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When Wanderer slipped into the doors of Mona Megistus’ home—uninvited, as he so often was—he found himself greeted by an eerie silence.
Odd. She’d always possessed an uncanny ability to sense when he’d entered her space, no matter what she was doing. Even if she was in the middle of an important research, she’d abandon her desk and prevent him from taking another step further the moment his sandals hit the dust of her carpet.
This time, though, there was nothing. No shouting, no annoyed grumbling, no sharp eyes dissecting his every moment.
Alert, he made his way past the living room. It was only when he entered the corridor that connected the first and the second floor that he heard it:
The sound of soft weeping.
Wanderer wasted no time scrambling up the stairs and opening her bedroom door.
There on the foot of the bed was Mona, curled up into a ball, tears streaming down her cheeks. She noticed his entrance immediately; she raised her head, meeting his stare with a pair of glassy, seafoam green eyes.
Neither of them spoke.
Wanderer had known Mona for all of four years, but it was only in the past year that he’d become… Acquainted, with her. And by acquainted, he meant falling into bed with her on a number of occasions, each incident initiated by him, all in a desperate attempt to quench the obsession he harbored in his rotten heart. Little good that did him, of course; it seemed the more often he felt her wrap her legs around his waist, the deeper his obsession grew, festering in the depths of his mind until it threatened to consume his every waking thought.
And yet.
And yet, he’d never once seen her like this.
She had been weak before, around him. Vulnerable with him, especially when they were both in the throes of pleasure. Face flushed, thighs trembling, fingers reaching forward and begging for a kiss. The mask of an erudite scholar lowered briefly only for his eyes, allowing him to see the woman who enjoyed affection as much as any other lady would. She might proclaim otherwise, especially when they were arguing about one thing or another, but he knew she wanted to be treated like a lover.
This was different, though.
This wasn’t the kind of crying she showed in the middle of sex; the crystal teadrops he’d taste on his tongue, the laboured breathing of overstimulation. This was… Well, ugly, to say the least. Her eyes were rimmed red like the bags of someone who had gone weeks without sleep, her features were wrinkled and contorted into a look that implied grief. Sadness. Abandonment. Some variation of that, emotions he’d vowed to never feel again for as long as he lived.
She broke the silence first.
“Please leave,” she said, her voice soft and flat.
And that was just… A very quintessentially Mona Megistus response. Not, help me. Not, can I talk to you about something. Simply a quiet request to leave; I don’t want you to see me like this.
He’d be remiss to neglect the implication.
I don’t want to talk to you.
I don’t think you can understand.
I don’t trust you.
“No,” Wanderer shut the door behind him, “I don’t think I will.”
Mona’s shoulders drooped. “You’ve never done as you were asked,” she mumbled.
He sat on the desk across the bed. “So?”
“So, what?”
“Don’t you want to inform me what’s caused the Great Astrologist Mona Megistus to weep like this, something I’ve never been able to accomplish?”
“Amazing,” Mona sneered. “You see a woman crying, and you’ve managed to make it about yourself.”
“That implies I involve myself with every woman’s tears,” he snorted, “Which I don’t. I only involve myself with yours.”
Mona wiped her tears, shaking her head. “It’s none of your business, Wanderer,” she fixed the creases of her coat, somehow caring to make herself look presentable even when she was obviously miserable. Intelligence over presentation, presentation over wellbeing; that was her motto, apparently.
“Clearly it is, since you’ve chosen to cry the day of my arrival.”
“How was I supposed to know you were going to visit today?” She frowned, picking up a stack of books and setting them on the desk. She started tidying the scattered papers on her desk, then; busying her hands with folding and arranging documents in a needlessly repetitive task. “If you’re expecting me to adjust my daily routine to your schedule, I’m sorry to inform that you’ll be sorely disappointed.”
“Is this a daily routine, then? Crying?”
“No,” she hissed, glaring. “No, this is just—no. This isn’t something that happens regularly, and even if it was, I still don’t see how that’s any of your business.”
“Semantics,” Wanderer waved his hand dismissively. “Only someone who studies a field as irrelevant as yours would care for specifics like that. It’s a waste of time to discuss what is or isn’t my business. The fact is, I showed up at your home, I found you weeping like a schoolgirl, so I should know the cause.”
“You walk into my room, you insult my life’s work, and you still expect me to tell you why I’ve been crying?” Mona laughed sardonically, but it came out shaky, wet with tears that remained unresolved. “I’m not sure if this is ego or stupidity, or if your ego has grown so much that it’s made you stupid, but people don’t usually confide their problems to those who have never spoken a kind word to them.”
“That’s a bit dramatic, isn’t it?” Wanderer snickered, folding his arms. “Never spoken a kind word? When did you learn to be a poet, mage?”
Mona scrunched the loose fabric of her coat. “Just leave, please,” she said, and she sounded so very, very exhausted. “I can stifle your mockery of me any other day. Any other day, except today. So please just leave.”
Wanderer clenched his jaw. He had gone too far. He’d run his mouth when he should have been persuading her to confide with him. He’d been on the receiving end of her kindness, once, one night when stormclouds had raged with thunder, reminding him of a woman who’d chosen being a god over being a mother. He hadn’t spoken much, but she’d sensed his troubles, somehow, brewing him a cup of his favourite bitter tea even though she preferred sweet flavors. She’d distracted him with an argument, then, intentionally making herself seem silly so he’d have something he could use to make fun of her, and the night had ended with Wanderer forgetting why he was ever upset in the first place.
And he couldn’t do the same for her. He didn’t know how. He had Durin, now, who was something of a ward to him, but they were cut from the same fabric. He could reach the dragon child because he understood Durin, because he knew what he’d been through. He didn’t know what Mona had been through.
“I’m not leaving,” Wanderer repeated. “Whether you like it or not, mage, I know you. And I know you’re going to keep whatever’s troubling you to yourself, letting it wither you away until you can’t even remember who you are without all this rot. So you can either tell me why you’re crying, or…” He paused, “You can let me distract you.”
Mona caught the suggestion behind his words, but unfortunately, it had the opposite effect of what was intended. She let out that sharp, cruel laugh again, “If you think sleeping with me is going to magically make me forget my problems, you’re an even bigger fool than I thought, Wanderer.” She shoved her index finger to his chest, “The sun doesn’t rise and set on your cock, and neither do I. I have a life outside of you, so I would appreciate it if you could let me get back to it.”
