Puella Monstrum Madoka Moecha – Chapter – 13 – Madoka Is a Nice Girl (and That’s Not Sarcasm)

Madoka – Friends Before Femmes

Classes are about to be over.

Classes are about to be over, and I’ll finally have the chance to spend some time alone with Homura, and talk, and discuss things, and ask what she remembers, what I did, how she saw me, why she kept trying again and again just to save me…

And, maybe, I don’t know… hold hands?

…

I shouldn’t be blushing at the thought of holding Homura’s hand. I’ve already held her co—thingie. We’re past the boundary of holding hands.

Also, we already held hands.

On our way to the rooftop.

When Homura held me with her long, graceful fingers, tugging at me in just the right way for me to follow after her on the shadowed steps, words caught in my throat as she opened the door, and I just stared at her long hair floating behind her, as if the sudden rush of the rooftop’s breeze and streaming sunlight wanted to make me see her as… as…

A very good friend! My best friend! A friend that I’ll always stay by the side of, even if she has very weird ideas about how I should lose my virginity and what am I even thinking!

I blame Sayaka. This is all Sayaka’s fault. Sayaka and her stupid, sexy, magic voice.

The magic voice she’s already caught me with twice in a single day.

The magic voice that’s made me touch myself while spying on her and Hitomi.

The magic voice that turned my lunch break into swallowing load after load of Homura and Sayaka’s delicious—darn it!

This is all Sayaka’s fault.

I should’ve bitten her harder.

…

Maybe I should apologize for that. It’s not like she’s in control of herself, and it can’t be easy to constantly keep her magic in check if I understand things correctly.

Talking with Homura should help understand those things. Yes. That’s a good reason for me to look forward to the bell ringing and—

She’s looking at me.

Her long, black hair tucked behind her left ear, her lavender eyes peering at me across the classroom from her seat by the side of the wall, just ahead of the door behind her, her face elegantly resting on her right hand as she just looks at me, ignoring both Miss Saotome and the open textbook in front of her.

She should be by the side of the window, the Sun glimmering over silky strands, shining through it, showing the light that can be held between welcoming, embracing darkness.

… I don’t know where that came from.

And my cheeks are tingling.

Which is… something that happens? When you think something mildly embarrassing about a friend of yours who’s holding you in her eyes like a snake charming me, keeping me still, my breath caught in my throat as I just lose myself and allow her to—

“Madoka?” Miss Saotome asks.

I try not to think anything too unkind and turn toward her with a polite, brittle smile.

“Yes?” I answer.

“This is the third time I’ve called you,” she says, her head tilted at just the right angle for her short bangs to fall over her left eye.

I bet she practices. I bet she stands in front of the bathroom mirror, trying to look cute for any of those boyfriends that never last. I bet she puts in so much effort just to get a man who will never have such a tasty, thick thingie as—

What am I even thinking?!

“Sorry! I’m a bit tired today. I apologize!” I tell her, the excuse not as heartfelt as the… the everything else that makes my words rush out of my mouth before I even think about them.

“Madoka, did you…” she says, her eyes searching across mine, interrogating me, trying to peer into my very soul. “Did you spend the whole night in the embrace of a young man, the restless vigor of youth making you hang on to the very edge of your consciousness, feeling yourself drift closer and closer to all-encompassing darkness until a last burst of pleasure brought you right back?! Did he mercilessly reshape your body to fit his member as he thrust inside of you again and again?! Did you have to walk back home just to get a fresh change of underwear?!”

I… stare at Miss Saotome.

My burning cheeks have nothing at all to do with her having guessed one actually factual, mortifying thing that happened this morning. Not at all. This is just second-hand embarrassment.

Also, everybody is silently staring at me. Yes. That’s also a reason for my cheeks to burn.

Aaaaand Homura just snapped her pen in half.

For reasons. Reasons that don’t have anything at all to do with her earlier, elaborated rant on how I should lose my virginity over a weekend-long retreat by the seaside, on a bed with satin sheets covered by rose petals.

Not at all. Surely, Homura just snapped her pen due to… her strong opinions on a lack of professionalism in the classroom?

“Miss Saotome, does this have anything to do with the current subject?” my girl—my best friend says with a voice that has just a hint of a hiss.

Aaaaaand there’s a smatter of black scales on the inside of her right wrist.

I stare at the glittering, silky soft, black things that caressed me all over just a couple of hours ago, then I drag my mind right out of the gutter, meet Homura’s eyes, and frantically try to direct her gaze at the early signs of her monster form slipping out.

She blinks at me in incomprehension.

… Gosh darn it.

Telepathy was really convenient to have.

“How can you think about dry academic subjects when Madoka is being turned into a meat toilet?!” Miss Saotome accuses.

There’s a chorus of hands meeting faces.

A few scandalized gasps, here and there.

Also, a couple of inquiring gazes because she’s usually not this bad. I mean…

…

All right, I don’t know a polite and charitable way to put this, but she at least usually doesn’t loudly paint a vivid, lurid picture of whatever it is that goes inside her befuddling head.

I think.

Also, the bell’s ringing.

Thank God!

“Don’t flee! There are questions to be answered!” Miss Saotome demands of the class already dismissing itself.

As in, almost running out of the two doors.

And I should be joining them. I should shove my things inside my bag and run out to meet Homura outside, and have her hold my hand yet again, my fingers gliding over the smatter of black scales, both hiding and caressing them as words started to flow between us, as secrets were revealed and I finally—

Sayaka is already outside. Rushing down the corridor.

Hitomi is sitting at her desk. Looking at her.

… Darn it.

***

Hitomi – Childhood Friend Tomboys Are Overrated

My first time.

My… a lot of first times.

Years of friendship, a few months of awkwardness due to a stupid boy, then she shoves her cock inside me…

And flees.

