Archive of Our Own

When Scaramouche opened his eyes, it was to complete and utter darkness.

As a lover of starry skies and moonlit nights, Scaramouche was used to the dark. Oftentimes, he even preferred it to daylight. Alas, this was far from the kind of darkness he knew. This was a darkness that suffocated; the kind that crawled under the skin and chilled his body from the inside out. There was no warmth here, no starlight. Just stagnation and darkness and a pressure that spread from the back of his neck to the front of his head.

He wasn't alone.

The figure stood a short distance away from him, arms crossed as she leant against the wall. Though there was no way for Scaramouche to see her, she appeared vividly in his mind's eye all the same. Scaramouche curled his hands into fists against the arms of the chair he was sitting in. “There's no use lurking. I know you're there.” His breath hitched. “ Harbinger. ”

For a few seconds, the silence remained, leading Scaramouche to wonder whether he'd mistaken the vision in his head. But then he heard a sigh in the darkness, followed by the shuffle of material. Finally, a familiar voice met his ears, smooth and sultry: “How impressive you are, mage. What gave me away?”

A shiver slipped down Scaramouche's spine. So, it really was her . As if his kidnapping could possibly be the result of anyone else.

Still, determined not to let his hesitation bleed through, he pushed his chin high and said, in as firm a tone he could manage, “Let's just say you're not as subtle as you like to think you are. And I am an astrologist, after all. The best in all of Teyvat, I might add.”

That produced a laugh from the woman. She started to walk towards him, heels clicking against what Scaramouche could only assume to be a stone floor. “And yet your little stars couldn't be further away from you now.”

Scaramouche sucked in a breath. “So I noticed.”

The footsteps came to a stop before him. Something clicked above Scaramouche's head, and he jumped as the world suddenly exploded into shades of violet, blinding him for a few moments. When the spots in his vision had faded, he saw that he was in a small, round cave chamber. A series of lamps dotted the walls, each one burning with a strange violet flame, throwing light upon the one who loomed over him.

It had been almost a year since they'd last met, but she looked exactly the same as Scaramouche remembered. Long, dark hair tied back into twintails; Inazuma-style robes layered over a tight black undershirt; a pair of loose shorts that flared out over wide hips. Most striking of all, though, was her wide-brimmed hat and the gauzy veil that stretched down to her knees. Scaramouche remembered her wearing it at Musk Reef, too. It seemed to swallow the space in the room, making her somehow appear taller than her already-generous stature suggested.

Mona Megistus, Sixth of the Fatui Harbingers, and Scaramouche's sworn enemy from the first moment they'd met.

Mona smirked at him, eyes the colour of a summer lake staring down from underneath heavy black lashes. “Well? Aren't you going to greet me properly? 'It's nice to see you', or something like that.”

“I assure you it's far from pleasant meeting you again, Harbinger,” Scaramouche snapped, his facade cracking just a little. A set of ropes tied his wrists to the arms of the chair while another pair secured his ankles to the legs. He tried moving from side to side, but the chair was bolted to the floor. Whoever had made his chamber had done so for the very purpose of keeping someone captive here. The thought sent another bolt of ice down Scaramouche's spine.

Mona clicked her tongue. “What a shame. And here I was hoping we could meet one another as old friends. You wouldn't want me to start treating you like a foe, would you?”

She's trying to rile you up, Scaramouche told himself. Mona had no intentions of treating him as anything but a foe. His bound hands and ankles were proof of that.

Regardless, there was one thing he still possessed that could get him out of this bind. Determined not to give Mona the satisfaction of answering her, he turned his head aside and pulled on his elemental magic. He didn't intend to conjure much, just a smattering of Hydro across his palms from the Vision stashed in the pocket of his bodysuit—an assurance that it was still there and would serve him if things got nasty.

A second passed. Nothing happened.

Mona's mocking voice sounded: “Is this what you're looking for?”

Scaramouche snapped his head back to see Mona holding his Vision aloft. His insides lurched.

“Give it back,” he hissed.

“No,” replied simply.

Spurred by panic, Scaramouche tried to summon his Hydro again. The Vision flashed blue, but his magic didn't respond. Almost as if something were blocking it.

Mona's smirk widened. “I've put an enchantment on your Vision. It's only temporary, of course, but I think you'll find summoning your Hydro a rather fruitless endeavour.”

She took a moment to turn his Vision back and forth in her hand, allowing the light to dance across the face of the gem, before slipping it back into the pocket of her robe. Scaramouche gritted his teeth.

“What do you want with me?” he snarled.

Mona placed a hand on the rim of her hat, holding it in place as she bent down to level her head with Scaramouche's. Her voice dropped to a teasing whisper, her eyes boring into him from just inches away. “First of all, why don't you tell me what you were doing frozen half to death outside a Dragonspine Fatui camp, hm?”

Scaramouche cast his mind back to the last memory he had outside of this cavern: the slopes of Dragonspine sprawled out before him like a map, grey rocks and icy plains battered by the snowstorm that whipped through the air. It had begun shortly after Scaramouche had started his journey up the side of the mountain. A couple of hours in, and he'd barely been able to see the path in front of his eyes.

Still, guided by his Hydromancy and shielded by the furs around his neck, he'd forced himself onwards.

That had been until he'd spotted the figures up ahead, a pair of indistinct figures prowling in the snow.

The next thing he'd known, the world had flashed violet, and he'd woken up here.

Scaramouche bit his lip. “How was I supposed to know I was near a Fatui camp?”

He realised his mistake the moment the words left his mouth. Sure enough, Mona barked out a laugh. “I thought your stars would have told you, astrologist .”

It was true. Scaramouche should have detected he was approaching an enemy camp before he'd so much as wandered within a mile of it. He'd just been too distracted by the storm and the strange anomaly in his scryglass that had led him this far out of the city to realise it.

