick blinked. Looked back at you with softening red eyes. "Sorry, darlin'," he mumbled.

"No, it's okay," you promised, "but what happened? Infected?"

Remmick shook his head. "Just thought I heard something, is all." He gave the tree-line one last survey before reverting his gaze to you. "I left my girl unsatisfied." He sounded genuinely ashamed. Closing the distance between you, he rested his forehead against yours. "Forgive me?"

You caressed his cheek, damp with your slick. "There's nothing to forgive."

Remmick exhaled with relief. "Still..." he gave you a cheeky smile, "... we ain't done yet, are we?"

In response, you climbed on his lap, looping your arms around his neck. Instinctively, he cupped your ass. Keeping you right where you both wanted to be. You gave his cock a few strokes, pleased by the precum easing your movements and Remmick's moan.

"May I?" you asked.

Remmick swallowed. Hard. "I think I'll die if you don't." He only sounded like he was half-joking. No, more like one-third.

You tutted. "Well, I can't have that." Guiding the engorged, reddish-purple head to your entrance, you gave him a playful smirk. "You still have to finish reading Anna Karenina to me."

Remmick's laugh turned into a moan as he slipped inside you. He coiled his arms around you, burying his face into your neck and breathing you in with ragged desperation.

"You're so... so warm..." he groaned against your skin. "So soft... Wanna live in you..."

You carded a hand in his hair. Turning your head to kiss whatever you could reach. His temple. His cheek. His earlobe. "You feel good, too," you told him. "So hard, so perfect for me."

You two started moving then, your bodies falling into a rhythm that should've belonged to people who'd been lovers for years and not a couple exploring each other for the first time. Remmick thrust up. You ground down. The two of you kissed as though you were trying to suck the very oxygen out of your lungs. All the while, the pressure climbed. The heat off your bodies made it feel more like summer than winter.

"Remmick," you moaned, "my Remmick—I love you—God—how'd I get so lucky?"

Remmick moaned your name as though it were salvation and damnation both. "That's right, I'm yours—and you're mine—fuck—we both got lucky—never lettin' you go, not unless you tell me to..."

You hid your face in his neck. Not to hide. Just to be closer. And Remmick reciprocated, burying his face in your hair. You both held each other so tightly, you wouldn't have been surprised to find you'd branded each other with your fingerprints. Nor would you have minded.

Soon, you were back where you'd been before Remmick had stopped. Pleasure climbed up your spine like ivy. Found your brain. Prepared to crack open like an egg inside it.

Desperate for more, for that wonderful peak, you slid your hand down your belly.

But Remmick gently batted it away. "I gotcha," he promised with a toothy grin.

Then, his fingers found your clit. Tight, slick circles that matched his thrusts.

You cried out, jolting as though you'd just received an electric shock. You kissed him, hard, and then trailed your lips along his jaw. His neck. His shoulder.

That was when you saw him. Across the river. Hiding behind a tree. Trying to be inconspicuous and doing a rather poor job of it.

Hard to be invisible when you have blond hair painted silver by moonlight. When you're wearing a velvet tracksuit. When you're fumbling with the bulge in your trousers like you hardly know what to do with it.

That was when you understood, even with pleasure addling your brain. Remmick had heard something, and you were looking at it—him—now.

He was a few years older than you, around Remmick's age. Handsome like Remmick, same body type, but with less definition than Remmick. Softer, in every sense of the phrase... except for a certain part of his anatomy, barely hidden by his pants.

You should've been angry. Indignant. You should've sicced Remmick on the interloper.

Instead, you felt even more aroused than before. Flattered that your moment with Remmick was feeding a stranger's pleasure. Excited to see the naked desire on this man's face, to see him barely stop himself from touching his throbbing cock.

Beyond the erotic elements, you were strangely moved by the emotion on the stranger's face. The longing. The loneliness. The hunger for more than just flesh. It was all there, clear as day, and it broke your heart a little.

You had Remmick, and he had you. But who did this blond guy have?

Still moaning, still writhing against Remmick, you nodded at the stranger. Silently gave him permission. His eyes widened, his already flushed cheeks going beet-red. But the moment his shock faded and he realized you'd given him your blessing, he untied the strings of his trousers and pulled himself out. Began to stroke himself furiously, biting his bottom lip to keep quiet.

You saw the relief on his face. The simple joy of partaking, if only from a distance.

"That's it," you murmured to both men, "that's it, you're doing so well, so perfect for me, baby..."

Remmick whimpered, rutting into you harder, as his hands trembled against your flesh. "Oh, fuck!" he cried out. "I—I’m gonna—"

You felt Remmick's cock pulse inside you. Saw the stranger's face contort as his own orgasm took him. Saw the tendrils of cum spurt out of him, painting the half-melted snow at his feet.

That was all it took for your climax to finally strike you like lightning. You clung to Remmick with every part of you, crying out his name.

Remmick followed seconds later, shuddering against you as his own peak tore through him.

The two of you stayed like that for several long, blissful minutes. Holding each other close. Trading kisses that were slow, almost lazy, like sips of fine wine. Letting your heartbeats slow down together.

It was there, with your forehead against Remmick's, that you finally told him. "Someone was watching us."

Remmick drew back a bit. "Huh?"

You nodded. Jerked your chin towards the tree the stranger had been hiding behind. Unsurprisingly, the man himself was nowhere to be seen. "He enjoyed it quite a bit, too."

Remmick growled lowly, his claws twitching along your flesh. "He did, did he?" He flashed his teeth, no doubt already imagining what the man's flesh would feel like between them. "I knew I sensed somebody about."

"I don't think he meant any harm," you told Remmick, brushing some sweat-dampened hair out of those lovely scarlet eyes. "He looked... well, horny, yes. But lonely, too."

Remmick looked at you for a moment, a thoughtful expression settling over his face. All the while, he touched you. Caressed your back. Fiddled with your hair. You let him watch. Let him think.

At last, he spoke. "Well... let's see what happens next time, hmm?"

You arched a brow, smiling faintly. "What?" you asked. "You'd let him join us?"

"Hey," he replied, "stranger things have happened, love." He cupped your cheek, and as you leaned into his touch, he added, "Like an Alpha bein' cured. And finding love with a human."

You chuckled. Turned to kiss his palm. "Touché."

[thebookdragon95]

Finding You

Part One of Two

Pairing: Remmick x Jimmy x fem!reader

Summary: After losing all seven of his Fingers and nearly dying himself, Jimmy has never felt so lost. So stranded. So devoid of purpose. He prays to his father for a sign. Instead, he is met with a vision: You, an uninfected woman, making love to a red-eyed Alpha. One who speaks, touches you with care, and ensures you enjoy it just as much as him. The sight overwhelms Jimmy. Fills him with fantasies and desires he never thought possible.

He returns to that spot, driven by loneliness and a desire for you both.

Neither you nor your Alpha lover, Remmick, wants to harm him. No. You want to keep him.

Warning: Contains threesome (m/m/f), oral sex (male and female receiving), voyeurism, begging, enthusiastic consent, talking during sex.

Read Part Two here. Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @h3r3t1c, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @ellie-luvsfics, @ibsbarbie, @mangos-and-cream, @scrprints, @samueldendro, @emmawrites-stuff, @lonelyryro, @wolverineswaifu, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @kaszz-216, @mariosmith, @fabulousfay009-blog, @bleedingsunlight, @madkingcrowley, @foxtufts, @rhardossantos, @thymedbubbles, @mingapace, @emmawrites-stuff, @h3r3t1c, @darkwing-katy, @kteezy997

"I believe that the infection can be treated." Three months since Dr. Ian Kelson, who'd long ago become 'Da' to you, had spoken those words, yet they still clanged within your skull like rusted church bells. He may as well have said that fish can fly, or that hemlock was a great seasoning. It would've been just as preposterous.

When the virus struck, you'd spent the first three days of the new world's existence cowering in a broom closet with your parents' lifeblood drying on your clothes. If Ian hadn't found you... you'd have been there still, nothing but bones and dusty clothes. He'd taken you in. Loved and nurtured you. Taught you everything he knew. Been there for you. Yours wasn't just gratitude, but genuine love for the man.

That was why, for the first week or so after he'd made his declaration, you'd tried time and time again to talk him out of it. Told him that it wasn't possible. That even if the rest of the world had found a cure, they'd written off the British Isles as lost, all those living there as not worth saving now that the virus had been cleansed everywhere else. And leaving wasn't possible, either. Not with powerful eyes watching the islands, ready to bomb any vessel they saw to Kingdom Come.

"And even if you did find a cure, somehow," you'd carried on, "whatever meds you have are finite. You'd never be able to cure every single infected here."

Ian had given you a sad smile, his chlorine-blue eyes crinkling with affection. "I know, dear," he'd said, "but if I can cure even a small handful of people, then that'd make all the difference."

You'd groaned. Begged. Insisted that it was a pipe dream. But in the end, when he'd gone hunting for an infected to bring back home, you'd seized your weapons and shadowed him.

As the morning mists curled around the hills, the sun a silver coin just beyond the tree line, the two of you had set a trap. Laid out the boar organs you'd been intending to grill and stew. Made sure the line was nice and taut. Then, you hid in the blackberry bushes, which were just starting to bear fruit.

That last part was your idea. Waiting for a trap to spring could take a while. At least this way, you'd have something to eat. You weren't a fussy eater by any means—hard to be, when you grew up hunting in the woods and scavenging in long-abandoned supermarkets—but blackberries were easily your favorite.

You and Ian munched on a few berries, the juice staining your lips until you probably looked a little like infected yourselves, when something came into view. Sniffing. Tilting its head.

You were holding a rock. Ready to throw it at an animal and scare it away from the trap. But as the thing stepped out of the shadows, the stone slipped from your fingers.

It was an infected. Male. Dressed in a filthy white wife-beater and black trousers, the shoes soggy and full of holes. Its pale skin was marred with dried gore, its dark hair hanging in stiff clumps, and its eyes were rubies. Its fingernails had grown so long, they were practically claws. That old movie, Nosferatu, sailed before your mind's eye. Its teeth, too, were those of a predator. Sharp. Jagged.

It wasn't the biggest infected you'd ever seen. Not by a long shot. It was only a little taller than you, its build strong but slender. But somehow, the way it carried itself was unmistakable.

It was an Alpha.

Anxiety gnawed at you with broken fangs. Presently, Alphas were the crème de la crème of the Rage Virus. Stronger, faster, smarter, and more tenacious than other infected. If an Alpha was ever in a herd of infected, you could bet whatever you liked that they'd be the unquestioned leader.

Honestly, you'd have preferred a weak, pathetic specimen. At least, when Ian's optimistic endeavor failed, the creature would be easy to kill. An Alpha in the Bone Temple? In your home? The thought was too horrifying to consider.

Even so... You couldn't deny that this was a good-looking specimen. Handsome, yes. But beyond that... there was something almost pensive in the way it carried itself. Like a musician trying out a tune in their head.

Who had this Alpha been before being bitten? What had it been like? You knew that whoever he'd been was lost now, with only a rabid carcass to prove he'd existed at all. But as you watched the Alpha inch closer, tilting its head like a curious bird, you felt the faintest stirrings of pity for it. Maybe even compassion.

Ian had rubbed off on you even more than you'd thought.

The Alpha neared the organs, each one glistening in the anemic sunlight like a wet jewel. It began to drool at the smell; thick, viscous tendrils hanging from its lips. Its fingers twitched with anticipation.

It took another step.

The wrong step.

With a snap and a whir, the line went taut and the Alpha was reeled into the air. Its ankle was bound with steel wire, already cutting into the pallid flesh, and its body flailed like a fish out of water. It began to scream and howl in outrage, sending several flocks of frightened birds careening into the sky.

Gone was the pensive gentleness. Gone were the contemplations of who'd lived in this body before. Only the virus remained. Only the madness. Only the Alpha.

You looked to Ian one last time. "This is never going to work."

Ian gave your hand a gentle squeeze. "I think it will," he told you. "But even if you're right, dear, even if it's hopeless..." he gave you a beseeching look, "... how will we know if we don't try?"

You looked at him for a long time, seeing the kindness and sweetness that the world hadn't beaten out of him—though not for lack of trying. The same kindness that'd compelled him to build the Bone Temple, take you in, and knock out the infected rather than kill them.

You emptied your lungs of air. "Let's get this over with."

Ian smiled at you. "That's my girl."

The two of you approached the screaming Alpha. Upon seeing you, its furious howls grew louder and somehow even angrier. It tried to force its body towards either you. Reaching out, ready to tear you limb from limb.

Promptly, you hit its head with the butt of your spear. In one, precise blow, the Alpha was knocked out. Hanging there like a side of veal.

Ian cracked his knuckles. "All right," he murmured, "let's work, pray, and work some more."

You grunted. "And get a big dose of morphine ready. Just in case."

*** Ian injected the Alpha with his homemade cure, hope twinkling in his eyes. You were just happy that he'd agreed to chaining the creature's wrists and ankles while it was still unconscious. You kept your spear ready, just in case, the blade sharp and keep and ready for service.

Sitting far enough away to be safe, yet close enough to protect your adopted father, you watched. Waited. Simultaneously dreaded and looked forward to the Alpha waking up and proving you right.

It wasn't that you didn't want it to work. Of course you did. You'd have been over the moon if Ian could cure even one person of the virus. But this world loved to kill hope. Some days, it seemed too much to hope for a stag plump enough to feed you both for a fortnight. Hoping for something as monumental as a cure felt like asking for disillusionment.

The Alpha's eyes snapped open, its pupils blood-red. But instead of lunging for either of you, or fighting against its restraints like you expected, it simply growled. A warning. Nothing more, nothing less. It assessed its environment with something within shouting distance of intelligence, its body stiff with tension.

Ian held his hands up for the creature to see. "Easy," he spoke softly, as though to a spooked animal. "My name is Ian. And this," he nodded in your direction, "is (y/n). My adopted daughter. We don't want to hurt you. We only want to help."

You hummed. A noncommittal reply. It was the best you could do.

The Alpha hissed, but still made no move to attack.

For a long, tense moment, none of you moved.

Then, slowly, the Alpha shifted. Raised its hands.

For a second, you thought it wanted to attack. You tightened your grip on your spear.

Then, you realized what it was doing—and your jaw dropped.

The creature had raised its clawed hands. Imitating Ian.

Ian laughed. You could only stare. ***

At first, the creature remained chained to the bed in the supply chamber. You and Ian took turns feeding it, injecting it with the cure, cleaning it, and simply sitting with it. Keeping it company. It never bit either of you. Never showed any aggression. If anything, it became more docile by the day.

But by the end of the fifth day, it was anxiously tugging at its restraints, looking at the grate leading to the outside.

You could almost see its thoughts. It wanted to run. To hunt. To breathe fresh air, as it had for who knows how long before it wandered into your trap. Ian didn't notice the creature's restlessness. He was too busy taking notes and ensuring the cure's ingredients were stocked.

But you noticed. And, despite a part of your brain screaming at you to not be stupid, to keep the danger to a minimum, you found yourself undoing the straps.

The Alpha massaged its wrists, staring at you without an ounce of hostility. You half-expected it to thank you. If it had, you would've fainted.

Slowly, almost timidly, it got to its feet. Approached you slowly. Your spear was close enough to grab, but you made no move to seize it. You simply let the Alpha get close to you, meeting its gaze. Sensing not anger or madness from it, but simple curiosity.

It was clean now, donned in some of Ian's old clothes. You'd even used some of your shampoo on its hair, its dark waves now glossy in the poor lighting.

That, combined with the almost gentle way it was looking at you, made the Alpha look human.

The creature reached for you. Slowly. Hesitantly. Its long-clawed hand traced your cheek as though it were made of delicate lace. The edge of your mouth quirked up, and the Alpha mirrored you. Was it just mimicry? Or did it feel as you did?

You swallowed. Letting yourself hope, if only for a moment. "What's your name?"

The Alpha's lips moved, but no sound came out.

"My name is (y/n)," you told it in a gentle voice. "Can you say that?"

The Alpha kept looking at you like you were the moon peeking out of a storm cloud. It touched your cheek again. You found yourself leaning into it. "Would you like to go outside?" You pointed to the exit.

The Alpha's gaze lit up, no better than a child being offered candy. You smiled. Widely, genuinely, for the first time. You nodded, moving slowly for the exit. "Come."

It did. You watched the Alpha for the rest of the day, smiling to yourself. You watched it bask in the sunlight as though it hadn't had the chance in years. Watched it roll around in the wild grasses like a bear cub. Watched it splash around in the river. Watched it sniff a flower, try to eat it, and then spit it out in angered revulsion, floored that something that smells so sweet could taste so vile. The display made you laugh. The Alpha turned towards your laughter... and smiled at you. The sight did strange things to your heartbeat.

*** Nights passed, and the Alpha slept without restraints. At dawn, it'd be given simple tasks, like fetch firewood or guard the Bone Temple.

But between chores, you and Ian began to teach the Alpha what it meant to live as a human. Ian played music, fully encouraging the two of you to dance to it. You taught the Alpha how to play checkers and poker, often letting it win. With the patience of a saint, Ian reintroduced the Alpha to words, holding up the items so that it could make the connection. He even went through the trouble of re-educating the Alpha on table manners. You talked to the Alpha about this and that as you went about your duties, letting it grow used to conversation. You weren't sure how much it really understood, but it always watched you with sweet attentiveness.

That was why, when you woke one day to find it gone, you had to fight to keep your tears at bay. No doubt, the Alpha had abandoned you both. You spent the rest of the day trying to forget its innocent, crimson gaze. Its gentle touch. Its mute curiosity.

It came back at nightfall with a stag, carrying it on its shoulders without breaking a sweat. Reverently, the Alpha lay the dead beast at your feet. It looked at you from beneath its long, dark eyelashes. Is this good? that gaze screamed. Did I do good for you?

Two things happened that night: The three of you ate well, and you started calling the Alpha 'him'. Both in your mind and with your voice. ***

One day, three months after you and Ian first dragged the Alpha's body to the Bone Temple, you heard his voice for the first time.

You were reading to the Alpha—a daily ritual for you, today's selection was Paradise Lost—when he said something.

A single word.

Your name.

You froze, the old tome nearly falling from your hands.

"Could..." you swallowed hard, "... could you... repeat that, please?"

From his place at your feet, the Alpha smiled at you. He did that a lot. "(Y/n)." He said the word with all the gravitas of a priest quoting Scripture.

You chortled. Just a little at first, then more. Loudly. Happily. Almost overwhelmed by the joy flooding your mind and heart. Putting the book down, you nodded as you abandoned your chair. Moved to kneel on the ground beside him, your hands finding his shoulders. "Yes!" you exclaimed. "Yes, that's right!" Your hand found his cheek, and he leaned into it with a sigh. "You did it! You..." You laughed again, though it was tinged with sadness this time. "But I still don't know your name."

The Alpha looked back at you, saw your distress, and took a few rapid blinks. Straightened. Visibly racked his brains to remember.

"It's okay," you said quickly, wanting to shield him from that potential disappointment. "It's all right, you don't have to—"

"R... Remmick."

Your jaw dropped. For a moment, it was stuck like that. Then, carefully, you echoed him. "Remmick?"

The Alpha brightened. Nodded eagerly.

You giggled even as a couple of hot tears ran down your face. "Okay. Remmick." You exhaled, feeling like you'd just been given a priceless gift. "Nice to meet you, Remmick."

After a moment's hesitation, Remmick reached up and covered your hands. Keeping them on his shoulders. *** Ian was ecstatic. Even more so when, in the following weeks, more and more words bloomed on Remmick's lips like flowers. Warm. Cold. Hungry. Okay. Then, as summer made way for autumn, he began to speak in short but clear sentences. Full moon tonight. Infected nearby. Need more water. I go hunt. And, your personal favorite: One more story?

You briefly freaked out when Ian disclosed, out of Remmick's earshot, that he was going to begin weaning the Alpha off the cure. "He's been taking it for a season now," he explained. "I think that it's well and truly in his system. Giving him more might just be a waste of limited resources."

"Yes," you hissed, your eyes darting anxiously back to Remmick, "or it might keep him human! Son of a bitch, Da, what if he regresses? What if he attacks us? I don't—!" You cut yourself off, but Ian heard the rest anyway. I don't want to lose him.

Ian covered your hand with his. "Let's just see what happens, hmm?"

You worried your bottom lip. And that night, when the time for Remmick's daily dose came and went, you sweated bullets. Watched him closely. Waited for any relapse. Any regression. You were so anxious, you couldn't even eat dinner.

That night, Remmick tapped on the curtain that separated your portion of the shelter from Ian's. And when you let him in, he approached you. His eyes were still red, but clear. His body language, gentle. That alone helped you relax, if only a little.

"Are you okay?" you asked, sitting up in your cot. "Are you still hungry, or...?"

Remmick shook his head. Suddenly looking as timid as a child, he nudged the cot's corner with his foot. "Can I...?" He gave his lips a nervous lick. "With you?"

Your shock must've shown on your face, for Remmick added. "Wanna... be near... you." The longest sentence he'd said so far, each word raw and bloody. His face, ashen with longing and vulnerability.

That was when you knew, beyond any doubt, that Remmick wouldn't hurt you.

You didn't know if the cure's effects would wear off. But whatever tomorrow brought, you knew that for tonight, all he wanted was closeness.

Your heart somersaulting in your rib-cage, you slowly nodded. Remmick smiled. Sweetly, almost childlike. You threw back the blankets and scooted back in the cot, making as much room for him as you could. He crawled in, eyes like embers, and wasted no time taking you in his arms.

You gasped at the sudden contact before slowly relaxing, pulling the afghans to cover you both. Then, once you were both tucked in, you rested your head against his chest. Listened to the steady drumbeat of his strong heart.

His hand found your hair. Stroking it gently.

You two lay there for what simultaneously felt like seconds and hours. Time softened all around you, the world narrowing to this small chamber, the bed, the candle burning on your nightstand, and your intertwining bodies.

"Goodnight, Remmick," you whispered, your eyelids growing heavy. "I wish you good dreams."