Like a coward.

Like something I never thought Sayaka was.

“Hitomi? Let’s go get some cake,” Madoka offers, standing right by my side, looking down at me with that smile she has when she’s trying very hard to keep smiling.

Madoka.

My other childhood friend.

And not even three hours ago, I was shoving as many fingers as I could fit inside of me, watching her swallowing and jerking two cocks, being showered with almost as much cum as Sayaka nearly drowned me with.

It turns out she had also been touching herself earlier, listening to Sayaka and me trying to exhaust one another.

… I think I’m blushing.

And I don’t even know why, seeing as there’s not a lack of likely suspects.

“Cake?” I ask, hating how tiny my voice sounds when it comes out.

“I… I’ve been talking a lot with Mami, and she knows quite a few places that are… very good? We could have a cake buffet, share it between the two of us, see which one we like more, and… and tea! Of course, you can’t have cake without tea. I’ve been getting into jasmine, but only because I like how it smells. Mami always has some. Sayaka usually goes for the lime—sorry. I’m rambling, I’m trying to support you and distract you, and I’m making a terrible job of—”

I hug her.

My chair rattles against the desk behind it, and I’m on my feet, hugging my stammering friend who doesn’t know what to say or do but is at least trying.

Because that’s what good friends do, Sayaka.

They… They are there. When you need them.

And they try.

***

Homura – After a Thousand Repeats, What’re a Few Hours?

I love her.

I don’t know what that means.

I know that I want to protect her. That I would give up, have given up, absolutely everything just to keep her safe, keep her from the fate that awaited her. From the cruel recompense waiting for someone who was always too kind, too generous. Who risked everything to save others.

That’s the difference between Madoka and me: I’d risk it all for her. She would risk herself instead.

She’s sitting on a bench, Hitomi by her side, the artificial channel of water running straight through the park glittering by their side, its crystal-clear notes lending a gentle harmony to their sharing of feelings and secrets.

And I’m sitting on a cherry tree branch, overlooking them, constantly falling to the temptation of enhancing my hearing with magic to know what it is that they are saying.

Mostly?

“Remember when we were eight, and she skinned her knee after falling off her bike, and then she kept forbidding us from riding because she wanted to ‘protect us?’” Hitomi says, a wry smile on her lips.

“It took two months for her to stop doing that. I had to lie about how I scratched my elbow just so she wouldn’t start all over again,” Madoka says with a joking, exasperated tone that she very rarely uses for someone other than the blue-haired girl they are currently roasting.

I approve.

Because… Because I tried to save them all.

Not just Madoka.

And they kept dying. I kept failing. And, at some point, I just discarded them. I had a single goal, and as long as I reached it, everything else could burn.

Including my friends.

Including my world.

So… I love Madoka. Madoka is the only thing that matters. Madoka is my whole reason for existing.

For living.

A stream of pink cherry blossoms dances in a tight spiral between my eyes and the girls gossiping about their absent friend.

I follow them with my gaze, tracing their path.

And then I stop time.

A frivolous use of my power, an indulgence I would never have dreamed of in my last loop, when I was desperately trying to optimize every single resource available to me, honing everything I had to a razor’s edge, throwing away everything that could slow me down, everyone that could make me hesitate, so that I could do the impossible. So that I could fight the invincible.

And now…

Now I live in a world where my power can get replenished by… sex.

So I can indulge. I can freeze this beautiful moment like a picture that I can walk in, and look at each petal. At the scrawled red veins over pure white that tell a different story in every single one of them.

I can admire this. Take it in.

I can do it without feeling that I’m wasting time. Resources. Slipping further away from that victory that was always one step away. One more loop for me to train, learn, and refine myself.

But I can’t.

I really, really can’t.

I jump to another tree, another branch, and now I’m watching Madoka and Hitomi from behind their green, wooden bench, their faces in profile as they smile at one another, as the low Sun frames them in frozen gold.

I stare a bit longer, taking in this different beauty that means so much more to me as I sit down on the dark branch, adjusting my weight so it won’t sway when I restart time.

And let go.

“Hey… I… I know you’re mad at her—and you should be! She’s definitely going to have to beg you before you forgive her! But… but other than that, how do you feel?” she asks.

Hitomi’s smile turns bitter as her eyes glimmer, and she softly embraces Madoka, holding her close to her, delaying her answer as she seems to gather her courage from her friend’s presence and touch.

“I don’t know. I never… I never even thought about girls like that, and now I… I just… I don’t know, Madoka. But I want to learn,” she says.

And I look at the pink-haired girl that I love. The girl that is my whole world. The girl I did everything for.

“You and me both, Hitomi. You and me both,” I whisper.

Another stream of blossoms passes between the two of us.

This time, I let it go.

***

Madoka – A Friend in Need Is a Friend Indeed

Hitomi has always been the most ladylike of the three of us.

It’s… a bit hard to reconcile that with the memory of her touching herself to Sayaka and Homura holding my head, thrusting inside my mouth with—nope!

Not the time.

Let’s just… let’s just say that was due to Sayaka and her stupid, sexy voice, and forget any and all implications until the actualissue is dealt with.

In this case, my friend sniffling with her face buried on my shoulder.

“I… I don’t have any experience,” I start. “I don’t know what love is or what it’s supposed to be. But… but I thinkfriendship should be a part of it. I think I’d rather be with someone who understood me, who supported me, who made me laugh, than with some handsome guy or… or… well, a pretty… you know!”

Hitomi pushes back until she’s looking straight at me with a spectacular deadpan.

“Madoka, if you want to get out of the closet, by all means, this is a splendid time for me to deal with that.”

Somehow, her words and expression don’t quite match…

“I… I don’t mean to… Sorry! I don’t want to steal your moment! Things just came out!”