“In any case, it's too late to worry about now,” Mona continued. “Fate has brought us together, and I plan on making the most out of our little reunion.”

“You don't believe in fate,” Scaramouche muttered, bristling at the use of his own words against him.

“Don't I?” Mona reached out a hand and ran her knuckle down the side of Scaramouche's cheek. He tried to turn away sharply, only for Mona to thread her fingers through his hair and wrench his head back, forcing him to look up at her as she loomed over him. His eyes met her piercing gaze, staring out from underneath the shadows of her hat. “I think you'll be surprised to learn that we have more similarities than meets the eye.” Her voice dropped to a whisper that tickled Scaramouche's ears. “Puppet boy.”

Scaramouche seized up.

What did she just call me?

The smile on Mona's face widened. “So, it's true, is it?” She placed her other hand on Scaramouche's shoulder and dragged it down towards his chest, stopping when her palm was pressed over the space to the left of his sternum. She held it there for a few seconds. Then she clicked her tongue in amusement. “Well, well. How interesting.”

The pressure in Scaramouche's head was turning into a full-on throb now. He wanted to tell Mona that whatever she was thinking was wrong, but how could he possibly do so when she'd felt it for herself? Puppet boy. A heartless effigy created by the Raiden Shogun for the sole purpose of furthering her research. For as long as he'd lived, Scaramouche had endeavoured to keep the secret of his origins hidden. How in the world could Mona possibly know something so personal to him?

Unless...

The thought stopped him dead.

I think you'll be surprised to learn that we have more similarities than meets the eye.

Scaramouche let out a trembling breath. “You're an astrologist, too.”

Mona hummed. “Clever. But you're only partially correct.” She let the hand over Scaramouche's heart wander downwards, over the base of a chest that rose and fell with quickening breaths. “My old master, Barbeloth of the Hexenxirkel, was famed for her fortune telling magic. Of course, I'm no 'Great Astrologist'—” She put emphasis on the words, no doubt for the sole purpose of mocking Scaramouche's self-proclaimed title. “—but I do like to dabble occasionally. Call it an homage to her memory. Not to mention it allows me to keep my enemies close.”

When her hand reached his navel, Scaramouche made the mistake of letting out a gasp. A humiliating heat had been building between his thighs for a while now, completely at odds with the disgust he harboured at feeling her fingers roam his body like this. Mona sighed beneath her breath and pressed her thumb into his navel teasingly through the material before dropping even lower.

“Did you ever wonder why your Hydromancy becomes so muddled when you try to read me?” she cooed. “Why the stars just don't seem to line up like they're supposed to when it's my constellation you're scrying?”

Again, Scaramouche was stunned. How could she possibly know such a thing?

“That never happens,” he spat through gritted teeth.

“Is that so,” said Mona in a tone that suggested she could see through his lie as clearly as glass. “I'll tell you another secret, too, Oh Great Astrologist Scaramouche.” She tilted his head back further and leant in so close Scaramouche could feel her breath tickle the shell of his ear. “I'm the one who led you all the way out here.”

Scaramouche opened his mouth to ask her what in the Archons she was talking about, only for his words to melt into a moan as Mona pressed her knuckles down on his groin. She dragged them up and down, tracing the shape of his half-hard cock through his shorts with slow, teasing insistence.

“How easy it was to tamper with your readings from afar,” she continued. “That anomaly in your scryglass? All my work. I knew you wouldn't come to Dragonspine willingly, so I had to play on your curiosity instead. It is every astrologist's weakness, after all—the pursuit of knowledge, even if it puts one's own life at risk.”

Scaramouche felt like he'd been punched in the gut. To think that he'd not only fallen straight into her trap, but that his arrival had been premediated since before he'd left the city... And by a Harbinger, no less. Nothing could have wounded his pride more.

Nothing, perhaps, except for the way he was reacting to her touch right now.

Scaramouche let out another gasp, louder than the last. Mona had coaxed him to full hardness with her knuckles alone. She gave his hair one final squeeze before letting him go, allowing his head to flop forward on his shoulders. Then she reached down with both hands and started to undo the tie on his shorts.

“Wait,” Scaramouche mumbled, a fresh wave of panic flooding his veins. “You can't do this.”

“Of course I can.”

“Whatever you're planning to do with me, it won't work.”

“Seems like it's been working just fine so far,” Mona taunted, pausing to give his groin a sharp jab with her thumb. Scaramouche jolted with the pain.

This is a nightmare, he thought. Mona undressing him was bad enough as it was, but the fact he was hard, too... It didn't make sense. He hated her. Archons above, she hated him, too. There was no reason for her to do this to him except humiliation.

But maybe that was what she wanted. To humiliate him. After all, he was an inhuman puppet. No matter what pain she inflicted upon his body, his wounds would simply knit back together within minutes.

Knowing he'd given himself to her in this way, on the other hand... Oh, that was a pain that would last a lifetime.

With his shorts untied, Mona reached beneath, past the layers of his bodysuit and underwear, and pulled out Scaramouche's cock. He strained against her grip, embarrassingly stiff, his shaft flushed pink and curved slightly towards his navel. Mona hummed in appreciation. “I must pay my compliments to the Raiden Shogun. You're as pretty below as your face suggests.”

Was that supposed to be a compliment? Either way, it made Scaramouche's skin crawl. He flashed her a strained smile and spat, in what he hoped to be a taunting tone, “If only I could say the same for you, Harbinger.”

It was an obvious lie. Even now, Scaramouche found he could hardly look away from her for a few seconds before his gaze flicked back to her soft, smooth thighs, peeking out from beneath the hem of her shorts. Still, the rage that flashed across Mona's face had a satisfaction blooming in Scaramouche's chest. He'd pissed her off, and that alone was worth suffering the consequences.

