Nine months in the human trafficking circuit has destroyed every sense of normality you ever knew. For you, it's commonplace to be ordered on your knees for your owner, his clients, anyone else Childe deems necessary-and you've reached a point where...
this is a story about human trafficking - it is not supposed to be pleasant to read! there is sex in this first chapter, but it's pure rape and there is 0 pleasure involved. those scenes are pretty short, but they can be easily triggering. also, the x reader tags refer to physical relationships, not emotional attachments.
this story is dark, and it's only going to get darker as it continues. please reread the tags and consider whether you actually want to read this. basically, dead dove: do not eat.
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The collar around your neck is fun to play with.
It's something Childe gave you early on in your time with him. To this day, you're not sure if he gave it to you because he was merely in a good mood or because you'd actually been behaving well, but it's fun to tell yourself that you deserve the gift.
Good girls get presents, he said with a warm smile as he unlatched the heavy, metal collar that you first received and swapped it with the fancy one in his hands.
Bad girls get sent to Scaramouche to be tortured until they die of shock, was his next warning, delivered with an equally bright smile as he fastened the pretty thing and straightened it on your neck.
Then I'll be good, had been your immediate response.
Childe liked that.
You didn't mean your words at the time. They were a lie, spilled past your lips because you still clung to the hope that your life could go back to normal if you waited this hell out, that someone would find out the truth about what Fatui "merchandise" is, that someone could un-traffick you and you could stop spending your every waking moment pleasuring Childe and his clients.
Then, you saw the corpse of one of the girls Scaramouche had beaten to death, and all remaining hope died.
She died the day you received your collar.
When you saw her corpse, her own neck was empty.
As you play with the jewels that hang off the silver band around your neck, you try not to think about all the previous girls who've worn this same collar. It's easier that way. There are only two ways to lose your collar: death or being sold to someone else. Unbearable as Childe is, both are awful to think about.
So, you try to think of nothing.
"What's on your mind, angel?" Childe stares down at you and cups your face, his thumb brushing by your cheek with an odd sense of affection.
Nothing, you yearn to say, but you know that forcing yourself to engage in conversation will be easier than taking a beating for insolence.
"The men we saw this morning," you finally say, staring up into Childe's blue eyes from where your head is laid against his thigh. "Their ties were crooked. It made them look funny."
