#cha.cynthia

He doesn’t believe you’re dead. Volo has never seen your body, has never seen the rot sinking into your skin, so you’re alive. Out there, somewhere. There are few things for him to study, even fewer places he has left to visit. You’re all he has left. When he has reached his limit once again and tries to die, it’s the thought of you that drags him back. (One time, he finds comfort in someone with your face. They looked so much like you that, for a moment, he lost himself in them. It’s the first thing in his life he truly regrets.) Pieces of his past self break and fall away from him. He no longer has the energy left to be charming, to approach anyone who isn’t of direct use to him.

After a century of aimless wandering, he sees you again. At the side of a woman who looks so much like himself, smiling like he remembers you always did. The resemblance between him and her is striking. Were you looking for him too, all this time, and is she the closest thing you could find? A cheap copy? He’ll take better care of you, like he always did. This Hisuian Sinnohan champion is a mere substitute for himself. (Even if she is who he thinks she is, that doesn’t change anything.) 

Once Volo has finally found what he wants to live for again, there’s no stopping him. The woman is smart though, he’ll give her that. Constantly on the move, or having her Pokémon crawling about nearby. He himself hasn’t had a team in years, only Spiritomb remaining by his side. But Volo has no guilt or shame left, unable to care about your ‘friend’s’ privacy, and finds his way towards her home. It took him longer to find than he would care to admit. 

He finds you laying in bed in the middle of the champion’s messy home. You’re… Out of it, clearly. Your pupils are blown wide open, and a bit of drool leaks from the corner of your mouth. You don’t seem to be able to move. Even when he prods your side, you don’t even twitch. You’re still somewhat aware, though. When he moves his hand in front of your eyes, your gaze follows it. Before he can give into his urges, no matter how badly he wants to devour you right here and now, he has to document your state. Take pictures and videos of you, including your current surroundings. 

When he strokes your face, the groan you let out is almost inaudible. You’re still so pretty. Neither of you have aged much, despite the years flying past you. He still feels the same too. Being so close to you has his heart racing, his fingers twitching. They tremble when he cups your cheek. Without any hesitation, he kisses you. Your mouth doesn’t taste like it used to. Is she not feeding you your favourite foods? When he pulls away, buries his face into your hair and inhales, he can tell you don’t smell the same either. Your locks have been slathered in some shampoo you’d never used before. You’re different, you’ve changed. He’s not the same either. But all of your changes… They’re not your own doing, they’re hers. 

“Get away from her.” Cynthia’s voice trembles with suppressed rage. Volo hadn’t heard either of them approach, but now he has a Garchomp’s claw nestled against his throat. He doesn’t move. Why should he? He has nothing to lose, and the pain of another failed death is a price he’s willing to pay. 

“Call your Pokémon back,” he says instead. “Unless you want pictures of your lover,” he laughs despite himself. “Sent to every news outlet you can imagine. Kill me, and they’ll be sent automatically within the hour.” Cynthia doesn’t comply with his demands either. Instead, Garchomp lifts him up, and holds him so tightly he can’t move. 

Cynthia glares at him with an amount of hatred he hasn’t seen in a century. “What do you want? Money? Fame?”

Volo laughs. “None of that. I’d say my demands are very simple.”

He talks. In an attempt to show to this second choice how much he loves you, and the depth of the relationship you two shared. He talks about how you are an angel, something she wouldn’t be able to understand, how much he loves you, how much he’s missed you, and how he is certain that you would prefer him. He recites parts of the letters he’d written for you in your absence, and the places he wanted to show you. After not having mentioned you in years, everything comes flowing out. Cynthia only allows it, because she’s stunned into silence. With every word he speaks, he reminds her more of a diary she knows by heart.

“Are you… Volo?”

The two of them don’t get along perfectly well, and disagree on who or what is best for you. But, in the end, they come to the agreement that they’d rather spend time looking after you, instead of constantly trying to take you away from the other. (Volo would never have folded so easily if Cynthia wasn’t a descendant of him, and Cynthia would’ve never allowed this if his diaries hadn’t been such an eye opener for her.) Because of her many responsibilities as the champion, Volo ends up spending the most time around you.

Your knees buckle, and you stumble forward. She catches you with a soft 'oof', immediately starting to pet your head. "Your home is with me. I don’t care where we go or what we do, as long as we’re together. You were sent my way across space and time- How could this not be a sign?” You can just barely keep your eyelids open, much less respond. A thin line of drool dribbles from your mouth. But that’s not what gets your heart to race. As your whole body goes limp and you lean all your weight on her, you feel a bit of piss starting to leak out. A garbed little noise of panic leaves the back of your throat. It starts off as only a few droplets, then a trickle, but it soon starts gushing out at such a pace that it soaks through your underwear and runs down your leg. The wet patch spreads to Cynthia’s pants, though largely invisible against the black fabric.