"Goodnight, (y/n)," he murmured in reply. Then, you felt him shift against you.

Felt his lips press against the crown of your head.

You never slept better than you did that night. ***

As autumn froze into winter, and Remmick's doses withered away to nothing, he continued to mesmerize you.

On one hand, he never became fully human. His eyes stayed red. His freakish strength remained. And when he was bitten by a couple of other infected—who didn't live long enough to regret their poor decision—the bite marks healed, and that was the end of that.

On the other, Remmick's mind continued to emerge from its virus-induced fog. His sentences grew longer still, his memory coming back in fragments. He began to read to you, just as you'd done for him, his hand never far from yours. He and Ian began to discuss matters over dinner, while you mostly sat back and watched with a mixture of admiration and affection. They discussed politics in the Before times. History. Philosophy. Even cooking shows and music.

Remmick revealed that he'd once played the banjo. That he'd loved it more than air.

Not long after, while scavenging in one of the many desolate towns, you found a relatively intact music store. It didn't take you long to find what you were looking for.

Remmick stared at the banjo for a long time, his eyes and mouth forming three perfect O's. Hesitantly, almost fearfully, he strummed the strings. Notes sweetened the air like perfume.

"Do you like it?" you asked, caught between giddiness and anxiety.

Remmick set the banjo against one of the many pillars of femurs and humerus bones. Then, he turned around, cupped your face, and pulled you into a kiss.

It was gentle, almost chaste. No tongue. No teeth knocking together. You two barely even tilted your heads.

You didn't rush, either. Neither of you did. Just slowly fell into the sensation together, like stones sliding into warm water.

Your eyes slid shut. His clawed hands, capable of rending flesh like tissue paper, cradled your cheeks with the utmost tenderness. After a moment, you wrapped your arms around his neck.

When you parted, if only a little, you felt as though someone had stuffed your head with wool fluff. Remmick's cheeks were dusted pink, his ears the color of Pepto Bismol, and his pupils were the size of bullet holes. You'd never seen anyone smile so widely, and it was beautiful—sharp teeth and all.

"Wow." The word, more sighed than said, warmed your own, crimsoned cheeks.

You giggled. "I know."

Remmick suddenly seemed to realize something. "I'm sorry I didn't ask first. I was just so happy, and..." he gave a helpless shrug.

You arched a brow. "Do I look upset to you?"

"... No?" Remmick ventured.

You laughed. "How about you kiss me again? Just to be sure you didn't cross any lines?"

Remmick chortled, his unease melting away like spring snow, and he leaned in for another kiss. This time, he coiled his arms around your waist and picked you up as though you were weightless. You cackled against his lips, tightening your grip around his neck, before kissing him back with fervor.

It was one of the happiest moments of your life, bar none. And somehow, you knew that it wouldn't be the last. Not for you, and not for Remmick. ***

Neither of you two said it out loud, but ever since the kiss, you became a couple.

You held hands all the time. You went hunting and foraging together. You shared a bed, often cuddling before sleep claimed you both. You kissed and touched each other over your clothes. You read together, often for hours, sitting shoulder to shoulder with mugs of home-brewed tea and snacks within arm's reach. You talked about everything and nothing. You told each other things you'd never told anyone else. You gave each other little gifts, from necklaces made from small animal bones to flowers to unexpected treasures you found in the wreckage of the Before. When either of you was sick or hurt, the other was right there, ready to help in any way possible. And, now that he had a banjo, Remmick played for you almost every night. His fingers moving with almost instinctual grace, he sang songs that you'd never heard before but still felt deep inside your bones.

Nobody told you how to act in the relationship. Not even Ian. He smiled at you two, his eyes lighting up whenever he saw you together, but he never once tried to dictate your behavior. And even the few romance books you found and read didn't leave much of an impact.

It felt better this way. More genuine. More yours. You did things because you both wanted to, not because you were obeying some pre-approved script.

The more time passed, the more you wondered how you'd gone so long without ever feeling this way. Being in love was like living in a country that was different, brighter, softer than your own. Where colors were more vibrant, food had more flavor, and problems weren't as earth-shattering.

You didn't even realize that was what you felt. Not right away.

But one night, as the first flowers began to poke through the snow, you and Remmick sneaked into the woods in pursuit of some time alone. You found a small clearing near the river. Right where you and Ian had hidden all those months ago. The blackberry bushes were nothing but frost and brambles now. But come summer, they'd be alive with fruit, leaves, and hungry birds. It was the perfect spot to lay out the blanket you'd brought.

It was a beautiful night, clear and starry, with the bright moon painting the landscape silver. That, coupled with Remmick's gentle touches and reverent kisses, as well as the song he'd just finished playing for you, fished the words right out of your throat. They stalled in the air, as thick and warm as the breath that'd carried them.

"I love you."

Remmick froze. Slowly drew back to stare at you with eyes the size of dumplings.

Eyes that were quickly watering.

Your heart nearly broke at the sight. "Oh, honey, no," you began to wipe the tears cascading down his pale cheeks. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"I love you, too," Remmick rasped.

You blinked at him, your fingers still wiping his face. "You...?"

Remmick began to nod, clutching at your hands to keep them near his visage. "I do, I really do," he croaked, his eyes locked with yours, desperate to make you understand, "I do, (y/n). I love you. I love you. I..." With a small whimper, he closed the distance between you. Claimed your lips in a deep, slow kiss salted by his tears. And, you soon realized, yours too.

You kissed long. Hard. As though trying to stamp yourselves into each other's DNA. And when you finally parted, you were both panting.

Remmick's eyes, those iridescent rubies you'd grown to adore so much, gazed into yours. His eyelashes were still wet, a few errant tears still gleaming on his cheeks like liquid silver.

In a voice as soft as spidersilk, he whispered, "Kelson may've given me the cure... but you made me human again."

Your heart fit to bursting, you cupped his cheeks and kissed him again. Hoping to pour everything you felt into his mouth and down his throat. Hoping to nourish him with it.

Remmick kissed you back with equal passion, his clawed hands trembling as they held you close. Gently, posed more as a question than a command, he pushed you down.

You let yourself lie on the blanket, tugging Remmick down with you. He covered his body with yours, planting a hand beside your head so as to keep the majority of his weight off you. The two of you continued to kiss, to have a conversation in a language only you knew, until the pesky need for air got in the way.

"Please," you whispered against his kiss-bruised lips, "I want us to make love." Nervously, you added, "I don't think you can infect me. Not when we've been kissing for as long as we have. I..." you traced his face with feather-light fingertips, "... I just want to be with you."

Remmick's face crumpled. "I want the same, love." He leaned in. Not to kiss you, but to nuzzle you like an affectionate housecat. "Lemme make ya feel good?"

You chuckled despite the love and joy threatening to drown you. "How can I turn down an offer like that?"

Remmick grinned, eyes lighting up like distant wildfires. Stealing one last quick kiss, he began to crawl down your body, peppering you with butterfly kisses as he descended. Even through your clothes, you felt his lips and longed for more.

Remmick made it to your trousers. Stopped and looked up at you. You nodded, breathless and eager. Smiling, he undid your buttons and pulled the cloth down your legs. You were happy to shimmy out of them, leaving your lower half completely bare, even as your skin was immediately overtaken by goose-bumps.

Remmick hiked your legs over his shoulders, giving him full access to your entrance. Then, meeting your gaze across the landscape of your body, he grinned. "Ready?"

You grinned right back at him. "Are you?"

Remmick laughed. "Your tongue's quick..." he winked, "but mine's quicker."

Before you could reply, he dove in like a scuba diver from the Before.

The first sweep of his tongue made your knees buckle against his shoulders. By the time you'd caught your breath, he'd already slipped his tongue back inside like it'd always been meant to fit there. His slow, long drags made your whole body lock up. Remmick licked you like he meant it. Like he’d earned it. Like he'd been dreaming of tasting you for weeks, if not months, and had finally gotten his wish.

Remmick worked his jaw, his tongue gliding along your folds, until you were nothing but a trembling, soaking mess.

All thought abandoned you. You were nothing but pure, primal need, desperate for more, more, more. You bucked against Remmick's mouth, combing both hands in his hair to keep him right where he was, and moaned without shame.

Let Ian hear you. Raiders. Infected. You didn't care. You were in Heaven, and Heaven was a long way away from Earth.

Remmick parted just long enough to say, "That's it, baby. Ride my face. Take what you want. I wanna make you feel so good. Better than you've ever felt. Gods," he began to lower himself again, "I love you so much..."

"Y-you, too!" you cried out. "R-Remmick, you feel so good, you're doing so good... God, I love you..."

Remmick groaned. You felt him shifting. Heard his belt buckle clinking.

Then, you felt his arm slide down his own body. Felt ripples of steady movement connecting his body to yours, all the while he kept working you like he'd been born to do it.

You realized it then, through the thickening fog of pleasure: Remmick was touching himself while pleasing you.

The thought was so erotic, it made you cry out. Remmick moaned in reply, muffled by your folds.

The rhythm of his mouth grew sloppier then. Louder. His hand quickened along his length, the slick glide adding to the orchestra of your rapture.

Your toes curled tight. Your clit throbbed against Remmick's greedy lips. You were close, so, so close, legs trembling, stomach tight, ready to reach the zenith of your pleasure.

And just when you were about to come hard enough to see stars—

Remmick pulled away. Suddenly, like a deer hearing a twig snap.

Even as you mourned the loss, you sat up. "Are you okay?"

Remmick didn't answer right away. He scanned the woods just beyond the river. His face looked like it'd been carved from soap.

In that moment, he wasn't your lover. He was an Alpha. A predator.

Gently, you touched his claw.

Remmick blinked. Looked back at you with softening red eyes. "Sorry, darlin'," he mumbled.

"No, it's okay," you promised, "but what happened? Infected?"

Remmick shook his head. "Just thought I heard something, is all." He gave the tree-line one last survey before reverting his gaze to you. "I left my girl unsatisfied." He sounded genuinely ashamed. Closing the distance between you, he rested his forehead against yours. "Forgive me?"

You caressed his cheek, damp with your slick. "There's nothing to forgive."

Remmick exhaled with relief. "Still..." he gave you a cheeky smile, "... we ain't done yet, are we?"

In response, you climbed on his lap, looping your arms around his neck. Instinctively, he cupped your ass. Keeping you right where you both wanted to be. You gave his cock a few strokes, pleased by the precum easing your movements and Remmick's moan.

"May I?" you asked.

Remmick swallowed. Hard. "I think I'll die if you don't." He only sounded like he was half-joking. No, more like one-third.

You tutted. "Well, I can't have that." Guiding the engorged, reddish-purple head to your entrance, you gave him a playful smirk. "You still have to finish reading Anna Karenina to me."

Remmick's laugh turned into a moan as he slipped inside you. He coiled his arms around you, burying his face into your neck and breathing you in with ragged desperation.

"You're so... so warm..." he groaned against your skin. "So soft... Wanna live in you..."

You carded a hand in his hair. Turning your head to kiss whatever you could reach. His temple. His cheek. His earlobe. "You feel good, too," you told him. "So hard, so perfect for me."

You two started moving then, your bodies falling into a rhythm that should've belonged to people who'd been lovers for years and not a couple exploring each other for the first time. Remmick thrust up. You ground down. The two of you kissed as though you were trying to suck the very oxygen out of your lungs. All the while, the pressure climbed. The heat off your bodies made it feel more like summer than winter.

"Remmick," you moaned, "my Remmick—I love you—God—how'd I get so lucky?"

Remmick moaned your name as though it were salvation and damnation both. "That's right, I'm yours—and you're mine—fuck—we both got lucky—never lettin' you go, not unless you tell me to..."

You hid your face in his neck. Not to hide. Just to be closer. And Remmick reciprocated, burying his face in your hair. You both held each other so tightly, you wouldn't have been surprised to find you'd branded each other with your fingerprints. Nor would you have minded.

Soon, you were back where you'd been before Remmick had stopped. Pleasure climbed up your spine like ivy. Found your brain. Prepared to crack open like an egg inside it.

Desperate for more, for that wonderful peak, you slid your hand down your belly.

But Remmick gently batted it away. "I gotcha," he promised with a toothy grin.

Then, his fingers found your clit. Tight, slick circles that matched his thrusts.

You cried out, jolting as though you'd just received an electric shock. You kissed him, hard, and then trailed your lips along his jaw. His neck. His shoulder.

That was when you saw him. Across the river. Hiding behind a tree. Trying to be inconspicuous and doing a rather poor job of it.

Hard to be invisible when you have blond hair painted silver by moonlight. When you're wearing a velvet tracksuit. When you're fumbling with the bulge in your trousers like you hardly know what to do with it.

That was when you understood, even with pleasure addling your brain. Remmick had heard something, and you were looking at it—him—now.

He was a few years older than you, around Remmick's age. Handsome like Remmick, same body type, but with less definition than Remmick. Softer, in every sense of the phrase... except for a certain part of his anatomy, barely hidden by his pants.

You should've been angry. Indignant. You should've sicced Remmick on the interloper.

Instead, you felt even more aroused than before. Flattered that your moment with Remmick was feeding a stranger's pleasure. Excited to see the naked desire on this man's face, to see him barely stop himself from touching his throbbing cock.

Beyond the erotic elements, you were strangely moved by the emotion on the stranger's face. The longing. The loneliness. The hunger for more than just flesh. It was all there, clear as day, and it broke your heart a little.

You had Remmick, and he had you. But who did this blond guy have?

Still moaning, still writhing against Remmick, you nodded at the stranger. Silently gave him permission. His eyes widened, his already flushed cheeks going beet-red. But the moment his shock faded and he realized you'd given him your blessing, he untied the strings of his trousers and pulled himself out. Began to stroke himself furiously, biting his bottom lip to keep quiet.

You saw the relief on his face. The simple joy of partaking, if only from a distance.

"That's it," you murmured to both men, "that's it, you're doing so well, so perfect for me, baby..."

Remmick whimpered, rutting into you harder, as his hands trembled against your flesh. "Oh, fuck!" he cried out. "I—I’m gonna—"

You felt Remmick's cock pulse inside you. Saw the stranger's face contort as his own orgasm took him. Saw the tendrils of cum spurt out of him, painting the half-melted snow at his feet.

That was all it took for your climax to finally strike you like lightning. You clung to Remmick with every part of you, crying out his name.

Remmick followed seconds later, shuddering against you as his own peak tore through him.

The two of you stayed like that for several long, blissful minutes. Holding each other close. Trading kisses that were slow, almost lazy, like sips of fine wine. Letting your heartbeats slow down together.

It was there, with your forehead against Remmick's, that you finally told him. "Someone was watching us."

Remmick drew back a bit. "Huh?"

You nodded. Jerked your chin towards the tree the stranger had been hiding behind. Unsurprisingly, the man himself was nowhere to be seen. "He enjoyed it quite a bit, too."

Remmick growled lowly, his claws twitching along your flesh. "He did, did he?" He flashed his teeth, no doubt already imagining what the man's flesh would feel like between them. "I knew I sensed somebody about."

"I don't think he meant any harm," you told Remmick, brushing some sweat-dampened hair out of those lovely scarlet eyes. "He looked... well, horny, yes. But lonely, too."

Remmick looked at you for a moment, a thoughtful expression settling over his face. All the while, he touched you. Caressed your back. Fiddled with your hair. You let him watch. Let him think.

At last, he spoke. "Well... let's see what happens next time, hmm?"

You arched a brow, smiling faintly. "What?" you asked. "You'd let him join us?"

"Hey," he replied, "stranger things have happened, love." He cupped your cheek, and as you leaned into his touch, he added, "Like an Alpha bein' cured. And finding love with a human."

You chuckled. Turned to kiss his palm. "Touché."

[thebookdragon95]

Nightmares and Sweet Dreams

Jimmy Crystal x f!reader

Summary: Jimmy Crystal awakens from a wretched nightmare. One where he'd grown up alone, become a sadistic cult leader, and killed people because the voice in his head told him to. He wakes up still feeling the nails in his wrists. Thankfully, you are there to comfort him. Content Warning: Contains smut (p in v sex) and mentions of skinning, torture, disembowelments.

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @anonymous-sylvicole, @madkingcrowley, @sirenssongsofdeath, @darkfantasies606, @leptitlu, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @undead-riv, @saintlucretia, @valzxzx

Nightmares were a staple in the world you lived in. The infected—or demons, as Jimmy had always called them—had a way of forcing their way into one's mind. And if their blood-red eyes and bone-chilling shrieks didn't haunt your dreams, some of your fellow survivors did. Plenty of newcomers and transplants in your community had stories about raiders, cannibals, cults, and more. Stories you personally didn't want your children to hear.

But when Jimmy woke up with a jolt, snapping you out of your slumber, you instantly knew something was wrong.

He was panting, nearly wheezing. Frantically touching his wrists as though searching for wounds. And crying like a child. Big, wet gulps that instantly yanked at your heartstrings.

"Jimmy? Sweetheart?" you placed a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, his cries halting. For a moment, his watering eyes seemed to merely look through you. Then, whatever he'd been dreaming of relented enough for him to recognize you. "Oh, (y/n), hen..." His voice was nothing like the smooth, rich baritone that preached to your people for hours, read fairy tales to your children, and sang softly to you. It was brittle. Weak.

You pushed an errant lock out of his face, getting the best view you could in your dim bedroom. "Are you okay?" Your gaze flickered to his wrists, but found only smooth, pale skin.

Jimmy opened his mouth, but whatever answer he would've given you was lost to fresh sorrow.

"Oh, baby..." He let you pull him into your arms, hiding his face in your neck like it was the only safe place in the world. Already, you could feel hot tears soaking into your skin. Could hear the cries he was barely muffling. You held him close, cupping the base of his skull and rubbing his back.

All the while, you tried to keep your own tears in check. This was the man who'd been your husband for nearly five years now. Who'd found you in the wilderness and brought you here, to the best home you'd ever had. Who'd given you two beautiful children. You'd seen him command his Fingers, take down infected, and execute justice with nary a twitch in his jaw. And now, he was crying with a fear that seemed almost too profound, too intense, to expel.

A part of you was tempted to call his father, Ian, and get him to make Jimmy something. A concoction to help him sleep, or at least calm him down. Why not? Ian had already created an elixir that kept the voice in Jimmy's head quiet. Comparatively, a sleeping mixture would've been child's play.

"It's okay," you kept saying, using the same tone you employed with the kids when they were littler, "you're all right. I'm here. I'm right here. Shh, shh..."

Eventually, Jimmy's sobs died down to the occasional sniffle. Shuddering against you as though gripped by a fever, he kissed and nuzzled your saturated neck. "M'sorry, dovey," he managed to say through his tears. "I just... I..."

"It's all right," you promised him, tucking some hair behind his ear. "Just breathe, okay?"

Jimmy nodded, taking one shuddering breath after another. You breathed with him, using the edge of a blanket to wipe his face as best you could.

"I..." Jimmy trailed off, cleared his throat, and tried again. "I dreamed I..."

"You don't have to talk about it now," you cut him off gently, fearing he might get upset again. "It can wait until tomorrow."

"No, I... I can do it." Jimmy shifted so that he wasn't distributing so much of his body weight on you. You moved along with him, making sure that he stayed in your arms. Your legs tangled together, your hearts beating in gentle synchrony.

Finally, Jimmy spoke. "I dreamed I..." he shuddered, "... was a monster."

You kissed his forehead. "I've dreamed of being an infected, too." It'd been horrible, too. You'd been trapped in your own body, unable to stop yourself from tearing other living things to pieces.

Later, Ian had shared his two cents with you: That the infected were suffering from psychosis. That they looked at us and saw monsters. You hadn't believed it until he'd healed Samson, who was now your community's best warrior and one-man patrol unit. On occasion, you'd even let him watch the children while you and Jimmy went out on a hunt or trade.

Ian still regretted not having enough medical supplies to make the cure more readily available. The fact that the rest of the world had washed its hands of the UK didn't help. Surely, they would've had the tools he needed to make more. But at least he'd saved Samson, and that had to count for something.

Jimmy shook his head. "No," he rasped. "I... I wasn't infected. I was human." He huffed. "Barely." The disgust in his tone, bordering on venomous, was one you'd rarely heard from him.

That was when you understood: However horrible his dream had been, he had to talk about it. Get it out, lest it rot him from within.

You patted his back. "Do you want me to turn on the light?"

Jimmy shook his head. "No, thanks, lovey. Some things're easier t'say in the dark."

"That's true." You began to comb his hair with your fingers, knowing how it soothed him. "Go ahead, honey. I'm listening."

Jimmy gave your jaw a tender kiss, silently showing his appreciation, before speaking once more. "I dreamed way, way back. On the day the demons came. Mostly, it started the same. The strange noises drownin' out the sounds o' the telly. The blood. Me mum tellin' me tae run. Me... me father tellin' me it's the end o' days and givin' me that necklace."

You nodded, both to show that you were listening and to silently recall the tale yourself.

In a way, you'd be lucky: You'd only been about two when the virus came. Whatever you'd witnessed was stored away in the darkest corners of your mind—and it could stay there forever, as far as you were concerned. Jimmy? He'd been eight. Just old enough to remember not only the Fall, but the Before a bit as well. And sometimes, you both knew, memory could be a curse as well as a blessing.

"But here's where the story changed," Jimmy recounted, his tone more contemplative than scared now. "I... I never met Ian. He never took me in. I... I wandered the Highlands for years, dodgin' infected and survivors by the skin o' me teeth."

"All by yourself?" You nuzzled his hair, if only to dispel the mental picture. It'd only been a dream, but it was still upsetting. "I'm sorry, honey."

Jimmy swallowed. "Aye. And... and I grew up into a beast, (y/n)." His voice trembled once again, and you rubbed his back. Ready to spring back into action if the dream overwhelmed him once more. "I... I killed people. Skinned 'em. Disemboweled 'em. Called it 'charity'. Made me Fingers, who were all me for some reason, fight tae the death whenever we found a promisin' new fighter. Did things that'd make a saint swear. I..."

You could feel tears once again dampening your skin.

