"Simps usually don't get… hand-holding and kissing privileges, you know?" Makoto giggled, the sound a low, affectionate rumble as he hefted the mountain of merchandise bags.
His credit card was probably whimpering in Yuna's purse, but he found he didn't really care. The look on her face when he'd handed it to her had been worth every yen.
"Photo ops next, right?" he asked, a genuine excitement bubbling up inside him. "Go on, show them how cute my Ganyu can be."
He paused, a sheepish grin on his face. "And I'll try not to act so possessive," he added, shrugging. "But I'm still going to roar if any perverts approach you."
Yuna's high-heeled boot came down on his foot with pinpoint accuracy that was both impressive and deeply painful.
"You WILL behave," she hissed, but her hand squeezed his a little tighter, a silent, betraying contradiction.
When a group of photographers, their lenses like the eyes of a ravenous insect swarm, descended upon her, she transformed.
She played her role to absolute perfection: A Ganyu incarnate, all shy, demure smiles and graceful, elegant poses. She was a vision, and Makoto's chest swelled with a fierce, proprietary pride.
Until one of them, an overeager fan with greasy hair and a camera that was a little too expensive, stepped a little too close.
His hand was drifting with a casual, yet predatory, intent toward her waist.
A low, guttural growl rumbled in Makoto's chest, an involuntary, primal sound of pure, possessive rage.
Yuna's reaction was instantaneous. And so much worse.
With a sweet, deadly smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, she grabbed Makoto's arm and pressed his hand possessively against her stomach, right over the faint, purplish marks that he knew lay hidden beneath the silky, blue fabric.
"Oops," she chirped, her voice a singsong of false innocence as she looked at the stunned photographer. "My simp gets a little bit jealous!"
The photographer, suitably chastised, retreated, and Makoto let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.
"I'm not jealous," he pouted, grabbing her hand back as he scanned the crowd. "Hmph. I'm just going to go see if I can find any lost Paimons or Nahidas wandering around."
Yuna's grip on his hand turned into a vice. "Don't you even THINK about it," she snarled, yanking him back by the collar of his shirt.
Her Ganyu bells jangled furiously as she stomped on his foot again for good measure. "You are stuck with ME today, you lolicon bastard."
She dragged him away from the gawking photographers, muttering darkly about "disgusting older brothers" and "the legal age of consent."
But as they walked, when she thought he wasn't looking, she sneakily adjusted the high collar of her top, just enough to make the fresh, angry hickey he'd left that morning peek out above the fabric. It was a silent, savage claim of her own.
"Hungry already? You're so weak," he smirked, but he was already leading her toward the food stalls, the scent of fried food and sugary drinks a welcome distraction.
As he looked around, making sure that no one was watching them too closely, he leaned in, his lips finding the soft, pale skin of her neck and shoulders.
He licked away the faint sheen of sweat, his tongue a warm, wet caress. "Yup, salty," he murmured against her skin. "It's making me feel fully hydrated."
Yuna nearly choked on her dango, her face exploding in a furious, crimson blush as she elbowed him sharply in the ribs. "You!!"
She frantically wiped her neck with a napkin, her eyes darting around like a cornered animal. "Are you TRYING to get us banned for public indecency?!"
He giggled and turned away, bought her a selection of dangos, a massive, soft pretzel, and a large, freshly squeezed lemonade.
"Here," he said, pressing the cold cup into her hands. "Rehydrate yourself. These cons can be quite tiring."
She took the lemonade cup with shaky hands, her fingers brushing against his for a second longer than was strictly necessary.
"…Idiot," she muttered, taking a slow, deliberate sip. The way her eyes lingered on his lips as he licked his own straw did not go unnoticed.
Suddenly, she grabbed his wrist and dragged him toward a secluded, shadowy corner behind a massive merchandise pillar.
In the relative privacy of the shadows, she rose on her tiptoes, her breath hot and sweet with the scent of lemon against his ear.
"If you behave yourself for the rest of the con…" Her teeth grazed his earlobe, a sharp, thrilling promise. "…I'll let you lick ALL of my sweat off later. Properly."