She was about to pull away, but Wanderer caught her wrist and pressed her hand to his heart. “Is it one of your readings again?” He guessed, refusing to entertain her sulking. “Some ungrateful lowlife asked you to scry their fate, and they didn’t like the truths you gave them? Called you a sham? I could get rid of them.”
Mona scoffed, trying to yank her hand off of him. “No, I—”
“You think these are just words? I could do it. You’d only have to point me in their direction.”
“Wanderer, stop—”
“I have no idea why you still give the people of Mondstadt readings when you know they’re going to react like idiots every time, but—”
“It’s not that,” Mona interrupted, eyes wide as twin moons. She was crying again, fresh tears dotting the corners of her lids.
Wanderer descended from the desk without letting go of her wrist, stepping closer until he towered over her, standing close enough to feel the rapid thundering of her heartbeat as it collided with his ribcage. “Tell me, then,” he urged gently, drawing slow circles on the back of her hand with his thumb. “You called me egotistical and stupid, earlier. Here’s your chance to enlighten me.”
Mona shook her head, lip trembling. “You’d make fun of me for it.”
“Is this an assumption or a prediction of the future?”
Begrudgingly, she looked down. “An assumption.”
He placed his finger under her chin, tilting her face up. “Based on what evidence?”
“Based on your foul personality,” she mumbled, eyes darting sideways.
“A fair assessment. I offer a counter-argument: people won’t change unless you give them the opportunity to prove you wrong.”
Mona didn’t speak for several moments, closing her eyes and letting several droplets fall.
Then she surged forward, burrowing her face into his chest as she scrunched the fabric of his kimono.
Wanderer moved instinctively, automatically; curling around her smaller frame and pulling her closer, willing his artificial body to breathe so she could feel the relaxing tempo of that familiar rise and fall. It was a quiet night; moonglow filtered through Mona’s curtains, and there was no sound save for the muffled cries of the woman seeking respite in his arms.
“I’m not a failure,” she whispered. “I know that. I need only look around to find proof of my accomplishments. I just wish she could see that, too.”
“She?”
“My master.”
Wanderer knew very little of Barbeloth. His only encounter with the witch had been when he’d entered her storybook realm, that day he’d met Durin for the first time. Legends spoke of her unparalleled power and intellect, of how she’d revolutionised the field of astrology, but all he could think of in that moment was what she could have possibly done to reduce Mona to tears. Mona Megistus, who’d rather jump off one of Dragonspine’s peaks than show even a hint of weakness.
With ease, Wanderer moved Mona to her bed, letting her sit beside him and curl up into a ball again.
“The Traveler and Albedo met her, yesterday,” she mumbled. “It was for, um—it was for Albedo’s murder trial. I’m glad everything got resolved in the end.”
Wanderer scrunched his face, “I don’t care about that. Did they do something to make you cry?”
“No,” she said quickly. “No, I… She sent me a letter, after. We hadn’t spoken in quite a while, and that’s partially my fault, so I—I thought she was writing to ask how I was doing. Or to ask how my research was progressing, at the very least—the old hag always did want reassurance that I was dedicating most of my time to my pursuit of the truth. It wasn’t… It wasn’t either of that, though.”
“She wrote about meeting Albedo and the Traveler. She said—she talked about how wonderful they were, how brilliant, and that’s fine. That’s fine. Those two—they’re my friends, too, and of course I’d like to hear my own master sing praises of my friends. But then she—” Mona faltered, voice cracking— “then she started going on a tangent about how much better they were than me. The Traveler, who’s only been in Teyvat for a little over four years, and Albedo, who doesn’t even study our field. She said he was—she said Albedo was so charming and delightful, as opposed to—to me, who’s apparently full of herself. She said both he and the Traveler did a marvelous job in her domain, far better than I would have done, which makes no sense since I wasn’t even there!”
“And oh—oh, it’s all just drivel, honestly. Just mindless, pointless drivel, written with the intention of provoking me, which wouldn’t be the first time she’s done this—nor is this anywhere near the worst of her antics. But then Albedo and the Traveler—” she clenched her fists, pale jade eyes flashing with suppressed anger— “they stopped by to tell me everything she told them, everything she already told me in her letter, and I really didn’t need to hear that nonsense repeated twice, especially by my very own friends who were grinning and giggling while recounting the whole story to me. How amusing it must have been for them, to have my own master tell them to brag to me about their brilliance so I could learn to up my game.”
“So, you see, Wanderer,” Mona wiped her eyes again, “It’s stupid. I’m not usually so affected by mere words, but I haven’t seen my master in years, and I thought… Well. It doesn’t make a difference. There’s no use even discussing this. So,” she cleared her throat, straightening her posture. The last teardrop hadn’t even finished trickling down her cheek, and already, she was donning the mantle of a prideful truthseeker again. “I’ll permit one sentence of mockery before I ask you to leave again. Out with it, then.”
Wanderer bit his tongue, realising this was the part where people usually said something after someone else had confided in them.
“Does she do this often?” He asked softly. “Praising others to pick you apart?”
“It’s her preferred method of constructive criticism, yes.”
“Then she can fuck herself backwards into the Abyss,” Wanderer said flatly.
Mona blinked, looking utterly bewildered. She’d probably never heard that particular string of words spoken about her master before. “You—” she spluttered, her mouth moving faster than her mind could process— “you—you can’t just say something like that about the woman who raised me—”
“Here we go,” Wanderer rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair. “You’re going to defend your teacher to me even after you’ve just told me how awful she is. You’re going to tell me, No, Wanderer, she’s so much more than her mistakes, she taught me everything I know.”
“Because it’s true,” Mona fumed, face turning red. “Just because she—she—she’s mean to me sometimes, it doesn’t erase her brilliance, nor does it erase how much she’s contributed to our field—”
“Do you think defending her is going to miraculously improve her treatment of you?” Wanderer jeered, mocking. Upon seeing Mona stunned to silence, he softened once more, threading their fingers together and giving her hand a comforting squeeze. “Listen to me, Megistus: it doesn’t matter. If she’s the most skilled astromancer there ever was, if she invented a completely new method of stargazing, if she’s literally the personification of Celestia itself—none of it matters. Refusing to let yourself sit with the hurt is going to kill you in the long run. Curse her if you want; berate her, call her every insult in the book. Just feel.”