Then, in a terrible whisper, Jimmy said, "I stabbed me father, darlin'."

That made even you go rigid. Ian Kelson was one of the kindest people you'd ever met. He was a sweet, doting grandfather to your children, helped anyone who came to him with a sprained ankle or a broken bone, and was largely responsible for Jimmy turning out the way he had.

In a world that gorged on blood and violence, Ian had taught Jimmy kindness and empathy. It'd been that very empathy that'd compelled Jimmy to take care of the community, one member at a time. To take in any who wanted to stay. To save you back when you'd been but a stranger in the wilderness.

Imagining Ian dead, even in a dream, made you shiver. By the hand of his adopted son, no less.

But it'd been a different Jimmy, not the one cocooned in your arms. That was why your voice was free of judgment when you asked, "Why?"

Jimmy's throat worked, as though dislodging the shameful answer. "'Cause he wasn't me father in the dream. I thought Satan was, imagine that. Called him 'Old Nick'. Thought the voice was his. I only met Da once in me dream. He was kind t'me, but what did I do? Made him put on a charade for me Fingers, made 'em think he was Satan, and then stabbed him when he went off-script."

Jimmy began to cry anew, and you cradled him to your chest. Hushed him gently. Wiped his tears with the heel of your hand. "It's okay, sweetie," you whispered. "Your dad's fine. He's just pulling an all-nighter in his lab, like always."

"I-I know, but..." you could hear him grinding his teeth, your own jaw aching in sympathy, "... but it felt so real."

"I know, baby," you cupped his cheek, wiping away errant tears.

Jimmy took a few ragged breaths before forcing out the rest of his story. "Then, I... I was crucified, lovey. Upside-down. Kellie—'cept I called her 'Jimmy Ink'—and a boy I never saw drove those nails in deep. Tied me torso up. Left me on an upside-down cross. Cried and whined on it, I did. Then, Samson came and took Father away, leavin' me alone. And... and an infected came, and..." He trailed off.

You cupped Jimmy's chin, gently guiding his gaze to meet yours. "Sweetheart," you said, "that wasn't you. None of it happened. You didn't kill your father. You never skinned or disemboweled anyone. You didn't die so miserably. You're right here, in our bed, with your father in his lab and our children sleeping downstairs."

"I know, but..." Jimmy let out a trembling sigh, giving your fingers an absentminded kiss, "... when I was there, I... I was that man."

"But you're not," you insisted, your voice firm but gentle. "You're my Jimmy. You're the leader of this community. You're strong, fair, kind, and smart." You gave him a small smile. "You're the best man I know, and the love of my goddamn life."

Jimmy's face crumpled. "And yer the love o' mine." He pushed himself forward, his lips skimming yours. Your hand moved from his chin to his cheek, holding it tenderly. Jimmy's hand found yours, pressing it into his skin.

The two of you spent the next few minutes kissing, caressing each other's faces and combing back one another's hair. It was a conversation made entirely through touch and soft breaths. A mutual reassurance.

Then, steadily, it became something else. Something more passionate.

You slipped your tongue into Jimmy's mouth. He mapped out your body with his hands, treating every inch as though it were holy. Your breaths grew heavier. Hotter. Mingling in the dark air.

You could feel the faint stirrings of desire sparking deep within you. Feel your heart thudding harder against your ribs and your head getting fuzzy.

Even so, you cupped Jimmy's face and gently pried him off you. "Wait," you whispered. "Wait."

Jimmy stopped, his eyes scanning yours. "Somethin' wrong, bonnie?"

"No," you shook your head. "I just... You were really upset, honey. I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything with me."

"I don't," Jimmy promised. He kissed one of your palms, and then the other. "I just... I love ya so much, and I love all this, our life, it's so much better than the one in the dream, I..." He gave a small laugh, "... I just wanted tae celebrate it. Wit' ye."

Slowly, you nodded. "Okay. But only if you're sure."

Jimmy smiled at you, revealing his crooked and less than spotless teeth. Dear Ian had taught his adopted son many things, but one lesson he'd never been able to impose on Jimmy was oral hygiene. But fuck it, you loved him anyway.

Leaning in, he whispered, "I'm sure, love," on your lips right before he claimed them in another searing kiss.

Your lips remained firmly locked as you freed each other of your clothing. Jimmy pulled your cotton nightgown over your head while you undid the buttons of his purple silk pajamas—a find he'd immediately snatched up while scavenging in a luxury hotel— and helped him shimmy out of the bottoms.

The moment he was free, he took your hand and brought it to his groin. Understanding immediately, you began to stroke him. Tight and slow, just the way he liked it. He moaned into your mouth, turning the sparks in your belly into a small but bright fire. His hands found your breasts, kneading them lovingly. His thumbs brushed your nipples, making you gasp in your kiss and stroke him harder, caressing the head in a way you knew drove him wild.

"So good, dove," he whispered against your lips. "Y'make me feel so good..."

You smiled as you parted. "Funny," you remarked, your free hand cupping his cheek, "I was about to tell you the same thing."

Jimmy whimpered as he dove back in. Your tongues locked in a delicate dance.

Guided by instinct and desire, your bodies moved in tandem. Before you knew it, you were straddling him, his hard cock pressingly against your belly. The head was lobster-red and weeping precum.

As the kiss broke and you drew back, you giggled at what you saw: Jimmy, thoroughly drunk on you. His eyes were glazed, his cheeks flushed, and his lips drawn in a wide, dopey smile. "I love ye," he panted, his tone as soft as feathers.

Your heart did a backflip. Even after almost five years of marriage, those three little words made you feel warm like no tea or campfire ever could. Adjusting your position, you took both his hands. Maintaining eye contact, you kissed his wrists. Right where, in his dream, the nails had driven through his flesh. "I love you, too. With all my heart."

Jimmy's eyes watered once again, but he was still smiling. "Put me inside ye, lassie," he murmured. "Right where I belong."

You couldn't bring yourself to disagree. Maintaining eye contact the entire time, you took Jimmy's cock in your hand and angled it towards your entrance. Slowly, carefully, you lowered yourself onto it. Let your body swallow that familiar shape, inch by precious inch.

"Fuck," Jimmy groaned, his head dropping back on the pillow. His hands flew to your hips. Not to control. Not to squeeze. Just to hold on for dear life. Your hands covered his. Trying to anchor him further as you bottomed out. You moaned at the feel of him stretching you, of his length filling out every crevice.

"Feel that?" Jimmy gasped. "S'for ye, angel. All o' it."

"Mine," you whispered back, unable to stop yourself. You began to ride him then, starting off slow. Almost testing.

Bliss washed over Jimmy's expression. His thighs twitches under you. "Let go, lassie. Fuck yerself on me, gorgeous."

You grinned. "Oh, I intend to, sweetie." You picked up the pace, if only slightly. Ground your hips against his. Tightened your muscles around his length.

"God, look at ye," Jimmy remarked, his voice rough with want. "Ridin' me like a queen. That's me girl. Takin' charge."

You moaned at the praise, squeezing his fingers as you rode him. Leaned your head back, letting yourself simmer in the heat of your lovemaking.

Jimmy began to thrust into you, fingers flexing on your hips and eyes shining like polished coins. He met your every moan and gasp with one of his own, loud and shameless. Your noises, combined with the slapping of skin against skin and the bedframe clanging against the wall, made for a song meant for lovers in the dark.

You grabbed Jimmy's hand, hoisting him in a sitting position. The moment he was in your range, you wrapped your arms around him and gave him a passionate kiss. One that he returned wholeheartedly, his hips jerking to meet yours.

Your senses were spiraling, utterly lost to the fever of Jimmy and the ache of being stretched and filled. The small fire within you grew, singeing anything beyond the here and now.

"So good," you pressed your mouth to his temple. "You feel so damn good, Jimmy... so hard, so perfect for me..."

"So're ye," Jimmy moaned, his hand sliding down your bodies. "Ye open up so well f'me... Takin' me so well... Ye were made for me, and I was made for ye..."

His fingers found your clit, rotating in tight little circles.

You cried out, writhing in his lap, and rode him with a ferocity that surprised even you. Chasing nirvana for you both.

All too soon, you were almost there. The flames burned you hot, every muscle going molten. Your back arched. Your toes curled. Your end was nigh.

Jimmy's, too. His breath was catching. His rhythm was turning erratic. His expression looked almost pained.

"You're almost there, aren't you?" you asked breathlessly, your hips rocking in tandem with his thrusts.

Jimmy nodded desperately, letting out a cry that would've worried you in any other circumstance. "W-wanna last—" he gritted out. "Wanna make ye feel good—"

"You do," you promised him, cupping his face. "All the time. Every day. You do." Looking directly into his eyes, fighting off the dizziness of pleasure, you told him exactly what was in your heart. "Jimmy, sweetheart—it's okay—let go—you're safe, you—fuck—you're always safe with me. No matter what—ah—nightmares you have, I'll always, always be there when you wake up."

Jimmy's face crumpled. Tears slid down his cheeks. You wiped them away. He lunged forward, crashing his lips against yours. Thrust into you as though his very life depended on it.

He drove into you once, twice, before he groaned—a raw, guttural noise that ran down your throat like whiskey—and came inside you, his whole body shuddering under yours. As he rode the wave, his hips kept grinding. Fucking his seed into you so you could feel it all. Every spurt. Every throb.

You did indeed feel it, and it undid you at last. Pleasure burned you alive, each tongue of flame hotter and sharper than the last.

You collapsed onto your bed, your hands still roaming each other's bodies in gentle strokes. The sheets were damp, your skins were sweaty, and the air smelled of sex. It was perfect.

Jimmy kissed you all over, making you giggle. He kissed your pulse, which was fluttering wildly beneath his lips. Your forehead. Your eyelids. Your cheeks. And your mouth. Again and again, your mouth. Laughing softly as he ravished you.

"(Y/n), my (y/n)," he muttered against your flesh, kissing between each word. "I love ye, I love ye... I love ye wit' all I am." He drew back, gazing at you with eyes still slightly damp and bloodshot from crying. "I'd endure a thousand crucifixes just t'be near ye."

His words struck you deeper than any thrust. You cradled his face in your hands and brought your foreheads together. "You won't ever have to."

Jimmy fell asleep soon after that, his head resting on your chest and his arms coiled securely around your waist. You stayed awake a while longer, going back to combing his hair with your fingers and nuzzling the crown of his head. Waiting to see if any more nightmares would come.

None did. For either of you.

[thebookdragon95]

Sacrificial Lamb

Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

Contains smut; 18+/MDNI

Summary: When the Jimmies attack your small community, you offer yourself to their purple-clad leader in exchange for their leaving in peace. After consulting with his father, Sir Jimmy takes you up on your offer. You are the sacrificial lamb, laid out on an altar to both Old Nick and His heir.

But it's not what you expect. What either of you expect.

Warnings: Contains p in v sex, oral (male and female receiving), and religious delusion.

Taglist: @perfume-and-oatmilk, @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy, @decayeddissolvedgirl, @jimmythecookiemonster, @roomiesoreo, @lightningcrashes, @suffer-a-sea-change, @sadhaner97, @lolyolololyolo123456789-blog, @emimai9924, @ragingcrier, @hrasulova, @darkwing-katy

Your home was a good one. Founded in a former schoolhouse, with a chain-link fence keeping the infected out and a fine garden growing from what used to be the playground, it was populated by fine folk. Hard-working, kind, and generous. They'd taken you in when you were a child, and even two decades after the fact, you'd never forgotten it. Just as you'd never forgotten how lucky you were. How content.

Then, they came.

They came like a summer storm: Swiftly, violently, and without warning.

You and several of the other women had been in the middle of quilting at the time. Adding patches from shirts too shredded to be mended, each square of cotton, rayon, and polyester sewn into the grand design with love and care.

At first, those whoops and hollers had barely registered. The world was a strange place, full of odd people. Just because those folks were too stupid to be quiet in a landscape full of infected didn't mean that it'd have to be your community's problem.

But then, those sounds had gotten closer. And closer. And closer still.

The men keeping watch fell to them first, the sounds of their falling bodies thudding in your head.

The rest of you were found, one group at a time. You and the other women found yourselves facing a young man, perhaps no older than eighteen, dressed in a black-and-white tracksuit and aiming a machete at you. Dead-eyed and monotonous, he ordered you to join the others. "There's someone ya gotta meet," he stated.

The lot of you—men, women, and children, adding up to about forty in total—were herded like sheep in the former gymnasium, now the community hall. The chairs had been pushed to the side, and the platform typically used for the council was now being employed by a single person.

One who didn't occupy space so much as dominate it.

Standing before you all was a man perhaps five or six years older than you, with tresses the color of spun gold spilling down to his shoulders and a plum-colored tracksuit hanging off his form. Rings gleamed on his fingers. Half a dozen gold chains shone around his neck, the most prominent of which was an upside-down cross resting right over his heart. A plastic tiara kept his hair out of his handsome face.

Because yes, he was handsome. A fine jaw, a slightly bulbous nose that gave his visage character, high cheekbones, and just a hint of beard a shade or so darker than his hair.

What drew you the most, however, were his eyes. Stormy-blue, large, and framed with pale lashes. There was glint to them that you'd only ever heard about. The kind that belonged to either the brilliant or the mad.

"Hello." He wasn't shouting, but his voice reached the farthest, dustiest corners of the chamber. "Allow me tae tell ye lot a story on this fine day."

And, just in case some of you didn't want to allow him that, two of his goons—they, too, were dressed in tracksuits and sported blond wigs, though the speaker's was the cleanest and of the finest quality—aimed hunting rifles at the crowd. Some of the children began to weep, hastily hushed by their parents. Couples and friends held hands. Some began to quietly pray.

You tried to keep your wits about you. Waited until you could come up with something. You weren't the strongest or fastest in your community. You didn't sport the greatest tally of slain infected, or brought home an entire stag or wagonful of supplies like some others had. You weren't a leader, a farmer, or a soldier. You pulled your weight, of course, but you were just... you. Part of the crowd. No more important than a single thread in a tapestry. But you did have a good brain. One that'd kept your child self alive for two whole years between your parents' deaths and the scouts of this community finding you. And now, you hoped it'd serve to help those around you as well.

"In the beginning, there was darkness," the man in purple began, "and in that darkness was Old Nick. He released His demons onto the World of Man, and the World of Man fell before them. His world became like the gutterin' candle flame. God did nothin', for he was invisible." Smirking, the man added, "Couldn't even punch his way out of a fuckin' paper bag anyway."

Reclaiming his more somber air, the man carried on. "And so, the World of Man became Old Nick's dominion, and His dominion was Hell." Meeting his followers' gaze, he tilted his head slightly. "Howzat?" "Howzat," they replied in unison.

"Then Old Nick did speak tae His favorite son, whose name was Jimmy Crystal," the man's glinting eyes gleamed even more, "and He said unto Jimmy," his voice soared like a hawk, "'you are now Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, and you shall be my right hand, which shall be strong. You shall have seven Fingers, and each Finger shall be a claw, and you shall offer charity tae the World of Man. And for this, you alone shall be my heir! And your seven Fingers shall hold your crown!'"

He raised his bejeweled hands, as though carrying an invisible crown into the air. His expression was one of utter conviction, one that no amount of rational speeches could hope to undo.

Then, almost softly, he concluded his speech with, "Howzat?"

Once again, his followers—his Fingers—echoed, "Howzat," right back at him.

Your community shared nervous ganders. Silence lay taut and heavy upon the gymnasium. Smothering you all.

"I am Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal," the blond man stated. "Favored son of Old Nick. These are my Fingers. My Jimmies."

You gulped.

"We travel the land," Jimmy—you refused to give this man power by using his self-given title, even in your own head—explained. "We search for souls tae deliver tae my father." He hesitated, holding his hands out to your people. "And we offer you... charity."

Instantly, you knew that that wasn't good. And when the other Jimmies slipped on their masks—fashioned from old shoes and scraps of cloth, with human teeth sewn right where the mouths would be—you got all the confirmation you needed.

"Jimmies," Jimmy referred to his disciples, "today's charitable act shall be: The removal of the shirt."

Panic rippled throughout the crowd. One of the men tried to make a run for it and got a bullet in his brain for his trouble. Others made it to the doors, only to find them already bolted. The Jimmies, knowing that you were trapped, calmly went about selecting their first batch of victims. Your people fought, struggled, and begged, but a few blows to the head made them complacent. Jimmy remained on the platform, watching the display with something close to pleasure.

Fuck. You had to do something. You weren't sure what, but anything was better than nothing.

Your people were led to the stage, where—for the first time—you noticed ropes hanging from the rafters like intestines in a butcher shop window.

Your people would be tied up. Left defenseless. Stripped. Skinned like fruit until...

You looked to the council. The closest thing your community had to leaders. They made all the final decisions, though everyone got a vote. They had power. Special privileges, like meat every day instead of just twice a week, cologne, perfume, and television that'd been set up by pre-Outbreak technicians. But instead of standing up, of speaking out, they were pushing themselves deeper into the crowd. Trying to make themselves unseen.

Anger surged within you, mixing with your anxiety. Your gaze snapped back to the platform, where two folks—Brittany, the kindergarten teacher, and Seamus, the community's very own Mr. Fix-It—were already bound, their arms forced above their heads. Their clothes were being sliced right off their bodies.

Emotion denotated within you.

"Stop!" you shouted, rushing forward. "Please, stop!"

The Jimmies froze, their eyes widening behind their masks. Jimmy straightened, a curious frown blooming on his face.

"Please," you did your best to keep your voice steady. "Please, don't do this. We're good people. We haven't done a thing to you lot. Don't hurt us, please."

"Oh, there's no such thing as 'good' or 'bad', petal," Jimmy chastised, his voice as dark and rich as barley honey. "Just people. Just souls. And Old Nick's hungry. Always cravin' fresh ones."

As your heart jackrabbited in your chest, you clasped your hands together. Looked pleadingly at the strange man. "Please," you begged. "Please, I... Let them go. I'll do anything."

Some of the Jimmies laughed at the display, but their leader didn't. He leaned forward, his eyes roving your form. From the laces on your mud-splashed boots to your wide, scared eyes. He looked like a wolf assessing a doe. Like a scientist examining something under a microscope.

For a silent, endless moment, there was nothing. Only you, him, and your plea.

Finally, Jimmy glanced up at the ceiling. Raised two fingers. Closed his eyes. "Father… Master… Dark Lord… are ye wit' us now?"

Nothing answered. And yet, he gave the tiniest nod. Smiled ever so slightly. "Good." Another brief pause, and then he nodded again. "Yes, Father." He dropped his hand, his smile widening as his gaze found yours. "Old Nick says that I am tae discuss the matter wit' ye privately." He glanced back at his Jimmies, his features rearranging themselves into regal formality. "The lot o' ye, yer not t'touch any o' these mewlin' souls 'til I return."

The Fingers looked stunned, even sharing a couple of looks, but in the end they replied with a simple, synchronized, "Yes, Sir Jimmy."

Jimmy reverted his gaze to you. Tilted his head towards the back entrance. You shadowed him out of the gymnasium, feeling the eyes of every member of your community on your back. Already, your shoulders ached from the burden you'd thrust upon them. If you succeeded, great, you'd prove to be stronger and more capable than you thought. But if you didn't...

You couldn't bear the thought.

Jimmy led you to a former classroom, now a storage room. Bows, arrows, homemade soaps, clothes pilfered from stores and abandoned homes, jars of pickled and preserved foods, spare shoelaces, even a few luxury items like toothpaste and deodorant... It was all here, carefully placed on shelves and surfaces. You were glad to see that nothing here had been taken, at least not so far. Your community was well-off, but all it'd take was one bad winter to change that.

Jimmy locked the door behind you. Then, he began to circle you like a jungle cat, his gleaming blue eyes doing more to flay you than his Fingers' knives ever could. "So," he purred, "ye'll do anythin' t'save yer people, eh? A real hero type, y'are."

You swallowed. "Not really," you replied. "Just doing what anyone would do." Even as you said it, you weren't sure your statement was applicable to Jimmy. He commanded his people, but you'd sensed no love for them in his stance. No real care. They were extensions of his will, of his person, right down to bearing his name and sporting wigs to look like him. They could be anybody under those clothes and fake hair, and it wouldn't change a thing for the man before you.

Jimmy chuckled. The sound was warm and even pleasant, yet it scraped against your ribs. He stopped pacing, facing you directly. He was only a couple of inches taller than you, but he may as well have been a giant. "I've been in Old Nick's service since the Fall, lass," he stated. "I've delivered plenty o' souls tae my father. Can't even properly recount 'em all. But I've never, ever met someone who did what ye just did. I'm floored, and I ain't so easily floored."

He cupped your chin with warm, calloused fingers. Firmly, but not roughly. His eyes were like blue stars as they locked with yours. "What's yer name, bonnie?"

Quietly, you told him.

Jimmy repeated it. Tasted it. "A pretty name for a pretty lady."

You wanted to duck your head, if only to hide your reddening cheeks. But you'd already begged him for mercy. Given him so much power. You didn't want to give him that little extra crumb.

Jimmy's thumb traced your chin with more softness than you'd have expected. "I think we can come tae an arrangement that'll leave the both o' us satisfied."

You tried not to gulp. "Um, okay...?"

Jimmy grinned, revealing crooked, yellow teeth. He took a step closer to you, the distance between you almost intimate. You caught a whiff of his spicy cologne. Despite everything, your heart threw itself against your ribs. "Be one wit' me." He whispered it, his breath warm against your cheek.

You blinked. "Huh?"

Jimmy giggled. "Yer too cute. Aye," he confirmed with a nod, still grinning, "lie with me. Lemme fuck ye, if ye wanna be crude about it. If ye do a good job, I'll bring ye back home wit' us while this place and everyone in it burns."

Your jaw dropped. "What kind of piss-poor arrangement is that?" you demanded. "I'm trying to save everyone, not let them fry!"

Jimmy laughed. "Yeah, that's only if ye do a good job. If ye do a really good job, I'll take me peeps wit' me, and we'll leave without havin' hurt a hair on anybody's head. We might ask for some food, given the long journey, but that's about it." He raised his fair brows at you. "Fair?"