“You are coming out of the closet. Right now. Here and now.”

“Wha—no! I mean, I… I gave two girls hand—handsies. And the other thing. The mouth thing—”

“Oh, for—say blowjob! Say it!” Hitomi’s eyes are kind of scary.

“It’s embarrassing!” But not scary enough to make me change my mind!

“You just encouraged the two of them to give you a cum shower! And were constantly trying to tempt them into spitroasting you!”

“Wha—spitroasting? What does barbecue have to do with anything?!”

Hitomi looks at me.

Then, slowly, her right hand leaves my left shoulder, and she does what over half our class did earlier, prompted by Miss Saotome’s slightlymore inappropriate than usual rant.

Rude.

“Can’t you guess?” she says.

I furrow my eyebrows, trying to come up with why she thinks it’s so obvious that a spitroast and my earlier situation with Sayaka and Homura would be…

…

“That… is a thing?” I ask, looking anywhere but at Hitomi’s grass-green eyes.

“If you’re talking about a busty futa throatfucking you while the girl you’ve been making eyes at since you met grabs your hips and—”

“Eyes?! What? Nooo, no, I haven’t been making eyes at Homura. Silly Hitomi. I don’t know where you come up with these things,” I say, completely unflappable, in control, self-possessed.

As in, I possess myself.

Not Homura.

And now I’m definitely not thinking about Homura possessing me in any way, holding me steady with her slitted, lavender eyes, surrounded by her coils, her dark body sliding against me with soft, warm, silky scales right before her throbbing cock spears me open—

Aaaaaaahhhhh!

This is all Sayaka’s fault! Sayaka’s sexy voice’s fault!

Hitomi is patting my head. Or I guess it’s Hitomi. It’s kind of hard to tell with my face buried in my hands.

“This isn’t about me,” I finally manage to mutter. “This is about you, and your feelings, and how you should know you’re as special and beautiful as you ever were, and Sayaka is a very lucky girl to have had her first time with you—”

“Kyousuke,” she says.

“What?!” I ask, holding her shoulders, barely restraining myself from shaking her, and so close that it takes me a moment to realize that Hitomi is violently blushing for reasons I’m going to add to the ever-growing pile of things I’ll be ignoring until this conversation is over.

“She… her wish was to heal Kyousuke, and she rushed to use her magic on him before she learned what was about to happen. So… he woke up, fully healed, believing he was dreaming about Sayaka being a sexy mermaid. And then…” she wets her lips, looks down at mine, and then away.

… The silence is kind of uncomfortable.

“I’m so sorry,” I tell her before I hug her.

“It’s not like I—”

“I can’t even begin to know how it must feel to have both your crushes with one another—”

“Wha—that’s not it! And when did I ever say I have a crush on any of them?”

Hitomi’s eyes are wide. Right in front of me.

And this time, it’s my turn to slap my hand over my face.

… It kinda hurts. I don’t know why people do this.

“Hitomi, the Kyousuke thing with both Sayaka and you has been painfully obvious to watch from the sidelines. As to you having a crush on Sayaka… That might have been tactless of me to say, but… have you heard yourself over the past two hours? There’s not a single detail of your friendship that you have forgotten.”

“I am a very good friend,” she immediately says, her lips thinning into a straight, stubborn line.

I blink at her.

She keeps up her bluff.

I sigh.

“What did you get Sayaka for her birthday three years ago?” I ask with a careful, patient tone.

“A plushie of a blue owl with a white soccer uniform,” she immediately answers.

“Why?”

“Because… it was cute?”

I flatten my gaze, utterly unimpressed.

“Fine! Because it matched the shade of her hair, mocked her relentlessly tomboyish tendencies, her own nerdy traits when it comes to classical music, and because it was cute. Happy now?”

“Not yet. What did you get me?”

She blinks at me.

Wets her lips.

Tries to look away.

I slap my hands over her cheeks and force her to look right at me.

“You got me something together with Sayaka. That you two went out to buy by ourselves. Together. In what could very well have been a date—”

“Nope. Nope. I refuse. Any and all Sapphic feelings I may be harboring right now are magic-induced, and there’s nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”

“Perhaps I could offer some assistance in doing so, Hitomi Shizuki?” Kyuubey says.

I look to my right, over the bench’s back, at the white-haired girl standing with her hands demurely crossed right below her belly, wearing a spectacular white business suit that seems to shimmer like moonlight, her pale thighs peeking out from beneath a tight skirt just about as pearly as the sheen of whatever fabric she uses.

“Aaaaaaaaaah!” Hitomi predictably reacts.

Mostly, I suppose, due to the ears.

“Who are you?! What are you? And why do you know my name?!”

… I wonder if this is how I should’ve reacted to the talking, clearly unnatural animal when I first met her. I’m glad I didn’t, but I can’t help but feel that I didn’t play my part quite right.

“This is Kyuubey,” Homura says with a tired voice as soon as she softly lands on the grass by Kyuubey’s side. “She’s the… being responsible for contracting magical girls and is here to make you an offer that you should refuse but won’t. Because nobody I’ve ever met has.”

At the introduction, Kyuubey arches a silver eyebrow and turns slightly to not-quite face Homura, who—

Wait.

Was Homura spying on me?

… And why do I feel all right with that?

“Homura Akemi, I fear that it’s not only aftercare that you’re lacking in—”

And now Homura’s black, scaled hands are covering the shorter girl’s mouth.

A girl who only answers that gesture with another arched eyebrow.

… Going by Homura’s blush, that seems to be more than enough.

“What? Make me an offer? But I am not—I mean, I thought only magical girls could see Kyuubey; Sayaka said that—” Hitomi’s eyes widen as, I think, she comes to the obvious conclusion. “Does… Does that mean I get to make a wish?”