Wanderer’s words struck a chord within her.
Just feel.
She could do that. She was the Great Astrologist Mona Megistus, after all. Of course she was capable of something as simple as feeling.
She’d been but a little girl the last time Barbeloth had spared her anything other than derisive criticism. She still held onto the memory to this day; her six-year-old fingers holding up an accurate diagram of Mondstadt’s southern stars, which had earned her a curt nod from the cold, untouchable witch.
Ever since then, Mona’s upbringing was one of strict, constant discipline. Hours and hours of calculating complex numbers just to get a good reading of an astrological phenomenon, sleepless nights spent hunched over her desk crosschecking all of her books over and over again. Then, if she did manage to produce something refined after all that exhaustion, Barbeloth would hold her work under the cruel inspection of her wide-rimmed glasses and cut down every mistake, until Mona was left with little more than torn papers splattered with red correction ink.
It concerns me that you think your articles are fit to be published in a newspaper, Barbeloth had written back to her after she’d informed the hag of her new job three years prior. But well, since the Steambird is merely a glorified gossip tabloid, I suppose I needn’t worry too much.
“She can be cruel sometimes,” Mona muttered, her shoulders shrinking.
“The cruelest,” Wanderer added.
Then there was Albedo, the witch’s dream apprentice, the point of comparison that Barbeloth made certain Mona understood she could never live up to. Oh, this wasn’t the first time Barbeloth sang praises of her friend; she’d often bitched in Mona’s ear of how lucky Rhinedottir was for having the Hexenzirkel’s most promising candidate. He’s such a darling, were the contents of another letter Mona kept hidden under her bed. I heard he was recently appointed Chief Alchemist, while you’re still struggling on getting the people of Mondstadt to believe your readings.
Her words stung. It always, always stung.
Albedo seems to enjoy her goodwill, too, Mona thought, remembering the shine in the alchemist’s eyes as he’d recounted his experience in Barbeloth’s domain.
No, no—she quickly banished the thought. Albedo and his complacency wasn’t the problem here. Neither was the Traveler and her indifference. It was just her master. Just Barbeloth, and how nothing Mona did would ever be good enough for her.
“And—and she’s terribly prickly, too,” Mona fiddled with her fingers.
“Like a cactus,” Wanderer hummed.
She couldn’t help it; she stifled a grin. “I don’t understand what she hopes to achieve by constantly belittling me. Doesn’t she worry I might get discouraged?”
“She’s relying on your stubbornness, and I have to say, she’s made the right choice on that. You’re never going to let go of this nonsensical field no matter what she—or anyone else—says. You’re a scholar; that’s just who you are.” Then he shrugged, “The way I see it, though, Teyvat’s lucky you turned out sane. With how that woman raised you, we could have easily ended up with another mad scientist. Take pride in that, if you want.”
“I’d make a fearsome mad scientist, I think,” Mona puffed her chest.
Wanderer snorted. “As you are now, you’d make a terrible mad scientist. You can’t even cross the road without stopping to feed a stray cat.”
“Hush. There’s no rule that says mad scientists aren’t allowed to adore strays.”
He rested his chin on the slope of her shoulder, a smirk teasing the corners of his lips. “Does your adoration extend to all strays, or just the small, furry ones?”
Mona’s cheeks flushed, her heartbeat racing the way it so often did when Wanderer was being suggestive. She should be embarrassed that he could easily make her forget about her master’s scathing letter with just a few casual remarks, but instead, she only felt giddy and flustered. “I wasn’t aware there were many kinds of strays. I suppose I could be persuaded to extend my definition.”
“And what, exactly, does this persuasion entail?”
She giggled, if only to hide her own tingling nerves. “Nothing much. I’m not a demanding woman.”
Wanderer grazed his mouth over her skin, grinning. “I don’t believe that for a second.”
And then his hands were on her waist, because, of course. Despite being artificial, his skin was warm, and Mona felt pleasant sparks travel up her spine as he shifted his position until he was on top of her. The next part was the beats of a rhythm she was all too familiar with; his mouth on her neck, his palm squeezing her hips with wanton need. Mona squirmed, anticipating the rise of her arousal, when—
When discomfort filled her stomach, and she found herself pushing Wanderer’s chest.
Brows furrowed, he forced her to look at him with a firm grip on her face. “What’s wrong?” He asked, sounding breathless. Restrained. The desperate ache of a man who was forcing himself to wait despite wanting her so very, very much.
“Nothing,” Mona cupped his cheek, kissing his jaw. “Nothing. Just—keep going.”
“Not if you won’t enjoy it,” he said, his voice low.
“It’s fine, Wanderer,” she reassured, moving her hands down his torso. She reached the waistband of his shorts and began tugging down, “Honestly, I’d like nothing more than to forget about everything I just said, so—”
He caught her wrists and held them against her chest, unyielding. He could be very forceful sometimes, when things weren’t going his way, and Mona would be lying to herself if she claimed she didn’t find it the slightest bit attractive. “I’m not some kind of animal who’s only concerned with fulfilling their own needs,” he grumbled, clearly upset. “I’m capable of thinking, too. Of caring. I just never imagined you’d be foolish enough to need it spoken out loud.”
Mona pulled her hands back from Wanderer’s grip, scrunching the bedsheets as she met his gaze. “Do you?” She whispered, painfully aware of how desperate she must have looked. Barbeloth used to say desperation was the mark of a failed truthseeker, and perhaps she was right. Perhaps Mona truly was desperate for just a modicum of affection. “Do you actually—”
“Yes,” Wanderer cut off without hesitation. His eyes were intense; utterly, completely fixated on her, as if there was nothing else in the world that existed to him. As if she was the only thing he wanted to see.
“More than Albedo?” She blurted before she could stop herself. Albedo, her friend of many years, her only companion in the endless search for Teyvat’s secrets. Albedo, who despised human conflict, who’d remained silent as Barbeloth dragged her name in front of him. “More than the Traveler?”
“Far, far more,” he confessed, lips inches away from hers. “More than you could know. More than your shallow mind could ever comprehend.”
Overwhelmed, Mona leaned forward and kissed him.