You clenched and loosened your fists. Tried to overcome your own, stupid conflict about it. You should say yes right away, you knew. Jimmy was offering an ideal outcome here: Him and his fellow weirdos leaving, your home safe, with only some jangled nerves and a few heated cans of beans to act as the final price. And it wasn't like you were a virgin. You'd fooled around here and there.

Thing was, though... You'd always lain with people you liked. People you'd had an emotional bond with. The only emotions tying you to Jimmy were fear and anxiety, with some reluctant acknowledgement of his good looks added for spice. And even if you pushed aside your own discomfort, you weren't sure you could do a fine enough job for Jimmy to hold up his end of the bargain. You hadn't had a partner since last year, when you broke up with one of the hunters after he fell in love with another. You were out of practice.

But what choice did you really have?

You took a deep, cleansing breath. Closed your eyes, and then opened them again. "If you swear to leave and not hurt anybody," you started quietly, "I'll sleep with you."

Jimmy grinned. "There she is. My little sacrificial lamb." One hand cupped the base of your skull, the other coiled around your waist. Again, he was firm, but not rough.

Carefully, almost gently, he lay you on the floor. The linoleum bit you through your clothes, but you barely had time to register it as you watched him unzip his jacket and shrug it off. Underneath was a plain white shirt, which soon came off as well. His necklaces, however, stayed on. Gleaming even in the dim lighting.

Your throat tightened until you could hardly breathe. Jimmy's torso was nothing but lean muscle, his chest hairless and his skin littered with star-white scars. Despite yourself, you wanted to touch him. Wanted to trace those scars with your fingers until you knew them by heart. Wanted to feel his warm flesh under your palm.

You were snapped back to reality when Jimmy grabbed your hips and flipped you on your stomach. Not rough, but no-nonsense. Carefully but firmly, he maneuvered you on your hands and knees. He began to fumble with your trousers' buttons, his chest pressed against your back. You could feel his hardness already swelling against the back of your thighs.

He intended to take you from behind like a horse. Like a dog. Probably how he was used to doing it. But would it be good enough for him to hold up his end of the bargain?

Frankly, you had your doubts.

You didn't want it to be like this, either.

You caught his gaze over your shoulder. "Stop."

Jimmy, to his credit, stopped. Even drew his hands back altogether. The rings upon his fingers gleamed like fevered eyes. "What?" He sounded legitimately stunned. You just kept surprising him, it seemed.

Maintaining eye contact, you turned around and shifted into a kneeling position, mimicking Jimmy. "I'd like to see your face." You paused. "And I'd like you to see me."

Jimmy stared at you for a long time, shock slowly thawing into something else. Not just desire, though you could see that, too. Confusion, certainly. And something... more.

Slowly, he nodded. A concession.

Feeling like you were wandering into a forest without a map, you took his shoulders. Your thumbs rubbed soothing circles into the warm skin. Maintaining eye contact, you compelled him to lie down for you.

You were to be a sacrifice. That was fine. For your people, you'd do it. But you'd do it your way.

You covered his body with yours, hands planted on either side of his head. Bent down enough to count his eyelashes. He watched you the entire time, quizzical and almost afraid. Like you were some beautiful spider crawling on his hand. A spider that may or may not be venomous.

"May I kiss you?" your voice was as soft as old silk.

Jimmy's throat worked. "Yer an insolent lil' lamb, ain'tcha?"

You shrugged, never looking away from him.

Finally, he spoke. "Not... not on the mouth."

Of course not. That would've been intimate.

Nodding, you whispered, "I can work with that." You pressed your lips to his whiskered cheek. Then, his jaw. His pulse point came next, and you were pleased to find it thrumming against your mouth. You worked your way down to his collarbone, his chest, and his stomach, which quivered under your touch. All the while, your hands explored. Ran up and down his arms, admiring the muscles they found there. Traced the outline of his ribs and the sharp angles of his hips.

You stopped at his trousers. Looked up at him.

Jimmy nodded stiffly. Trying to appear firm and authoritative but looking rather desperate instead.

You gave his hip one last kiss before undoing the strings of his trousers. Carefully, you tugged them down to his ankles. His erection sprang free, thick and veiny and already damp with precum.

You paused, taking a moment to see what you had to work with. He was big, but not so much that you worried about it fitting. Flushed red, almost purple at the head, and nestled in a tuft of dark gold hair. It twitched in the cool air, and his strong thighs trembled.

You found yourself caressing one of those thighs. Trying to reassure him. "Ready?"

Jimmy's jaw tightened, though his eyes were still large and doe-like. "O'course I am."

You inclined your head. Letting him believe you bought the front he was putting on. "Just checking." Then, you took him in your mouth.

"Oooh, fuck," Jimmy breathed. "Ye fit me like a glove." He began rocking his hips, slowly and measuredly. You placed a hand on his stomach. Not to stop him from moving, but to make this a bit more... personal, you supposed.

You could feel his muscles tensing and loosening beneath your fingers. Could feel the skin getting warmer.

You worked your tongue around the tip, tracing the vein running along the side, as you bobbed your head.

"Just like that," Jimmy gasped. His hips accelerated with every thrust, his moans getting louder by the second. You kept up the pace, if only to avoid him completely cutting off your air supply.

That, and... hearing him moan and whimper like that was more arousing than it should've been.

His hands found your hair then. You winced in anticipation. But he didn't pull it. Didn't twist it. Didn't push you down farther. He just... kept his hands there, gently carded amid your locks.

You supposed it made sense. Why take the reins if he was already getting what he wanted?

Even so, the gesture felt... nice. Less from a psycho who'd invaded your home with the intent of killing your loved ones and more from... a lover.

God. You hadn't been expecting much today. Certainly not this.

Jimmy's thrusts grew quicker. Sharper. Every sound wrangled from his throat grew more desperate. You could feel him pulsing in your mouth, getting ready to erupt. But just as you were steeling yourself for that inevitability, he suddenly patted your head. "Stop," he gasped. "Stop."

You pulled off immediately, wiping your dribbling mouth. "Did I do something wrong?"

"What? No," Jimmy shook his head. "Ye were perfect. A dream."

You glanced away, hoping your cheeks weren't as red as they felt.

"But if ye don't mind, bonnie," he continued, "I'd like tae return the favor. That, and sample that lil' cunnie o' yers."

He tried to sound casual about it, as though describing what he'd like for lunch or do that evening by way of leisure. But he looked nothing short of wrecked. Desperate. Like a man lost in the desert, finally sighting a glass of water. Despite everything, you found it... kind of cute.

You nodded, trying to look demure. "Of course. Whatever you want." Hesitating, you added, "You are Old Nick's son, after all."

"Aye," Jimmy surprised you by reaching out and caressing your cheek, "and what a gift He sent me."

Your heart skipped a beat.

He swallowed hard enough for you to hear his throat click. "Lie down for me?"

A request, not a command.

You nodded, unbuttoning your trousers at last and tugging them down. Then, deciding you'd rather match him in nakedness, you pulled off your shirt as well. Trying not to preen at Jimmy's stunned expression, you shed your bra as you lay down. The linoleum floor was even colder without your thin shield of cotton, but you ignored the discomfort.

Jimmy settled in the cradle of your hips, breathing deep. "Oh, I knew I smelled somethin' sweet." He nuzzled your thigh, his eyes the intense blue of a blowtorch. "Y'smell divine, petal. Y'smell like nectar. A honey the bees could only dream o' producin'." He inched a bit closer, but not all the way. "May I taste ye?"

Slowly, you nodded. Your heart hammered with a dozen different emotions. And not a single one of them was fear. Not anymore.

Grinning, Jimmy hiked both of your legs over his shoulders. "Eyes on me, lil' lamb," he purred. "Ye wanted t'see me, and I wanna make it worth yer while."

You lifted your head. Watching.

Without further ado, Jimmy dove in. His necklaces clattered on the floor. Electricity buzzed through your form as his mouth encased you. His nose rubbed against your clit while his tongue twisted at your folds with the dexterity of an eel. You could hear him moan into you, tasting every inch of your entrance. His tongue pushed through the threshold, lapping up all the juices you had to offer.

You were moaning before you could stop yourself, resisting the urge to throw your head back and succumb to the pleasure. Instead, you kept your eyes on Jimmy. His eyes were closed, his expression ecstatic. As though, by pleasing you, he was gratifying you both.

You tangled your hands in his hair, surprised by how soft it was. You didn't pull. Didn't twist. Just carded your hands in those golden locks. Sharing the moment with him. Just like he'd done with you.

One of Jimmy's hands let go of your thigh, reaching up to cover your hand. A strangely intimate gesture.

He rubbed his nose against your clit with a bit more insistence, his tongue snaking faster into your tunnel.

Pleasure broiled within you, locking your entire body into a knot. You could see your thighs starting to tremble against his shoulders. Feel your breath quickening.

Jimmy panted against your entrance, parting just long enough to say, "That's it, lamb. Come for me. I wanna taste yer pleasure."

That was all you needed. Your climax blinded you. Hot. Intense. Exhilarating.

Jimmy drank all that you had to offer, licking it up as though it were precious sustenance. When he finally sat up, the lower half of his face was gleaming with your juices. His cheeks were rosy, his pupils were blown, and his swollen lips were stretched into a drunkard's smile. "I want ye tae taste yerself," he rasped, gliding a finger up your slit before bringing it to your face. "Here. Taste this delicacy."

You obeyed, curious at what you sampled. You tasted tangy and warm. Then, meeting his gaze, you offered a saucy smile as you licked your lips.

Jimmy groaned at the sight, giving himself a few pumps. "See what ye do t'me, dove?"

"Yes." Letting the saucy smile soften on your lips, you shifted on the floor. Tried to settle in as comfortable a position as you could. "I'm ready for you."

Jimmy grinned. "And I'm ready f'ye, love."

Love?

Jimmy lined himself up, but hesitated. Looked back at your face.

You nodded, giving him a reassuring smile before you realized you'd done it.

Jimmy pushed inside. Slowly. Almost reverently.

The stretch of him made you gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his sides. It felt too much like a lover's embrace, but in that moment you didn't care. You needed an anchor.

Jimmy's forehead dropped to yours, his entire body trembling as he sank into you. His golden chains brushed against your collarbones, his upside-down cross resting lightly on your sternum. They were warm from his skin, and surely would grow warmer still.

"Fuck—tight—so good," he gasped, sounding as overwhelmed as you felt. "Holy shite..."

You chuckled at his struggle to form complete sentences, rubbing soothing circles along his spine.

Jimmy snickered alongside you even as he worked to catch his breath. All the while, he drove into you one inch at a time. Not quick. Not careless. Determined.

When he finally bottomed out, he didn't move. Just took uneven breaths, shuddering in your grasp. Your chests pressed together, your heartbeats in sync.

You tucked some hair behind Jimmy's ears. Revealing his raw, vulnerable expression. "You okay?"

"Yes." Hesitant, he asked, "Are... are ye?" As though he didn't have the right to ask.

You nodded, your fingers still lingering on his face.

For a beat, neither of you spoke nor moved. Just stayed there, locked in each other. Two insects trapped in amber. Unable to look away from one another.

You found yourself committing every detail of Jimmy's visage to memory. And maybe it was your imagination, but you had the sense that he was doing the same for yours. "Yer..." he worried his bottom lip, "... yer not what I expected."

You tilted your head. "Is that bad or good?"

Some of the tension left Jimmy's shoulders. "Good," he replied, the ghost of a smile on his lips. "Very good." He shifted against you. "Ready?"

You nodded again, offering him a small smile.

Jimmy cupped the back of your head, ready to keep it from knocking against the cold, hard floor. A surprisingly thoughtful gesture. One that made you tighten your hold on him. Just a little bit.

Jimmy withdrew almost all the way. Slow. Trembling. Then, he thrust back in. His groan made your blood sing.

He withdrew and pushed back in again. And again. And again.

Deep. Steady. Savoring every move.

Every thrust struck you to your core. Drew moans from you like water from a well. And it wasn't long until Jimmy was making noises of his own. Ragged whines. Choked gasps. Little whimpers. Nothing like his bombastic sermon from earlier.

You liked this better. Much, much better.

You began to move with him. Jerk your hips to meet his. Nuzzle his neck. Coil an arm around his back. Find his hand and hold on tight.

After a beat, Jimmy wove your fingers together.

"Fuck," he panted, his every move full of want, "you’re so—fuck—warm—feel so good—my lamb—"

You coiled your legs around his waist. His hips snapped harder, his breath hitching near your ear.

"Say me name." Once again, a plea barely disguised as an order.

"Jimmy," you moaned.

He groaned hard. Thrust deeper.

You cried out. "Jimmy, fuck, don't stop—"

His forehead found yours again as he began to truly lose himself, hips stuttering and breath unraveling in a serenade of desperation. You could feel the hand cushioning the back of your head trembling.

"M'gonna come, me darlin'," his voice broke like sugar glass. “Do ye—d'ye want me tae—inside?”

You found yourself nodding. Enthusiastic. Eager. Overwhelmed with lust and another emotion you could neither name nor deny. "Yes," you whispered, your nose brushing against his. "Please, Jimmy. Inside."

Jimmy's breath caught. His whole body shuddered against yours. Every thrust was shorter, deeper, his control fraying like cheesecloth. "Come wit' me," he begged. "Please—come on, sweetheart—please, show me yer rapture—I need tae feel ye there wit' me, please—"

You were about to. You could feel it unfurling within you like a flower.

Just as it opened completely, you cupped Jimmy's cheek and pressed your lips to his. Gently. Sweetly. Without a second's hesitation, Jimmy kissed you back, his hand leaving the back of your skull to caress your jaw.

He tasted like you.

Like blood.

Like madness.

Like something you were starting to understand.

Your climax spread to the furthest corners of you, from the ends of your hair to the tips of your toes. Warming you. Electrifying you. Making you see stars.

Jimmy came in the same breath. Moaning in your kiss, hips jerking as he filled you utterly. His body shuddered, his hand clutching yours so tightly it almost hurt.

You stayed like that for many minutes: Intertwined, bodies trembling from the aftershocks, holding hands, and your lips still pressed together. Jimmy softened inside you, but he didn't pull out.

His heartbeat hammered against your ribs. Your thighs quivered around his hips. Your mouths remained locked together, fitting as perfectly as puzzle pieces.

Jimmy had asked you to be one with him, and it felt like you really, truly had.

You weren't sure who pulled away first. Either way, your faces remained in each other's orbit.

You took in the new color of his lips, a reddish pink. The light sheen of sweat on his face. The roses in his cheeks. The tangled halo of his hair, barely kept in check by his ears. The glossy black of his blown pupils, rimmed by the thinnest blue rings.

"You're beautiful."

Jimmy's eyes widened.

That was when you realized you'd spoken the words out loud. Biting back a wince, you added, "If that's okay to say."

Jimmy swallowed. Hard. Gave an almost timid nod. "It's okay." He stared at you for a long moment, something tender settling in his expression. He looked... open. Soft, even.

"Hey," you whispered, holding his cheek, "you okay?"

He leaned into your hand like he was starved for the touch. "Aye," he croaked. "Just... forgot t'breathe for a second there."

The joke made you smile, and he mirrored you before seemingly realizing something. He cocked his head, as though listening for a particular sound. "That's weird."

"What?" you asked softly.

"I can't... hear His voice, right now." Jimmy sounded stunned. "I mean, He doesn't talk tae me all the time, but He's never just... not here at all." He looked back down at you, laughing a bit. "Maybe He wanted t'give us a lil' privacy."

You chuckled. "Maybe." Your hand remained on his cheek, your thumb following the lines around his eye. "Sorry, I know you said no kissing on the mouth, but—"

He hushed you gently. "I liked it." A brief pause. "A lot." His fingers found your face again, tracing it softly.

You met his gaze, feeling something more than afterglow settling in your bones. Something small and fragile, but bright as starlight. And somehow, you could see the same feeling shimmering in those blue orbs.

You spotted the exact moment reality came crashing back to him. The sight was a painful one.

"Ye... Well." Jimmy cleared his throat, glancing away. Not out of callousness, but self-preservation. "I'd say ye did splendidly, petal. A deal's a deal. We'll leave. No charity required."

Jimmy dared to glance back at you. As though it might be his last chance to. The line in his throat tightened. "And nobody's gonna come botherin' ye and yers again." He spoke softly, yet fiercely. "Not demons. Not raiders. Not nobody. Me and me peeps'll make sure o' that."

A part of you rejoiced. Another felt only sorrow. "Well..." you mused, "... you don't have to go right now, do you?"

Jimmy blinked, thrown for a loop. "No, I s'posse not."

"Well, then," you squeezed his hand, "you're welcome to stay right here. With me. For a bit longer."

Something cracked in Jimmy's expression. Broke, and let some light in.

Then, slowly, he smiled. It was raw, a little shaky, and completely real. He nodded. "I'd like that."

[thebookdragon95]

You Could've Been Beautiful

Synopsis: As Ian Kelson and Jimmy Crystal succumb to their wounds, the doctor contemplates what could've been.

Spoilers for '28 Years Later: The Bone Temple'.

Taglist: @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @ladybirdblue1313, @lpalmer00, @sugartitsfornat, @premiumsilverfish, @h3artzforbillkaulitz, @poppiespng, @allsmilesarebadnews, @wunhsuhnssijnsijsijns, @muffinidy, @prettyflyforawhitelie, @pott-mccoy

Death is the inheritance of every single living being on Earth. That is the natural way of things. The only variations are how and when. But the final result is always the same.

Ian Kelson had always known this, both as a doctor and as a human being. He'd toiled to help everyone he could, but he'd been forced to recognize that there was only so much he could do. And when the world as he'd known it had fallen, its seemingly unshakable foundations blowing away like leaves in the wind, he'd reencountered that recognition again and again.

He'd seen the infected kill in droves. Seen illnesses and accidents that'd once been treatable claim the weak and strong alike. Seen people do barbaric things in the name of survival. Seen it all, and tried to still do good. Treat the living. Respect the dead. All the while knowing that, sooner or later, his time would come as well. He'd hoped, at least, that some kind soul might add his skeleton to the Bone Temple. Let him rest along those he'd tried to honor.

But now, as he lay bleeding, Ian felt that wish wilting within him. He couldn't very well clean his own bones, and the only living person near him wouldn't be for much longer. And what little time he had left, he was spending nailed to an upside-down cross.

Ian had commanded it, hoping against hope to do away with such a depraved man and to free Spike from any more misery. Ian hadn't thought about how much the crucified man, the self-proclaimed Sir Lord Jimmy Crystal, would suffer before he died. He'd only thought of the very end, not the minutes or even hours leading up to it. An impulsive choice on his part, and they were both bleeding for it.

But at least Spike had gotten away, as had the girl. The only one of Jimmy's 'Fingers' with a moral compass. Ian hoped that they'd lean on each other. Keep each other safe. Safeguard each other's hearts.

And Samson... Was he all right? Had Ian's experimental cure worked?

Jimmy wailed piteously, interrupting Ian's hazy train of thought. "Why can't I hear his voice anymore?" he asked nobody in particular.

His voice. Satan's voice, the younger man had claimed during their conversation the previous day. Jimmy thought it was his father, talking to him via some telepathic link. Guiding him through this broken world. Compelling him to fill it with even more pain and bloodshed.

Ian, who'd thought he'd seen it all at this point, had been horrified by Jimmy. By his madness. His casual cruelty. His desires to grow his supporters' numbers and spread his 'charity' all throughout the land. He'd gone along with Jimmy's charade not out of self-interest, but because he'd feared leaving Samson all alone. And look where it'd gotten him.

Ian should've hated Jimmy. Should've been glad to see him mewl and cry and bleed on the upside-down cross. Instead, he felt compelled to turn. To look at the man he was dying with. There, painted in candlelight, tears shone like diamonds. Slid down his forehead and dampened his golden tangles. Even upside-down, the younger man's visage was a portrait of fear.

"I want my mum," Jimmy whimpered. Those four little words, uttered so pathetically, struck Ian to his core. For the first time, he felt that he understood Jimmy. Underneath the cruelty, the vanity, and the madness, was the boy who'd watched his family die. The boy who'd grown up in a world of blood and pain. The boy who'd done so much to be strong, to be one with the darkness all around him, but who still longed for the comfort and safety of parents.

Ian couldn't forget what Jimmy had done. Couldn't forgive it, even if he'd wanted to. But looking upon Jimmy now, crying and begging for his long-dead mother, Ian saw so much more than those acts of depravity.

With strength he shouldn't have had, Ian crawled towards the upside-down cross. Kneeling before the sobbing man, Ian took his hand. It was cold and damp with sweat and blood, but he gave it a gentle squeeze all the same.

Jimmy sniffled. Looked at Ian with huge, watery eyes.

"You're so young, Jimmy..." Ian spoke softly, every word leaden with melancholy. "You are charismatic, determined, intelligent, a natural-born leader... and I can only imagine what you must've been like as a child. Perhaps not so different from how you are right now."

Jimmy's tears had slowed to a trickle, but he stared at Ian as though the doctor was the only thing he could see. His expression was torn. Vulnerable.

Ian read Jimmy's visage as well as a book. He'd seen more of Jimmy than anyone else had in years, perhaps ever. He'd peered past the cruelty, the bluster, the big speeches, and found something small and fragile within. It was unsettling and comforting all at once.

"I can't imagine what it must've been like, growing up in this new world," Ian carried on. "You must've been so scared. So lonely. Your heart, once as full and happy as any child's, must've endured so much to darken the way it did." He swallowed. "It would be so easy to hate you, especially with your knife's wound in my flesh. But it isn't entirely your fault, that you are the way you are."

"Ian..." Jimmy croaked.

Ian felt a weak smile tug at his lips. "Can you picture what you could've been, had the virus never come? Or if you'd walked a different path? I can. And it breaks my heart to think of the beautiful person you could've been."