Homura and Kyuubey exchange a few glances and, possibly, telepathic messages because both of them are rude enough to exclude me.

And Homura lowers her hands.

“That is the usual procedure, Hitomi Shizuki. By which I mean the only procedure. I should caution you not to make a reckless one, such as repressing your lesbian tendencies—”

“I don’t have those! Well, I do, but it’s only because of Sayaka’s dumb magic, so—”

“Not really,” Homura says in what could be a disinterested tone. If she wasn’t still blushing.

“What?” Hitomi asks with a very dangerous edge as she finally stands up from our shared bench.

Or, well, a dangerous edge to somebody other than Homura.

To somebody who isn’t used to dancing amid bullets, through falling buildings, into a storm of her own making.

… I swear I don’t know where all these lines keep coming from. All right, yes, Homura is amazing and worthy of admiration, but—

“The mind control is long over, and, in the first place, it didn’t cause anything other than arousal. I did not, at any point, feel particularly attracted to Sayaka Miki,” Homura clinically says.

… Oh.

Wait, does that mean I—

“Homura Akemi is correct. While you’ve been saturated with enough magic essence, through methods other than, yet also including, oral administration, that it is momentarily possible for you to make a contract, that magic is now dormant. It will become yours if you claim it, or fade away until the next time you decide to indulge in ‘forbidden love—‘”

“That is a joke! I joke about that! Don’t throw it in my face!”

“I was merely engaging in a bonding social protocol by employing your own so-called in-joke, Hitomi Shizuki. There’s no need to rudely point at me with your finger.”

Hitomi blinks.

Looks at Homura, who is trying very hard to keep up her stoic façade despite her trembling lips and red ears, at Kyuubey, who has slightly shifted the angle of her eyebrow in a way I’m sure she thinks meaningful, and at me.

I shrug.

And her pointed finger falls lifelessly by her side.

“I… I don’t even know what to wish for,” she says, her tone about as lost as when we first sat on this bench, and she started not quite pouring her heart out at me.

So I stand up and hug her as softly as I can while drawing her close enough for me to bury my face in shimmering waves of grass-green hair that smells like that shampoo she keeps insisting I should use instead of the one Mama buys for me.

She’s never been too good at recognizing lost battles.

“Whatever you want, Hitomi. Just… be honest with yourself?” I say, right into her ear.

Her arms tighten around my waist, her warmth enveloping me.

She’s always been taller.

It’s just that, at times, she feels much smaller.

***

Homura – Alone at Last, My Pretty

Hitomi and Kyuubey are leaving.

… I admit to a certain measure of relief.

“So… you were spying on me?” Madoka asks from right behind me, making me freeze in contemplating the two departing girls.

‘I appreciate the compliment, Homura Akemi, but I do think this may not be the best occasion for you to stare at my derriere,’the abomination says.

‘Shut up. Shut up, shut up, shut up—’

‘You’re not ready for ballgags, Homura Akemi. You need to be better able to read your partner’s cues.’

… If I mentally scream until I faint, will that affect her in any way?

‘There are more interesting ways for you to try and make me unconscious—’

‘Aaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhh!’

“Homura! Answer me!” Madoka says, grabbing my shoulder and mercifully turning me away from a slight, perky, bouncy—

‘I’d reiterate my appreciation for the compliment, but I do believe this would be a good time for you to focus on something other than how much you’d like to bend me over, Homura Akemi.’

“Yes!” I say, answering the two girls at once.

And immediately regretting it.

Madoka blushes in front of me, her hand frozen on top of my left shoulder, her lips open just enough that the tiny gasp that comes out of them sounds entrancing, yearning, and—

Damn it!

“Why?” she asks.

“Force of habit?” I immediately shoot back with half a shrug, not daring to move the shoulder she’s grasping.

And now Madoka is leveling a flat gaze at me.

Great.

It wasn’t aftercare that I should’ve been learning…

‘Admittedly, I thought you would be more adept at flirting. Maybe we should have focused on the basics before going any further.’

‘Stop peeping on my thoughts!’

‘Stop broadcasting them so loudly. It feels… intrusive. Yet not unpleasantly so.’

‘…’

‘… Fine, I will do my utmost not to listen to your loud thoughts. In the meantime, may I suggest you focus on being devastatingly sincere with Madoka Kaname?’

‘Devastatingly?’

‘Yours are not the only deafening thoughts in the vicinity. Trust me on this one thing, Homura Akemi.’

And, suddenly, something brushing my mind so gently I hadn’t even noticed…

Stops.

I blink at Madoka. At the girl still staring at me. Still touching me.

And I do the one thing I never thought I would do since I learned the truth:

I trust Kyuubey.

“I started… a long time ago. After your fifth death. I… I woke up in my hospital bed, your crying, smiling, brave face the only thing in my mind, and I just… I just had to rush. To race. I had to see you, to know you were alive, even if there was no reason you shouldn’t have been. Even if it was the start of the month, and you’d be safe for at least a few more days. But… But I stood on your neighbor’s roof, looking through your window as you woke up, and I… I felt so… So warm. So relieved. I slumped, fell down on my knees, not having even the strength to stand up as you just sleepily crawled out of bed, and…

“And then I couldn’t stop.

“Every time I felt that fear, that fluttering of my weak heart, I had to find you. See you. I had to watch you be alive. Not to… I was guarding you, protecting you, but I just… I just wanted to know.

“To be by your side.

“Even if you didn’t know I was there.”

I look at her. Just… Just meet her pink, almost red eyes that I never dared compare to Kyuubey’s, waiting for her to judge me. To be disgusted at me, at the gross girl so obsessed with her that couldn’t calm down without resorting to stalking.

