Puella Monstrum Madoka Moecha – Chapter – 14

Sayaka – No Rest For the Wicked

Sooo, that thing about guys falling asleep right after they come that I only have Kyousuke as a vague indicator that it may actually be a thing rather than hilarious slander? That an (ideally) shared orgasm is a great way for a boy to overcome the worst case of insomnia ever?

I may be a bit more of a tomboy than I realized.

Because, well, it takes me quite a while to wake up on top of Mami’s drool-slickened breast, and I have to suppress an immediate urge to purr at her fingers on my scalp and her possessive grip on my waist—

Wait, Mami doesn’t have two hands. Or, well, I mean, she doesn’t have two left hands unless everything I ever learned about minotaurs was wrong, which, given the dull throbbing between my legs, at least some source material was perfectly accurate regarding some details, and…

Kyouko.

Mami is holding my naked body to hers, a firm arm crossing from my right shoulder to my left hip in a way that makes a tingling shiver run across my breasts and to my nipples, and Kyouko’s sleeping face is in front of me, resting on the other magnificent mammary, her own arm stretched past Mami’s defiant cleavage canyon to… to cradle my nape.

…

This is too much.

I’ve… I’ve had sex with five people, six if we count the ophidian bitch, even if we only shared Madoka between us, not even getting to spitroast my oldest friend because we both agreed that she needs to be romanced before being deflowered, but I, apparently, couldn’t hold back to afford Hitomi the same courtesy.

Or myself.

And… And what the fuck. What the fuck am I even doing, sleeping on top of the nicest breasts I’ve ever seen, under the night sky with two naked girls that I’ve had a very weirdly bisexual threesome with?

What the fuck am I doing rather than heroically slaying monsters?

Trying not to move too much, I look up from the spot of Mami’s breast that shines because of my own saliva, and, at least, I find her restfully sleeping with a smile on her lips.

A smile that very much matches Kyouko’s.

So… There’s at least that much. They’re both happy with what just happened despite my magic making a mess of things again. And I really need to find a way to control this other than that fleeting idea about that bright red ballgag, but I will resort to that if I can’t think of anything else because I can’t keep messing up like this.

I can’t keep messing them up like this.

I suppress the shuddering breath that tries to come out at the idea, and…

And I should wake them up.

I should get the two experienced magical girls to explain things to me and reassure me. To have Kyouko repeat her lecture about drunk driving, but this time with less tequila involved. I should have Mamiexplain how she refrains from force-feeding her milk to every pretty girl she comes across.

I, instead, as slowly and carefully as I can, call the sea to me until gentle waves turn into foam, fizzing into wet sand as they lap at my ankles.

Until salt washes over the scent of milk and bare skin wafting up from Mami’s naked breast.

Until my skin turns blue.

And then, with just a smidgen of the power that a marathon of rough fucking has afforded me, I call the slippery lotion that always covers my monster form while holding back the urge for my nails to grow into coral blue, pearlescent claws.

The moon above me is a silver crescent that ripples over the glass of tall buildings like it would over dark ocean waves.

It gleams over my wet skin.

And, like an eel gliding into a rocky crevice, I slide away from the last two girls I’ve had sex with.

***

At least my clothes, my regular clothes, are intact.

It’s… something I can think about as I drag myself along the last few blocks toward my home, enveloped by the silence of a night only pierced by the occasional car going past me on a street a ways away from the park where I always meet Madoka for our morning walk to school.

I may not meet her tomorrow. It will depend on how ashamed I am when I wake up.

Because… Hitomi.

Hitomi is also part of those morning walks.

And I can’t believe I… She said she didn’t blame me. That she…

She said she didn’t blame me.

I believed her.

It’s just… I still blame myself.

And there’s that sharp thing in my chest yet again when I think about the horrid mess I’ve made of things ever since I got my powers and got too impatient to wait for Kyuubey to explain precisely what that meant.