Wanderer was quick to move with her. He met her kiss with ferocity, mouth sealing over hers, teeth latching onto the soft seam of her lips. Mona parted obediently, and he slid his tongue inside, claiming what was his—rightfully his, because everyone else in Teyvat was too stupid to see the treasure they were wasting.
Was Mona’s affection for him contingent on the people of this city casting her aside? Would she only open herself for him, show him slivers of her attention, for as long as that alchemist friend of hers failed to appreciate her properly? He felt it should have bothered him, that he was reaping the benefits of other people’s mistakes. Certainly, it would have bothered a different man—a good man, an honest man.
Wanderer was neither of those things.
Let the Chief Alchemist have his research. Let the Traveler continue her pointless search for her missing brother. If neither of them—if the nation itself couldn’t see the gift they’d been bestowed with, it gave him all the more room to steal that gift away.
Mine, he thought pleasantly, listening to the sound of Mona’s breath hitching as she melted under his kisses. His body was pressed against hers, now, almost on top of her, and the softness of her figure was nothing less than addictive. He devoured her lips eagerly, hands grasping for her coat, her bodysuit, her stockings. My Mona, my mage.
She was panting by the time they broke apart, her mortal lungs failing to keep up with his puppet body. Her eyes were dazed, pupils dilated, and though her cheeks were still red with the mark of crying, he knew he had her in his sights now.
“If I… Could I…” She heaved, stumbling over the syllables.
“Breathless already?” Wanderer teased, kissing her again. “Come on, now. I can’t understand you if you don’t use your words.”
“Could I m-make a request?” She blushed, fingers wrinkling his kimono.
“Anything.”
Mona swallowed nervously, and the slight movement of her throat did wonders for Wanderer’s filthy, filthy mind. “Could you—f-for today, could you—could you praise me?”
Oh, she was so cute. How was a Harbinger scumbag like him expected to not ravage her when she was being all sweet like this?
Instead of answering, Wanderer gathered her in his arms and flipped them over on the bed, letting her sit on his lap. “I’ll praise you so much that by the time the night falls, you’ll grow sick of it,” he promised, mouth ghosting over her clavicle. “But you need to earn that praise, too. Take off your clothes for me.”
Spurred by his commanding tone, Mona did as he asked. Wriggling out of her suit when he had his attention on her like that was tricky work; she kept being distracted by his stare, kept fumbling over the fabric at the sight of his smirk. All the while he sat there, leaning against the headboard, patiently enjoying the view.
The moment she discarded her leotard, he closed his fingers over her breasts and squeezed, drawing out a yelp from her lips. He kissed the tip of her pebbled nipple, rolling his thumbs over her mounds and groaning, even though he wasn’t receiving any stimulation at all. It was like… Like the act of pleasuring her was enough to get him going, though she didn’t have time to ponder that concept as his mouth took a light nibble of her bud.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, licking her peak. His hands alternated between fondling her breasts and sliding down her abdomen, tracing the rolls of her stomach and massaging them between his fingers. “Every part of you fits under my hands. Like you were made for me.”
“N-not true,” Mona huffed, trying to undress him as she’d done with herself. “Not—that’s not—”
“You disagree?” Wanderer mouthed the valley between her breasts. “Give me your reasoning, then.”
She shook her head, scrambling for what little pieces of logic Wanderer’s heated touch hadn’t yet exorcised. “H-human creation is the result of genetics and—ngh, chance selections o—oh, of the soul,” she mumbled, struggling to voice herself amidst her rising noises. “Fate b-brings people together, but it doesn’t make—ah, make people f-for each other. If we—Wanderer, ah—if we’re t-together, that’ll be because we found each other.”
“Clever.” His fingers traveled downwards, resting on her legs. “Even in the heat of pleasure, you can still argue. Clever girl.”
He planned this, she realised. He’d baited her, then turned it into an opportunity to lavish her with praise, just like she’d asked. The truth was, their lovemaking was no stranger to brief sentences of praise, but Mona needed something more than that today, hence her pathetic request. And… He spoke so persuasively that for a brief moment, she almost forgot Wanderer was only doing this because she’d asked.
But never mind that. A lifetime with Barbeloth had taught her to cling to whatever praise she received, even if it was shallow. Even if it was a lie.
The feeling of his knuckles digging into her ass broke her rather depressing train of thought, jolting her nerves. With his lips still peppering fervent kisses on her breasts, he grabbed her backside in a manner that could only be described as indulgent; two fingers lodged between her asscheeks, palms sinking down on pliant flesh.
“Your body is art,” Wanderer said, and that was… New. He’d never said something like that before. “Women like you were the muse of poets, back in old Inazuma.” Soon, his touch was everywhere; her ass, her hips, her stomach, her thighs. It was like he couldn’t settle on just one part of her body. He needed everything, all of her, all at once. “Women with curves like silk. Women soft enough to rival clouds. I feel like—” he drew her close, nuzzling his nose into her chest— “I feel like when I start touching you, I… I can’t stop.”
“Wanderer,” Mona keened, sounding terribly meek. Slick trickled down her legs, the result of nothing more than sweet words, and her cunt clenched at every low murmur that fell from his lips. “Wan—ah…”
He lifted her waist with a strong grip of his arm, fingers reaching between her legs. She felt those fingers petting her lower lips, tracing her hole, and it was all she could do to remain still. “So wet already,” he remarked, pleased. “Mona, Mona, you’re a test of my decency.”
Slowly, Wanderer breached inwards, curling his knuckles. She whined, her senses having adjusted to him so perfectly that it neglected pain and delved her straight into pleasure. Mona held onto his shoulders for balance, her lower half trembling as her heart thundered in her ribcage at the sight of him locking his eyes on her once more.
“Beautiful,” he said again, a predatory glint in his gaze. He knew all her weak points, navigating her erogenous zones as thoroughly as she navigated the stars. It didn’t take long for him to find that one spot inside her that set her nerves alight, and once he reached it, she dissolved into an embarrassing fit of moans. But Mona had long since known that what she found embarrassing, he found absolutely mesmerising, a hypothesis proven by the brush of his lips on her neckline. “There’s the face I like to see.”
“Am I—” her breath hitched, shaking— “is it—am I still pretty?”