I wait for the rejection. For her to push me away.

She hugs me.

“I’m so, so sorry,” she whispers, her breath warm against the side of my neck, the hollow of my throat. “I’m so sorry you had to go alone through all that.”

“I… I wasn’t,” I answer, trying not to stammer, my arms uselessly hanging down as she squeezes them with as much strength as she has when she’s not a magical warrior. “You were there. You were always there, even if you didn’t know it. That was enough. That was more than enough.”

She pulls back, breaking my heart for a single moment before she gently cups my cheek and holds me in all the ways that matter.

“No. No, it wasn’t,” she breathes out, the truth in her words hurting me as much as her touch and gaze soothe me.

“No. No, it wasn’t,” I echo before I break down and cry in her arms.

***

It’s… It takes me time to pull myself together.

We are sitting under another cherry tree, one deeper into the forested area of the park, surrounded by grass dotted by the bursts of pink that keep falling around us, trying and failing to do anything other than highlight Madoka’s eyes and hair.

“I… I only remember brief flashes. The final time is clear, but everything else is just a blur of moments that melt into one another. It felt like a dream when it first came to me, but it was a dream I kept dreaming. A dream about you,” she says, the side of her face resting over my left breast, her right arm around the small of my back, the fingers of her left hand interlaced with mine over my belly.

My shoulders rest on rough bark as I sit on packed earth, yet I still drown in her softness and warmth.

In Madoka.

“I am glad,” I say, the words seeming to come from somewhere far away. Somewhere I had lost sight of. “I am glad you don’t remember all… all that went wrong. It’s enough that I do.”

“It isn’t,” she rebukes me, her fingers squeezing mine reproachfully. “You will tell me everything. Every single thing that still hurts. Every single thing I can help you recover from.”

She isn’t asking, just telling me how things will be.

My heart hammers in my chest.

And I… nod.

Then Madoka lifts her head from my body, the spot of warmth left behind by her soft cheek still blazing as she holds me with pink eyes…

And kisses me.

It’s a slow thing. A gentle thing.

Just… just her lips brushing mine, her bangs tickling my forehead, her scent enveloping me.

There isn’t any rain to overwhelm her. There isn’t a storm raging around us, the winds washing her scent away, and so she smells like that shampoo she always used, the one her mother recommended.

She smells like strawberries, but… it’s not like most shampoos. There isn’t a hint of cloying candy, just a touch of wild fruit, of grass accented by sweetness and a sharp tang.

And then it smells like her.

And I can find so many nuances I never did as she leaves my lonely fingers behind to trail hers over my belly, between my breasts, along my neck until she finally holds my face, warming my cheek with her palm as she tilts her head aside, her lips brushing past mine with the change in angle that takes my breath away even if I keep finding new notes of what makes Madoka so beautifully unique.

Her warmth penetrates me, her touch soothes me, her lips entrance me, and her perfume maddens me.

There’s only her. Only the girl I love more than the world itself, more than my own worthless life, only her touch, her scent, her warmth.

And her kiss.

And then… it ends.

Both breaking and mending my heart.

“Homura,” she breathes as she rests her forehead on mine as if making sure I’m not overcome by the fever she brings me. “Scales.”

I… blink at her.

At warm, tender, pink eyes, at a soft smile that seems to linger on my tingling lips.

At the soft, diffused light washing over a face that’s barely apart from mine.

I didn’t even notice I was holding her nape, cradling it with my right hand, but I finally manage to drag my eyes from hers to see that, yes, the monster has come out. That my hands and arms are enclosed by shimmering, black scales that reach above my elbow, turning into scattered, glimmering dots as they lose cohesion around my mid-arm.

That I’m no longer wearing my lavender and white magical girl uniform but the black, strapless, ragged dress. That my bare back rests on dark bark, Madoka’s arm gently supporting me from below.

That I am tasting her smell over a bifurcated tongue that suddenly blinks in and out of my lips.

My heart hammers as I realize how… seamless it’s all been. How my frivolous usage of magic and Madoka’s closeness has made it so natural for the Snake to come out, and then my thighs press together out of their own volition and I moan, the sound deep, guttural, as it’s torn out of my throat when my flesh shifts and elongates, slithering in languid waves that follow each ragged, desperate, yearning gasp while the banded scales cross the ever-shrinking gap between my legs until I’m once more half-snake, my long, thick tail lifting both Madoka and I as she lies on top of me, never letting me go through the whole transformation until, with an exultant cry, my wings burst forth from my back, cushioning me from the bark behind me as black feathers gently rain down around us until I embrace Madoka with my wings, shielding her from the falling darkness.

“You’re so beautiful,” she murmurs, tilting her head back up, her still wet lips glimmering in the scarce rays of sunlight allowed to enter this space just for the two of us.

And I…

Panic.

Because she’s too close. She’s too… her. She’s too pure, too beautiful, too gentle, too loving, and I don’t deserve it. Don’t deserve her.

So I stop time, looking for a moment of respite, a way to process it, forgetting in the rush of the moment that I can’t. That touching somebody will bring them with me. That I can’t flee Madoka when she holds me.

Except… I can.

There’s… There’s another flavor to my magic. A way in which my spell shifts when I am the Snake.

And so time holds still, fallen feathers and pink blossoms frozen still.

As Madoka holds me.

Lies on top of me.

Fills me with her warmth and scent.

It’s… It’s perfect. It’s the one moment I always looked for, even if I knew it couldn’t be found. It’s a moment I’ve captured, taken with me, and it will last for as long as I can hold onto it.

My heart hammers so hard that the top of my breasts ripples above the silk cups of my dress even as I hold perfectly still, memorizing yet again the precise shade of pink of every strand of color to be found in Madoka’s eyes as she looks at me so tenderly that it’s painful, so gently that it scars.