I have an excuse. Supposedly, Mami had been training me, and of course, she would already have mentioned everything I needed to know before making such a big decision. And, if she hadn’t, Kyuubey would’ve told me beforeI made my wish rather than wait for me to be flooded by the rush of magic. It’s not unreasonable to think that none of this is really my fault. That I made a mistake, but an understandable one.

But how do I tell Hitomi that she was a mistake?

… Damn it. I’m still drunk, aren’t I?

Because I healed myself with my magic, but… It takes time for alcohol to leave the bloodstream? Or to be digested? Maybe there’s still some of it that I didn’t quite purge when I healed myself from Mami’s hammer-gifted concussions?

Or maybe I’m just drowsy and emotionally exhausted after too many ups and downs.

I’m almost back home. I can see the tall apartment building that closes off this broad street for whatever reason that urban planners thought made sense at the time. Just… Just a bit more of my drunken, exhausted, bowlegged stumble, and I’ll be in my bed, ready to fall asleep once again and forget for a while just what a huge fuck-up I am.

I don’t take them.

I instead lean my back against the nearest tree I can find, the bark rough between my shoulder blades despite my stiff uniform’s jacket, and I look up between branches with sparse, still small leaves that let me see the underside of gray clouds illuminated by Mitakihara’s abundant streetlights.

I try to find peace on them. On branches and leaves gently swaying back and forth on a gentle breeze like waves retreading their path over wet sand. On drifting, ethereal clouds that may be more magic than I ever suspected now that I know that the world is filled with wonder and horror.

But I keep thinking about ups and downs.

I once read that changes, no matter how good they are, always bring stress. That people can die due to the stress of too many good things happening in a row.

I thought it was funny. Black comedy, yes, but dying because you got literally too much of a good thing? How would that even feel? Like, imagine if you got the job of your dreams, were told you just won the lottery, and your prince charming got on his knee and popped a ring out.

Imagine the face he would be making at your blissfully smiling corpse.

Hitomi didn’t think it was that funny. She politely laughed when I tried to explain the joke, but… it wasn’t that she didn’t understand. It just was that she didn’t feel it.

Not like I did.

Not like I now do.

Too much of a good thing.

It’s funny, isn’t it, Past Sayaka? So funny you could cry.

… Damn it, I’m a maudlin drunk. This is all Kyouko’s fault.

And at that, at the memory of the girl with a wild ponytail riding my face, or my cock, or fucking my tits, or my throat, I…

I don’t even know.

And it looks like I won’t find my answer by staring up at the passing clouds like a lazy ninja, so I finally sigh and push myself away from a tree that is recovering from winter and greeting spring with enviable optimism before I head home.

Which is when I realize that, at some point through my PG-rated magical adventures, I lost my phone.

…

I really hope Mom and Dad are asleep.

***

So. Okay. If I was a veteran magical girl? I would now be sneaking through my bedroom’s window and slipping into my pajamas before anyone even noticed that I’d been gone at an hour I most definitely don’t have permission to be out of the house at, much less when I’ve got classes tomorrow morning.

But I’m not a veteran magical girl. I’m, in fact, a recently minted one who didn’t think to leave the damn window open before I left for school yesterday.

So I’ve got two options: I can transform, jump up to the fourth floor of my apartment building, break the glass of my window and hope nobody notices either the noise or the repair bill that I can’t afford because I don’t have bullshit dragon hoard magic gold, or I can take the elevator, anxiously wait for it to reach my floor, tiptoe to the third door on the hallway, sloooowly slide my key into the lock, turning it at a glacial pace, and—

Okay. No lights are turned on. They aren’t waiting for me in the living room. Great. This is good. This may merit a change of class from paladin to rogue.

It’s not like I was ever going to be a good paladin, at the rate I’m going. Mind control sex doesn’t scream ‘lawful good,’ does it?

Right. Slowly and silently close the door behind me. Take my shoes off and don’t carelessly drop them like I always do.

Great. Nary a sound has been made. Truly, I’m a master of stealth.

So. Yeah. A rogue. I mean, my saber is kind of a dexterity-based weapon? Nimble and graceful? That is roguish enough, isn’t it? And me thinking of myself as a dashing, morally liberated character is most definitely something that makes sense given my aesthetics and not at all a coping mechanism to avoid thinking about just how hard I’m failing at everything I thought I’d ever be if given half the chance to become a hero.