“You don’t have to struggle. It’ll be okay. It’s easier if… Ah!” Her pants cling to her leg, and she can finally feel the wet heat. Tears have formed in your eyes, and you can’t even try to hold them back before they’re streaming down your cheeks. Your face is burning up, and you want to curl up and hide. “Oh, I’m so sorry, dear. I didn’t know you had to go! Don’t be embarrassed, it’s not your fault at all. I guess Roserade helped out a bit too much, hm?” She laughs softly, and returns the Pokémon to her ball. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

Cynthia supports your body as you stumble over your own feet. The messiness of her home stands out even more now that you keep almost slipping on scattered papers or tripping over cups. (Today had been supposed to be a 'goodbye' party at her place, one final sendoff between friends before you'd part ways for a while. That’s the only reason you travelled all the way to her home.  You were planning on moving on to another region, for once, without her. You would have still been friends, you would've still been in contact. But it hadn't been enough, apparently.) She pushes you down onto her mattress.

Her bed is soft. Though she asked you to share and sleep there with her whenever you stayed the night, this is your first time actually doing so. You’d always thought she’d been joking, and you had returned her jests. Every time you rejected her, you must’ve pushed her a bit further. She’d saved you, helped you so much, shown you so many beautiful things… She’d been your one pillar in this world, your best friend. Where did it go wrong? Did you… Cause her to be this way? Was she always like this, or did you change her? Cynthia towers over you, but she’s kneeling in between your legs, hands placed on the mattress in front of her. Her gaze pierces into you, her face flushed as she pants a little.

“I’ve… I’ve imagined this for ages. Even before you came to me.” Her hands tremble as she lowers them towards your thighs, hesitating a moment before pressing them down. She jolts a little, as if shocked. “So soft… You really are perfect.” She kneads at the skin, her flush deepening more by the second. “I’ll show you… That I deserve you. That I can make you feel good.” She takes a shuddering breath, and shakes her head a bit, like shaking something off. “It has to be uncomfortable in those soaked clothes… I’ll get them off.” 

The insides of your thighs are still wet with piss, and Cynthia first makes her way there. She kisses your knees in reverence, trailing kisses up your leg until she's lapping at the wet spots, cleaning you up. She's nothing if not soft, and in your spore-addled brain, all your feelings become hazy and muddled. You ... Don't want this. But you can't remember the last time someone touched you like this, like you're the centre of their world, or or- (For a moment, you remember. It's the same blonde hair and grey eyes gazing up at you, but their hair is pulled up in a bun, and they breathe out that you are their goddess.)

The memory slips out of your grasp again as soon as Cynthia presses her lips to your clit, the only thing separating her from your skin being your soaked underwear. Her lipstick has left a trail of kisses up the inside of your thighs. Arguably, you're dirtier than when you started. 

"Hm, I can't tell if you're wet or not because of your little accident... Oh well. I know you are." Cynthia pulls your panties off by hooking two of her fingers underneath the fabric. She gasps at the sight of your pussy, looking like she has stars in her eyes.  "You’re  sooo cute! I'm so lucky." You used to think yourself lucky when you saw Cynthia gushing over something: It was a side of the Champion many didn’t know, and it made you feel closer to her. It was cute when it was about a new artefact she discovered… Not so much in this situation. 

She continues her quest of ‘cleaning you up’, pressing the flat of her tongue near your hole and sliding it up until she has the tip pressed against your clit. For a few moments, she swirls her tongue around it. You tense up, uncontrollable twitches shooting through you as your insides clench around nothing. Then, she closes her lips around it and sucks. 

Despite the forced relaxation of your body, your hips jerk up to meet her mouth, and a little squeak is wrenched out of your throat. You feel her lips curl as she hums around you, making your back lift off the mattress as your body struggles against the paralysis. The pleasure melts away any remaining thoughts you might have had, and any tension right alongside it. Your eyes slide shut and your mouth is oozing drool, dripping down your chin and down onto your throat. 

Any pretence is lost in the favour of your pleasure as Cynthia slips a finger inside you, curling it and seeking that special little spot inside you. She grazes it, and you whine. You’re twitching and gushing and making the most incomprehensible guttural noises as pleasure overflows. Not passing out is taking the most tremendous amount of effort. You don’t even notice Cynthia is looming over you until you feel her breath brushing against your neck.