Chapter Text
“Still with me, love?”
A muffled moan sounds in answer, her toes curling into cotton, eyes barely catching a toothed smile through blurred vision.
Whatever she thought of Childe, whatever lies he has fed her with his silver tongue and deceptive grins, Lumine is certain of this—he is far, far worse.
Time moves like sand clutched in a fist, grains slipping between her fingers. The harder she tries to keep track, the faster it falls. Her gums ache, spine arching as he laughs and flicks his fingers again. . Another sob in her mouth when she veers close, so close to the edge. That knot tightening, the mouth of an impending orgasm. Until calloused fingers swipe across skin, coaxing her to the edge, before cruelly back, again.
Childe knows her body, this body like he does war or battle. The slant of a blade or the sight of a bow. He knows where to touch, where to not, what to say, and discovered every weakness she’s hid for the eons she’s travelled the stars.
The odds had been stacked against her from the very start.
“You look good like this, you know,” Childe says admiringly now, leaning back onto his haunches. A glint in his eye as he takes in the view of his prize. “Trussed up and naked in my bed. The hydro is a nice touch.”
The sweat-soaked sheets stick to her skin. It feels like too much. It hurts. She’s so empty. A tear glitters on her lashes, framing his smug face. She cries wordlessly, curses muffled by water.
Childe brushes the tear away, tone almost indulgent. “Wanted to do this for months now,” he confesses, a wolf to cornered prey. “Every time you looked at me with those pretty eyes of yours. Especially after a fight. Thought of tying you down and fucking you senseless, watching you cry and writhe in pleasure, helpless to do anything but take it. Does it feel good, princess?”
As if on cue, the tentacle curled between her legs glides over her folds again, nudging her clit. Slow, even strokes over her folds, a maddening tempo that makes her sob into the gag, squirm in pain-pleasure underneath him.
It feels like it's been hours. It could have been hours. It must have been. Maybe someone will come look for her—the Duke or Siegewienne, since it’s been ages. They know the truth, they’d come save her. But they would see her too, see her like this, sobbing and squirming with hydro around her. Cold, viscous water dragging over every inch of her skin. The shame is acrid, burning, and she could cry from the way it spills through her blood. But even so, she—
She wants .
She feels like a marionette on strings, a toy for his pleasure. Left to dangle on the precipice until she goes insane. Under the Eleventh’s fine control, the tentacles are both weapons of war and instruments of pleasure—as strong as steel and soft as a feather. Her limbs wrench, futile against the hydro curled around the joints.
When she meets his eyes, Childe smiles at what he sees, laying a kiss on a scar across her knee.
“Had enough yet, sweetheart?”
Yes. Yes. Enough teasing, enough of his games. Lumine nods desperately, hips jumping when the tentacle makes one last pass, curling teasingly over the crown of her sex.
Slowly, the hydro pulls back. She feels raw, aching, open nerved, like she’s been put through a blender. The retreat a brief spell of mercy, the answering relief so sharp it could cut.
Until she notices his smile, sharp at the corners.
“There, there, Lumine,” he croons, fingers digging indents in her thighs. “Eyes up here. I want to see your face when you take it.”
When she doesn’t obey immediately, he reaches out, gripping her chin and forcing her gaze up. This is a performance too. The tentacle rises, until she can see it clearly. Water spills. It morphs, changes. Grows firmer, harder. Bulbous at the end. A familiar shape, a caricature.
Panic zaps through her as it settles between her legs.
Wait —
Lumine wails into the gag.
He’s a monster, she thinks blearily. Before she stops thinking at all. Mind blanking as the transformed tentacle wriggles into her cunt. Loud, gushy noises with every thrust, coaxing another cry from her throat.
The sudden stretch turns her dumb, walls fluttering against the sudden intrusion. Empty one second and on the edge of too full the next, and she can barely process. Can’t understand. Her spine arches. It’s cold. Cold and uncomfortable, but the hydro keeps moving, pressing onto her walls until her toes curl. And pushing deeper, deeper, until it feels like she can taste it in her mouth.