Jimmy began to cry anew. As though he, too, could see where the road had forked for him. The life he could've led, the man he could've grown up to be, if both the world and his own choices hadn't gotten in the way.

"I'm sorry," Jimmy finally managed to blubber out. "I'm sorry, Ian. I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry..."

Ian doubted that Jimmy would've been sorry if he'd been on his own two feet, uninjured and surrounded by his Fingers. But he knew that it didn't matter. However it'd come about, Jimmy's remorse was sincere. It wouldn't heal Ian, or change what'd happened, but it was something. Ian believed that. Had to.

Ian didn't say he forgave Jimmy. Didn't absolve him. Instead, he wiped the tears, spit, and snot from Jimmy's face with his sleeve. Gently, carefully. With the same care he'd given all of his temple's lovely bones.

"Don't..." Jimmy tried to say more, but his voice guttered like a candle in the wind.

Ian waited, even as he felt more blood ooze from his wound. More of his life drain away.

"Don't leave me..." Jimmy whispered. "Please, I... Please."

Ian nodded. Never mind that he was too weak to go anywhere. Even if he could've found the strength to move, he'd have to leave a part of himself behind. The part of himself he'd fought tooth and nail to preserve over the last twenty-eight years: His compassion.

Ian squeezed Jimmy's fingers. "Oh, we're both going, I believe," he mused. "But while we're both breathing, Jimmy... we don't have to do it alone." Jimmy took a deep, wheezing breath. Trembled against the cross. Closed his eyes.

And after a moment, he squeezed Ian's fingers right back.

Neither of them let go. Not until the very end.

[thebookdragon95]

Safe in Eden's Womb

Sir Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

The final piece of this unexpected little trilogy! Please read 'King, Lover, Dog and 'Your Kiss, My Drug' to avoid confusion.

Summary: Hope comes to Eden.

Warnings: Collaring, slapping, spanking, p in v sex, soft!dom female reader, sub!Jimmy, religious delusion, pregnancy, birth, pain.

Taglist: @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @bardofpriwen, @itsquinnagain, @hauntedsweethearts, @senselessviolets, @avidreader73, @darkobsidanfiles, @mossythevampireslayer, @pervsmut, @smiley-miles44, @waywardbruja, @breakingtheremix, @chillybeanrice, @h3r3t1c

It started small, as so many big things do.

A bout of nausea here, a touch of the fever there.

At first, you dismissed it as a mild cold, or maybe a bug you'd picked up, and carried on with your duties as Eden's queen. You, Jimmy Shita, and Jimmima nursed the puppies Adam and Eve until they were old enough to graduate to semi-solids—a meaty, milky stew that you prepared especially for them. You oversaw the Jimmies' sewing and butchering lessons. You assigned the duty of food accounting to Jimmy Jimmy, one of the smarter and more levelheaded members of the group. You even managed to find undamaged glass panes large enough to finally, finally fit the abbey's shattered windows. And of course, you disciplined Jimmy whenever he required it—making sure he was never truly hurt by what you did to him, while also guaranteeing that he learned his lesson.

But the symptoms didn't go away. If anything, they worsened as the weeks passed. You found an iron fatigue settling deep into your bones. You couldn't stand certain scents anymore. You vomited at things you wouldn't have blinked at.

And then, you missed a period.

A small part of you rejoiced. The impulsive, emotional part. But the rest of you managed to cage it long enough to think things through.

Sure. It could be what you were thinking. But it also might not be.

You could have thyroid issues. You could be anemic.

Or hell, it could just be stress. The life you led was a good one, a productive one, and often a happy one, but it was definitely stressful. Every time you or any of yours left Eden, anything from a broken ankle to a horde of infected could spell your end. You had to make materials last as long as possible because you couldn't know if and when you'd find proper replacements. You could run into hostile groups, even cannibals. You could get seriously lost and end up dead of dehydration. You could pick the wrong mushrooms and poison yourself.

And even in the relative safety of Eden, a thousand things could happen. The roof could cave in, with no way to fix it. The food could spoil. The vegetable garden might die in an unexpected freeze come autumn. There might be a period where no game could be found, leading to your small kingdom chewing on animal bones and sipping broth for sustenance.

But how could you know for sure? Easy: Without a pregnancy test around, you couldn't.

You were still puzzling over what to do that night over a supper of mushroom-and-venison pie. Conversation was lively. Jokes were abundant. Laughter was constant. Jimmy sat in the throne next to yours, insisting on feeding you tender morsels and looking at you with almost manic adoration.

You let the moment warm you like a blanket on a cold and rainy night. Smiled and laughed and talked with the people who'd become your family. Basked in the savory smells of your dinner and the warmth cast by the hundred tallow candles scattered across the dining hall. Cooed when Jimmima insisted on keeping Adam and Eve on her lap, slipping them the occasional piece of flaky crust. Flashed Jimmy the occasional smile, reaching out to trace his collar every now and again.

Then, it happened: Jimmy Ink mentioned a strange monument about three miles west of here. "A real necropolis, it is," he stated with a shudder, "and the doctor livin' there's a real oddball."

You leaned forward, eyes widening. "Doctor?"

"Aye, he told me he was one in the Before Times," Jimmy Ink elaborated. "Didn't have nothin' to trade with, so me, Jimmy Jimmy, and Jimmy Shita came home."

You remembered that day. They'd been even more tired than usual, the blood of the stag they'd slain congealing on their blades. You'd even scolded them for not bringing the kill back straightaway.

You straightened in your throne. "Jimmy Ink," you invoiced, "tomorrow morning, I want you to show me where this necropolis is."

Your words rippled across the table. Eyebrows arched. Heads tilted. Questions bloomed in silence like mushrooms. But you held your tongue. Simply met Jimmy Ink's gaze with cool authority.

Finally, Jimmy Ink nodded. "Yes, my queen."

You felt your shoulders loosen with relief. And, deep in your chest, you felt something bloom. Fragile, yet warm. Hope.

You also felt Jimmy's eyes on you for the rest of the meal. Inquisitive. Hungry. Almost desperate.

But you made him wait. Your dog was more patient than he'd once been, but he still had a lot to learn.

By the time you made it back to you chambers, he was practically vibrating with anxiety. He kept opening his mouth and then closing it again. Caught between wanting to ask you and fearing punishment.

Best put him out of his misery.

You took his hands in yours, running your thumbs over his knuckles. "Jimmy, I..." you took a deep, cleansing breath, "... I think I might be pregnant."

Jimmy stared at you, seemingly uncomprehending for a second, before letting out a quaking breath. "Y... ye...?" He trailed off. Speechless, for once.

"I don't know for sure, but I missed my last period," you explained. "That's why I want to meet this doctor. If anyone can shed some light on this, it's him."

Jimmy made a noise that sounded like both a laugh and a sob. His face broke out in the widest grin you'd ever seen, exposing all of his crooked and unwashed teeth. He let go of your hands and cradled your cheeks instead. "A child," he whispered reverently, looking at you with something like worship. "A child born of our love, (Y/n). A child born of Eden." He brought his forehead to yours, still emitting that breathy, sobbing laugh. "I prayed for this day tae come. I prayed so hard..."

You cupped the back of his head. "I might not be pregnant, Jimmy," you reminded him. "It could just be a missed period. I've missed them before, even when I hadn't had sex in months."

"No." Jimmy shook his head firmly, eyes shining like pools of moonlit water. "No, petal. It's happened. I can feel it." He placed a hand on your abdomen, as though he could already feel life gestating there. "We've been blessed."

You sighed, pulling away slightly. "And if we're not?"

Jimmy hesitated, sorrow flashing in his features, before he gave you an impish grin. "Then we try again. We go till it takes. Until yer swollen and shinin' with the miracle o' life."

You gave a resigned chuckle. "You really want a child that badly?"

"Aye," Jimmy replied. "But only wit' ye."

You paused. Blinked at him. "What?"

"Aye," Jimmy repeated, nodding firmly. "I been wit' other women, love. 'Course I have." He looked at you, desperate for you to understand. "But I never wanted tae create life wit' any o' them. Just ye. Only ye."

You stared at him for a long time, your throat clogged and your chest aching. Then, you brought your forehead against his again. "Why'd you have to go and say something as incredibly sweet as that?"

"'Cause it's true," Jimmy replied simply. He rubbed his nose against yours, eliciting a giggle. "I'm yers. Yer loyal hound. From that first day tae me last day."

Laughing, overwhelmed, you pressed your lips against his. Pouring everything you felt—all your hope, love, and anxiety—into the kiss. Jimmy moaned against you, taking it all. Taking it like gospel. He wrapped his arms around you, needing to feel you or he'd fall apart. You hugged him back, carding one hand in his hair.

The two of you fell back on the soft mattress, on the worn but clean blankets. Lying on your sides, you kissed as though you were drowning and the only oxygen to be found was on each other's lips. You caressed each other's bodies, the contours familiar and the skin growing warm.

Before long, you felt Jimmy's erection against your thigh. "Feel that?" he gasped against your mouth, pupils blown and cheeks ruddy. "That's a sermon, darlin'. Me sermon tae ye."

You grinned. "Oh, I'll be sure to listen very attentively." You grasped the zipper of his tracksuit's jacket and dragged it down. Jimmy shucked the purple velvet off, as well as the thin cotton shirt underneath it.

You stopped for a moment, drinking in the sight of his bare torso. His creamy skin laced with tattooed Scripture. The way his build hovered perfectly between strong and slender. How his muscles rippled and tensed before you like threads on a spinning wheel. You ran your hands over it all. Loving it. Loving him.

Sitting up, Jimmy pulled the knot of his drawstrings loose. Let his trousers sag. You helped him tug them down his hips, thighs, knees, and finally let them fall from his ankles.

Jimmy palmed himself with a groan, eyes closed in ecstasy. When he opened them again, they found your face. Dedicated. Loving. "Please."

If you hadn't already decided you wanted him, that broken plea would've shattered your resolve like a bowling ball flung through a window. You scooted closer, peeling off your top and snickering at his starved expression. You wriggled out of your jeans. But you paused at your underwear, arching a brow. "Would you like to help me take the rest off, puppy?"

Jimmy gave an eager nod as he crawled closer. Leaning in, he gave you a passionate kiss as his hand traveled behind your back. With long, dexterous fingers, he unclasped your bra, letting it fall to the bedspread. Then, gently, he pushed you back. For once, you let him crawl on top of you. Enjoyed another quick kiss as he traveled down your body, peppering your heated skin with butterfly kisses. When he made it to your panties, he flashed you a grin before taking the fabric between his teeth.

You laughed, equal parts amused and aroused. "You greedy dog."

Jimmy chuckled around the cotton as he tugged it down your legs. Once he and you were free of that final barrier, he climbed back up your form. "Y'made me this way, dovie," he replied. "Now take responsibility."

You cackled, slipping a finger under his collar. "I intend to, sweetheart." Gently, you maneuvered him into lying down. Running your hands soothingly down his chest, you asked, "Would you like me to ride your face, honey? Or would you like me to start you off?"

Jimmy trembled under your touch. "Ride me face, darlin'," he begged. "I'll be so good t'ye. I promise."

You smiled. "Well, since you asked like a good puppy..." He moaned at the praise, at the pet name, as you moved higher up his body. Didn't stop until your heated core was positioned directly above his face. You gripped the headboard and looked down at him. He looked so excited, it was kind of adorable. "Tap my thigh twice if you need me to back up, okay?"

Jimmy nodded. Then, placing his hands on your hips, he brought his mouth to your center. That initial contact, light as it was, made you gasp. His tongue slid, slowly and surely, to draw delicate circles around your clit. He explored every centimeter with patient thoroughness, moaning against your folds as though every taste was divine. You let out a pleased mewl, leaning your head back as a sweet fire began to burn within you.

Jimmy pulled away just long enough to say, "Sing fer me, me queen. Let every angel in Heaven hear." Then, he dove back in, licking you with a sweet voraciousness. His hands kneaded your hips, strong yet careful.

Then, his tongue penetrated you. Poured gasoline over the fire beneath your skin. You cried out, starbursts erupting behind your eyes, and ground against him. Jimmy hummed against you, pistoning his tongue inside you with a rhythm that drove you wild. And when his fingers began to circle your clit in tight little circles, you moaned against him.

"Jimmy," you gasped, "Jimmy—puppy—just like that—oh fuck, I love you so much—" You cut yourself off with a moan, your entire body trembling in the wake of your impending orgasm.

Jimmy's free hand found your stomach, stroking it gently, as he continued his ministrations. Go on, he seemed to say. Gimme everythin'.

With a cry that echoed through your chambers and a flood of honeyed heat, you did.

Once the last of the waves had receded, you climbed off Jimmy. Smiled when you saw him licking his fingers like a child enjoying the last vestiges of his dessert. His pupils had expanded so much, you could hardly see any of that lovely blue. And his cock was so hard it looked painful, the swollen head a stunning shade of rose madder.

He looked at you and smiled. Licked his lips. "Holy water," he murmured. "Straight from the sacred source."

You chuckled. "Consider yourself blessed, then."

"Already did." He winked at you.

Blushing even as you rolled your eyes, you bent down. Gave him a kiss heavy with promise. You could taste yourself, taste your warmth mingling with his, and it made you hold him closer. He whimpered against your lips, his hands cupping your jaw. And when you parted, you whispered, "I love you."

Jimmy's smile widened. "I love y'too," he breathed. Nuzzling your face like an affectionate housecat. "So fuckin' much." He hesitated before asking, "Can I...? Please, I wanna be inside ye."

You were about to say yes when an idea struck you. Grinning, you replied, "Of course, puppy... and today, you can be on top."

Jimmy's eyes widened. "Really?"

"You've earned it today," you told him. "Besides, if I am pregnant, that position will be off the table in a few months. So, might as well do it while we can." You paused, scanning his gaze. "Unless you don't want to."

Jimmy gave you a fierce kiss. Gently guided you on your back, planting himself in the cradle of your hips. His hands cosseted every square inch of you, his touch a brand of devotion. Of love tinged with madness.

"I want to," he promised you against your lips. "Just lie back fer me, my queen. Lemme take care o' ye..."

You cupped his face. Maintained eye contact as he pressed inside you slowly. Slowly enough for you to feel every inch. The stretch. The fullness. The glide of him filling you up. You both gasped when he bottomed out.

"God in Heaven," Jimmy breathed, his forehead against yours, "y'feel perfect, love. So fuckin' perfect."

You couldn't reply. Could barely breathe. All you could do was cling to him as your body adjusted, the fullness shifting from 'too much' to 'not enough'.

Finally, you recovered enough to kiss him.

He met your gaze. "Tell me when—"

"Now," you shifted your hips, making you both groan. "Please, Jimmy. Move."

Jimmy obeyed at once, drawing back before pushing back in. Setting a rhythm that had you coiling your legs around his waist, eager to draw him closer.

"Good?" Jimmy asked, voice strained.

You nodded. "Very good." The angle was perfect, hitting that spot that made your toes curl and your breath catch. "Don't stop. Don't you fucking stop."

"I won't," Jimmy swore. And he didn't. He built up speed gradually, one hand on your hip while the other clutched at a pillow near your head. You met him thrust for thrust, gasping every time he ground against your clit.

"Harder," you demanded.

"Yeah?" Jimmy drew back. "Like this?" He snapped his hips forward harder. Faster.

You cried out. "Yes," you breathed. "Exactly like that."

Jimmy flashed you a wolfish grin before taking you like a man possessed. Bucking into you as he moaned, wild and broken, looking at you like you were the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. You moaned just as much, thrusting your hips to meet his. Grabbing his throat and giving it a good squeeze. Raking his hair back from his face.

"Am I doin' good?" Jimmy asked, his voice splintering as he thrust into you. "Tell me I'm good—please, tell me I'm doin' good—that I'm yer good puppy, please—"

"My sweet puppy," you kissed him hard, stopping him from spiraling further. "You're doing so well—so perfect, so good for me—keep going—I love you so much."

Jimmy squeezed his eyes shut with a whimper, pounding into you with all that he had.

The chambers filled with the sounds of skin slapping against skin. Of two voices moaning and whimpering and babbling. Of love and hope and intimacy.

"Not gonna last," Jimmy warned, "y'feel so good, I can't—"

"Don't have to," you promised him between pants. You were close again, that coil of tension at the base of your spine winding tighter by the second. "Don't stop, puppy, please."

"I got ye, pet. I got ye." Jimmy shifted his angle slightly, grinding against your clit until you saw stars, and then reached between you to circle that bundle of nerves once more. "Please, my queen. Come for me. Come around me. Wanna be yer rapture."

Your orgasm struck you like lightning. You clamped down around him, trembling in his arms. He came seconds later, clutching you like he was afraid you'd turn to smoke. Moaning your name like a prayer. Like a promise. Like the only word that'd ever mattered.

You stayed like that for a while. Foreheads pressed together. Him still inside of you. Both of you trembling and breathing raggedly. Your hearts pounding in synchrony.

"I love ye," he whispered, running a gentle hand through your hair. "With all me heart. Ye, and our lil' lamb."

You turned your head. Kissed him softly. "Me, too." ***

Dr. Kelson arrived not long after, shepherded into Eden by Jimmy's hunting party. You'd been asked to stay behind, if only to avoid unnecessary risk, and had seized the chance to prepare the abbey for the homecoming party.

The entire building was cleaned from top to bottom, polished until the stones practically sparkled in the anemic sunlight. Candles were lit. Incense wafted, thick and sweet, into the air.

An entire stag was roasted, its meat seasoned to perfection. Great platters of fruit and vegetables were laid out. Goblets pilfered from one museum or other were used to drink water and wine in equal abundance. Fresh bread was baked.

Dr. Kelson took it all in with awe, though some of his apprehension remained. You couldn't blame him. The Jimmies were a strange bunch, and Jimmy himself could be a lot to take in. But you welcomed him warmly, offered him refreshments and chambers of his own, and didn't ask for a checkup until after supper.

Jimmy wanted to be present. Wanted to ensure this outsider whom he initially thought to be Old Nick didn't do anything untoward. You tried—gently, at first—to herd Jimmy out of the room. "It's just a checkup, honey," you told him. "And I'll yell if anything happens."

Jimmy didn't budge. Didn't seem to even hear you. In fact, he was starting to act rather bratty for your taste.

You slapped him. Not hard enough to truly hurt him, but not soft enough for him to underestimate his mistake. "Go." Your voice was steel and power. "Go now, or you'll be punished later. Am I clear?"

Jimmy bowed his head, shame crimsoning his cheeks and ears. "M'sorry," he whispered.

You gave a small nod. "I forgive you. Now, go." As he slipped out of the room, you added, "And don't rub that cheek, mister! Stinging's sacred, remember?"

Jimmy didn't answer. He didn't need to.

You turned back to Dr. Kelson, who was staring at you with something akin to admiration. "Shall we begin?"

Dr. Kelson nodded, gesturing to the table he'd had brought into his chambers. As you lay down, he stated, "Your, ah, companion doesn't seem like the sort of man to be slapped and scolded like a child."

"Oh, nobody else would dare," you replied. "I know how to handle him, though. He's a good boy, really. Just needs a bit of discipline from time to time."

Dr. Kelson chuckled as he claimed his stethoscope. "Tis a rare thing, to find what you want and what you need in the same person."

You smiled, thinking of your home. Of your life here. "I agree."

"Now," Dr. Kelson turned to you, his eyes gentle, "let's have a look, shall we?" *** You were still trembling with the news when Dr. Kelson left. You heard a chair's legs scrape against the stone floor, high and whining. Dr. Kelson said, "You can go in to see her if you like."

Not a second later, Jimmy was by your side, kissing and nuzzling your face with shamed reverence. "M'sorry," he whispered. "I was bad, I'm sorry, my queen, I... I just wanted t'keep ye safe."

You cupped his cheeks, gently drawing him back so that he could meet your eyes. "It's okay, I'll discipline you for that later. Just to make sure you don't do it again. But right now..." you let out a little laugh, tears blurring your vision. "Jimmy, it's real. The doctor just confirmed it. I'm pregnant."

Jimmy laughed even as his eyes grew glassy as well. He crashed his lips onto yours, drinking in your news even as he fed you his joy. You kissed him back, still holding his cheeks.

The next night, the entire flock celebrated your pregnancy with a meal of roasted meat and stewed vegetables. Jimmy Shita and Jimmy Jones brought forth a special berry wine normally kept aside for worship. Jimmy struggling to sit comfortably after the spanking you'd given him. But every time your eyes met, he smiled and kissed your hand.

"Blessed be our queen!" kept resounding through the abbey, brought forth with voices rich with hope. "Blessed be Jimmy! Blessed be the lamb of Eden!"

Eventually, the plates were cleared and the wine was returned to the stores. Wiping his mouth with a napkin, Dr. Kelson volunteered to stay until the baby was born. "I'm not a pediatrician," he admitted, "but I worked with a few, back in the old days. I can make sure you're healthy, and help with most issues."

You nodded, grateful. "Thank you, Dr. Kelson." *** Months passed. Seasons came and went. Jimmy preached. You reigned. The Jimmies worked and worshipped. Days were marked by hunts, trades with more communities, the harvesting and tending of the vegetable garden—which was now more than twice the size it'd once been—training Adam and Eve as they grew into strong young dogs, and your expanding belly.

You still presided as Eden's queen, of course. Still settled disputes with a firm and gentle hand. Still taught your subjects how to sew, cook, garden, and butcher an animal. Still sat by Jimmy's side. Still praised him when he did well and punished him when he erred.

And for the first few months of your pregnancy, you kept leading hunts and trades. You even climbed on the roof at some point to fix a few holes amid the tiles.

Not to mention you prepared the baby's room yourself. Sure, the Jimmies helped, but you were at the core of the project. You painted the walls crocus-yellow. You searched an abandoned building for a bassinet, and brought back one made of old but sturdy cherrywood. You polished it until it gleamed and knitted blankets to fill it. You washed old toys, made small pillows, and stitched together onesies until your fingers were raw and red.

By your sixth month, your body got in the way of most duties. Oh sure, you could still rule. You could still cook and sew and read and teach, but hunting was lost to you. So were trades and gardening. You were simply too heavy to make such long walks. Too vulnerable to heartburn and exhaustion.