Yup. I’m now a rogue. Maybe a ninja. Ninjas are cool. And sexy. And I don’t have the slightest clue about what they’re supposed to do other than weird finger thingies, so it’s not like I’ll even notice when I fail to live up to what a true ninja should do when—

“So. Had fun?” Dad says from behind me as I go past the living room’s table.

…

Ironically enough, I think I just realized how hard I am failing at being a ninja.

I’ll do better with my next class, I promise. Really.

“Heeeeeey, Dad,” I say, casual and suave as can be. “I didn’t see you there, what with the lights being out and you hiding in a shadowed corner like an informant at a tavern.”

Dad, for some mysterious reason, doesn’t react to my accurate description other than by turning around and—

“Shit!” I say, trying not to hiss when I’m blasted by the full power of non-dimmed lights.

“I’ve been sitting here for hours. You don’t get to complain,” he says before he leans forward to rest his elbows on the table and steeple his fingers in front of his face.

Then, because he’s a drama queen, he points with his chin at the chair in front of him. A chair that’s already pulled away from the table.

“You didn’t have to prepare both stage lights and props,” I say, definitely not sulking before I decide not to argue and sit down to take the ensuing scolding like somebody trying to atone so they can get their class features back.

“Here,” he says, still ignoring me as he slides something across the light wood table—is that my phone?

“How…?” I half ask as I recover the thing that would have, maybe, helped keep me out of a couple of threesomes if I hadn’t forgotten about its existence.

“Your mother got anxious when you disappeared last night, so we finally tracked your phone to find it in Kyousuke’s hospital room,” he says.

I, of course, calmly smile at him in a disarming way as I strive not to think about what else they may have found out in said room.

“… Are you all right?” he asks.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I manage to answer through clenched teeth and the painful stretching of my cheeks.

“You look like you’re biting a leather strap and waiting for someone to pull down the switch on an electric chair,” he says, possibly to explain the reason for his inquiry.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say despite the discomfort in my jaw slowly nearing the point of pain.

He, of course, raises an eyebrow.

And waits.

And waits.

“You’re a terrible parent,” I say when I can no longer hold my rictus in place and deflate to slump all over the table.

“I really must be for my kid to not even think about contacting me after losing her virginity,” he says.

That… kinda warrants a second bout of rigid panic.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I repeat like a newfound mantra for my tentative monk class as I cover the back of my head with both hands and press my face against very nicely varnished pine wood.

“Really? Because we found your phone in Kyousuke’s room,” he says.

“Must’ve dropped it when I came to visit.”

“Oh, so you came. Good to know.”

“Dad!” I say, straightening up fast enough that the chair rattles when I hit the backrest.

“Don’t ‘Dad’ me! Do you have the slightest clue how worried I’ve been! And when you finally get here, you try to sneak past me without even caring to tell us that you’re all right? Do you—for fuck’s sake, Sayaka, what happened?!”

“Wha—you were waiting with the lights turned off! You just ambushed me—”

“Of course I did! What else could I do other than wait for the police or a hospital to call me!”

“Don’t be so dramatic! I went to school!”

“And disappeared right after!”

“I—I just—I’ve been very busy, and my mind’s been all over the place, and—and…”

I look at him.

Then I do the least tomboy thing in my arsenal:

I tear up for Daddy.

“I’m sorryyyyy,” I say with not quite a full-on bawl.

He, predictably, panics and immediately gets up from his chair to get by my side.

“Hey,” he says, trying not to sound frantic as he kneels so his head is level with mine. “Hey, it’s all right. I’m here.”

He smiles at me with something frail and nervous that only makes me feel worse, so a couple of tears slip out, and thatmakes him panic harder, which makes me feel guilty, and now I’m kindabawling, and he’s hugging me, and…

“I’m a horrible person! I—I keep fucking up and hurting my friends, and, and, and I just wanted to be a heroine, but I’m more of a villain, and not even a good one! I’m sorry, Dad—”

He’s sniffing me.