As she brands me yet again without knowing it.

I nuzzle against the palm frozen over my face, the smatter of scales highlighting the shape of my cheekbones gliding where mere skin catches in her touch.

I breathe as deeply as I can, taking in more and more of her scent over my tongue, filling myself with it until I know I’ll never forgive a single nuance. Until my body tells me I’ll be able to find her no matter what, that I’ll always be a second away from tasting the air around me for traces of her.

I… I dare run my fingers down from her nape, along her spine, discovering as much of her shape as I’m able under the fabric of her uniform until I stop just below her waist, over the slight dip of bone before her… her buttocks.

And then I go back up.

Gently, softly, slowly. Just… just tracing her. Drawing her in my mind, my hand a stencil that reveals her lines one by one with every downward and upward caress that I don’t dare turn into something else. Anythingelse.

I love her.

I love her enough to be tempted. To desperately yearn for a single step further. For tasting more of her shape as I admire the softness of her breasts, the firmness of her thighs, the heat between them.

I love her enough that it’s maddening. Intoxicating. That I know I could lose myself in all that her body has to offer and never come back from the sheer joy of discovery.

And I love her enough that I would never do this to her.

So I take in another breath. Another mouthful of air filled with Madoka.

And even as my heart keeps beating, as my chest keeps rising and falling, as the Snake demands more…

I let go.

Feathers fall, blossoms drift.

And Madoka’s gentle, warm eyes fly wide open.

***

Madoka – Time Magic Is Just Unfair

Homura’s warm breath washes over my wet lips, caressing me so softly that I barely notice.

But I do.

I do, because it’s not once, or twice, or even three times.

It’s a hundred.

A hundred variations of her gently blowing over my lower lip, gasping up at me with a gust of warm air, hissing a sibilant melody, sharply sucking in a relieving touch of coolness.

All at once.

My head drowns in a haze as I try to understand, to know how is it possible for me to feel so much, to have all of thison my lips even as I finally notice my spine arching back under her unending, rippling caress, under careful, barely there fingers tracing lines of sheer sensation that are at once not enough and far too much.

My eyes close of their own accord as a hundred Homuras keep assaulting me, tearing through all my restraint with excessive gentleness that makes me clench my thighs together above her as I keep offering my breasts with stiff, aching nipples doing their best to show through my plain white bra and the blouse over it.

She holds me, her arms around me, and only then do I realize that I’m moaning, on the verge of sobbing, as that physical Homura, the only one that’s here with me, overlays her touch with all the other ghosts of her.

My eyelids flutter when I try to open them, my breath leaves me in burning gusts, my blood roars in my ears.

And my panties are drenched.

“Ho… Homura,” I manage to breathe out as I fall on top of her enticingly revealed, soft chest, my lips meeting the pale flesh for the first, and definitely not the last time. “Homura…” I beg her.

“Ma… Madoka. I am sorry. I didn’t… I didn’t think it would—”

“More,” I demand of her, cutting off the stupid, meaningless, infuriating apologies.

Her heart thuds beneath me, the frantic drumming comforting only in knowing that my desperate yearning is echoed. That I’m not alone in longing for another girl’s touch.

Her breath stops, making me realize that I’m not alone in… in the other thing. The panic forcefully shoved aside by all the other emotions rushing through me, making a mess of both my body and mind.

I kiss the top of her left breast, just over where I’ve been resting my cheek for so long that it felt as if I would fall into the sweetest sleep of my life while holding my Homura.

“More,” I repeat, a hint of a growl in my voice as I can’t hold myself back any longer and bite my lip just so I won’t bite anything else.

“Madoka, I can’t—”

I tear her dress down, my mouth immediately finding a rosy nipple with a faded areola, and I latch over it, suckling her between lips that still throb with a hundred breaths of yearning, the tip of my tongue dancing with the hardened flesh, flicking it as her fingers trace excruciating lines of lightning up my neck and across my scalp before she pulls me toward her and I moan my approval just because I can’t yell my triumph.

Her cock comes out from above the silk line of pale, banded scales, lifting her skirt and pushing mine up as she slithers between my thighs, making me let up on the frantic pressure between them to allow her inside, to allow her beating flesh to press up and between my legs until it nuzzles across my gap, right below moist, heated panties.

I squeeze her breast about as hard as I think I would like, my fingers sinking into the yielding, accepting flesh.

My lips leave her nipple behind with a popping sound and a thread of saliva that connects us with glimmering light.

Her eyes are wide, on the verge of panic, the black slits crossing them wide enough that they are almost a circle surrounded by dark lavender.

“More,” I repeat.

Her forked tongue peeks out of open, lax, disbelieving lips.

And—

***

Homura – This Is the Last Time I Read One of Those Doujins

She’s…

Too much.

She’s too tempting, too inviting, too… too…

Madoka.

I breathe out her name as I think it, as I stare at the girl with the frozen strand of light dangling from her swollen lips and reaching down to my aching chest.

As I feel her soft, warm thighs pressing down on me.

On the cock I didn’t have days ago. The part of me that should feel even more alien than the pair of wings embracing us or the black tail holding us above packed earth and tickling grass.

The part of me she’s captured and won’t let go of.

I look at her. At the demanding hunger in her lidded eyes, the traces of her last order on her lips, the fingers squeezing my breast just… just right. Just shy of pain, but insistent enough, demanding enough that her touch on me is undeniable.

That her claim on me is… what I always wanted.

And she wants me to give her more.

I stare into burning pink that doesn’t shift minutely or at all. Into eyes that don’t waver, can’t waver, because she’s caught in my frozen time, framed by dark feathers and falling blossoms.

I stare at…

Madoka.