Instead, you lived in loose fabric, taking wide steps and turning slowly. You shifted when you sat and groaned when you rose, keeping a hand on your belly when you moved. Your back sang dull songs of pain every evening, and your hunger was endless. You ate more than you ever had in your life, to the point that some of the Jimmies had to go out on additional hunts to bring you back fresh meat. You were constantly dizzy, which Dr. Kelson promised was normal. Your circulation was ramping up to provide more blood flow to your uterus. And you came to hate certain smells. Incense, for instance. And the smell of bleach.

But at least you weren't constipated. That would've been embarrassing.

Even so, you were annoyed at your inability to pull your weight like you used to. Angry at the body that was suddenly too slow, too hungry, too clumsy, and too fragile to be of any use. But nobody ever made you feel like a burden. Not Dr. Kelson. Not the Jimmies. Not Jimmy. Not even your baby.

You had no idea if it was a girl or a boy. Whether they'd take after you or Jimmy. But you knew that you loved them already.

You caressed your belly. Sang to them. Talked to them. Chuckled when you felt them move or kick.

And when Jimmy was there? Always ready to give you an extra pillow? To fetch you some water or a snack? To rub your feet or brush your hair? To massage aloe vera into your stretch marks? You loved him so much you couldn't breathe.

One night, you woke to find Jimmy—ignorant to your awakening—kneeling before your side of the bed, head bent low. For a moment, you thought he was praying. Not wanting to interrupt, you simply kept laying on your side. Kept your eyes closed.

Then, softly, you heard Jimmy whisper. "Hey, there."

It was barely a whisper. Soft as muslin, and sweet as the morning dew.

"Ye don't know me yet," he murmured, placing a hand on your stomach, "but I already love ye. Just as I love yer mammy." His thumb traced a line along your skin. Up, down. Soft. "I wantcha t'know, I'll fight fer ye. Protect ye. Teach ye all I know. I dunno how good of a father I'll be, but I'll do me best."

His fingers spread out, like he was holding something precious. Something priceless. "I hope ye never know hunger or fear. I hope ye have a good life. A life ye can be proud of. I hope ye'll be happy here, with me and yer mammy and me beautiful bastards. I..." He trailed off. Leaned in. Pressed his forehead against your stomach.

When he spoke again, his voice was barely audible.

"I hope ye never learn tae survive the way I did."

You didn't wipe away the tear running down your cheek. Nor did you stop your hand from trailing down your stomach and finding his.

Jimmy froze. Looked up at you. Your eyes met in the dark, wet and glistening.

You gave him a soft smile.

Jimmy laced his fingers through yours.

And beneath your hands, deep in the silent darkness of your womb, the baby shifted. *** More time passed. Summer gave way to winter. The days grew short and damp. Frost laced the windows. Even the infected seemed to cower before the storms.

Your ankles swelled. Your hips throbbed. Despite the cold, you were always burning hot. Burning from the inside out. Most nights, you needed a cold, damp cloth on your forehead.

The baby was restless. You all were.

Then, one night, you felt it.

Your legs soaked with water. Pain cutting through you like a white-hot knife.

This time, when Dr. Kelson arrived, Jimmy wouldn't be persuaded to leave. One look in his eyes told you that. You could've slapped him until his cheeks swelled like a chipmunk's and he still would've stayed. He pressed his forehead to yours. "Ye ain't doin' this alone, love."

And that was that.

The hours that passed were bled out of you.

You screamed. You cried. Your writhed. You nearly passed out from the pain more than once. You pushed as much as you could. Even when it felt like you had no strength left in you, you pushed.

Jimmy stayed beside you. Kneeling. Steady. Loving.

He held your hand. Kept you hydrated with a canteen of water you brought with you on hunts. He pushed sweat-dampened hair out of your face. He prayed out loud. And he encouraged you every step of the way.

"Yer doin' it," he kept saying, his voice thick with emotion. "Yer bringin' our baby into the world. Yer a miracle, pet. I love ye. I love ye so much."

The pain reached a fever pitch. Less waves, more fire. You screamed. You clawed at the blankets under you. Your entire body trembled with effort.

"I can't!" you shouted, your voice gravelly from so much screaming. "I can't, Jimmy! I can't!"

"Yes, ye can!" Jimmy took your face in his hands. Looked right into your eyes, his overflowing with tears. "(Y/n), yer me queen, and the strongest woman I know. Yer the love o' me goddamn life. Ye can do this, ye hear me? Ye can."

You kissed him desperately. Fearfully. As though, on some level, you worried you might never be able to again. "I love you," you sobbed.

Jimmy stole one last kiss. "And I, ye."

You labored on. Pushed. Howled. The pain was worse than anything you'd ever felt. A searing stretch that felt like it was ripping your body in two. The smell of copper hung in the air like a damp drape.

And still you pushed.

"I can see the head!" Dr. Kelson announced. "The baby's coming. One more, dear. Come on, one more good push—"

You used the last of your strength, your vision going white.

Something broke. Pressure released. Relief flooded you, better than any drug.

For a second, the room was still. Holding its breath.

Then, a tiny wail cut through the bloody dimness.

You choked on a sob.

Dr. Kelson emerged, holding a writhing infant tacky with blood. It was small, barely the size of a doll, yet kicking like a goat in his gloved arms.

"Is it...?" you rasped.

"A girl," Dr. Kelson grinned, looking as tired and happy as you felt. "Healthy as can be."

Jimmy closed his eyes and clutched at the upside-down cross around his neck. Whispered a quick prayer of thanks.

You reached out with rubbery arms. "Please," you gasped. "Please, I wanna hold her."

Dr. Kelson nodded. Stopping only to snip the umbilical cord, he placed the infant against your chest. You held her tight, taking her in for the first time as Dr. Kelson took care of the afterbirth.

Jimmy sat next to you, an arm around your shoulders.

The moment she saw you two, she stopped crying. Just looked up at you with big-eyed curiosity, cooing softly.

You took her in with equal marvel. Her shock of blonde hair, crimsoned by the blood. Her eyes, the same as yours. Her cute, button-like nose. Her pursed lips, reminiscent of a rosebud. Her large ears, giving her a mouse-like appearance.

"She's perfect," you breathed, unable to detach your eyes from—your heart fluttered as it truly sunk in—your daughter.

Unbidden, Jimmy's prophecy from your first encounter came back to you. "Ye and I are gonna have the most beautiful child." How right he'd been. More right, perhaps, than even he'd realized.

You turned to look at Jimmy, who was staring first at the baby and then at you. The unparalleled tenderness in his gaze made you fall in love with him all over again. Tears flowed from his eyes like broken strings of pearls. "My girls," he whispered. Held you both, securely, in his arms. "My girls." ***

After both you and the baby had been bathed, the latter taking to nursing like a fish to water, Jimmy allowed the flock to see its lamb.

They brought gifts. Flowers picked from the nearby meadows. Little dolls for the child. Bits of food. Knickknacks from their own rooms.

They blessed you both. Knelt before your bed.

You were grateful for their presence. Happy with their gifts. But you were still glad when they left. You held your hand out to Jimmy. Beckoning him to bed.

He joined you without question. The two of you lay on your sides, your daughter nestled between you.

"We could name her Lilith, after the first woman," Jimmy mused. "Or Eve. Or Mary, after the Blessed Virgin."

You shook your head. "Maybe as a middle name. But honestly? I knew her name the second I saw her."

Jimmy blinked at you.

You smiled. "Hope."

Jimmy smiled. Slowly, warmly. "It's perfect." He kissed Hope's crown, and your heart nearly erupted with joy.

You placed a hand on her chest, loving the feeling of it rising and falling. Of her little heart, already as strong as a drum.

"I know I should put her in the crib," you muttered. "But I'm not ready to."

Jimmy nodded. "That's all right. I don't wanna put her there, either." He moved closer, draping an arm around you both. "Thank ye, love," he whispered. "For this."

"Thank you too, puppy."

Jimmy frowned. "For what?"

"For the same reason." You smiled even as your eyelids took on ten pounds. "For this." You covered his hand with your free one.

He beamed. It was the last thing you saw before your eyes slid shut.

The three of you fell asleep like that: Warm, close, and safe in Eden's womb.

[thebookdragon95]

Your Kiss, My Drug

Sir Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader Takes place a few months after 'King, Lover, Dog' (link here). Jimmy and his queen decide to give a special, homemade drug a try. Listen to AG's 'Inside Out' for full effect.

Warnings: Explicit sexual content, p in v sex, collaring, soft!dom reader, submissive Jimmy Crystal, drug use, aftercare

Taglist: @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter, @jimmy-shite, @sithbelova, @falloutsonus, @peter-newkirks-smolder, @abigailelevier, @sinfulteeth, @christoprodavets, @uncxltured, @iliestillandstraight, @knopochka

If someone had told you that you'd one day be the queen of a tracksuit-wearing cult, living in a half-ruined abbey, and warming to the idea of birthing said cult's first child, you'd have shot them in the eye with an arrow. Either that, or sicced your beloved hounds on them.

But yet, here you were. Making sure that your new community had everything needed for the trade.

It was to be a good trade, too. You'd be getting ammo, freshly-made in the factory they'd claimed, apple and blackcurrant seeds to cultivate, and even a couple of runts that neither of their mothers had wanted. Runts that, you knew, could become valuable dogs if trained right. If they were male and female, all the better. In a year's time, they'd be adults—which meant that more dogs would follow. More dogs to defend your new community against the infected. To track game during hunts. To sniff out intruders.

"Jimmima, don't forget the flour," you told the girl. "Their leader's husband is a baker. That shit's worth more than gold to them."

"Yes, my queen," Jimmima replied respectfully, bowing her head as she seized the package.

You nodded approvingly. "And Jimmy Fox?" you asked. "Don't leer at the messenger girl again. I get that you like redheads, but she's a good shot, and we can't lose you."

"Yes, my queen." Jimmy Fox's ears turned neon red. "Sorry, my queen."

"Don't be sorry," you instructed, gently but firmly. "Be better."

Jimmy Fox ducked his head, carefully sealing the crate containing part of your vegetable garden's gifts. This group you'd encountered was doing well, but their yields hadn't been comparable to yours. They hadn't even believed your claim that you had fully-grown pumpkins until you'd sent Jimmy Snake to their gates with a nice, large one. It'd been the size of a car tire, and you'd taped a note to the firm flesh reading 'and it ain't even the biggest one!'

Someone tapped your shoulder. You turned to find Jimmy Shita, the third and last woman in your group—little more than a girl, really—offering you a small bouquet of wildflowers. "For you, my queen," she said softly.

You blinked, then smiled. Took the flowers and petted Shita's cheek. "Thank you, sweetheart."

Jimmy Shita blushed, smiled, gave a little bow, and rejoined the others.

You watched her go, still holding the flowers.

You'd only known these people for a few months. Just over half a year. And yet, you'd come to know them. Care for them. Love them, even. They were wild and strange, but they were hard-working, reliable, and loyal to a fault. To you, their queen and guide... and to Sir Jimmy Crystal. Their king, your dog.

Speak of the Devil. Warm arms embraced you from behind. A firm chest clad in velvet pressed against your back. Blond hair tickled your cheek as Jimmy nuzzled your neck. "Look at ye," he whispered, every syllable dripping with pride, "me queen, fairer than Sheba and stronger than Samson. Commandin' the lads like ye were born tae."

You leaned back in his embrace, smelling the soap you shared and the faint hint of musk hiding under it. Your hands rested over his, relishing the contrast between soft, warm flesh and the hard stones of his rings. "Keep buttering me up like this, Jimmy, and I'm going to give you extra treats tonight."

Jimmy purred, kissing the space behind your ear. "Yer too good t'me, petal."

You turned your head, checking his neck. Smiled when you saw the collar you'd given him not long after he'd become yours. Purple leather, just like you'd wanted, with a tag bearing your name under the word 'owner'. It was drab compared to the gold chains and upside-down cross he always wore, but to you both? It was lovelier than anything else. It was a manifestation of your bond, of what you were to each other.

You slipped a finger under the collar. Pulling it slightly. Jimmy went along, smiling when you kissed his lips. "As good as you deserve, puppy."

Eyes gleaming like polished gems, he stole one last peck before he pulled away—though he kept one hand in yours. "Lads!" he barked, suddenly all command and steel. In a blink, the Jimmies were standing at attention, shoulders squared and attention claimed.

"We leave in ten," Jimmy announced. "Be sure t'have yer gear in order, and the goods packed up. Jimmy Shita, Jimmy Jimmy, Jimmy Fox, youse'll be comin' wit' me. The rest, ye stay wit' the queen t'guard Eden."

"Yes, Jimmy," they replied in unison.

You bit back a sigh. You didn't like the idea of staying behind, but it was the only real solution. Eden couldn't be left defenseless, and while this group had met you, they had yet to meet Jimmy. They had to know that Eden had two leaders. It was vital for future negotiations.

Even so, you felt uneasy. Worried. You kept your expression implacable, your stance confident. Determined to be strong for the flock. But as the gates were opened and the chosen few placed the goods on the wheelbarrow normally used for gardening, you squeezed Jimmy's hand. Compelling him to look back at you.

You took a step forward, adjusting the plastic tiara on his head. Still looked kind of ridiculous, but hey; if it made him feel pretty, who were you to complain? Especially when he wore a collar with your name on it?

You let your cool, queenly mask crack. Let Jimmy see the concern hiding underneath.

"This is the part," you intoned, "where you tell me you'll be really, really careful."

It wasn't what you almost said. But you weren't ready to say those words yet.

Jimmy's expression softened. He cupped your cheek with his free hand. Brought your foreheads together. Your breaths warmed each other's cheeks.

Fiercely, devotedly, he whispered, "All the demons under Old Nick's command couldn't keep me from comin' back t'ye, petal."

You swallowed hard. Squeezed his fingers. "If you die—"

"I won't, love."

"—If you die," you insisted, "I'll cross over personally and give your arse a firm kicking."

Jimmy gave a fond chuckle. "And I'll gladly take it. Me fierce angel, as fiery as Cherubim's flamin' sword. I can't wait tae bask in yer warmth later."

"Good." You kissed him hard but sweet, like frozen honey.

Even after he left, even after the gates closed behind him and his chosen warriors, your lips tingled with his kiss. ***

Morning brightened into noon, which in turn ripened into afternoon. You tried to keep busy. Helped your remaining subjects harvest the garden's latest yields, cooking some and preserving the rest. Quizzed them on the best techniques for butchering an animal carcass. Made sure they remembered how to sew both cloth and flesh. You even had them do odd jobs around the abbey, with you acting as their foreman.

But Jimmy was never far from your thoughts. Nor were the dozens of ways he and the rest could die. They could've been ambushed by infected. The envoys, however trustworthy they'd seemed to you, could've decided to simply kill them all and take the merch. Not to mention all the accidents that would've been easy fixes in the Before times, but would be fatal now.

You paced. You fretted. You tidied up things that didn't need to be tidied. You worried your bottom lip until it bled.

And then, at long last, you could hear whoops and yells.

Tears springing in your eyes, you all but threw yourself at the window. Saw the gates opening to welcome the party back home. They'd been attacked; you could see that at once. Their tracksuits were stained with blood and mud. Two of the Jimmies had lost their wigs, their shorn heads like radishes fresh from the soil from this distance. At least three of them were limping. But nobody was missing.

Jimmy was at the front, sections of his blond hair stained crimson and a sleeve from his tracksuit torn away. He was the most beautiful thing you'd ever seen.

You all but flew out of the abbey and across the courtyard. Threw yourself into his arms. He grunted at the impact but held you tight, nosing your hair. "My queen..."

You pulled away long enough to kiss him hard, cradling his face in your hands. When you withdrew, you took in the scratch on his cheekbone and the cut along his hairline. "What happened? Infected?"

"Aye," Jimmy confirmed as the rest of your subjects joined you, ushering the wounded to the infirmary. "We'd just finished tradin' when the demons burst forth like the evils from Pandora's Box. We all fought 'em together." He gave a weak chortle. "Think that helped us all bond better than flour and runts."

Jimmy brightened. "Speakin' o' which..." he unzipped his jacket, revealing two squirming bodies barely longer than your hands. They whimpered against Jimmy's stained white shirt, their button-like eyes blinking in the sudden brightness.

You gasped, your heart melting like ice in April. Cooing, you scooped the pups into your hands, relishing in their soft little bodies. They mewled, utterly defenseless and desperate for care.

"Jesus," you remarked, holding them to your chest, "they're barely two weeks old!"

Jimmy smiled at you. He didn't say it, but you knew he was imagining what you'd look like with a pair of babies to your chest instead of puppies.

Once upon a time ago, you'd planned—however reluctantly—to use whatever child Jimmy planted into your womb as leverage. As a key to your own survival. But now, months into your new life, you knew that Jimmy would be a good father. A bit mad, for sure, and perhaps to be reined in when it came to the child's education, but protective and more than capable of gentleness.

You smiled at the thought. Looking down at the puppies, if only to keep your heart's longing to a minimum. After a moment, you'd guessed their breeds. "They're definitely not from the same litter," you confirmed. "Not even from the same parents. This one," you pointed to the male, "is an Akita Shepherd. Needs a lot of activity, but we'll give it to him. Serious, courageous, and affectionate. Great, I think, for a dog to defend us against the infected. And this one," you nodded at the female, "is a bagle hound. A beagle and basset hound mix. Laid-back, but stubborn. Cheerful, social, and playful. I don't know how good of a fighter she'll be, but her beagle blood could make her helpful for hunts."

Jimmy stared at you. "Ye figured all that with a look?"

You smirked. "I told you I was in charge of breeding and training dogs back in my old commune."

"Yes, but even so..." Jimmy trailed off, shaking his head as he admired you. "God made ye special, me love."

You glanced away, fighting a blush. "Jimmima," you summoned the only subject left. When she trotted over, you carefully distributed the puppies in her arms. "Get these two bottle-fed. Make the milk warm, not hot, and make sure they drink it all. I'll be along to help you make a nest for them, but in the meantime, see that they have plenty of blankets."

Jimmima, who was already cooing over the puppies, gave you an obedient nod. "Yes, my queen." Hesitating, she asked, "What'll they be called?"

You paused. Normally, you waited at least four weeks before naming any puppies. That way, if they died—and some had, despite your best efforts—it hurt less to bury them.

But these were the first two of a whole new pack. It felt... wrong, somehow, to leave them nameless. Even for now.

You looked at Jimmy. Raised your brows. "I think it's rather obvious, don't you think?"

Jimmy grinned. Reverted his gander to Jimmima. "Adam and Eve," he affirmed. "They'll be Adam and Eve."

A bit on the nose, but why not?

Jimmima nodded. Bowed her head before retreating to the abbey, already engaging in baby talk with the puppies.

You smirked. "Well. I may train them, but I think we both know who'll be their owner."

Jimmy snickered. "Aye. She'll spoil 'em rotten, she will."

You rounded to him. "Works for me," you took his hand. "I already have my dog."

Jimmy nearly swooned. *** You led him back to your shared chambers with little fanfare. Filled the tub with warm, soapy water. Helped him out of his clothes. And, once he settled into the bath with a sigh, you got to work cleaning him. Gently wiped the dirt and tacky blood from his skin. Had him tip his head back so you could wash his hair. And once he was out of the bath and wrapped in a towel, you disinfected the thankfully few scrapes you found.

Jimmy took your hands then, giving you an impish grin. "Now that the excitement's over," he said, "I got a lil' surprise fer ye, love."

You gave him a look. "It's not those cherub costumes again, is it?"

Jimmy pouted. "Still think ye were a bit close-minded, darlin', but no. It's somethin' else. From our new friends. Said we could have it as thanks fer fightin' alongside 'em."

He gently guided you to the bed, where you sat in mild puzzlement. Crouching over his discarded trousers, he extracted a glass jar filled with green powder. "Here," he held it up. "A special blend from their apothecary. S'pposed tae strip away inhibitions. Heighten sensations. Make every touch feel electric."

You hummed. "Sounds fun. How much do we have to take?"

"Just a pinch under the tongue, me love," Jimmy replied, uncorking the bottle. "Such a small amount tae take us tae Heaven."

You considered. "One moment, please." You got up, opened the door, and shouted, "Jimmy!" Considering that was all their name, you knew that someone would answer.

"Yes, my queen?" Jimmy Shita called back.

"Your king and queen are gonna take something," you yelled. "Come check on us in, oh, ninety minutes, okay?"

"Yes, my queen!" Then, after beat, added, "Have fun!"

"Thanks, honey!" You closed the door, shrugging at Jimmy. "Just in case."

Jimmy's smile was pure sin. "Ninety minutes, eh? Plenty o' time."

"Wait." You claimed his dog collar. Kneeling on the floor so that you were at eye-level, you buckled it around his neck. Tight enough for him to feel it, but loose enough to be comfortable. He sighed, his eyes fluttering shut.

"Okay," you said. "I'm ready."

Jimmy grinned. Uncorked the bottle. Dipped his finger inside. "Open, my queen," he instructed. "Please."

You obeyed, opening your mouth and lifting your tongue. The taste of the powder was wild and sharp, the feeling of Jimmy's finger in your mouth oddly intimate.

The entire thing felt like taking communion. Appropriate, you felt.

Jimmy took some himself, corking the bottle once more and placing it on the floor.

"How long until it kicks in?" But even as you said it, you could feel heat trickling into your blood. Feel your senses sharpening.

You could see every hair-thin crack in the walls. Could smell the lingering scents of soap from Jimmy's bath, as well as both your skins. Could hear Jimmy's heartbeat as well as your own.

"Not long, love." Jimmy's hand found your thigh. "And when it does, ye and I are gonna soar straight tae Heaven."

Colors brightened to neon intensity. Edges softened. Your skin tingled. You could even see Jimmy's veins; forks of lightning gleaming under paper-thin skin.

"Beautiful," you breathed, reaching out to trace Jimmy's pulse point.