… That’s weird. I haven’t even sung—

“Sayaka… are you drunk?” he says.

Ah.

That makes much more sense.

Also, far less gross.

“Nooooo?” I convincingly answer.

“Is that… Tequila? Really? For your first time? You… Couldn’t you have started with a beer like a sane, rebellious teenager?” he says, not quite shaking me by my shoulders, but only barely.

“‘Sane rebellious teenager’ sounds like something to be found in a compendium of mythical beasts—”

“You’re grounded.”

“You can’t ground me! I have powers!”

“Oh God, what kind of drugs did you take? Do you need a hospital? I can get you there in—”

“I’m faster than your beat-up van, Dad.”

“Don’t insult Bessie.”

“Stop naming your—it’s not a paladin mount! It doesn’t count!”

“It is my mount, and I’ve played paladins longer than you’ve been alive, so it definitely—”

“Well, I’m a paladin! A real one!”

“Sayaka, just how many drugs did you—”

And I show him.

Partially because I’m drunk, and Drunk Sayaka makes terrible choices that are only surpassed by those of Horny Sayaka.

Partially because I think it may be the best way to get out of an argument that looks like it can drag on for the rest of the night.

And partially… because Dad’s played paladins longer than I’ve been alive.

So I call the waters. I call the hidden brooks amid ancient trees. I call the song stolen from worn-down rocks.

Dad freezes as soon as my skin gets tinged with blue.

And then he watches as glittering streams spiral around me, sinking into me as my clothes become shifting waters that are soon replaced by my martial uniform when my saber melodiously clatters as it falls not on my hand but the table by my side.

I… I hold back on the monster, and my skin recovers its natural color, even if magic makes it seem… purer, my arms gleaming like clean, rapid waters.

And, as the strengthening surge of power fills me and clears my head, I realize what an astonishingly stupid idea it is to have done things this way because…

Because regular people can’t see phantoms, or Kyuubey, or—

“Did you heal Kyousuke?” he asks, examining my saber with narrow eyes.

“… Yes?” I answer, slightly unsure of—

“Okay. So you met Kyuubey, and you made the most stupidly selfless wish you could conceive of,” he says.

I blink at him.

And Dad stands up, picks up my saber, and dramatically flourishes a couple of swings with it as a grin slowly spreads on his lips, only stopping when he messes up and gets the tip stuck on the edge of the table.

“Right…” he mumbles, straining a bit to get the magic metal out of the piece of wood. “This would’ve sounded far better if I hadn’t messed up the delivery, but… I’m proud of you, Sayaka. Prouder than I thought I could ever feel.”

I blink at him. Again.

He smiles nervously at me and spreads his arms.

And I jump up from my chair and tackle him into a hug that has both of us rolling on the floor as I bury my face in his shirt and try not to cry in sheer relief.

***

“We inherited it from your grandmother. Usually, we talk about it when we come of age, but… the blood’s been thin for generations. Nobody’s hunted for ages, and your uncle is convinced that we’re all raving mad for entertaining the ramblings of a senile woman,” he says, calmly talking over a mug of tea.

“You can see me,” I say before I grab my own cup and take a short sip just to feel something warm on my lips.

“I… I sometimes catch glimpses. Of phantoms. I’ve managed to help a couple of people get rid of them, but it’s always been just me talking with them and trying to get them to work past their obsessions. Nothing like what you’re doing.”

“So, when Mom got so mad at you for dragging that homeless girl here—”

“There was a perfectly sensible reason for that,” he automatically says.

I raise my eyebrow.

“Was that reason a phantom?” I ask.

“… Yes,” he answers.

My eyebrow doesn’t drop down.

“… There really was a phantom. It’s just hard to explain to your mother that me talking about sex with a younger girl was for pure and selfless reasons,” he says.

“Ah,” I answer.

Then there’s a pregnant silence and—oh. Oh, fuck, I hope that’s not literal, given—given Mami.

“Sayaka?” he says.

