Chapter Text
“Sometimes I want to die,” you say, and Childe hums, his hands ghosting over the sides of your hips as you sit in his lap on this throne-like chair. The little lingerie set you’re wearing is pretty, so pretty, and he’s surprised that Scaramouche was able to identify something so beautiful. The lace chemise is modest, covering more of your skin than Childe would normally desire, but that modesty lets you look ethereal, for once.
Today, you don’t look like a Fatui slut.
No, you look like a queen.
His marionette queen, tied up by the invisible strings of his strength and control.
“That’s not good,” the man says, and he leans his head forward to press a kiss against your collarbone. “Who makes you feel this way?”
“All of you,” you whisper, and Childe laughs, his hands creeping around to squeeze the soft flesh of your ass. “I don’t like this.”
“Yeah?” Childe asks, and he peppers kisses up your throat, lips ghosting along your jaw. “Well, do you want to go back to how it was before? We changed things up because you asked.”
Your eyes flicker with distress at that, and Childe has to force himself not to let a smile, all teeth, creep across his mouth. To be honest, he would like to go back to how things were before: when, instead of all the Harbingers getting you at different times of the day alone, they had one select time where they could all ravage you together. Childe would never tell his coworkers this, but watching you get spitroasted on three cocks was the hottest thing in the world, and the way all that stimulation made you sob, ruined and broken, into everyone’s arms afterward is something Childe’s never been able to replicate on his own.
“N-no,” you whisper, and Childe’s hands slip up your chemise to cup at your soft tits. “I don’t want to go back. I like this better than before.”
“But you still don’t like this.”
“No...”
Childe sighs at that.
Every so often, you get like this: whiny and upset. On nights past, he’s been a little gentler with you for it. Actually, Childe makes sure to be gentle overall because his allotted time with you is the hour before midnight, at the end of the day when you’ve already been fucked silly by everyone else, but he senses that a kinder treatment isn’t what you’re after.
After all, you’ve been in the Fatui’s possession long enough to know that Childe’s weakness is tears.
Yet, as he continues to grope you, lips now pressing soft kisses to the bruises around your nipples, you don’t cry.
He pulls back, abrupt, staring deep into your eyes. Months ago, you would have looked away in embarrassment, would have been unable to hold eye contact with one of the most prolific Harbingers in Snezhnaya, your ex-idol, before he revealed that he wasn’t going to be your knight in shining armor to save you from your new life as the Harbingers’ sex puppet, but you’re now past that. You retain full eye contact with the monster massaging your thighs, don’t dare look away even as he slips a finger inside your underwear.
“You don’t like this, but you’re wet,” Childe hums, pressing a finger inside your slippery hole.
“That’s not…” your eyes flutter shut. “I was with Dottore before this. He…he…he finished inside.”
Childe gathers the wetness seeping out of your pussy in his fingers and pulls them free of your lingerie. Sure enough, when he inspects the fluid, it’s sticky and whitish—clearly illuminated by the walled window that towers behind him. This chair keeps his back to it, but his arm—and your body, nestled prettily with legs spread on Childe’s lap—are perfectly illuminated by waves of deep blue moonlight.
Childe wipes the remnants of Dottore’s cum on your arm.
“What do you want, then? You're going to get fucked either way. You'll never be able to kill yourself, either, and even if you did find a way of getting close, Dottore would bring you back. But you know that, right? Why are you complaining to me now?"
“I don’t know,” you confess, and Childe loves that he’s managed to train that pesky urge to lie out of you. Months ago, you’d try to seduce him, smile prettily and act dumb because there were rumors that Childe liked that in a woman, but now all you do is frown and shake your head.
“You’re the only one who listens if I talk,” you say, lowering your eyes. “I just…wanted to be able to say it.”
“Well, consider it noted,” Childe says with the handsome smile that enamors all the girls in Snezhnaya. “I’ll bring it up at the next Harbinger’s Meeting. Tell them that maybe our pretty little puppet deserves a break, a chance to feel human again.”
“No, you won’t.”
Childe contemplates it for a moment before deciding you’re right.
“No, I won’t.”
He steals a kiss from your lips, and you don’t even pull away. He smiles at that.
“Well, if you're done complaining, you know what to do.” Childe spreads his legs to give you more access, and at once, you know his command: to make him hard. You move instantly, and it fills the Harbinger with pride. He’s heard from the others that you still remain disobedient with them at times, that when you sucked Dottore’s cock the other day you were audacious enough to let your teeth graze by it as he facefucked you, that when Signora rode your face you had the gall to pass out from asphyxiation—but with Childe, you never entertain such pesky urges. The moment he’s asked you, your fingers are pressed against the collar of his jacket, undoing the first button because Childe likes you to massage his body before you move onto his cock.
Despite your obedience, though, the broken look in your eye doesn’t quite leave.
Childe remembers when those pretty eyes were filled with fear at the sight of his muscled chest. For weeks, you associated the scars on his body with ones he’d inflict on you—before learning that the most pain came from the others: that Childe was quite possibly the least perverted of the Harbingers.
Well, not that the perversion of his fellow Harbingers is a hard thing to be lesser than.
All it really means is that Childe won’t waterboard you as he fucks you, won’t threaten to rip your fingernails off again if you cum without permission, won’t do all those…less than normal sex acts to you. Everything else—whipping, spanking, facefucking, hair-pulling—all of that, he still entertains.