“Big words,” said Mona, menace in her tone. “Too bad I'm holding the evidence that they're not true right here in my hand.”

She gave his cock a squeeze. Scaramouche's hips jumped.

As the corners of Mona's lips turned upwards again, she started to trail her hand up and down Scaramouche's cock. Her movements were slow, teasing—just enough to stoke the heat smouldering in the pit of his stomach.

“In fact, I'm so confident of the effect I have on you that I imagine I don't even need my hand to get you off.”

Scaramouche couldn't help but snort at that. Arrogant bitch.

“What are you thinking?” he asked, happy to play along with her for the time being. It wasn't like things could get much worse for him. “If I'd known the Sixth Harbinger was that desperate to suck me off, I'd have let you seek me out months ago. I must admit, though, your choice of fetish is rather crude for someone of your station.” He stretched his fingers against the arms of the chair. “Why don't you cut me out of these ropes so that I can fuck your mouth properly?”

He was being deliberately crude—anything to rile Mona up the way she had been to him up until now—and once again, he felt that satisfaction when Mona clenched her jaw in anger. She took a step back from him, removed her hat, and placed it on the floor at her feet.

The next thing Scaramouche knew, the sole of her shoe was pushing into his cock.

Mona glared at him, unwavering in her concentration as Scaramouche squirmed against her. It was useless. No matter how much he tried to push his hips back into the chair, Mona continued to lean into him with her foot, pressing his cock flat against his stomach with agonising force.

“I wouldn't suck you off if you were the last person in Teyvat,” she snarled. “And if you ever speak to me like that again, it won't be the ropes I'll cut away from you.”

She jerked her foot up an inch, forcing a cry from Scaramouche's lips. As if he could possibly be in doubt as to what she was referring to.

To his relief, she pulled back a little, relinquishing the pressure on his cock enough that Scaramouche could breathe again. Tears stung the corners of his eyes.

“Oh, dear.” Mona's voice had taken on that light, condescending tone again. “Did I go too far?”

She lifted her foot to Scaramouche's chin and lightly brushed her bare toes across his jawline before lowering it to his cock again. She was wearing a pair of Inazuma-style sandals with a strap that passed between her big and second toe, while her sheer grey socks looped elegantly around the arches of her feet. Carefully, she manoeuvered her sandal away from her foot and slipped it over the head of Scaramouche's cock so that it sat in the space between, gripped lightly from either side.

“Wh-what are you doing?” he stammered.

But he already knew the answer. I don't even need my hand to get you off.

Mona pushed her foot down to the base of his cock, then up again, drawing a trembling gasp from Scaramouche's lips. The pressure wasn't overwhelming—far from the grip her hand or cunt would provide—and yet the sight was so obscene, it had Scaramouche's throbbing against her all the same. He fixed his gaze on the wall behind Mona's shoulder as a redness crept across his cheeks. “Is that supposed to be seductive?”

“Says the poor little puppet who's so worked up he can't even look at me.”

Scaramouche scowled and glanced back down at his cock, still trapped in the gap between Mona's foot and sandal. Even balanced precariously as she was, she maintained a masterful rhythm, stroking him slowly but insistently from base to tip and back again. A bead of wetness clung to the end of his cock—a sight that didn't go unnoticed by Mona.

“Just a few strokes of my foot, and you're already leaking all over yourself,” she taunted. “I've never seen anything so pathetic.”

Scaramouche bit the inside of his cheek.

“Or did that happen when I pushed your cock into your stomach? I have nothing against people who seek out pain for their own enjoyment, but I never thought you would end up being one of them.”

“Shut up,” Scaramouche hissed.

With a smirk, Mona curled her toes into the sole of the sandal, forcing the leather up to her heel and squeezing the base of Scaramouche's shaft that little more tightly. He groaned at the unexpected wave of pleasure and canted his hips up involuntarily, desperate for more friction.

Mona giggled. “To think that this is a man who dared to suggest I would ever suck him off. You wouldn't have lasted five seconds in my mouth. I thought you hated me.”

“I do... h-hate you...” Scaramouche huffed between laboured breaths. His fingernails dug into the arms of the chair, every muscle in his body straining against the ropes and the torture Mona was subjecting him to. He could feel himself fraying at the edges, the coiled pressure at the base of his stomach threatening to snap in two.

He wouldn't let it. He couldn't . To climax from something so filthy, so degrading ... Just the thought filled Scaramouche with a shame that burnt from his ears all the way to the back of his neck.

But then Mona squeezed him again, and he felt the silky skin of her arch drag down the sensitive skin of his shaft, slicked by his precum. It was the pump that sent him over the edge, and Scaramouche gasped as he spurted over himself at last, leaving Mona's foot and his own stomach coated in ropes of thick, translucent seed.

Mona let out a low hum. Scaramouche wasn't sure why, but she almost sounded disappointed. “That didn't take long.”

The world was still blurred at the edges for Scaramouche as he came down from his high. He'd never felt so humiliated—not least because after everything that had just happened to him, he was still half-hard. He watched through heavily-lidded eyes as Mona slipped her foot off the end of his cock, allowing it to tilt back towards his body. She removed a handkerchief from her pocket and wiped his cum from her toes, then took the sandal off and repeated the process. The slightest hint of disgust lingered in her pursed lips.

“You've gotten what you wanted from me,” Scaramouche gasped. “Now, let me go. Please.”

It wasn't in his nature to beg, especially not before a Harbinger. Just a few minutes ago, the very notion of it would have been unthinkable. But he didn't care anymore. He would rather bite back his pride than endure one more moment of this torment.