“The prettiest,” Wanderer reassured. He started pumping back and forth, aiming for that delicate spot every time he pushed inwards. His pace was pleasurable as it was steady; fast enough to unravel the threads of her mind, yet it wasn’t the merciless speed he used when he was punishing her. Soon, Mona was gyrating instinctively to his rhythm, the collision of her waist to his fingers heightening the electricity running down her thighs. “You have a beautiful body. And a beautiful mind.”
Mona whimpered, burying her face in his shoulder so she wouldn’t feel compelled to tell him how ridiculous those words were. If her mind was truly as beautiful as he claimed, she wouldn’t be stuck where she was; an untitled, lonely astrologist who clung to whatever recognition she received. No, she would be more like—
Like Albedo, the Knights of Favonius’ beloved Chief Alchemist, who’d strengthened Mondstadt and given Durin a new vessel.
Like the Traveler, hero of multiple nations, the folds of her cape decorated with achievements even though she’d only been in this realm for a few years.
They were saviours. Protectors. Mythical figures of old storybook legends. And she was just… Mona.
Mona didn’t have a beautiful mind. She was nowhere near the woman she needed to be if she wanted to join the Hexenzirkel. She—
“Ngh,” a rough stroke interrupted her pondering, followed by the feeling of Wanderer spreading his digits inside her to help loosen her cunt. He prodded her clit with his thumb, then, rubbing that sensitive bundle of nerves as he continued fingering her to the heights of bliss.
“I told you,” he said, a dangerous edge to his voice, “I don’t want your mind occupied with something else while I have my way with you.”
“S—ah, sorry,” Mona bucked into his palm, chasing friction. “I don’t—I wasn’t—”
“I know you don’t believe me,” he softened, giving her a featherlight kiss on the lips. “But I’ve never given a compliment as a lie. You have a beautiful mind, Mona.”
She shook her head, thoughts of Barbeloth’s letter splintering past her impassioned haze, the sound of her sharp quill scratching on parchment drowning out Wanderer’s sweetness. “That—oh, that’s what you think,” she tried to speak, thighs shuddering under Wanderer’s tender care. “That’s—but others—ahn, others don’t see it the way you—haah, the way you do—”
“Do you remember when we first met?” Wanderer began to move faster, flicking his wrist. The bursts of heat increased, swirling in her abdomen, pulling her to the edge. “That day, when you escaped me. I would have killed the Traveler. I would’ve killed your other friend, too. But you,” he slammed his fingertips against her g-spot; Mona squeaked in euphoric surprise, almost losing her balance. “You saved both of them. And the person you saved went on to save hundreds, thousands of people.”
“That was—that was once—” Mona blabbered— “I saved two people one time, and the—all the others—h-has nothing to do with me—”
“Fate would say otherwise,” Wanderer said, and, oh, that was just laughable. Now he was preaching about fate? He was so—he was being so heartbreakingly gentle that she couldn’t take it, couldn’t accept it, especially not with the ever-present knowledge that she’d had to plead for it. “You saved lives, and I’ve been obsessed with you ever since.”
She was so, so very wet, she could see her own arousal trickling down to his wrist if she looked down, staining his black gloves. But he didn’t care; he kept going deeper. Kept driving his fingers inside her sopping cunt, never taking those ocean blue eyes off of her all the while. “Saviour,” he whispered, breathing the syllables onto her skin. “My beautiful, beautiful saviour. Come for me.”
Saviours. Protectors.
Mona climaxed hard, melting into a string of cries. The orgasmic high crashed into her and left no room for anything else, no room for terrible thoughts and whispers of inadequacy. There was just Wanderer, his hands labouring her so sweely, his body heat reminding her of safe places where she could let down her walls.
The feeling of Mona orgasming in his embrace was almost enough for Wanderer to reach his own peak. She was moaning in his ear like she didn’t have a single clue of how tempting she was, how it required an exhausting amount of restraint to keep his wits together whenever he was with her. And then it was over, his hands curling over her figure as she slumped forward with exertion.
“I’m sorry,” he heard her say, muffled. “That was… It was m-messy, and—and—I’m not usually like this, you know me—”
“You have nothing to prove,” he silenced her, cradling her like she was something fragile and precious. And she was—oh, she was. Beautiful, insightful, strong—yet wonderfully delicate all at once. He didn’t understand her contradictions anymore than he understood the stars, but he would devote the rest of eternity mapping out the details of her, if that was what it took for her to see how valuable she was. To him, to Teyvat—to that damned circle of crones and madwomen. “There’s just me here. And I don’t need you to convince me of anything.”
Sex made everything flow easier; soft words and gestures of reassurance came far more natural to him when he had the intimacy between them to smoothen things out. It helped her express herself better, too, evidently, as she retracted from her hiding spot in his neck to nuzzle his cheek. “How do you want me tonight?” Mona kissed his nose, an adorable attempt at seduction even when he could still see teardrops in the corners of her eyes. Very well. Let his mage have her distractions.
Wanderer kissed her, slow and deep, cajoling the line of her mouth with languid licks. “How do you want me?”
“Any way you want,” she whispered, turning the rhetoric back to him again. “I’d like to be good for something.”
“You,” he spoke between kisses, imprinting himself on her mouth, “Are full of good. Too much good. The kind of good people like me want to corrupt.”
“I’m in danger, aren’t I?” Mona smirked, gliding a finger over his abdomen. Here was Wanderer, sitting perfectly still as the ruler of his heart hovered naked and sweaty on his lap, her hand dancing closer and closer to the aching erection confined within his shorts. With the kind of luck he had, one might think he was some kind of grand hero instead of who he truly was.
“You have no idea,” he murmured viciously, flipping them over once more. He shook off his kimono, but kept his bodysuit and trousers, lowering the ties just enough for his rigid cock to stand at full mast. “You’re a clever, clever girl. Other people might be too foolish to see it, for now, but I’m not.” He spread her thighs apart, “And I want to see if I can fuck that cleverness out of you.”
“How awful,” Mona giggled. “If I’m too dumb to think, who’s going to predict Mondstadt’s future?”
“Mondstadt,” Wanderer sneered, “Doesn’t deserve your predictions.”
Her eyes widened, then, falling on his chest, his legs. “You’re not going to take your clothes off?”