It scrapes against nerves she didn’t even know she had, white-hot pleasure sparking across, dragging her back to the edge. Not again, not again. She thrashes against the tentacles, scrabbling away. She’s so close, she wants to come, she can’t take it anymore—
Lumine doesn’t realize she’s begging out loud until she hears him laugh. The tentacles that cuffed her loosened, her mouth free. Another wicked thrust punches a debauched moan out of her, eyes rolling into her head.
“Childe,” she warbles, reaching out. Her hand finds the round of his shoulder, and nails digging into flesh. “Childe.”
She feels him hum into her knee. “What's wrong, printsessa? Too much for you? Do you want to stop?”
Does she? She doesn't know, she doesn't know anything, just feels like her sanity is crumbling around her. Lumine whines, trying to say something. Anything. Gazes at him pleadingly. The Harbinger only stares placidly down at her in return, a benevolent god offering no mercy.
When he traces her lips, she opens her mouth instinctively. He tastes of salt and skin and her. Craning her neck, she takes more of him, until the digits hit the back of her throat.
“Easy now,” he murmurs and slides them out into her mouth. A groan leaves him as she sucks messily, mouth slack as he explores the wet cavern. Rubbing her teeth, pressing down on her tongue. Watching.
“Gods. It’s like you’re begging to be ruined.”
She whines when he pulls his fingers out, the lengths glistening with saliva. Something about the weight of them in her mouth solid, when everything else wasn’t. And the softness in his eyes, the turn of his lips when she took him. It makes her warm, it makes her fuzzy inside. She wants him to keep looking at her like that.
He smiles at her like he knows what she’s thinking. Rubs them off on the soft flesh of her thigh, with a thoughtful hum, precariously close to the crown of her sex.
Something else sputters in her mind—the spark of a thought. Reason. Sense. But that’s all washed away under the onslaught of pleasure, as her muscles begin twitching, damningly approaching that edge.
“Childe—I’m almost—nnngh—”
“Are you going to come, Printsessa?”
“Please,” she keens, scrabbling for purchase in the sheets. “Please let me come.”
“How shameless,” he chuffs, rubbing circles into her skin. Higher with every pass, until his hand rest over the juncture of her thighs. “Begging for an orgasm when I haven’t even come close. You’re a selfish little thing, aren’t you?”
“Please—Childe, please, please— hiccup —please—“
“Alright, alright. Don’t say I never indulge you, sweetheart.”
And Lumine breaks off into a soundless scream as Childe grins, and smacks his fingers across her cunt.
Her hips jump violently, insides clenching around the watery tentacle. The harbinger shoves her back into the mattress and slaps her pussy again. Croons as she howls mindlessly. “Not so loud, Lumine.,” he chides, spreading her legs even wider. “We don't want the guards to barge in, do we?
“What would they think if they saw this? The esteemed Traveller, savior of nations, drooling into the mattress and fucked stupid by a bunch of tentacles.” Childe pauses. Whistles. “Damn, your pussy clenched down at that. Like the sound of it, huh, love? Should we call the guards here and give them a show?”
“No, don’t, Childe! I don’t want it—“ She sniffles, babbles, blinking through her blurring vision. “Please don’t.”
“They’d be disappointed to know the truth. That all you are is just a cock-hungry whore, whining to be fucked and stuffed with cum. Maybe I should carry you out and give them a nice eyeful. Stretched out and leaking for me. Let them exactly know who you belong to. Especially that damn Duke.”
Horror washes over her, a brief moment of clarity. She can’t imagine—but she can, she can see their faces, see the disgust in their eyes when they glimpse her like this, and the worst thing is that a Wriothesely knows—
“Childe, don’t you dare—“
He grabs her jaw. Squeezes in warning.
But the terror has burrowed into her bones. “I’m not a—a whore—” she gasps out, between punched out moans and cries, shaking her head furiously. It hurts to think now, eyes going cross at every thrust, mouth pooling with saliva. “Slow down, please—“
“You're not a whore?” A coo, low and mocking. “Then how do you explain this?”
The tentacle stops.