With that dark, tantalizing threat-promise, she skipped back out into the teeming, chaotic crowd. Her Ganyu bells jingling with a cheerful, wicked energy, leaving him half-hard, utterly flustered, and completely at her mercy.
He tried to behave. He really did.
He followed her to their next stop, his mind a chaotic swirl of lust and a strange, unfamiliar happiness.
"Well, what's next?" he asked, his voice a little hoarse. "Look at that queue, it's really, really long."
Yuna followed his gaze to the endless, winding line for the official Genshin Impact photo op: a sea of sweaty, eager fans clutching their stuffed wallets.
Her nose wrinkled in disdain. "Ugh. Not worth the wait."
Then her eyes landed on something worse. Something far, far worse.
The "Husbando Haver" booth, a fan-run attraction where female cosplayers were lining up to take a series of increasingly scandalous photos with a shirtless, ridiculously muscular Zhongli bodybuilder.
A slow, wicked, diabolical grin spread across Yuna's face.
"Actually…" She began to skip toward the booth, her hips swaying with an exaggerated, provocative motion, her bells jingling a taunting, triumphant rhythm. "I think I DO want a commemorative photo after all."
She glanced back at him over her shoulder, her eyes glinting with a pure, unadulterated malice as she formed a fake, pouting expression on her lips.
"Unless… my big brother has a better idea?"
The unspoken challenge, the blatant, audacious dare, hung in the air between them: "Stop me, or suffer the consequences."
"Go if you want to," he said, his voice a low, dangerous growl. "I don't care."
"Maybe I should go ask some of those voluptuous Raiden Shogun cosplayers over there for some photos, too." The moment the words left his mouth, he surged forward, pulling her head back for a series of sloppy, noisy, possessive kisses that echoed in the crowded convention hall.
Yuna's shriek of pure outrage echoed across the convention hall, a sound that made heads turn and conversations halt.
"YOU!!" She lunged at him, her Ganyu horns nearly impaling his jugular as she tackled him against a nearby support pillar.
The crowd, sensing a domestic dispute of epic, nerd-tastic proportions, parted around them like the Red Sea.
Her teeth sank into his shoulder through the thin fabric of his shirt, her voice a venomous, thrilling whisper: "You try it. And I will scream the word incest so loud they will hear it all the way in Liyue."
But her body, a traitor to her own rage, betrayed her. It was pressed flush against his, her thighs quivering where they bracketed his hips.
When she finally pulled back, her lips were swollen and red, her chest heaving with a mixture of anger and a raw, undeniable arousal.
"…Fine," she hissed, her nails digging into his arms. "No Zhongli." She paused, her eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive fire. "And no Raiden."
"Don't you dare try to get me jealous," he giggled, the sound a little breathless, "when you're even more jealous than I am."
He shrugged, pulling her hand and leading her toward the relative sanity of the artist alley.
At one of the booths, her eyes landed on a particularly spicy, fan-made doujinshi. As she reached out to pay for it, a devilish, mischievous impulse took over Makoto.
He winked at the artist, a young woman dressed in a surprisingly accurate Paimon cosplay. "Can I pat your head, little one?" he asked, his voice a low, teasing purr. "Hehe."
Yuna's hand darted out like a viper, snatching the doujinshi from his grasp.
"NO TOUCHING THE PAIMONS," she hissed, slamming a wad of cash, his cash, judging by the way her own wallet remained suspiciously, stubbornly closed, onto the table.
She shoved the lewd, explicit artwork into her already-overflowing merchandise bag with one hand while her other pinched his side, a vicious, painful twist of skin.
"And if I ever catch you near any other emergency food again," she growled, her voice a low, dangerous thing, "I will personally deep-fry you like a fucking Slime."
But as they moved on to the next booth, she suddenly, surprisingly, hooked her pinky finger with his just for a second. It was a silent, grudging, almost shy concession.
"…Idiot," she muttered, but there was no real heat in it.
Then her eyes landed on the next artist's display, a particularly spicy, beautifully drawn Ganyu x Traveler piece. Her grip on his pinky tightened.
"Buy me that one," she demanded, her voice a low, possessive command as she jerked her chin in the direction of the artwork.
"So you can see how a REAL partner is supposed to treat her."