“Hm?” Wanderer rolled his hips forward, letting the underside of his cock—and the rough fabric of his trousers’ waistband—graze her clit. The different textures created a more intense friction, and this hypothesis was quickly proven by the high-pitched squeak Mona let out in response. He couldn’t help but laugh, “I won’t. Not when you seem to enjoy it so much.”
“That—that’s not—hnn…” Her noises of protest faded to sighs of contentment as he slipped his cock between her folds, grinding against her pussy. This was one of his most favourite parts of bedding her, overshadowed only by the act of sex itself; when he was preparing her like this, both he and Mona could see his size compared to her stomach, painting both of them a vivid picture of just how deep he could reach inside her.
“I love how sensitive you are,” Wanderer crooned, using his fingers to spread apart her dripping center. Mona was holding her breath in anticipation of what he would do next, and it was endearing to witness. Curious of how she might react, he pressed the leather side of his gloved hand against her lower lips, undulating in slow circles, and the reward he received was instant.
“W-Wan—ah, it f-feels a bit strange…” Her whole face had turned a rosy shade of red, the flush reaching all the way to her ears, and he could feel her slick drenching through his arm covers. The ridges of his leather padding prodded at her quivering hole, and he almost regretted not doing this before, when he was fingering her. But no matter—he’d just discovered he could please her even with his clothes, and this was something he intended to hold against her forever.
He chose that moment—when she was distracted, weak with new sensations—to penetrate her, throwing his head back as the warmth of her inner walls clamped down on him. Mona pulsated around his length, clenching and releasing, her little toes curling at what he imagined was the feel of being thoroughly plugged with a hardened cock.
“Good girl,” he murmured, hooking his arm under one of her legs and placing them on his shoulder. He kissed her knee, “Good girl. You’re taking me so well.”
She nodded gingerly, pupils dilated, dark lashes fluttering. Words seemed to have an extraordinary effect on her mind; she tightened at his praise, a light tremor coursing through her body. “Do I f-feel good?” Mona looked at him, deceptively innocent eyes dazed and expectant.
“You feel warm.” Wanderer pulled back until half his length was withdrawn, before pushing inwards in one sweep. He reached that sweet spot of hers again, this time with his erection, evident by the sharp moan Mona let out in that moment. He gave shallow, experimental thrusts to start off, letting her womanhood adjust to the flood of sensations, before inching deeper and deeper with each thrust. “You feel so very warm, Mona.”
He wanted to be gentle. He’d planned to be gentle, actually. She needed that kind of tenderness, needed a gentleman who’d make love to her like a newlywed. But he’d already shown so much restraint today, and when faced with the squeeze of Mona’s suffocating cunt around his cock, Wanderer could do nothing but revert to old habits.
So he was rough. He was rough, and needy, and starved of intimacy. He buried himself to the hilt, ramming in and out of her like he’d never be able to get a taste of her ever again. The obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin quickly filled the room, her cries growing more and more the harder he pounded.
He didn’t cease his praise. Knowing Mona, she probably thought he was only doing it because she asked, but everything he said was the absolute truth. As he burrowed himself home over and over again, he kept whispering sweet nothings and prayers of cloy, playful loving, a stark contrast to his assault on her gaping entrance. Archons, she was so slippery and tight, Wanderer just couldn’t help but heave downwards and force the entirety of himself into her. He whispered of how gorgeous she was as his version of an apology, while he hammered inside of her with a feverish rhythm. Mona took the apology happily, or so it seemed; her mouth was agape, her back arched in pure bliss.
“Mine,” he breathed onto her skin, leaning close enough to press their foreheads together. She was folded in half now, her own flexibility allowing for a deeper angle, her lovely limbs working against her defenses and allowing Wanderer to feel every last inch of her insides. He was plowing hard enough to shift her body now, to ripple her thighs and cause her breasts to bounce even as they squished his chest. “Your pussy keeps sucking me in, witch. It—fuck, it won’t let me go. Your body knows you belong to me.”
“Yes, yes,” Mona whined enthusiastically, welcoming his closeness by wrapping her arms around his shoulders. He felt her nipples rubbing at his ribs, the plushness of her flesh imitating the sensation of a lewd massage. “I want—ah, k-keep going, oh, please, I want t-to—keep going, Wanderer, Wanderer—”
“Just like that,” he grunted, lewd squelching sounds following the sudden pressure of his cock driving itself further inwards. Mona couldn’t think anymore, couldn’t so much as piece together what remained of her logic, her nerves captured with delirium the harder Wanderer fucked her. Every single reaction she gave seemed to motivate his urges, spurring him to ravish her with renewed vigor.
Just like that, he’d said, when she wasn’t even doing anything. He was putting in all the work, cooing at her, touching her, ravaging her. He’d made her feel attractive and desired, made her feel like her existence was worth something among the brilliant minds that already existed in this city. She didn’t want to assume his feelings for her—she couldn’t, couldn’t do that, even, lest she break her own heart. But Wanderer thought himself a monster even when he was so sweet to her, and Mona wanted so badly to keep kissing him. To keep being kissed by him.
“Wan—haah, I think I—oh, no—I think I’m clo—oh, I’m close…” She bent upwards to the shape of his body, eager for more friction, more pleasure, more of him. Where she had been desperate for recognition before, she was now desperate for simple closeness, her neurons craving Wanderer with carnal, lustful need. She worried she might grow addicted to him someday, and if this was how he intended to fuck her in future visits, those fears had a bigger chance of coming true.
As if he could read her thoughts, Wanderer smashed their lips together at the very moment Mona reached her second orgasm, bursts of ecstasy overtaking her system and bringing her to a mind-numbing, heavenly peak. Convulsions hummed through her legs as this climax seized her with more intensity than the one before, prolonged further by Wanderer’s thrusts continuing at a lazy pace inside her.
“Beautiful,” he said for the third, fourth, fifth time that night. He would say it as many times as he needed in order to make her believe that. Beautiful, gorgeous, clever, insightful, resilient. His saviour, his woman, forever the most precious thing he could ever have. She was coming down from her climax, but he kept moving; Mona had grown accustomed to Wanderer fucking her even when she was overstimulated and sensitive, her body reacting accordingly with her pussy relaxing and her inhibitions melting away. “I never—I’ll never get tired of watching you come.”