Shudders. She feels it, feels the low hum. And then she’s squealing as it changes, expands, grows thicker in her cunt until it feels like it’s too much, too big, walls weakly spasming against the protrusion. Stretching her out, more and more—
It hurts, it’s too much, he’s going to break her. Lumine cries, yanking her hands, her legs, clawing at the sheets. “Childe you have to stop—I can’t—“
The harbinger chuckles darkly at the panic clouding her gaze, hand drifting between her legs. “Shhh, baby. Quiet.”
She wants to deny him. She wants to scream, push him off, claw his eyes out of his face. She wants to go home. But his fingers find her clit, gliding over the bundle of nerves with wet, slick sounds, the tentacle matching his rhythm, and he’s speaking again, rough murmurs of nonsense and filth she can’t pick out and every thought in her head turns into mush—
Pressure swells in her belly, and she comes with a squeal.
Pinpricks of light burst in her vision. Lumine sobs as her cunt spasms around the hydro, spine drawing tight with pleasure. She can’t stop herself, can’t breathe, hips lifting off the bed and rutting into his hand. She feels like she’s underwater, ears strangely dull.
When she finally comes to, he’s watching her, face unreadable.
“Pretty girl,” he says, voice so low she can barely catch the words. “Look at you, so sensitive. All this for me, hm?”
Words fail her, still caught in the throes of the orgasm. Her body convulses, thighs spasming shut around his wrist. He tuts. Runs a hand down the soft flesh, he spreads her legs, pushing her knees into the mattress. It does something to her insides, pulls her open wider, makes the tentacle inside her feel worse, feel better, she’s going to go insane—
“ Answer me .”
“You” she gasps in answer as the tentacle begins to move again, pistoning into her in slow, deep strokes. Her vision blurring around blue eyes and sharp smiles. “Just you.”
“Yeah.” His tongue licks up the tears running down her cheek. “Just me. You’re so good to me. You’ll come for me again, won’t you, Lumine?””
What? Colour and sound return to her in a sharp jolt as the words register. It doesn’t make sense. Her mind rushes to keep up with him, still slow from the previous orgasm, and fuck, she can’t do this when that thing is still in her cunt. “But that—I just came, Childe. I need a break—”
“You can, love and you will.” Merciless command. A heartless lover. The tentacle quickens, until it’s thrusting into her faster, faster, a jackhammer pace that’s nearly painful. Rough and messy, and she’s squealing, sobbing, whining as Childe doesn’t allow her any relief.
She’ll never recover from this, Lumine thinks, mouth open in a keening moan. She’s ruined. He’s ruined her. She’s going to die like this.
But tomorrow. She’ll close her eyes and she’ll be back home tomorrow. Away from this Childe that manipulates her body like one of his weapons, that knows every weakness. His vision is still warm in her hand but she can barely sense it now, under everything else he’s putting her through. The tentacle makes another sharp thrust, pushing deeper than it had before, and she can feel it, the dull pain when it thumps against the opening of her womb.
The second orgasm is weaker, and still too much.
And she should hate it, hate this, how he’s treating her, but it feels awful, feels so good, that she reaches out, clawing again at his bare shoulder.
Childe peers up at her. And she doesn't know why but she keens pitifully, high-pitched and pleading. Begging. Doesn't even know what she's begging for.
He does, though. He pushes himself up, tongue swiping across his lips. Lowers his face to hers, meeting her midway. Mouth open and tongue thorough, sweeping over her teeth languidly. She follows him as far as she can go and whines when he pulls away, only silencing herself when he sucks her lower lip in apology.
“Archons, Lumine,” he swears, stealing another kiss. The blue of his eyes are invisible now, swallowed by his pupils. “I want to feel you come.”
Wait. No. She can’t. She can't do it again. She shakes her head, trying to wrap her mouth around the words. But all her protests fall to pieces when his lips curve, into that slant that spells trouble. He flicks his fingers. At the motion, the tentacle pulls out of her, painfully slow, dragging across every open nerve, a sparking wire across flesh.
“Bet I can give you another one,” Childe declares. “Want to try?”
“No!” Desperate, she kicks out, digging her heel into his chest. It barely winds him—he catches her ankle and kisses the bone, slinging it over his shoulder. Opening her wide for the taking. “I already came twice, Childe! No more. It’s not possible.”
“You can do it. You’ve done it before.”