“What I wanted from you?” Mona echoed. She replaced her sandal on her foot, then waltzed up to Scaramouche again and brushed the hair from his forehead, the thick, dark strands clumped together by a layer of sweat. “You really don't understand, do you? I didn't lure you all the way from Dragonspine just to let you go when all the fun begins. This is nothing compared to what I have in store for you, little mage.”

Perhaps it was the return of the arrogance to her voice. Or maybe it was the mocking promise of more 'fun', as if his discomfort were nothing more than a source of entertainment to her. But in that moment, something inside Scaramouche snapped. He shook Mona's hand from his head and pulled at the bonds around his wrists with all the strength in his body, groaning through gritted teeth until the ropes were cutting into his skin and flecks of saliva painted his bottom lip.

But even a puppet's superior strength wasn't enough against the sheer force of wood and twisted hemp, and not a minute had passed before Scaramouche was slumped in the chair once again, the energy and will drained from his body. Mona stood over him, arms crossed like she was witnessing a child in the throes of a tantrum.

“Are you quite finished?” she muttered.

The remark made Scaramouche want to try and pull at the ropes all over again, if only to serve as a proverbial middle finger in her face. Alas, he chose to ignore her instead. Blood welled up around the ropes. He could already feel the skin healing itself beneath, but that didn't stop the wounds from stinging in the meantime.

Mona stepped towards him and bent low enough that their faces were level. Scaramouche made a point of not reacting to her. That was until she opened her mouth and whispered sweetly, “Do you want me to let you out?”

At first, Scaramouche thought it was a trick and went on ignoring her. But then she lifted a hand before his face and pressed the pad of her middle finger to her thumb. Scaramouche snapped his head up just in time to see her snap her fingers in front of his face.

The next thing he knew, the world plunged into darkness once again.

When he opened his eyes, he was in a different place entirely. The room around him no longer resembled the cave he'd been trapped in, but rather an opulent bedroom with white walls and warm, golden lighting as opposed to the cold violet from before. For a moment, Scaramouche was so shocked that he forgot entirely he was supposed to be enraged.

“Wh-where is this?” he stammered.

“Zapolyarny Palace. Or, at least, a very convincing replica of it.”

The voice came from the direction of a four poster bed in the corner of the room—just one of the many lavish pieces of furniture on show. She perched upon the edge of the mattress, completely naked except for her socks. A voice in Scaramouche's head told him not to give her the satisfaction of staring, but he couldn't help it. Her body was all soft curves and smooth skin, from her shapely breasts to her slim waist that lent her the perfect hourglass figure. And Archons, her thighs . Scaramouche had known they were generous from the glimpses he'd caught beneath her outfit, but he couldn't have anticipated how beautiful they looked stripped of clothing. They were the kind of thighs that could smother a person if they placed their head between them. Scaramouche could certainly think of worse ways to go.

Then he realised what he was thinking, and cut his thoughts short with a scowl.

Mona smiled sweetly at him. “I can read your thoughts in this domain, you know.”

Scaramouche jumped in panic. “You can?”

“No, not really. But I might as well be able to. They're written all over your face.”

She uncrossed her legs, stood up, and started to walk slowly over to Scaramouche. He was still sitting in a chair, similar to the one he had been in the cave, but he realised with a start that his wrists and ankles were untied here. He shot and started to back away from her.

“And what am I thinking, hm?” he snapped, trying to keep his voice strong despite the strange mix of fear and desire stirring inside him.

His back hit something before Mona could answer, and Scaramouche spun to see that he'd bumped into a standing mirror. She closed the gap between them and wrapped her hands around his waist. Even without her heels, she was a couple of inches taller than him—a detail Scaramouche was growing more and more aware of as she ran her fingers up and down his sides.

“You're thinking about how much you want to let go,” she whispered in a soft, sultry tone. “How much you would love for me to take the lead and fuck you like the needy little whore you are.”

Scaramouche clenched his teeth. “You're wrong.”

“Am I?” With a giggle, Mona dragged one of her hands down, across his stomach, to the spot where his cock strained against the other side of his bodysuit. She pushed her lips to his ear, and the heat of her breath sent a shiver down Scaramouche's spine. “It's okay. This is my pocket domain. Your real body is still tied to the chair in that cave. I can do all the things I want, and I don't have to worry about damaging you.”

She squeezed Scaramouche through his clothing, and he wiggled his hips against her in a half-hearted attempt at twisting free. “And what— ngh— would those things be?”

“Hm, who knows? I could tie you up again—properly this time, with enough rope that you wouldn't be able to move a muscle.”

Her finger trailed up the length of his shaft, slowly, teasingly. “Or I could see how much Electro it takes for me to run through your cock before you come. That could be quite fun.”

Had Scaramouche heard it from anyone else, he would have dismissed the threat as a bluff. But this was Mona Megistus holding him captive, and he watched the mirror in horror as a series of small, violet sparks started to crackle across her knuckles. When he struggled again this time, it was in earnest. Mona laughed softly as he broke away from her grip and almost tripped into the mirror.

Then she clicked her tongue as if she'd just had a thought. “ There it is. I know exactly what I'm going to do to you.”

She turned and headed over to the bed while Scaramouche watched her with wide eyes. If he'd had a heart, it probably would have been racing in that moment. As it was, his body exhibited all the other signs of human stress: fast breathing, tightly-fisted hands, and a cold sweat that travelled from his back all the way to the nape of his neck. Trust the Raiden Shogun to give him a full range of emotions without the one element to bind them all together.

Mona hummed as she opened the drawer of the bedside cabinet and rooted around. It took her a few seconds to find what she wanted, but her wide hips blocked it from Scaramouche's view. She clipped a belt around her waist, fitted another strap around the top of each of her legs. A harness of some kind? Scaramouche tried to ignore the jiggling of her arse as she worked, not to mention the way her thighs spilt over the tops of the straps.