Wanderer had cursed his puppet body more times than he could count. He despised the suffering it had brought him, the hours in dark laboratories and the loneliness that often came after. But the one—the one thing he could thank was the near endless stamina it afforded him, letting him see Mona come before he came to his own end.
“Wan—Wanderer,” she moaned, tightening around him again. “Wanderer, want t-to see—ahn, want to see you f-feel good, too, want—I want t—oh, I want to h-help you, please…”
It was her small request—the knowledge that she wanted to see him unravel, too, wanted to see him come undone just as he enjoyed watching her fall apart—that pushed him closer to the edge. He could feel the heat rising within him, could feel him losing control of himself as his strokes became erratic, almost animalistic.
But—he wanted her to climax, too, even though she’d just reached her last one seconds prior. It was an irrational need, one that had no basis, but he didn’t know much of anything else save for the fact that he hated leaving her unsatisfied.
“Stay still,” he kissed her forehead, pushing her down onto the mattress with a hard, ragged thrust. Mona whimpered, an addictive sound that he could repeat in his mind over and over again, obeying him so pliantly. Carefully, Wanderer maneuvered her upwards, his free hand returning to her cunt again. Like he did before, he rubbed the textured, leather side of his glove against her clit, the natural up-and-down rhythm of their lovemaking intensifying the friction. Gods, she was properly drenching his hand, his mind filled with thoughts of licking his palm clean of her arousal.
“W—mmh, oh, Wanderer, that feels—that feels …” Mona couldn’t even get the last word out as she thrashed and squirmed, her features twisting in elation. “I think—I think—ngh, oh…”
She’ll be the death of me, he thought.
Hilting himself inside her one last time, Wanderer finally orgasmed, releasing thick ropes of semen deep into her willing cunt. It came out hot and heavy, spurting in several streams, filling her up so completely that excess droplets trickled out of her ruined hole. He could sense Mona coming in tandem with him, could even feel her squirting colourless liquid all over his crotch as she screamed for the stars, likely a result of his hand and his cum working together.
“Megistus,” he cooed, holding her in a cuddle. They were both shivering and spent, descending from the skies together, Mona’s drowsy eyes shuttering to a close after their passionate few hours. He rolled off of her, “Do you feel better?”
“Mmm,” she answered sleepily, snuggling closer. There was a high chance she didn’t even realise she was doing this—the arrogant Mona Megistus he saw during the day would never snuggle up to anyone, let alone Wanderer.
“I’ll take that a yes,” he snickered, tucking stray hairs behind her ear.
He wasn’t so hopeful as to think that Mona would never again feel bothered by her master’s judgment, nor was he so hopeful to think that he’d let go of his own ghosts. These things were a process, because humans—and, sometimes, puppets—were strange, multifaceted creatures. Emotions seeped through layers upon layers of the working mind, and once an emotion had sunk deep, it would remain there until one had done the necessary work of scrubbing it clean. Inadequacy, anger, grief—these all happened to be the emotions that were particularly difficult to scrub.
But Mona had him, now. Mona had someone who wouldn’t blindly suck up to her teacher, someone who wouldn’t just stand there preening like a doll while that hag insulted her in front of them. They might have their disagreements—many, many disagreements, in fact—but the one thing Wanderer knew better than to deny was Mona’s brilliance, Mona’s stubbornness, Mona’s tenacity.
My starlight. The nickname seemed fitting for her. He watched her fall asleep, watched her chest rise and fall as he rose to find a washcloth for her. Mona, my starlight. Please don’t cry again. Not in front of me.
I’ll tear that fucking coven apart if you do.
*
The next morning, Mona woke to the sound of a sizzling frying pan and an empty bed beside her.
She rose from the mattress with aching legs, taking note of the flowery scent that accompanied her clean body, the new nightgown covering the fingermarks on her thighs. That was typical of Wanderer; their nights together seldom ended without him taking some degree of responsibility, which was just another one of the many things that left her feeling confused as to the nature of their relationship.
But those were idle, useless thoughts that only served to rot the brain and waste her time. There were far more important matters she needed to deal with right now—like breakfast, for example.
Stomach growling, Mona skittered down the stairs.
Just as she presumed, Wanderer was busying himself in her kitchen, cooking what appeared to be scrambled eggs. For someone who didn’t need sustenance—a fact that she was privy to, since he’d once confided his artificial state to her—he had a very good handle of her frying pan, mixing and flipping its contents with the ease of practised chefs. His kimono was still discarded somewhere in her bedroom, giving her a tantalising view of his back muscles under the light of the morning sun.
“You’re awake,” Wanderer observed.
He’s taken his gloves off, she noticed, then blushed, remembering last night.
Mona noticed a pile of vegetables on the chopping board next to the pan. Thinking it an unfinished culinary project of his, she took the initiative to chop the vegetables. Soon, the two of them were cooking breakfast together, a perfect picture of domestic life. She set aside the chopped vegetables, he added them to the scrambled mixture, then she worked on the side dishes.
“Strange,” she remarked, separating strips of frozen bacon. “I don’t remember having this in my cooler.”
He snorted. “You don’t.”
She stared at him, waiting for an explanation.
“I took the liberty of shopping for foodstuffs this morning, since your cupboards are about as barren as the Sumeru desert.” Wanderer dipped the frozen strips into the pan. “Imagine how baffled I was when I saw nothing but greens in your stock when I was about to get started on breakfast earlier.”
Mona took a deep breath. “Salads—”
“Are healthy and fulfilling,” he finished, having heard this lecture a million times. Well, he wouldn’t have to keep hearing it if he wasn’t always criticising her nutrition intake, so it was only fair. “In case it’s escaped your notice, you live in a city of idiots. I worry one of your neighbors might mistake you for cattle if you eat nothing but vegetables. Or perhaps a rabbit,” he flicked her nose, “Seems more fitting.”
“Being foolish doesn’t equate to being blind,” Mona grumbled. “I happen to look like a perfectly lovely, normal lady, thank you very much.”
He surprised her, then: he kissed her cheek, giving her face a gentle, endearing squeeze. “Lovely, yes,” he affirmed. “Normal, not so much.”
Just then, there was a knock on the door.
Rescued from the prospect of facing a charming, flirtatious Wanderer, Mona quickly ran from the kitchen counter, hiding her blush. Behind her, she heard him snicker.
She fixed her dress and tied her loose hair in a low bun, opening the door to—
… A child.