“Yes?” I distractedly answer, trying to count the days since I had my period before realizing I don’t have the foggiest clue about how to calculate safe days because they are not that reliable to begin with, and would magic minotaur semen even care about—

“You dehydrated Kyousuke, didn’t you?” he asks.

I, yet again, blink at him.

He doesn’t look that comfortable with the question himself.

“I don’t blame you,” he hurries to clarify. “From what I read… The urges can be very strong, particularly after the first time using magic, so… oh God, normal parents don’t have to deal with this…”

“Normal parents don’t have a van named Bessie,” I say, just to flee to a more comfortable argument.

“Bessie is a perfectly sensible name for a horse, and, as Bessie is my mount—”

“You’re such a nerd.”

“I discovered at a young age that my family was from a legendary line of monster hunters but that I missed the call by about three generations. Playing RPGs was the only sane coping mechanism,” he says.

“Wait, is that why you got me playing? So I could deal with this better when you told me?”

He blinks at me. Because it’s his turn, I guess.

“Yes. Of course,” he says.

“… You never even thought of that, did you?”

“I mean… you never saw things like I did, so I thought that maybe I could skip the trauma of talking to you about sex monsters, and… well…”

“Why does everyone think it’s such a great idea to skip the part about the sex monsters?! Do you have the slightest idea of the mess I’ve gotten into because I didn’t even know I could get a cock?!”

“You can get a what?”

Aaaaaand we’re back to my turn at blinking.

“I have said nothing,” I affirm with utter aplomb.

“You… a cock?”

“Nothing!”

“Why—just what kind of monster do you—a cock?”

“Well, you always wanted a son…”

“Don’t even—what the—a—oh, for fuck’s sake! Does this mean you need the other talk? It was already awkward enough to give you the first one!” he says, a few drops of tea sloshing out of his mug at his wild gesturing.

“I know! Why didn’t Mom do that?”

“Because your mother is a spiteful witch—”

“Oh, hi, Mom.”

Before the last syllable is even finished, Dad turns around fast enough that I can believe he’s from a long line of monster hunters whose footsteps I’m destined to follow.

He takes a bit more time to turn away from the dark, empty corridor and back toward my mocking giggling.

“You’re still grounded,” he says.

I pout.

And, without needing to use gross mind control magic, I can tell that he’s gonna cave soon enough.

***

Surprisingly enough, talking with Dad helped.

It’s not like he can tell me anything that I haven’t already learned through my own very eventful day, but…

‘I’m proud of you, Sayaka. Prouder than I thought I could ever feel.’

Yeah.

That.

After the day I’ve had? After messing up again and again? After thinking I’m the lowest heel in the world?

I look back fondly at the living room where Dad is now busy drinking something he thinks I don’t know is worse than tequila and then open my bedroom door.

I’m smiling.

Because I’ve fucked up. Because I’ve done things I never thought I would and hurt people I never meant to hurt.

But Dad’s proud of me. Not because of what I’ve done but because of what I tried to do.

So I’ll…

I’ll keep trying.

I’ll do my best. And fail. And stumble.

And then I’ll stand up and do it all over again until I get it right.

That’s what a paladin would do, isn’t it?

I smile at the thought. At the first thought that feels right and mine in… in what feels like too long for it to have been a single day, and then I dismiss my magic, and my martial dress and saber become swirling, burbling water spheres as my school uniform reappears before I start to undress in the boring, slow way that involves unbuttoning things without any magic assistance.

A part of me feels like I should take a shower, but, really, I’m cleaner than I’ve ever been, and I’m exhausted enough that I just want this day to be over. To close my eyes, drop on my bed, and—

And find a green, glowing thing stuck to my ceiling.

“Hello, Sayaka,” the liquid person says with Hitomi’s voice.

I, of course, open my mouth to scream my lungs out.

She, of course, immediately drops down on top of me and shoves a pseudopod down my throat.

And as I call my magic back to me and waters rush all over my bedroom, there’s a single thought I can’t get rid of:

Won’t this goddamn day ever end?!