When she turned around at last, Scaramouche's breath froze in his throat.

It wasn't just a simple harness. Protruding from between Mona's legs was a monstrous artificial cock, deep purple in colour with a smooth, rounded head.

The sight was so ludicrous, Scaramouche might have laughed had he not been certain exactly where she intended to put it.

“W-wait,” he stammered, trying to back away and almost knocking the mirror over again. “You can't be serious.”

“Of course I am,” said Mona a light, teasing calmness.

She started to walk towards him again. The cock swung with each of her steps. Scaramouche couldn't stop staring at it. The length was intimidating enough, but it was the girth that terrified him. It looked as thick as his forearm.

“This is ridiculous, even for you. D-do you really expect that... thing to fit inside me?”

“Yes, I do,” said Mona in that same calm tone.

Scaramouche swallowed. At this point, he'd chance the electrocution instead.

Mona came to a stop before him and put her hand on her hip. She wore the harness with a confidence that suggested this was far from her first time doing so. Or maybe she was just that secure in her position of dominance over him. Scaramouche wondered what the look on her face would be like if he were to strike her. Maybe he'd even be able to break out of this domain altogether.

But of course, that would just land him back in the cave with the real Mona. A very pissed off real Mona whose idea of vengeance for having her fun interrupted would no doubt extend far beyond a simple footjob.

He was trapped. Completely and utterly so.

Mona closed the gap between them and ran the back of her hand along Scaramouche's cheek, the same way one might comfort a pet as it cowered from a lightning storm. “It's okay. As long as you do as I say, I'll be gentle with you. Is that fair?”

It wasn't fair. None of this was fair. Still, Scaramouche nodded.

“Are you going to be good for me, little puppet?”

He nodded again. Just play along with her. Do as she says, and it'll be over.

Then his eyes dropped to the cock between Mona's legs, took in the sheer size of it, and once more, he felt his blood turn to ice.

Just what would something like that feel like inside him? Scaramouche had never considered his sex drive abnormally high—his studies took up far too much time for him to pursue anything like that in excess—but being an immortal puppet with a pretty face, he'd slept with his fair share of bodies in his life. He'd penetrated others and been penetrated in return, even experimented with toys on occasion. He knew how far his body could stretch, what felt good and what left his eyes stinging with tears. That was to say, he knew his limits.

But Mona didn't care. He could tell from the look in her eyes alone, the excitement that stirred beneath those beautiful blue irises.

She intended to break him, and she was going to enjoy every second of it.

“Why don't you undress for me?” she whispered.

Scaramouche pursed his lips. “This is your domain. Couldn't you just click your fingers and do away with my clothes yourself?”

“Of course I could. But I don't want to.”

It's just another way to humiliate me, Scaramouche thought. Regardless, he slipped his fingers under the shoulder of his bodysuit and started to undress. It was better than being forced, he supposed. At least this way, he could retain some kind of control over what was about to happen.

But what if Mona took his lack of resistance as enjoyment and decided to push him further because of it? He noted her watching with avid eyes as he removed each item of clothing until he was standing naked before her. His cock was still frustratingly hard—a stark contrast to the dread churning in his guts as his eyes once again returned to the ridiculously oversized appendage sticking up in the same place on Mona's body.

“On your knees,” she instructed.

Scaramouche shot her a scathing look before doing as he was told. He made sure to keep the mirror at his back—the last thing he wanted, for his own sanity's sake, was a glimpse of himself performing whatever filthy act she imposed upon him. Mona smiled, ran a hand through his hair to brush it from his eyes.

“Such a good boy,” she whispered. “I do like it when my pets are obedient.”

She took the cock in hand and positioned it so that the tip rested against Scaramouche's cheek. He shuddered at the hardness of the synthetic material against his skin. Like most of the toys available in shops around Teyvat, it seemed to be made of rubber. That meant flexibility, but not much.

“Although it can get a little boring after a while,” Mona continued with a sigh. “Very few people ever stand up to me, being a Harbinger. Of course, that's probably my fault more than theirs, given I can be a little... trigger-happy with my Delusion sometimes.”

The memory of violet sparks crackling across her hand was still fresh in Scaramouche's head. He gritted his teeth as he glared up at her. “Trust me, Harbinger, I'm not doing what you say out of blind obedience. I'm not one of your underlings, and when I'm free, I'm going to tear you apart like a rag.”

Mona let out a high, taunting laugh that reminded Scaramouche of bells. “Of course you'd say something like that. It's what makes you different from the others. That fire you keep burning, even in the most hopeless of situations. I'm going to have so much fun extinguishing it.”

She pulled back her hips slightly and slid the tip of the cock so that it pushed against Scaramouche's bottom lip. “Now, suck.”

Scaramouche's breath hitched. It was obvious Mona had been intending to force him to do this from the moment he'd fallen to his knees, but faced with the order outright, he felt his face start to smoulder all over again. As far as he could see, the harness was all attached to the outside of Mona's body. There was no physical pleasure she would get from having him suck at her, just the sight and sounds as he tried to take the monstrous thing into his mouth. Or maybe the act of domination would be enough to get her off as it was.

Sick-minded witch, Scaramouche thought to himself. Archons, how he was going to make her pay for this.

He started with a tentative kiss to the tip before dragging his lip along the side of the shaft. Contrary to what he'd originally thought, it wasn't smooth at all—the length was corded with a series of veins, no doubt to replicate the sensation of a real cock. Scaramouche flicked his tongue against one of these veins and gave it a kiss, then looked up at Mona.

“Satisfied?” he snapped.