Jimmy's hand found your cheek, his thumb caressing the skin there. Each stroke of his thumb sent tiny jolts firing across your face. "Not as beautiful as ye, me angel."

Suddenly, you were far too dressed. You got up in a rush. Stripped down, not caring where your garments landed. Jimmy watched you undress, palming himself through the towel.

You grabbed him by the wrist, yanking him to his feet. Pulled him into a hungry kiss that he eagerly reciprocated. He fell back on the bed, pulling you down with him. Your lips never separating, you shifted your positions until you were straddling him. Every touch of bare skin had you losing your mind. Every point of contact set your nerves on sweet fire. You could already feel yourself getting lost in it.

"Y'feel it, my Lilith?" Jimmy asked against your lips. "How connected everythin' is?"

You could. You weren't sure how it was possible, but you could feel Jimmy's pleasure as though it were your own. The two sensations were gliding against each other like colored globs in a lava lamp.

You tangled your hands into Jimmy's damp hair. "Fuck, this is..."

"Overwhelming?" Jimmy guessed.

You smiled at him. "It's perfect." Kissed him again, moaning when you felt his hands glide up and down your sides. Your tongues intertwined, tasting the wild remnant of the drug in your mouths. Your hearts beat in perfect synchrony.

By the time you parted, you were both panting and Jimmy was fisting the sheets.

"Lemme inside ye," he begged. "Please, my queen. I wanna feel ye everywhere."

You smiled. Lay him back on the pillows. Took his wrists and pinned them over his head.

"(Y/n)..." Jimmy sounded utterly wrecked.

"I know, puppy," you hushed him gently. "I know exactly what you need." Banishing the towel, you took his cock in your hand. It was hard as a steel pipe, almost feverish to the touch. You smiled at Jimmy as you gave it a few strokes. Then, very carefully, you guided it inside you.

It was more intense than it'd ever felt before. Sparks flew behind your eyelids. Your lungs constricted. Your entire body thrummed with desire.

"D'ye like it?" Jimmy asked, eyes wide and desperate. "Y'like how I fill ye?"

Like you hadn't fucked at least twice a week, every week, since that first time. Since you'd agreed to stay. Jimmy's little insecurities, invisible to all but you, could be so cute sometimes.

"I love it," you promised him.

Jimmy whimpered, trembling in your touch. "I love ye."

Your heart did a backflip, and you couldn't blame the drug. You grinned at him. "Hold on, sweetheart."

You began to ride him then. In slow, deep rolls. And he met every thrust with his own. The drug turned every glide into liquid fire, every moan into pure music. Your free hand found Jimmy's throat, gripping it just tightly enough to make his eyes flutter. The hand still caging his wrists slid up, weaving your fingers with his. He squeezed your digits with an almost painful force, his face practically glowing with ecstasy.

The two of you moved like you were trying to fuse together. The room was full of your song. And Jimmy looked positively gorgeous beneath you, panting and whining as his damp hair formed a halo around his flushed face. When his teary, pupil-blown eyes found yours, there was a devotion there that bordered on madness.

"So pretty," you murmured, bending down to brush your nose against his. "So mine."

Jimmy whimpered, desperately bucking into you.

"Say it." You weren't entirely sure if it was an order or a plea. "Say you're mine."

"Yours, my queen," Jimmy sobbed. "All yours. Only yours. Always."

You claimed him with a kiss, tightening your grip on his throat, as you rode him with increased desperation.

You could feel your orgasm building like a storm. Swelling, darkening, until that first outpour was inevitable. Until that first flash of lightning threatened to blind you utterly.

"So close," Jimmy gasped as the kiss broke, "I'm so close!"

"Yeah?" you asked. "Gonna come inside me, Jimmy? Gonna give Eden its little lamb?"

You still remembered the first time you'd lain together. When he'd been so convinced that he'd planted his seed in you. You'd been a little disappointed, three weeks later, to find blood trickling down your leg.

"Fuck, yes!" Jimmy cried. "I'll give ye a child! Five, ten... as many as y'want! I'll protect ye—love ye both—until the good Lord calls me back! Fuck, I love ye so fuckin' much—"

"Okay," you laughed even as you felt your pleasure crest, even as you felt tears gather in your eyes. "Okay, go ahead. Put a baby in me, honey." You even let go of his hands. Gave him that little bit of control.

"Oh, thank ya!" Jimmy pulled you in a tight hug, peppering your face with kisses as the two of you moved frantically against each other. "Thank ya, I love ye, I lo—oh—" He clutched you tight, body going rigid, and came with a ragged moan.

In the same breath, you let go with a cry. Felt the pleasure barrel through your nervous system like a tidal wave through a house of sticks.

Your strength gave out. You would've collapsed if Jimmy hadn't caught you. He gently guided you down, laying you on your side and turning on his.

You lay there, facing each other, trembling from the intensity. Already, you could feel the drug simmering down. There, but less persistent.

Jimmy's hand found your cheek. Yours, his hair. You combed through it, gently working out the knots.

"Did you like it?" you asked.

"Mhmm," Jimmy nodded, looking as blissed out as you felt. "Now I understand Lucifer better than before."

You arched a brow. "How so?"

His smile was as tender as it was tired. "What a lovely thing it is tae burn."

You chuckled. "C'mere, you crackpot."

Jimmy needed no further prompting than that. He tucked his head under your chin, coiling his arms around your middle. You hugged him close, still playing with his hair.

After a while, Jimmy asked, "D'ye wanna use this again sometime, petal?"

You grinned. "You kidding me? Next time, I want a double dose."

Jimmy groaned in both exasperation and excitement. Hid his face in the crook of your neck. You laughed, holding him tightly.

For a few minutes longer, you stayed like that. Savoring the moment, and each other.

After fretting over him for hours today, you didn't dare take it for granted. The warmth of his skin against yours. The smell of his hair. The gentle way he nuzzled your neck, kissing the skin there with his soft pink lips.

The words bubbled up your throat again. Not for the first time, either.

But this time, you didn't feel afraid to say them. Maybe it was the drug. Or maybe you were just tired of keeping it to yourself.

"... I love you, too."

Jimmy went rigid against you. Then, very slowly, he looked up at you with an expression so hopeful it was almost frightening. "Y'do?"

For a second, you faltered. This wasn't a world that love could safely grow in. All too easily, you could lose Jimmy, or he you. And if that happened, whoever was left alive would be left to suffer.

But in the end, all you could think of was how strangely happy you were here. How at home you felt with Jimmy and the flock. How much you'd welcome a child in your womb.

You nodded. Tucking some blond hair behind his ear. "Yeah, puppy. I do." After a beat, you added, "And it's not just because you gave me a weird substance. Or fucked me until I could see galaxies."

Jimmy's face crumpled. He pushed himself forward, kissing you tenderly. You kissed him back, cupping his jaw.

It felt better than any drug.

[thebookdragon95]

I was mysteriously added to your taglist and I’m here for it 🗣️🗣️

I just thought you'd like what I wrote :)

[thebookdragon95]

King, Lover, Dog

Sir Jimmy Crystal x fem!reader

In your community, you are a dog tamer. You breed and train dogs to help with hunts and fight off the infected. And you're good at it, too. You know when to discipline and when to coddle. When to punish and when to reward. So when you run into a strange group in blond wigs and colorful tracksuits, you use every trick you know to bend their leader to your will. If the king is your loyal dog, your survival is guaranteed.

Trigger warnings: Collaring, slapping, service top/sub!Jimmy, f!soft dom!reader, edging, p in v sex, breeding kink, religious delusion, crying during sex, aftercare.

Taglist: @scannainscanrula, @thatsthewrongwallcraig, @just-jack-oconnell, @guysgoldtooth, @cherryxhaze, @theabhartachsbride @bleedingsunlight @aniahvol3 @sonnensche1n @heynickiheynickisblog @calam-arii @passine @heyylolitaheyy @freezer-barbie @valvalvalval-val @pearlstiare @nlnny @nimisardenter

It was supposed to be a day like any other. A hunt like any other. Go to the mainland, take down a boar or a stag—especially now that it was autumn and they'd fattened themselves up for winter—with the help of your faithful hounds, and be back before dusk.

And right up until it all went to shit, it was. Your beautiful hounds, raised from puppyhood to obey and love the community and attack all others—especially the infected—done even better than you'd expected. Shimmer, a female German Shepherd who'd taken out a dozen infected and had ten healthy litters, growled just as you and your companions were trussing up the buck. The others immediately followed. Thor, a wolfdog. Ares, a bulldog. Amara, a Cane Corso. All of them started snarling, the fur on the back of their necks standing on end.

That was all you and your companions needed. You nocked your arrows. You unsheathed your blades.

The infected burst from the treeline, screeching like demons.

The dogs charged. Amara and Thor each took one out at once, going straight for the jugular. Just as you'd trained them. The other hands went for the leg and crotch areas, focusing on incapacitation rather than killing. With your thrown knives and loosed arrows, your team took care of that part.

Things were going well, even if you had traveled much further out to find game. Your darling dogs were tearing out throats and biting into flesh, determined to protect you and yours to the last. It was moving to see. Yes, they were acting on instinct and training, but there was love there, too. Fierce, protective love.

Then, one of the infected grabbed Shimmer. Pinned her down. Tried to bite into her neck.

"No!" You tackled the infected without hesitation. Grabbed your knife and stabbed it in its chest until it finally stopped moving.

There came a roar then. One that was both human and not. Everyone knew what it meant.

The Alpha.

Before any of you had time to even feel fully afraid—and you should feel very afraid—the Alpha appeared as if from black magic. Less than three feet away from you, it towered like any of the ancient trees around you. A behemoth of scarred flesh and rock-hard muscle. Screaming in fury and bloodlust.

His eyes landed directly on you.

A crazy idea came to you then. Alphas were bigger, stronger, and smarter than other infected. You'd lost precious hounds to them in the past. Even if they took Alphas down the way mice took down bigger prey—which is to say, tackle the creature and then bite until it bleeds to death—the Alphas would still find the strength to strangle one or two dogs before they finally died. Even though such an event came with the territory, with the world you lived in, you'd mourned each dog as you would a child.

And anyway, it'd take at least ten dogs to take down an Alpha, even with human intervention. These things were simply made of sturdier stuff.

That was why, even as your heart climbed your ribs like monkey bars, you screamed to your companions. "I'll lead him away! You take the dogs and get outta here!"

"But (y/n)!"

"Just go!" Without giving your comrades time to argue any further, you jumped in front of the Alpha. Making sure his attention stayed firmly with you. "Hey!" You waved your arms, as though signaling a plane from the old days. "Your mother was a whore!"

The Alpha roared.

You spun on your heel and fled. You felt his thunderous footballs right behind you. Smelled his rotten breath. And you ran even faster.

The forest blurred all around you. A kaleidoscope of greens and browns, with the flat grey sky above you. You leaped over logs and ducked around brambles. You ran in zigzags to make yourself harder to catch. You even managed to whirl around and fire a few arrows into his body, slowing him down a bit.

But still, the Alpha pursued you, bellowing like a beast of burden.

Once, you felt his hand touch the ends of your hair. You cried out and ran even faster, ignoring the burn in your legs.

You made it to a clearing. A bad move. Trees at least provided cover. An escape route, if need be. But out here? There was nothing. Just abandoned cars, their rotted tires fused to the ground and their paint chipped away by nearly three decades of exposure.

But wait! There was something. A hut, about a hundred yards away. The roof had caved in, but you could still get inside, lock the door, and run out through the window. It might buy you a little time. Not much, but every minute away from the Alpha was safety.

You dove inside, slamming the door behind you. The old wood buckled as the Alpha threw himself against it. With a yelp, you hurriedly formed a barricade with what little furniture lay about. A desk. A couple of lamps. Bins. A pair of stools. It held, but you could tell it wouldn't for long. The Alpha was using his own body as a battering ram. One of pure muscle, bone, and insane bloodlust.

If he got in, you'd be screwed. You were out of arrows, and he'd crush your head like a walnut before you could even unsheathe your knife.

Which left one option: Hide and wait for the Alpha to lose interest. Experience and second-hand accounts alike confirmed that he eventually would. Alphas were smarter than the normal infected, but they weren't like regular humans. Sooner or later, he'd either grow bored or sniff out fresh prey.

And, considering how far you'd led him away from your comrades—who'd doubtlessly fled back home—that prey wouldn't be them.

Question was: Where should you wait?

You scanned the small, dusty chamber. A place that was once full of warmth and love but now contained only ghosts. This was a kitchen and living room both, with another door presumably leading to the bathroom. Immediately, you excluded the bathroom. It wasn't hidden enough, and if the Alpha caught you, there'd be no escape.

That was when you noticed the rug. Filthy and torn, its original color anybody's guess. You knelt and peeled it away from the floorboards.

Your heart leaped at the sight of a trapdoor, cut right into the wooden floorboards. A root cellar. Not only would it keep you safe, but it might even contain some food! You couldn't have prayed for a better hiding spot.

Quickly, you slipped inside, closing the door over your head. When you noticed a rusted latch on your side of said door, you knew you'd made the right decision. This place was a ruin, yes, but whoever had lived here had occupied it after the outbreak. They'd made this root cellar their own little hidey hole. Chances were, they'd either been killed while out foraging, leaving the house to rot, or found better prospects elsewhere. Maybe with a community. There was strength in numbers, after all.

You sat on the floor, hugging yourself against the earthen chill. It was so dark, you could only see thin cracks of light bleeding in from the spaces between the floorboards.

Up above, the barricade broke apart like a sandcastle in the rain. The door splintered. The Alpha roared. Even with your ears covered, it was all so deafening. A nightmare come to life.

But you took comfort in this: Every minute the Alpha wasted on you was a minute you'd bought for your team. By the time he finally got bored, they'd be close to home.

How far away were you? Your group must've traveled at least ten miles today. Game had been scarce, after all, and you couldn't go back home empty-handed. Your lot lived on an island, and you kept all the boats there. You were a strong swimmer, but you couldn't swim twenty miles home, could you?

In addition, you weren't thrilled by the prospect of trekking the woods alone at night.

You kept your hands firmly over your ears. Waited. Tried to think happier thoughts as the Alpha's attack slowly lost its edge.

You thought of home. Of your friends. Of your life.

And, inevitably, you thought of the many dogs you'd trained. Dozens, maybe even a hundred. Dogs you'd held when they were still fuzzy little lumps of warm flesh, eyes still closed and hungry for milk. Dogs you'd trained with a careful blend of love and discipline, of punishment and reward. Dogs you'd taught to serve, protect, and to kill infected. Dogs you'd put to sleep yourself when old age had become painful for them, or when an infected had hurt them beyond what you could heal.

Soon, you told yourself. Soon. Soon.

And indeed, the Alpha lost interest not long after. He didn't even announce his departure with a bellow—just a few heavy footfalls that slowly faded into silence.

You waited another twenty minutes. Just to be safe.

Then, and only then, did you open the trapdoor. Let the light into the tiny cellar. There, you saw twenty or so jars of preserves and homemade jams. Your belly rumbled at the sight, but you didn't have your pack; just your empty quiver. You managed to fit about four jars inside it, wrapping them in tea towels to reduce the chances of them breaking. Then, you climbed out of the cellar.

The barricade was a ruin. The door, nearly split in two.

You gulped. Took a moment to process your fear and relief both.

Then, you stepped outside. Just in the time see Venus appear in the darkening sky. The Alpha's wild musk lingered on the breeze, but you couldn't see nor hear him. Nature's ruckus—early evening birdsong, a few boars snorting about, the distant trampling of wild horses—further confirmed that he was long gone. Animals feared the infected almost as much as people did.

Plucking up your courage, you began the long walk home. ***

Everything is different at night. Yet another reason why traveling past dusk wasn't the best of ideas. You tried to retrace your steps. You tried to be careful. But everything looked the same. Just black shapes outlined in weak moonlight. For all you know, you weren't going towards home, but away from it.

With a heavy heart, you decided to hunker down for the night. Up in a tree, ideally, so as to avoid any herd of infected. They'd sense you, but at least being up bought you precious time to escape. And the trees were close together, their branches almost touching. Just add a dose of good ol' adrenaline, and you'd be speeding through the canopy like a squirrel.

You were about to pick your tree when a faint voice tickled your ears. Too distant for you to make out the words, but close enough for you to recognize it as human.

Your heart did a cartwheel. Of course, strangers could be as dangerous as infected. Back at the time of the outbreak, you knew that brigands and robbers had done a fine job picking off the survivors—if accidents, starvation, thirst, or suicide hadn't gotten to them already. But now, after nearly three decades? Raiders were still a problem, but most everyone lived in communities. Civil exchanges were possible among strangers. Trades. Shared meals. A silent acknowledgement that you were all on the same boat.

You gave your knife a quick but thorough sharpening. Just in case. Then, you slipped towards the voice. Listened as it steadily grew louder. Took on characteristics. As the sounds became proper words. As a fire burned in the darkness, growing with each step you took.

"... Old Nick released His demons onto the World of Man, and the World of Man fell before the demons. But where there is darkness, there is always light. Where there is Hell, there is Paradise. Now, we'll all go there when the time comes, lads, but until then? We must make our Heaven right 'ere on Earth. We must strive for our Eden, we must do our part. Carry our weight. Deliver souls of the undeservin' tae Hell. And then, only then, shall we be blessed..."

Painted red and gold by firelight was the strangest bunch you'd ever seen: Perhaps half a dozen in total, all dressed in tracksuits and sporting stringy blond hair. Most of them, you realized, were wearing wigs. One of the boys slipped his hand under his wig to scratch his scalp, nearly sending the ratty thing off altogether.

The majority of them were sitting cross-legged, eating or sharpening their blades. Some were cleaning their guns. Listening, enraptured, as the strange speech unspooled like a ball of yarn. Speaking of souls and damnation and Heaven and being fruitful and multiplying.

When you saw the man giving the speech, you stopped dead in your tracks.

He was, indubitably, the most beautiful man you'd ever seen... despite the plastic tiara in his hair.

The man looked to be about four or five years older than yourself, with shoulder-length hair the exact shade of wheat framing his face. Said face was lovely to behold: A jaw that was strong without being brutish, a slightly bulbus nose, just a hint of beard, and large eyes that glimmered with intelligence. His build was both strong and lean, all gift-wrapped in purple velvet that looked black in the fiery light. Gold chains glittered around his neck, the most prominent being an upside-down cross resting over his heart. The man gesticulated as he spoke, the rings on his fingers catching the light. His hands would've been pleasing even without any jewelry: Long-fingered, strong, and veiny. Hands that could crack bone and make music with equal ease.

Yes. The man was gorgeous. Far better-looking than the men back home, really.

Too bad everything he was saying was batshit fucking insane.

"We are the Lord's chosen," the man was saying, his thick Scottish accent rolling over every word like a breeze over stones. "And I am His shepherd. His vessel. Through me, ye will live in His sweet light. All ye have tae do is trust in me. Believe in me. Be wit' me."

"We do," the rest said in a soft chorus. "We are, Jimmy."

Jimmy. You knew his name now.

As you hid, you contemplated. There was safety in numbers, and that fire looked very inviting. Jimmy sweetened the deal, too, even if he was crowing nonsense. They had weapons, whereas you had one knife and a bow.

Question was: What if this lot turned out to be more dangerous than the infected? They could very well be crazy. Hell, scratch out 'could'! This guy thought he was the Lord's vessel! You can't get much crazier than that! But you needed what they had. Needed help. Security. If only until you could get home.

And, as you shivered in the wake of a rising breeze, something else occurred to you: You'd dealt with mad dogs before. Some were too far gone. Had to be put down. But others? They could be tamed, just like any other hound. You just had to study them. Find what made them growl, what made their tails wag. Use what you learned to your advantage.

And then? They were yours. Loyal to their last breath.

You picked up a twig. Snapped it in two. The sound wasn't terribly loud, but it had every blond head twisting. In a blink, three of the men were on their feet, their weapons raised and their eyes gleaming with hostility.

You stepped out, hands raised. "I come in peace!" you said at once. "Hold your fire, please!"

Jimmy raised a hand, his eyes on you. Reluctantly, the men lowered their weapons.

Jimmy sauntered forth, moving with the confident grace of a jaguar. His blue eyes raked your form, settling on your face. Took in your fearless, but not contrary, expression. He hummed pensively. "Hello," he greeted. "Name's Sir Jimmy Crystal. I am the Lord's chosen, and the shepherd o' this here flock." He offered his hand, each finger warty with jeweled rings.

You gave him yours. "(Y/n)."

Jimmy repeated your name. Tasted it. Smiled, exposing teeth that hadn't been brushed in years. And yet, there was something charming to that simper. Devilishly so.

Never breaking eye contact, he took your hand and brought it to his face. He pressed a delicate kiss to your knuckles. The feeling of his warm lips on your skin, coupled with that piercing gaze, made your heart do a lap in your chest.

"Look at ye," he breathed. "A babe in the woods. A lost lil' lamb."

You nodded. "I was separated from my group. Had to hide from an Alpha. Can't find my way back, not now when it's dark. If you could find it in your heart to host me until sunrise, I'd be grateful."

"How grateful?" Jimmy purred, stepping closer. He had yet to let go of your hand. He wasn't holding it tightly, but you doubted he'd let you reclaim it.

You kept your gaze measured. If you were too defiant, he might decide you weren't worth the trouble and let his boys skewer you. If you were too submissive, it'd be counterproductive to your plan to tame him. Besides, you'd never been submissive in your life, and you hardly wanted to start now.

"Quite grateful," you replied steadily. "For starters, my community has walls. We hunt. We grow our own produce. If you safeguard me, I'll make sure your... flock is well compensated. Supplies. Gear. Old World knowledge. Whatever you may need."

You paused for effect. "As for me, I promise I won't be a burden. I have food in my quiver right now that I'd be happy to share with your flock. I can hunt, track, cook, and suture wounds. I know how to suck the water out of moss and start a fire with rocks."

"Ooh," Jimmy exclaimed, delight dancing in his eyes, "yer a precious one, ain't ye?" He chuckled. "I just might wanna keep ya."