Her name leaves my lips once more with all the longing I can pour on it, glad that I can’t be overheard. Not here. Not in this place made just for me to stare at her, to admire her, to devour her.

How could I ever deny her? How could I ever not give her anythingthat she asks of me? How could I ever stop anticipating her wishes so that she doesn’t even have to ask?

But…

But I’m still embarrassed.

Mortified.

Because this?

This is a fantasy.

A guilty pleasure I shamefully indulged one too many times. A silly thing I once found while browsing through an entire bookshop, taking a short break from cramming as much knowledge as I could into my abused brain as I hoped for one last clue, one last piece of the puzzle I was trying to turn my fight against Walpurgisnacht into.

I remember my cheeks burning as I saw that first time-stop porn… comic. As I was too fascinated not to quickly throw away the vile drawings of a woman constantly climaxing after everything she endured without her knowledge came at her at once.

I remember imagining Madoka’s face contorted in an ecstasy only my magic could bring her.

And I remember knowing that it was a safe fantasy. That I really couldn’t do any of that. That my magic didn’t work, couldn’twork like that. That I could guiltily imagine as much as I wanted without ever being tempted to turn it into reality and cross an unforgivable line.

But now…

Now that fantasy is real.

And Madoka wants it.

She demands it.

And I won’t ever deny her.

So I bend my tail, briefly caressing the inside of her clothed ankles with its tip before I slither it up and down, gently tracing the faint lines of soft muscle, bitterly disappointed at not having her react to my touch even as I secretly thrill at the… the lack of rejection. At Madoka’s eyes still searing me with her lidded gaze as I explore her body, learn her shape in ways that had been forbidden to me until today. Until she saw me and recognized me, my heart soaring at a reunion I had stopped hoping for long ago.

Then we had that… that thing at noon. That sweet moment of careless pleasure tainted by magic and urges beyond my control. But she still accepted me. Still wanted me.

It’s a shameful happiness, only mitigated by the complicated circumstances and by Madoka accepting it wholeheartedly.

Also, by the fresh, heartwarming memory of Madoka biting Sayaka’s cock.

…

Heh.

I try to suppress a chuckle that ends up with me moaning as my chest presses up into Madoka’s tight grip, my tongue flickering out as I…

Wait.

Still caressing Madoka’s legs all over, struggling to ignore my trapped cock between her warm thighs, I make an effort of will and… push my tongue out.

The maroon, bifurcated flesh rolls out, more and more muscle finding its way past my lips as I focus on lengthening it, on licking the air in front of me, on capturing every single trace of Madoka’s scent hanging motionless between us.

And then I reach her.

I moan yet again past lengthened fangs as the twin tips of my tongue touch her cheek.

And then I slowly drag them down until I reach the ridge of her upper lip, the slight divot that gives the middle of her mouth that adorablehint of a pink heart’s shape.

I trace it. The stiff line right outside the soft flesh that she has willingly shared with me. I go along it, drawing it with the twin tips again and again, tasting her, taking the scent off her skin until I can hold back no more, and I spiral inwards, toward the yielding tenderness of her lips, still open from when she pulled away from my aching nipple only to ask me for more.

Her eyes still burn on mine as I thrust my tongue inside her mouth, and I feel as if she’s scolding me for my daring, for sullying that which is holy even as I discover the warm pool of saliva beneath her tongue from where the dangling string of frozen light pours.

I dip the tips on it and paint her.

Every single part of the inside of her mouth. Everywhere I can reach, from her gums to the narrow crevices between pearly teeth, from beneath her tongue to ridges crossing her palate.

I explore her.

I taste her.

I learn her.

And I thrill at how she will take it. At Madoka waking up from my spell to know how utterly I’ve taken her. How much of her I’m marking as mine. How much of her warmth I am claiming.

I imagine her eyes rolling back as she moans, her body quivering atop mine.

And I can no longer hold back.

My tail spirals around her legs, crawling along the slender lines of her body until right below where my cock passes between her thighs, my hands follow her arms up to her blouse’s collar, and I undo it. I undo each and every button, baring her pale, tinged flesh to me until her adorable, plain bra shows.

And I take that off as well.

I do my best not to disturb her. To hold her precisely as she was when she froze so that the only things her body will tell her when she returns will be of my touch over her, and so the white piece of clothing hangs down from her shoulders, unhooked and loose, but held by the sleeves of her blouse.

She looks entrancing.

And…

And my magic should be running out. I should be already feeling the strain of holding this long onto this perfect, wonderful moment, but I now feed on sex.

So I pull my hips back.

And, my tongue still inside Madoka’s mouth, retracing every single line for a third time, I hiss.

The sheer pleasure of her soft, yielding flesh only compounds with all the memories of the times I fantasized about this very same thing happening. About me holding a naked Madoka still, showering her reddening skin with kisses and feather-soft touches. About dipping my fingers between her legs only to find her wet.

I take my tongue out of her mouth for the brief moment it takes me to wet my own dry lips.

And I thrust it back inside.

As I won’t do with… anything else.

Because she deserves better. She deserves something unique, special. Magical in a sense that is from a time before I gained my own power.

She deserves everything.

And, until I can give it to her…

I will give her everything else.

So I reach down her back with fluttering caresses that go back and forth, as much to tantalize her when she wakes up as to stall this last, momentous step.

I squeeze her tight behind, my fingers sinking over thin underwear and under a thick skirt.

And I shift her panties aside.

My cock rests right against warm, wet lips, and it takes my everything to keep my resolution in place. To not betray my vow to her as I slide back and forth, tortuously slow as my hunger for her grows, and I keep imagining all that I could do. All the ways she could wake up, gasping at the phantom touch of my tip having dipped briefly inside her, screaming at me going right inside her, panting at me stretching her open.

Crying out at everything happening at once.

I am panting.