“But that…” Gods, that wasn't her. That wasn’t her . That wasn’t her and now his hand is creeping up her thigh again, and no no no—
“You don't need to say anything,” he goads. “Your body tells me everything I need to know.” Pats her cunt, whistling at how it clenches. “Look at you, squeezing down on nothing. Your pussy hates being empty. It’s more honest than you are.”
“You're—“ she hiccups, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I want you to stop. Please stop.”
“But you love this. That's why you let me travel the world with you. You love me. You love my hands, my mouth, my cock. You love how I fuck every thought out of your pretty little head.” Seizing the leather with teeth, he drags the glove off his hand, before shooting her a cocky grin. “Sweetheart, you’ll come for me one more time, won't you?”
She feels raw, cut open. Thoughts are so difficult for her now. “I can’t. Too much.”
His sigh of disappointment is cutting. “Lumine. What have we said about honesty?”
Like he’s proving a point, Childe slides two fingers inside her. At the easy glide, he snorts, escalating to three, stretching her wide. She can't hold back the cry, hips rising with the push. The tentacles had filled her to the brim before but those were cold, and slimy and different .
Childe’s fingers are long and tapered, merciless, curling in her and scissoring, moving, giving her no time to adjust to the stretch. “There we go. Fuck, you’re dripping.”
She can feel the slickness between her thighs, down the curve of her ass. Her muscles clamp down instinctively, and she moans, trying to stretch them out, make them hurt less. But she’s so wet it doesn’t even matter, his fingers prodding her walls.
“I want to hear you. Say my name, Lumine.”
The digits in her begin a ruthless pace. Sinking in and out, targeting spongy flesh that makes her toes curl. He holds her down when she squirms, using it to angle her for his ease. Fingers only leaving her at intervals to rub her cunt in harsh swipes, before plunging back in.
Every touch is painfully good. Pleasure throbs deep in her belly, aching at the edge of too much. She squirms and writhes and sobs, crying when he slaps her cunt again, the filthy sound echoing in the cell.
All the while he laughs at her reactions, mouth speaking the filthiest things. “Acting like a whore who hasn't been fucked for days. Greedy little thing. To think you just came from being fucked by tentacles, and now you’re begging for more.”
“I wasn’t—you’re the one—I’m not begging—ah!”
“Doesn't look like it from here.” He takes a tit in his mouth and suckles, hissing when she pulls at his hair. “You’re a good girl for me, aren’t you Lumine? You come when I tell you to, cry when I touch your tits. Beg for kisses when I fuck you. You always do.”
She can’t come again. She swears she can’t. Except that familiar knot in her belly is back, tightening, vision growing blurry, and the edge of the cliff is right there so close—
Her cunt clenches down on Childe’s fingers. He chuckles. “Say my name, Lumine.”
“Childe—“
“That’s not it. Say my name.”
She doesn’t understand. Lumine sobs, hips rolling, chasing the crashing orgasm. Feels herself pulse, hot and sticky and wanting. “Childe, Childe, Childe—”
A hand closes over her throat. Presses gently over the sides.
Lumine’s entire body locks, the orgasm a crashing wave that pulls her under, so intense it renders her completely silent. Colors burst behind her eyelids. She clamps down on his fingers, crying over his grunt as he fucks her through it, slick spraying across his wrist, his pants, his abdomen. Wet and gushy and slick, soaking the sheets under her.
Every move of his fingers sends shockwaves through her. Fuck. It hurts, it hurts. She whines incoherently, pawing at his wrist, trying to make him stop.
“Not yet,” he murmurs. Licks the tear running down her cheek. Twists his wrist, and the brush of his thumb across her clit feels like a threat. “I’ve played dumb long enough, don’t you think?”
The words barely register in her mind. Honey-slow.
“You look like her, talk like her. Moan and cry for more just like her. But she doesn’t call me Childe when I fuck her brains out.”
She? Who? Lumine blinks dumbly. Stares at those dark eyes, the pretty blue, cries when his thumb makes circles at the crown of her sex.
“This is her body. The same scars, the same reactions. But you… you’re close, but you’re not her. Now…”
The hand at her throat, gentle so far, tightens. Black speckles her vision. She yelps.
“Who are you, and where is my Lumine?”