Mona clicked her tongue. “You have a cock. Would you be satisfied with that?”

A part of Scaramouche wanted to reply with something cutting, but he saw little point in it and turned his attention back to the strap-on. Even if he opened his mouth as wide as he could, there was no logical way it was fitting inside, so he stuck out his tongue and licked a stripe from midway up the shaft all the way to the tip. Mona hummed, apparently a lot more invested in his performance than before.

“That's better,” she said, leaning over him.

Scaramouche continued in this way, licking and sucking at the cock as if it were a real appendage. He considered closing his eyes, but kept them open for fear of Mona taking it as a sign of enjoyment. At one point, she tried to cup his jaw with her hand. Scaramouche swatted it away with an angry mumble.

“Look how sweet you are when you put your mind to it,” she cooed. “It almost makes me wish I'd chosen something smaller just to watch how far you could take it down your throat.”

She took hold of his chin and pulled his head up. A slight smear of saliva clung to Scaramouche's bottom lip. Mona ran her thumb along it, then wiped it against the corner of his mouth.

“But of course, there would be no challenge in that, and I want you to remember this day.” Mona tapped her fingers against the side of his jaw. “Shall we move on?”

It wasn't so much a question as an order—Mona had established from now on that things would be done her way, no matter what—but Scaramouche still found himself nodding. He felt like he was trapped in a trance, like a deer freezing up as it met the gaze of a wolf who'd slipped through its senses and crept far too close for comfort. He fell back on his calves as Mona knelt down beside him, then took hold of his waist with both hands. His first thought was that she was going to bend him over on his hands and knees. Instead, she pulled him into her lap and positioned him so that he was kneeling on top of her thighs and facing the mirror.

Scaramouche felt faint. It was one thing to have the strap-on brandished before his face, but seeing it push up between his legs was a different matter altogether. It reached up past his navel, eclipsing his own cock entirely in the mirror's reflection. Once again, he tried to move, but his body was frozen in place. Was this some kind of magic related to her domain, or had he simply passed the point of fear into straight-out petrification?

“M-Mona,” he stammered breathlessly. “I've already told you it's not going to fit. Please.”

“And I've already told you that none of this is real.” She ran her hands up and down his sides, from the jut of his hips to the slim curve of his waist and back again. “You're not going to walk away from this with a broken body. Your mind, on the other hand... Well, I guess we'll have to see what happens there.”

She giggled and reached for something behind her. A small glass bottle. She must have placed it there earlier without his noticing. Scaramouche watched as she twisted off the top and poured a healthy amount of oil onto the tip of the cock, then slathered it down the length. Once she was satisfied, she placed the bottle aside and pressed a kiss to Scaramouche's neck.

“Just think of it as a beautiful dream,” she whispered against his skin.

Then she returned her hands to his hips, pushed him up on his thighs, and positioned him over the end of the cock.

Scaramouche shuddered the moment he felt it brush against his opening. The oil was warm where he'd been expecting cold, though the feeling wasn't enough to offset the uncomfortable slide of it against his clenching hole. He threw a glance at the mirror and gasped to see it sticking up, thick and purple, between his pale legs. A flush coloured his face from his hairline all the way down to his collar. The whole sight was surreal.

“Relax,” Mona whispered. “It'll be easier that way.”

Scaramouche didn't want to take any suggestion that came from her, but he could also feel her grip on his hips tightening as she pushed him down harder onto the end of the strap-on. He let out a shaky breath and forced himself to relax as much as he could, a task that felt like swimming against a riptide when every muscle in his body was wound tight as a spring.

At the same time, Mona thrusted upwards with her hips. The first inch of the strap-on slipped past Scaramouche's rim.

He'd expected it to sting. That much was a given. What he hadn't expected was the cramp that travelled up his abdomen, twisting his insides until it felt like every muscle in his body was clamping down on the intrusion in his arse. He tried to push himself off, but Mona's grip remained steadfast.

“You're not relaxing,” she said.

As if I could possibly relax right now, Scaramouche wanted to spit at her, but his attempt at words culminated in a whine. Still, he took another shuddering breath and tried to loosen the muscles of his lower half as much as he could, if only for a moment of relief from the cramping pain. Mona responded by pulling him down harder, and as he felt the drag of the cock against his rim, glimpsed the sight of it slowly disappearing between his legs in the mirror, something deep inside Scaramouche snapped .

It wasn't until he felt something wet spurt against his stomach that he realised he'd come. The familiar heat spread through him a second later, far weaker than his last climax but somehow twice as humiliating. He turned away from the mirror, unable to bear the sight of himself for a second more.

Mona let out a sound halfway between a gasp and a laugh. “Did you really just come again?”

Her hand left his hip to stroke at the translucent fluid dripping down his stomach. Scaramouche's muscles jumped at her touch.

“All this, and I've barely even put the tip inside.” Mona pressed a kiss to Scaramouche's spine. “I knew you were a deviant, after all.”

“Sh-shut up,” Scaramouche stammered. His voice sounded hollow.

“But look how beautiful you look.”

Against his better judgement, Scaramouche lifted his eyes to the mirror once more. Indeed, the tip of the cock was lodged in his hole, his pink rim stretched impossibly around it. There was something hypnotising about the sight. Mona must have thought so, too, because her eyes were glued to that spot as she peeked around the side of his waist. Her fingers traced lazy circles around his navel, shining with his cum.

“It should be easier now,” she said with a click of her tongue, taking hold of his hips again.

“Wait—!” Scaramouche cried out, but it was too late. Mona had already begun to move her hips.

She started with slow, rolling thrusts, pulling the cock out an inch before pushing it back in. Scaramouche placed his hands on his thighs and dug his nails in, grounding himself as the cock slid back and forth against his swollen rim.