My chest is forcefully rising and falling, Madoka’s hand pressing down on me harder and harder as my arousal grows to the point of madness as I fuck her thighs and nothing else.

So I take my tongue out of her mouth and trace the elegant, slender lines of her neck. Draw twin circles inside the hollow of her throat, leave dual wet lines up the sides of her neck and behind her ear.

And, finally, I allow myself to lick her breasts.

I flcik my tips at her reddish, hardened nipples, wishing for her flesh to quiver with the force I impart on her. But that will have to wait until time returns to her. Until I free her from my hold.

And, in the meantime… My tongue grows.

It gets longer and longer, the thin line of muscle impossibly dexterous as I find myself wrapping the slight mounds until they bulge around my coiled tongue sliding back and forth, digging paths on her flesh for me to follow as I keep squeezing her marvelously yielding behind and I torture myself with slow thrusts that bring me closer and closer to the edge of madness.

And, all the while, she keeps looking at me with the same smoldering, demanding gaze she had when I froze her, blazing, pink eyes telling me that this isn’t enough. That I’m not doing enough.

So I do more.

My hips slam against her, the force of my thrusts reaching my hands holding her ass in place as I push past the gap right under her warm sex, as her wetness and my own dripping precum stain her body while I envelop both of us with my wings, the soft touch of my feathers shifting in minute ways as I keep moving, as I keep fucking Madoka’s thighs.

My tongue thrusts down between her legs, down the middle line of her belly, and I taste her.

Her sex.

Madoka’s sex on my tongue, each drop of her honey shooting sparks of agonizing pleasure through me as I allow myself to drink of her, even if it never reaches my lips, even as she only coats as much of my flesh as I can bring to her wet, embracing folds.

I find her clitoris, the erect flesh I strike against every time I thrust upward with my hips, and I envelop it in circles that I manage to keep slow until the next time my cock’s head erupts past her soft flesh to meet air constantly warmed by my passion.

Then I lose myself, and I just lick all around her, flicking her clitoris as I did her nipples, spiraling twin tips over, around, and across it, the idea of how she will squirm and scream when I release her pushing me higher and higher.

Until there are no heights left to reach.

And I let go.

***

Madoka – Love Is Such Sweet Surrender

—wha—

All at once.

A thousand feathers drift along my back, their softness overwhelming even through my clothes.

A thin, warm, soft point of flesh wrapped in slick silk glides along my legs, along every crevice of bone and muscle, digging soothing circles of maddening tenderness in and through me behind my ankles, behind my knees, along the line over the back of my thighs and beneath my cheeks.

And inquiring tongue leaves behind a line of warmth and love before its hundred duplicates thrust past my lips, over my own tongue under it, behind my teeth, over them, under them, around my palate, the inside of my cheeks.

I am screaming.

I am screaming as impossibly tender and careful loving slams all across and through me. As Homura’s coils deliberately wrap my legs together so that I can’t thrash. So that I can’t lose myself to the overwhelming pleasure.

And that’s just the start, the beginning that happens at the same time as everything else.

Pulsing lines of muscle hold my breasts up, squeezing them as something warm and wet quickly whips my nipples, my scream as high, as loudas I can reach, as my mind flickers like Homura’s tongue across my clit.

All the muscles on my back try to tense up, to rebel against the immense, soothing warmth washing over and across me from her delicate fingers gliding up and down as she squeezes my… my ass. As she makes me clench, both my thighs and my insides answering the rough pleasure she inflicts on me as she softly glides across and past folds that are wet and ready only for her, that yearn for her to thrust not along me, not past my quivering hole, but inside of me.

That silently beg for her cock.

That demand her to fill me even as I’m wracked by the harder, speedier thrusts that turn the inside of my thighs into a pussy all her own, into a hole of yielding flesh that brings me more pleasure than my fingers ever did when I bit down on my pillow to avoid Tatsuya hearing me from his room, and I finally understand why I so often thought about black, long, silky hair when I did that.

She holds me. She keeps me in place with soft wings, with tight coils, with demanding hands.

And she keeps fucking me.

Her cock burns past my thigh gap with each pump of muscled coils as everything she did to me slams into my mind, echoing out of order as I strive to take it all in, as I try to make sense of the barrage of Homuraassaulting me, melting me, turning me into nothing but a receptacle for the pleasure she wants to pour inside of me.

“Madoka!” she screams, with that way she has of saying my name like it means something. Like it’s a whole world for her to explore, to chant about.

Tears pour out of my eyes as I break. As I can’t take any more of her. Of her touch, her kisses, her breath, her…

Her love.

It’s too much. It’s so much that I drift away. That my thoughts give way only to something without words.

“Madoka!” she calls me.

And it’s only because of her that I can come back.

Like she did for me.

Like she did again and again. Like she always did. Like she always would have.

Until we could be together.

The tears burn as they pour along with my drool past my slack jaw and tingling lips. As all the love I ever felt for her burnsinside my chest, my whole body filled with…

With…

“Homura,” I breathe out.

Like only I can.

Like only I ever will.

And we come.

Together, the last of our restraint shattered, the waves of sheer ecstasy crashing through me as her cock pulses between my thighs, past my lower lips, and she erupts, her pointed, glittering fangs pressing thin lines over and past her lip as she tries and fails to muffle her own moan while her seed showers me, scalds me, and I just scream, and scream, and—

She’s warm.

Soft.

And she’s holding me.

Frantic kisses rain down on top of my head as she cradles my face between her bare breasts, her tail no longer fully wrapped around my legs but drifting up and down in a tender massage that could make me weep once more.

Without saying anything, without daring to say anything, I slide my arms under her back, between warm flesh and soft feathers.

She sobs.

It’s… It’s a happy sob.

I know. Because mine is the same.