You'd expected that might happen. And whatever Jimmy wanted, his troupe made manifest. You were a good fighter, but you couldn't take them all on at once.

But you had a plan. You nodded. "You might. You might not. While you decide, would you mind terribly if I rested by the fire? It's been quite a day."

"Of course, of course," Jimmy nodded, his grin nearly splitting his face in two. He stepped aside, though his hand remained closed around yours. "And do not forget tae do good and tae share wit' others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased."

You weren't sure if that was an actual Bible quote or the fruit of Jimmy's mind, but you nodded. Let him guide you to the fire, where you sat beside him on the soft grass. The crowd's hostility had melted at this point, replaced by curiosity and something resembling friendliness. And why not? If their shepherd liked you, that was probably good enough for them.

You smiled politely at them. Nodded and said, "Pleased to meet you" when Jimmy introduced them all. Jimmy Jimmy, Jimmy Ink, Jimmy Shita, Jimmy Fox, Jimmy Jones, Jimmy Snake, and Jimmima. You gave them your jars of preserves, biting back a genuine giggle when they squabbled over the contents like children.

And you pretended not to notice when Jimmy kept finding excuses to touch you. To brush his fingers against yours when he handed you a roasted rabbit's leg. To gently push your hair back from your face. To place a hand on your shoulder or your back, as though confirming that you were real.

You surmised that he was touch-starved. The Jimmies were his flock, but he outranked them by a mile. None probably touched him. It'd be like a peasant daring to touch the king. But it was lonely at the top of the social pyramid, wasn't it?

Well, you could work with that. ***

You hadn't expected Eden to live up to its namesake. Even so, you were floored by how desolate it was.

A ramshackle abbey surrounded by a manmade barricade, at least ten feet tall. Someone's attempt at a vegetable patch, full of weeds and coarse soil. Piles of junk to be sorted through.

As you drew closer to the abbey, you took in its stubborn resilience. The masonry was cracked. One wall was cloaked in ivy, thick and glossy-leafed. Some of the windows had been shattered, with only tarps to keep the cold winds out. The door was damaged from when something—a horde, you guessed—had tried to force its way in. And yet, the building still stood.

Like Jimmy, you supposed. Damaged, but still standing.

The two of you had come to an agreement the next morning, over a breakfast of preserves and cold roasted meat: You'd help Eden for a time, and then Jimmy would see you escorted back to the island. The term 'for a time' was vague, but you'd expected nothing better. These people had given you the impression that they needed help. And now, looking at their home? You knew they did. If nothing else, you could show them how to plant some fucking cucumbers.

Of course, Jimmy could decide that he'd rather keep you after all. As much as you wanted to return home, you knew that was a possibility. Hence, your plan. Kept snug and safe in your skull and ribs. Ready to spring forth when the time came.

Jimmy, who'd been keeping a hand on the small of your back for most of the walk, finally stepped forward. Took your hand and kissed it, as he did the night you met. As he did when you agreed to come back with him and his flock. "I'll be inside," he said, "but Jimmima, Jimmy Snake, and Jimmy Fox are our would-be gardeners. Show 'em how it's done, eh, love? And be sure to wash up b'fore supper." His eyes twinkled. "Yer t'be the guest o' honor."

You inclined your head. "Much obliged, Jimmy." You paused. "Or should I call you 'sire' or 'my king'?" You were in his territory, after all.

Jimmy chuckled. "Just Jimmy's fine. Underneath the crown, I'm just a man. A man with wants and dreams... and needs." The last word was a whisper. A secret, just for the two of you, and an invitation.

You hummed in consideration. Jimmy had been good, but did he deserve a treat so early? No. Best let him crave it a bit.

"Good to know." You stepped back. "See you at dinner, Jimmy."

Jimmy's eyebrows shot up. All around you, the flock seemed stunned. But nobody said anything. Not even Jimmy, who nodded at you before disappearing into the abbey. Those not meant to learn gardening wandered off to make new arrows, sharpen their blades, and clean their guns.

You turned to your pupils, who were staring at you as though you'd grown a second head.

"What?" you inquired.

Jimmima spoke, her voice low but sweet. "He wants you, (y/n). It's a great honor. You should give Him what He wants. He's the Lord's chosen, after all. Pleasing Him, serving Him, is the natural way of things."

"And if He were to bless you with a child," Jimmy Fox added, "bless Eden with a future, then it'd truly be Heaven right here on Earth."

You snickered. "I'll keep that in mind. But right now, the only natural way I want to discuss is the botanical kind." You pointed to the sorry excuse for a vegetable patch. "First things first, let's clear that shit. Jimmy Snake, get the spades, canteens, and whatever tools you can find. Jimmy Fox, fetch the seeds. Jimmima, you'll help me pull up the weeds."

Jimmy Snake swallowed. His eyes flickered to the abbey. "But He—"

"—will get what he wants," you assured him. "And what he needs." You smiled. "In time."

"He doesn't like waiting," Jimmima warned.

"Well," you shrugged. "He's going to have to learn. And I'll be happy to teach him."

The trio stared at you as though you were mad... in the same way that a soldier fighting a storm is mad. They thought what you were doing was folly, but they respected your courage.

That was fine. They'd see the method to your madness soon enough.

So would Jimmy. *** Weeks passed. Autumn froze into winter, the sky a perpetual soup of gray clouds and twigs of lightning. When you were outside, your breaths plumed; but inside, with the small controlled fires and the candles everywhere, it was almost cozy.

The vegetable garden, which you had the Jimmies build a greenhouse for, began to sprout. Nursed by your knowledge and the Jimmies' obedience. Brussel sprouts, broccoli, beets, and carrots. You showed your pupils—who by this point were comprised of Jimmy's entire flock—how to harvest, clean, and replant everything. How to conserve what wouldn't be eaten. How to rip out weeds. How often each vegetable should be watered.

You showed them other things, too. How to start a fire with rocks. How to better track game. You even taught some of them how to mend their tracksuits. The Jimmies listened to you with almost as much devotion as they did their shepherd, lapping up every last bit of knowledge you had and bombarding you with questions. As the days grew shorter and the nights grew colder, you became less of a guest and more of a guide.

And God help you, you liked it. Back home, the only standing you had was as a dog trainer. Which was all well and good, but you'd never had any real standing in the community. Not in the same way a hunter, midwife, or healer did. Having something resembling status was... rather nice. And the Jimmies, for all their ignorance and wildness, were good students. Diligent. Attentive. Eager.

And Jimmy? Jimmy watched it all from his throne of dark, polished wood. Seated amid embossed serpents, forbidden fruit, and engraved Scripture, he watched you like you were sin and salvation all at once.

And when he wasn't on his throne? When he wasn't preaching to his flock or presiding over hunts? He danced around you, so to speak. Kept finding excuses to touch you. Gave you a permanent seat next to his. Quarters close to his. Insisted the two of you go on walks together, wherein he told you about himself, his Jimmies, and Eden. Wherein he asked you about yourself and drank in everything you told him like a plant drinking in sunlight. He provided you with fresh clothes, the choicest foods, books, and even a brand-new bow. And every so often, he'd lean in and whisper things meant for your ears alone.

"Yer a gift, dove. A gift from the good Lord, sent tae aid this weary shepherd in guiding and protecting his flock."

"The lads listen t'ye. They respect ye. Like yer already their queen."

"I'd love a woman such as yerself tae bear my children. Strong, yet gentle."

He may as well have put up glowing neon signs leading to his bedroom. You smiled. Nodded. Thanked him. But you never took him up on his invitation. Never returned his advances. Never indicated that your relationship would ever change.

Until one night, after supper, you and Jimmy were retiring for the night. You were intent on soaking in the tub and reading your battered novel. But your cozy evening plan detonated when Jimmy suddenly pinned you to the wall, his grip gentle but insistent.

"I've been patient," he panted, looking at you with raw, ravenous desire. "Watched ye settle in, become the flame ignitin' Paradise's rebirth. Watched ye teach me Jimmies. But now?" He traced your jaw. "Now, y'need tae attend tae Eden's king. Tae yer king."

You met his eye, knowing that now was the time to enact your plan. It was risky, but you had to try.

"Oh, Jimmy, darling," you purred, "I'm not sure you can handle me."

Jimmy gave you a cheek-splitting grin. "I'm the Lord's shepherd. I can handle anythin' with faith, devotion, and patience."

Okay, you thought shakily. Here goes everything.

You grabbed him by the throat. Not tight enough to really hurt him, but enough to pin him into place. "Shepherd or not, you're a brat," you told him. "And just as Jesus guided his disciples, I'd guide you. Not the other way around."

Jimmy's eyes fluttered, his grip on you loosening.

Good.

"Take me to your room."

Jimmy's eyes snapped open. He searched your face, looking for deception. When he found none, he lunged. Picked you up bridal-style and all but ran to his chamber, kicking the door open.

Inside was a shrine to a lost boyhood and an altar to present kingship. Frayed stuffed animals shared the same shelves as human skulls. Several copies of the Bible mingled with old picture books. Photographs bleached by the sun, salvaged from hundreds of different homes, hung on his walls.

The bed was almost too large for the room, covered with plush pillows and fur blankets. He lay you down like a holy relic, ready to drape your body with his.

Instead, you grabbed his shoulders and maneuvered him to lie on his back. You climbed on his lap, grinding your pelvis against his. Jimmy let out a shameless moan, his hands grabbing your hips.

That was when you slapped him. Not hard, but not soft, either. "Bad dog," you scolded. "Keep your hands to yourself until I say otherwise. Got it?"

Jimmy stared up at you, his pupils blown wide and your handprint glowing red against his fair skin.

You could see it in his face. He'd never been treated this way. A part of him was indignant. But another, secret part of him, one unknown to his flock... liked it. Craved it.

You reached for his throat again. Squeezed enough to show you meant business. "Got it?"

Jimmy swallowed, the muscle rippling against your palm. "Y-yes."

"Yes, what?"

"Yes... my queen."

Sweet, liquid warmth pooled in your belly. You smiled at him then, soothing where you'd struck him with your free hand. "Good puppy. Now," you tilted your head, "are you going to be good for me?"

"Yes, my queen." His voice had a dreaminess to it now.

Pleased, you began to rock against him. Jimmy's eyes rolled to the back of his head, his mouth falling open.

You cupped his chin. Guiding his gaze back to yours. Determined that he associate the pleasure budding in his core with you. After a few beats, you pulled away your hand, but he kept watching you with glazed eyes. Staring at you with almost frightening devotion. His hands trembled at his sides, but that was where they stayed.

You would've laughed if you hadn't been so aroused yourself. Jimmy liked to be king, to be preacher, but deep down? Behind closed doors? He wanted not to dominate, but to be dominated. Wanted to be guided. To have one aspect of his life where he could surrender all control, where he could be taken care of. And you were happy to fit the bill.

You could feel him swelling in his trousers. Could feel his hardness pressing against your center. You gave a pleasured sigh, rolling your hips, and planted your hands on his chest. Grounded you both.

Jimmy bit his lip, his breaths growing ragged. A whine escaped his throat.

He wanted something, but he didn't know if he had a right to ask.

You tilted your head. "You wanna touch me, puppy?"

"Please," he whispered.

Smiling, you peeled off your tank top. Reached behind you to unclasp your bra. You could feel Jimmy getting harder with every inch of exposed flesh he saw.

"Go on, puppy," you encouraged. "Touch. But do it gently." Not because you couldn't handle a little roughness, but because you wanted to see if he'd obey.

Jimmy sat up, wrapping his arms around you, and groaned at the contact. He bent his head, taking your nipple in his mouth and suckling softly. You gasped, writhing against him, as a hand found its way in his blond tresses. And when he ran his tongue right over your hardening nub, you let out a small cry.

Jimmy moaned around your nipple, encouraged by your noises. He thrust up against you, letting you feel every inch of his clothed, throbbing cock. Already, his movements were frantic. Each jerk of his hips made stars burst behind your eyes. But as good as it felt, you had to keep a tight leash on him. Had to keep him from taking back too much control.

You tugged at his hair, detaching him from your nipple. Roses were blooming in his cheeks, and saliva glistened on his bottom lip. He stared at you like you were the only thing he could see. "My Lilith," he whispered reverently. "My Mary."

Temptress and mother. A source of desire and comfort. Of lust and warmth.

You leaned in. Pressed your lips against his. A bit chapped, but soft. Melting against yours.

His tongue tapped against your lips. Asking to enter your mouth. Instead, you slid your tongue into his. He moaned against you, tilting his head to deepen the kiss. One hand cradled the back of your neck. You, in turn, carded both hands through his hair. Massaging his scalp. Tugging a little bit to keep him on his toes.

He broke the kiss with a debauched moan. "What're ye gonna do t'me, petal?"

"Haven't figured it out yet?" You smiled, still weaving your fingers through his locks. "I'm gonna train you. Tame you. Own you." You brushed your nose against his. "Want you to be my loyal dog. I'll be your mistress. Treat you well. Keep you in your place." Pausing, you added, "Let you breed me." Your breath ghosted on his lips. "Would you like that?"

Jimmy whined against you. "More than anythin'."

You grinned. Some dogs needed to be broken. But Jimmy? He'd been broken already. All he'd needed was someone willing to patch him up. Show him the light.

Slowly, teasingly, you unzipped the jacket of his tracksuit. He helped you slide it off his shoulders, tugging his arms out of the sleeves. Then, he helped you peel off the white shirt he had on underneath. His body was even better than you'd imagined. Lean, but strong. Hairless. Tattooed with Scripture. Scarred by the world outside.

You caressed each inked word. Kissed each scar. Jimmy placed his hand on the back of your head. Not forcefully, but pleadingly.

"You're beautiful, Jimmy," you whispered. "My gorgeous hound."

Jimmy's breathing hitched.

He slipped a finger in the belt loop of your jeans. "Please," he begged. "Lemme see ye. Lemme have ye. Fill ye. Please, my queen."

You pressed a parting kiss in the hollow of his throat before climbing off him. Unbuttoned your jeans. Shimmied out of them and your underwear both. You stood before him then, confident in your nakedness. In your place in this room.

Jimmy stared at you, gasping as though he'd just run a marathon. Bunching up the bedspread between his white-knuckled fingers.

You arched a brow. "What're you waiting for, the Archangel Gabriel?" You jerked your chin. "Get naked for me, darling. Be with me."

Whether or not he realized you'd just echoed his own words back at him, he stripped away his trousers so hastily you heard the fabric tear. He sat on the bed, his cock standing at full attention. Long, but not so much so that you worried about it fitting. Veined. Throbbing. So red, it was almost purple.

You approached the bed once more. Cupped his chin. "Are you ready for me, puppy?"

Jimmy nodded so rapidly, you worried he'd give himself whiplash.

"Lie down for me."

Jimmy lay down, grinning with anticipation.

So obedient. So malleable. Nothing like the man who'd pinned you to the wall not thirty minutes ago.

Jimmy couldn't be allowed to think that was acceptable. That putting his hands on you like that would give him what he wanted. He had to learn to ask. To be respectful.

You took him in your hand, nearly gasping when you felt how hot the skin was. How soft. Slowly at first, you began to stroke him. He closed his eyes with a moan, bucking his hips into your fist. You worked him up to a steady pace. Watching his face every step of the way. Listening to his breathy moans and stuttered curses. Every flicker on his visage, every sound out of his mouth, felt like a reward. An encouragement to go on. So, you did.

Before too long, Jimmy was going rigid. His stomach tautened. His legs trembled.

"Are you gonna come for me, puppy?" you asked.

"Yes," he confirmed with a groan. "Yes, my Lilith, yes!"

You touched him a little more. Got him to the edge.

And then, you withdrew your hand.

Jimmy's eyes flew open. A heartbroken expression fell over his face. "No," he breathed. "No, no, no, please."

"The next time you want me," you told him firmly, almost harshly, "you ask, all right? You don't grab me. You don't push me against a wall. I'm not a whore. I'm not a servant. Understand?"

Jimmy's entire body trembled with need. "Yes. Understood."

"Who am I, then?"

He looked at you. Reached out and cupped your cheek. "Yer me queen."

He meant it, too. His tone was too soft, his touch too reverent, to be faked. The realization made your chest ache.

You turned your head. Kissed the palm of his hand. "I have to discipline you now," you told him in a softer tone. "But it's for your own good. To teach you to be good. And once it's over, I'll ride you. Okay?"

Jimmy whimpered but nodded. Set his jaw in anticipation.

You began to stroke him again. Let his precum facilitate your glide along his cock. Watched him whine and buck his hips and swear under his breath. You brought him to the edge. Then, you withdrew your hand.

Again.

And again.

By the fifth time, he was shivering and glassy-eyed, his face shiny with sweat and tears. His cock was painfully hard, his teeth were gritted, and his ability to form full sentences was lost.

"Please—p-please, my queen—lemme come—please—I'm sorry—I'll be g-good—n-need it, really need it—"

You hushed him gently, placing a soft kiss on his lips. He whimpered into your mouth, holding you like he feared you'd turn to smoke. As you pulled away, you saw a tear race down his cheek. You caught it.

"Good puppy," you crooned. "Taking your punishment so well. You deserve a treat."

Jimmy whined, pressing his forehead against yours. "Thank ye, sweet angel. Thank ye, thank ye..."

You silenced him with another sweet kiss. Climbed into his lap once more. Took his throbbing cock and guided it towards your entrance.

You stopped. Met his gaze. Waited for his permission.

Jimmy nodded, more tears spilling from his eyes.

You sank down on his cock, causing you to gasp and him to sob. He clutched your hips with the desperation of a dying man, his nails nearly breaking your skin. The pain brought an unexpected edge to the pleasure of him filling you.

The two of you stayed like that for a moment, your breaths fanning each other's cheeks. He looked at you with wide, teary eyes, set in a face that was flushed with desire and something deeper.

His hand found your cheek again. "You are altogether beautiful, my darling," he quoted. "There is no flaw in you."

You found yourself moved once more. You pressed your forehead against his. Cupped his cheek. Mirroring him.

Then, you began to move.

Jimmy's response was instant. A groan of your name, followed by gasped Scripture and moans that you felt as well as heard. He began to move along with you, jerking his hips to meet your every bounce.

Grinning, you seized his throat again. He moaned, his eyes sliding shut. You could feel his cock twitch inside you as you rode him.

His hand slid down your body. Two fingers began to circle your clit. Lightly, but intently.

You cried out, bucking against him. Squeezed his throat ever so slightly by way of rewarding him.

His words left him by that point. Just a series of moans and whimpers and desperate little "ah, ah, ah"s that punctuated every thrust.

Your body humming with pleasure, you kissed him hard. He kissed you back, his hips grinding against yours.

Your shared pace turned vicious then. Desperate. You fucked Jimmy like you believed that doing so would excise his demons. You fucked him with the same adrenaline you'd used to outrun the Alpha. You fucked him like the two of you could turn back the clock and keep the Rage virus from ever infecting your homeland.

Your orgasm curled deep inside you. A living thing. Electric. Pulsing.

You could feel it coming, and so could Jimmy.

"Fuck," he gasped, his voice shredded, "yer—ah—yer gonna come?"

"Yes," you confirmed breathlessly.

Jimmy groaned, long and guttural. Thrust into you with all he had. Hard. Deep. Fast. Yet never cruel. Never rough. He ran a hand up and down your back. Kissed your neck and jaw with feverish devotion. Looked at you like you were the only beautiful thing he'd ever seen.

"Come fer me," he begged. "Come—come fer me, please—come on, darlin'—my queen—please, I love ya—"

You only had time to widen your eyes and think, What?

Then, your body detonated. White fire blinded you. Your lungs were starved for air. Your mind was reduced to static. You clutched him tightly, and he held you back.

Your pleasure triggered Jimmy's own. One thrust, two, and he was gone. He buried himself impossibly deep, biting your shoulder as he flooded you with molten heat. And even then, it took a while for his desperate thrusts to slow to a halt.

The two of you stayed like that for a long time, your breaths synchronizing. Your heartbeats slowing. Your bodies cooling together.

Jimmy lifted his head. Looked at you with soft eyes. "I've planted me seed in ye, love," he whispered. "Ye and I are gonna have the most beautiful child."

You chuckled, tucking some sweat-dampened hair behind his ear. Somehow, the idea didn't sound so bad. And not for the reasons you'd originally considered.

"We'll see," you told him.

Jimmy nodded, nuzzling your hand. "The good Lord sent ye tae me," he stated. "For ye t'be me queen. For me t'be yer dog. For us tae create life together." He gave a soft, happy laugh. "I've been tryin' tae build Paradise fer so long, love. So long... But now?" He kissed your fingers. "I can see it more clearly than ever b'fore."

You smiled softly at him. Pressed your forehead against his again. "I don't know about the good Lord, but..." you paused, taking a moment to truly feel this moment. The smell of sex in the air. The warmth of Jimmy against you. The sweet afterglow tingling on your skin. "I'm glad I found my way here."

Jimmy beamed. You kissed him.

"Did I do good?" he asked. "Was I good fer ye?"

"You were perfect," you assured him. "Now, let me take care of you."

Despite his protests, you untangled yourself from him. Removed a pillowcase from a cushion and used it as a makeshift rag with which you wiped him clean. Then, wrapping yourself in a blanket, you left the chamber. Returned a moment later with a glass of water. "Drink," you instructed softly.

He obeyed, still wearing that soft look on his face.

Once he was done, you ushered him under the blankets. He snuggled against you, his head on your chest and a hand on your abdomen. Like he could already feel life taking root there.

"We'll tell the lads first thing t'morrow," he said between yawns. "That yer me queen. That they're yer subjects. That soon, we'll give Eden its first child. Its future."

"All right." You kissed the crown of his head. "But first, we have to do something else."

He glanced up at you. "What?"

You grinned at him. "Get you a collar. Maybe a nice, purple one. One with my name on it, right under the word 'owner'."

Jimmy shivered. "Yes, lass." He lay his head back down. "Ye own me. I am yers and ye are mine. Now and always."

You tightened your grip on him. "Good puppy."