Childe wonders if you prefer him for that.
“Do you have a favorite Harbinger?” he asks as you continue unbuttoning his coat. He wears nothing underneath, and your hands immediately move to massaging his abs, just the way he likes. Your face remains blank, completely unresponsive to the salacious ministrations of your body, but Childe likes it that way. It’s better than when you’d grimace every time you touched him, at least.
“You all rape me every day,” you respond, and Childe lifts his hand to cup your cheek.
“And? Surely, you’ve developed preferences.”
“And if I have?” Your eyes fall from his as you begin unbuckling the elaborate belt wrapped around his waist. It used to give you so much trouble, but now, your practiced fingers loop and unloop all the fixtures while rubbing the bulge beneath at the same time, effortlessly stimulating him.
“And if you have, then tell me,” Childe says, and he doesn’t need to make his voice cold and domineering for you to know that it’s an order.
“I like you,” you say, rubbing him through his boxers with dead eyes. “Because you let me talk, sometimes. No one else lets me do that. They either ignore me or gag me.”
“So I’m your favorite?” Childe asks, stroking the skin of your cheekbones the way your fingers have slipped beneath his boxers to stroke his soft cock. “Just for that?”
“...Maybe.”
“Oh,” Childe says, laughing. “So if you had to have a favorite, it’d be me, but you hate us all so much that you’d rather not have one at all?”
“Yeah.”
Childe grins, and he kisses you once more, losing himself in the way you pump him, slow and steady, just the way he likes. He didn’t give you any oil to use, which he should have, but he hardly feels like moving his hands to fetch some from the drawer when your soft skin feels so nice beneath his palms.
“This lingerie looks so good on you,” he comments plainly, wrapping his palm around yours to slow your pace as you stroke him. He doesn’t want to cum early, just wants to stay hard as he decides what he’ll do with you tonight. “I’m surprised no one damaged it. You’re usually naked by afternoon.”
“Scaramouche supposedly yelled at them,” you confess, eyes downcast. “He told me about it. Said he’d electrocute anyone who damaged this set.”
“What an asshole,” Childe says, lips curling into a frown, and he tears your top in a single motion.
In his mind, it’s absolutely worth it. The way your tits bounce ever so slightly once he’s shaken them free of the silk is art incarnate, and it’s not like Childe tore all of it. Your cum-stained panties are tied at your hips, so Scaramouche can keep those if he really wants a souvenir of this night. Still, though, you flinch the second your upper body is bare. It's not because you're ashamed to be naked, of course, that's something you're more used to than being clothed: it's that you specifically lost the garb Scaramouche likely ordered you to keep fastened across your body.
Your breathing hitches, and Childe catches the first glimpse of emotion in your eyes all night.
“H-he’s going to punish me for that,” you say, and Childe wonders whether it’s fear or regret that coats your voice. “He—”
“He’ll always find an excuse to punish you,” Childe hums, pressing another kiss to your lips. He isn’t sure if it soothes your nerves or agitates them, but you don’t dare protest after he’s silenced you once. “You can tell him I did it. If he tries to fight me, I’ll aim for his cock so you’ll get a break for his hour.”
You slump in Childe’s arms, daring to let the steady pumps on his cock slow, and he frowns.
“Come on, don’t be so down.” Childe pats your cheek twice. “Stay in the moment. It’ll help you focus.”
“I don't want to—”
“Well, it doesn't matter. I'm bored of this. I think I’ve decided what I’ll do with you tonight.”
“Already?” you ask, and your shoulders slump gracelessly. “But it’s only been ten—”
“Yes, and I know you’re just a little slut who gets fucked all day who can talk as long as she likes, but I have things to do, and you've wasted enough time. Come on, lean back."
There’s a look of fleeting resistance in your eye, and Childe would normally look the other way, would normally be proud at how quickly you’ve squashed the urge to resist, but he’s irritated now. He doesn’t remember who brought it up, but he’s not a fan of discussing his asshole colleagues and especially not when there’s a half-naked girl stroking his cock.
“Unless you have something more you’d like to say?” he asks sharply, and you shake your head like a puppy that’s been kicked.
“No,” you whisper, bowing your head. “No, Sir.”
Childe grins the moment he hears his favorite nickname fall so easily from your lips.
“Good girl,” he coos, and he moves to press kisses to your neck all over again. “I think I’ll fuck you on my desk, today. First your pussy. Then, your ass. Signora mentioned that you cum especially hard when you’re being choked, so I want to try that. I also want to keep improving your flexibility, so make sure to keep your legs on my shoulder as I…”
Childe murmurs into your ear everything that he wants to do to you with clinical preciseness: everything that you’re going to have to take, because you have no real say in any of this. As you continue to stroke him off, your hands stutter whenever he mentions an idea particularly daunting to you, and Childe notes what you seem to fear, saves those details away for the inevitable days when he has to punish you.
When he lifts your body to his desk and slips your underwear off, you don’t dare speak a word of complaint, even as cum continues to drip out of your holes from being used all day long.
“Are you ready?” he whispers, smiling as he rubs soft circles into your hipbone.
“No,” you say, and Childe pushes his cock inside.