“There,” she said softly. “You're loosening up now. I can feel it.”

Scaramouche wasn't sure whether to be alarmed or relieved that she was telling the truth. He could feel the cock slip a little deeper inside him with every thrust, pressing against him in ways he'd never thought possible. Mona reached around and started to pump his cock, half-hard and leaking precum down its length. Scaramouche groaned through gritted teeth.

“I've heard it can be addictive, getting fucked like this,” Mona whispered. She was still watching him in the mirror, lips turned up in a dreamy smile as if she were witnessing the most beautiful thing in the world. “Once that limit is crossed, there's no coming back. Normal sex loses its edge.”

“You're—ah—talking sh-shit,” Scaramouche muttered between gasps. Everything he was letting Mona do to him now was just a means to get through this nightmare. In what world would he ever willingly seek this out again?

“I've seen it happen,” Mona continued. “Once the body is broken, the mind follows soon after.” She gave his cock, now rigid in her hand again, a hard squeeze. Scaramouche let out a moan. “I bet after all this is over and you're back in your original body, you'll wander straight over to the nearest Lawachurl den and let them violate you too, just to feel the same high.”

“Keep your—ngh—f-filthy fucking fantasies to yourself, Harbinger,” Scaramouche hissed.

And yet there was a terrifying truth in her words, one that was becoming more and more apparent every time Mona slid the strap-on back into his loosened hole. There was a pleasure in this, hidden somewhere beneath the layers of pain and humiliation that seared through his nerves. Never had he been dominated so thoroughly by someone so intent upon bringing about his ruin. Through tear-blurred eyes, he looked at the mirror to a bulge protruding from his stomach, moving in rhythm with Mona's thrusts. The sight should have filled him with horror. Instead, it sent a fresh wave of heat through his thighs.

Mona's breath landed hot on his shoulder. “Do you hate me?”

Scaramouche nodded vigorously.

“Mm. Then tell me.”

It took all of Scaramouche's strength to keep from moaning as he gasped out, “I... hate you.”

He hated her for capturing him like this.

He hated her for forcing him to perform such disgusting acts for her own satisfaction.

But most of all, he hated himself for feeling even the slightest amount of pleasure right now; for pushing back his hips to meet her thrusts and shuddering with lust every time the cock nudged the other side of his stomach.

It was just as Mona had promised. She'd broken him, body and mind.

Just then, she shifted beneath him, and Scaramouche cried out as the cock was wrenched out of him completely. He barely had time to register the feeling of emptiness, the way his hole clenched around nothing, before Mona pushed him onto his back, slotted her hips between his legs, and plunged back into him. The sound Scaramouche let out at being filled once again barely sounded human.

Now that she had him pinned beneath her, Mona started to thrust in earnest. Gone were the deep, gentle strokes from before—she moved her hips like she wanted to carve out a space inside him, like she would die if she stopped pounding into him for just a second. She smiled down at him, twintails falling either side of her face and a slight flush of exertion colouring her cheeks.

“I think we're almost there, don't you?” she said.

Scaramouche had no idea what she was talking about, but then he saw her throw a glance down at the place where they were joined, and he realised with a simultaneous stab of horror and excitement that almost the entire cock was sheathed inside him. He thought back to the size of it balanced on Mona's harness, how he'd licked at it instead of trying to fit it inside his mouth. To think that almost every inch of that was currently grinding his insides...

Scaramouche let his head fall back against the floor, and Mona dipped her face down to kiss at his neck. He whined as he felt her tongue lap at his sensitive skin, licking up the sweat that clung to him. His fingers curled against her shoulders, nails digging into her soft flesh. It was all he could do to hold on for dear life as she ravaged him.

“You can feel it, too, can't you?” Mona whispered, her breath hot against the bottom of his jaw. “The force that binds us together. You've sensed it since our first meeting.”

Scaramouche was so overwhelmed, it took a few seconds for Mona's words to come together in his head.

She's talking about fate again, he thought. To bring up something so profound in a moment like this felt like an insult to both of their crafts. This was no fated meeting, but the product of manipulation. Mona had brought him here to torture him. She'd tampered with his scryglass, lured him to this mountainside like a predator. Scaramouche should have seen the signs from the beginning. And now he was paying the price of his short-sightedness with every feverish thrust of Mona's hips.

Still, that didn't stop Mona from speaking again. She was propped above him on her elbow now, her other hand reaching between them so that she could reach behind the straps of her harness—presumably to touch herself as she fucked him. “It transcends this world, you know. Over and over, in every universe, we are fated to be together. We are drawn to one another, you and I.”

She's talking madness, Scaramouche told himself. He tried to block out the sound of her voice, but there was a part of him that just couldn't stop listening.

Mona let out a gasp that melted into a giggle, and now, Scaramouche was certain she was touching herself. He let go of her shoulder to press his forearm across his eyes. He didn't want to show her his face, didn't want to give her more of his pained expressions to get off on. But then he heard the sound of skin slapping against skin, and realised that the entirety of Mona's cock was inside him at last. He arched his back and spread his legs further, pushed his chest up until it was pressed against Mona's. She slipped her hand beneath his shoulders and latched the pair of them together more closely.

Pressing her lips to his ear, Mona whispered, “I've seen them, these universes. Just glimpses, of course. In some of them, we remain as we are now. In others...” She let out another gasp. “In others, you're the Harbinger.”

Scaramouche had no idea what kind of magic could possibly allow her to see such things. Even his own Hydromancy had never allowed him to glimpse beyond this world to the possibilities that lay beyond.

“As if I would ever... become a filthy Harbinger,” he huffed.

“Oh, but you would,” Mona cooed. “And quite a vicious one, at that. There are universes out there where you have made it your life's goal to hunt me down and make me yours.”