A scrawny, purple-haired child with dragon horns protruding from his head, little wings fluttering on his back.
Durin. Durin, in his new form. Albedo had succeeded. Mona was happy for both her friend and for Wanderer, knowing how much Durin meant to the man cooking in her kitchen. That begged the question, though; what was he doing here?
It was then that she noticed Durin was holding a cluster of flowers in his hand.
“You’re Hat Guy’s girlfriend, aren’t you?” The young dragon asked, eyes wide with hope. He lifted the flowers, “For you.”
“I—eh?”
“There you are,” Wanderer chided, appearing behind her. He ushered the child past the door, affectionately ruffling Durin’s new purple hair. “You were supposed to come here before she woke up. The flowers were going to be part of the breakfast table.”
“What—what’s going…” Mona followed them inside, confused.
“You didn’t tell me she’d wake up early,” Durin complained, pouting. “But she is your girlfriend? I got that part right?”
Wanderer scoffed. “What a juvenile term. I remember when people used to be classier about this sort of thing.”
“I’m afraid I don’t follow,” Mona interrupted their conversation. “Um. Hi, Durin. I’m very happy you seem to like your new form. Did—are you here to pick up Hat Guy, or…”
Durin stood taller, seeming proud. Only a few months together, and already he was picking up traits from his arrogant companion… “Hat Guy told me once I was done with my transformation, he’d introduce me to his girlfriend. He told me I had to bring flowers, too, because he forgot to pick some, even though that’s what you do when you like someone.”
“I said none of that,” Wanderer’s cheekbones flushed. He grabbed Durin’s face and wiggled him around the way Mona had seen children wiggle cats they found cute, and the sight of it caused warmth to swell in her heart. “The first part was true, but I didn’t use that term, and everything else was just an exaggeration.” He pointed to a vase on the kitchen table, “Go set up the flowers.”
“Here, Durin, I’ll help you,” Mona offered kindly, taking the flowers from him. “Please ignore Hat Guy’s prickliness. He can be terribly old-fashioned sometimes; he’s much older than the both of us, you see.”
“You make it sound like I’m some kind of inappropriate leech,” Wanderer scolded, plating the food they’d cooked together.
Mona giggled, and so did Durin. “There’s nothing wrong with the term girlfriend,” she smiled, setting aside a chair for Durin. “Since you’ll be living among us now, I can teach you all the cool new words people are saying these days, if you’d like me to.”
Durin nodded eagerly. “Albedo made me the perfect body,” he bragged, gesturing to himself. He twirled around, showing off his human arms and legs, “Everything works the way it’s supposed to. I can run around and grab stuff like you and Hat Guy, but I can still fly, too. It’s like I get the best of everything.”
Again, she found herself faced with reminders of Albedo’s greatness. Archons, she should seriously work on her jealousy problem; she’d soon grow bitter if she didn’t get a handle of this soon, and there was nothing Mona feared more than losing the ability to be happy for her friends’ accomplishments—
“Mona here can disappear in one place and reappear in a completely different place, you know,” Wanderer changed the topic.
Durin gasped. “Really?”
Wanderer nodded, grinning. “That’s what she did, the first time we met. One second she was right there in front of me, and the next, she’d completely disappeared. And she’s not limited to just herself, too—if she holds onto you, she can teleport you with her.”
“The mechanism’s rather simple, honestly,” Mona started, bashful.
But Durin narrowed his eyes, then. “Why was Mona teleporting away from you? I thought Mona likes you.”
She sputtered. “Well, I—”
“She didn’t always like me,” Wanderer corrected. “I didn’t always like her, either. I was a bad man, before. I did bad things. The day I met her, I was going to hurt the Traveler and Fischl. But she protected them from me.”
“And that’s when you started liking her?”
“That’s when I started liking her,” he confirmed. “Don’t take after me, though. When you grow older, you’ll meet a nice boy or girl, and I’ll teach you how to be sweet to them so you won’t face the problems I’m facing.” He knelt to Durin’s level, speaking in a low, conspirational whisper, “I had to learn the hard way that when you’re mean to someone you like, they’re not going to think you like them.”
Mona rolled her eyes, clasping a hand over her mouth to hide her giddy smile.
“Silly Hat Guy,” Durin rapped his knuckles against Wanderer’s forehead, “Of course she’s not going to think you like her if you keep being mean to her. Good thing you’re not a bad man anymore.”
Wanderer’s grin turned distinctly mischievous. “Who says I’m not a bad man anymore?” And with that, he lunged forward, attacking Durin with tickles.
Durin screeched, bolting from his chair and running. Wanderer gave chase, and Mona sighed fondly as she witnessed them run around the table like children, laughing and screaming. After several laps across the room, she decided to join their games by capturing Durin in her arms and twirling around, hiding him from Wanderer’s grasp.
“You’ll never get him alive,” Mona declared, shielding Durin.
Durin cackled with victory, burying his head in Mona’s shoulder as he stuck his tongue out at Wanderer.
“Running from me by hiding behind the one person who could escape at a moment’s notice?” Wanderer raised an eyebrow, folding his arms. “You’re playing dirty, Durin. I wonder if I should even let you have breakfast now that I know you’re a cheat at your games.”
“Nooo,” Durin lamented, reaching for the nearest plate.
“Don’t worry,” Mona tutted, laughing as she met Wanderer’s eyes. He returned her stare with a smile of his own; a warm, genuine smile. In it, she could see the love he held for the few people that had earned his trust, the love that he was sometimes scared to show out of fear that he’d lose it. He cared so much for her, for Durin, and she saw that now; she almost wanted to laugh at her previous fears of losing him. “I’m going to steal some breakfast for you if he hoards everything. Then we can eat somewhere nice together, far, far away from Hat Guy.”
Durin nodded enthusiastically, and Wanderer chose that moment to swoop in and kiss her, earning a cry of protest from the young dragon. His protests were met with more laughter from both Mona and Wanderer, however, and soon he was laughing too, eager to have his first breakfast in his human body. And though Mona spent the rest of her morning sitting across from yet a new reminder of another Hexenzirkel apprentice’s achievement, she couldn’t even bring herself to care anymore; she had Wanderer, they had Durin, and for now, it was all she needed.
To hell with her master’s letter; this little table of love and light was hers, and it was more than enough.