Scaramouche couldn't believe it. He was no Harbinger, and he would certainly never pursue her of his own accord. Everything Mona was saying was pure lunacy—a fantasy spawned from a sick, lust-addled mind.

Another drag of the cock on his insides, another slam of Mona's hips, and Scaramouche was keening. He wasn't sure how much longer he could hold out against her assault. His vision was swirling, a darkness creeping in from the edges. All the while, he could feel that delicious, traitorous heat rising up the insides of his trembling thighs. Whether it would spill over or he'd end up passing out first remained to be seen.

As if reading his mind, Mona slipped her hand out from behind the harness and grabbed hold of his cock.

“You can come for me one more time, can't you, little puppet?” she whispered, pumping his cock in time with her own thrusts. Her voice sounded strained, making Scaramouche wonder just how close to her own climax she was. “Just one more time. That's all I need.”

Mona's hand left his cock to stroke at herself again. Scaramouche replaced it with his own at once. He thrusted up into his fist, faster and faster, let the scent of Mona's hair fill his nose and the sounds of her thighs slapping against his arse push him ever closer to that dizzying edge, and oh, how he despised her for making him feel like this. Maybe he really would go his entire life looking for this high again, but it wouldn't be from Lawachurls or any kind of grossly exaggerated sex toys. It was her he'd become addicted to.

Mona. Just Mona.

This was all he needed. All he would ever need.

He came one final time, just as she'd told him to, shuddering and gasping and clenching down on the cock buried deep inside him. And then the world was fading around him, dragging him down like ocean waves into warm, welcoming unconsciousness. He caught a glimpse of Mona's face, flushed across her cheeks, and realised that she had reached her high at the same time as him. There was something ironic about that, Scaramouche thought. Maybe she'd been right and the pair of them weren't so different after all.

A smile lifted Mona's lips. She brushed his hair from his forehead, placed a kiss in the space there.

“Good boy,” she whispered.

It was the last thing Scaramouche heard before he sank under completely.

*

When Scaramouche opened his eyes, it was, once again, to complete and utter darkness.

It took him several seconds to realise why everything felt so familiar. He was back in the cave, sat on the same chair with his hands resting on the arms. His head felt heavy, like someone had filled it with stones. With a grunt, he lifted a hand and pressed it to his temple.

Then it hit him.

Mona.

He leapt from the chair and held his hands out in a defensive position, then pulled on his Vision's magic. At his command, a pair of Hydro ropes materialised from the air and swirled around his wrists like snakes, shimmering with the faintest elemental glow in the darkness. He waited with bated breath, eyes flicking around him for the crackle of Electro or the sound of a body shifting behind him.

But nothing happened. No taunting voice, no attack.

He was alone.

Lowering his hands but keeping his guard up, Scaramouche walked back to the chair. He'd been tied down by ropes before, and now he found them lying on the stone floor from where they'd been cut away from his wrists and ankles. He must have been unconscious for a while after leaving the pocket domain. Enough time for Mona to make her escape, at least.

The pocket domain... Scaramouche had no idea what he'd expected to happen when he woke up (not that he'd had much time to consider it, given how occupied he'd been with Mona). The whole experience felt like a bad dream. Mona had promised there would be no lasting effects to his body, and aside from his aching head, that was thankfully true. And yet all he had to do was let his mind drift, and suddenly, Mona was standing behind him, running her hands over his body and lifting the hairs on the back of his neck with her breath. A little further, and he was trapped beneath her again, trembling as she fucked him wide open and whispered filth into his ear.

Perhaps she was right, after all. His body would recover from his ordeal today, but his mind would take far, far longer to wipe it all away.

Scaramouche snorted despite himself. Well played, Harbinger. Looks like you managed to break me a little, after all.

But that was a thought for another time. Right now, Scaramouche needed to concentrate on getting out of here. There was clearly a door that he hadn't spotted last time he'd been in here, and a little feeling around the walls showed that there was, indeed, one set into the wall behind his chair. He found the handle and pulled it open to reveal a natural stone corridor lit dimly by a light at the end. Refusing to lower his guard in case of hidden enemies, Scaramouche made his way along it. The light got brighter and brighter until, at last, it was blinding. The corridor came to an end, and Scaramouche stepped out to find himself standing on the edge of a cliff, looking out across the slopes of Dragonspine, silent and strikingly beautiful in all its snow-blanketed glory now that the storm had passed.

Scaramouche let out a breath, let it condense into ice on the frozen air. The sight felt surreal after the night he'd gone through. He spun, half-expecting to see her leaning against the cliffside with that smirk on her face, waiting to capture him again just as he tasted freedom, but to his relief, he was alone. Instead, he was something dark folded up on the floor. Bending down, he realised that it was his mage's hat. Nestled inside was a note written in neat, looping handwriting:

See you again soon, puppet boy.

Scaramouche wasn't sure whether to laugh or grimace at the audacity of the threat. So, Mona intended to kidnap him again, did she? Well, Scaramouche wasn't going to fall for her tricks so easily again. He would live his life as he always did, bide his time peacefully. And then, when the fateful day they met once more came about, he would be ready for her.

He almost smiled at that. Fate. What a curious thing. Mona had said that they were fated to be together—that there were worlds where he was the one hunting her down. If it was a game of cat and mouse she wanted, then Scaramouche would let her have her fun. Let her think him helpless and unprepared. The next time she came for him, he would show her what it meant to truly go up against the powers of a great astrologist.

By the time he'd fitted his hat to his head, Scaramouche's lips had curled up into a full-on smirk.

“Until we meet again, Harbinger,” he muttered to the frozen mountain.

Archons, he couldn't wait.