Makoto chuckled, a deep, happy sound that rumbled through his chest. He pressed her closer, a silent, heartfelt answer to her unspoken question.
"Hmm, hmm, I will let you know what this floppy, useless dick of mine can do after it recovers," he giggled, his voice a low, affectionate purr.
Yuna let out a weak, breathy laugh.
It was a sound of pure, unadulterated exhaustion mixed with something dangerously, intoxicatingly close to genuine affection.
"Promises, promises," she mumbled into his chest, her voice muffled but fond. "Try not to break it this time, you old man."
Her head lolled against his shoulder, her eyelids heavy.
"…And on the weekends," she added, her voice already slurring with sleep, a soft, sleepy demand. "…you owe me cuddles. And pancakes."
Her fingers curled loosely in his shirt, a silent, possessive claim, even as she drifted off into a deep, sated slumber.
The last thing he heard before she was gone was a soft, sleepy murmur against his skin, a final, paradoxical term of endearment:
"…My trashy, fat, perfect pig…"
And then she was out cold, her small, sated body a dead weight on top of his, her ruined Ganyu costume a testament to their shared, beautiful, and utterly depraved love.
Makoto let her sleep, her small body a warm, comforting weight on his chest.
The rhythmic rise and fall of her breathing was a soothing, hypnotic sound, a stark contrast to the chaotic, passionate storm that had raged between them just an hour before.
He felt… content. A deep, bone-weary, and utterly profound sense of contentment that he had never known before.
Half an hour later, his body, a traitor to his own exhaustion, began to stir.
He was hard again, a slow, insistent throb against her soft, sleeping form.
He gently wiped his semi-hard cock against her inner thigh, a teasing, exploratory gesture.
"Still asleep?" he whispered, his voice a low, rough rumble in the quiet room. "Well, then… let me just borrow your cunt for a little while."
Yuna groaned in her sleep, her body stirring instinctively as he teased her. Her legs parted just slightly, a subconscious, silent invitation.
"…Mmmph… more rolls…" she mumbled, her mind still lost in the throes of her gacha dreams.
But as he carefully, gently, slid his cock back inside her, her eyes snapped open: hazy, unfocused, but undeniably awake.
"…Huh?" Her voice was thick and raspy with sleep, her body still pliant and warm.
When she finally registered what was happening, a slow, lazy, and utterly seductive smirk spread across her face.
"You pig," she whispered, her voice a husky, morning-after purr. "You didn't even wait for me to wake up."
Her hips, as if with a mind of their own, rolled against his, a slow, sleepy, sensuous grind. Her walls, still slick and sensitive from their earlier marathon, fluttered around him.
"…Fine," she mumbled, her eyes drifting shut again, a silent, sleepy surrender. "But you owe me breakfast in bed for this tomorrow."
And with that, she was gone again, her mind slipping back into the deep, dark abyss of a sated, exhausted slumber.
Her body, however, remained very much awake, moving on pure, subconscious instinct as he fucked her in her sleep.
Her soft, gentle snores a bizarre, domestic counterpoint to the wet, obscene noises that filled the room.
She was the perfect, compliant doll. And she was all his.
He hugged and kissed her, his hips rolling in a gentle, hypnotic rhythm, careful not to wake her from her deep, well-earned slumber.
"Damn," he whispered, his voice thick with a raw, overwhelming emotion. "You feel better than any doll I could ever imagine, Yuna…"
She let out a soft, contented sigh in her sleep, her body molding perfectly against his as he moved inside her.
Her head lolled to the side, a thin, glistening trail of drool escaping her parted lips.
The beautiful, expensive Ganyu outfit was now a tangled, ruined mess around her waist, her real, familiar gray hair a stark, jarring contrast to the discarded, synthetic blue wig.
Her hand, which was still, unbelievably, clutching her phone, twitched in her sleep, as if she was still rolling for constellations in her dreams.
Her hips rocked gently with his rhythm, a purely instinctual, subconscious response, her body still chasing pleasure even in the deepest, darkest depths of her unconsciousness.
The only sound in the room was his own ragged, desperate breathing and the wet, obscene slap of skin on skin.
And in the silence, her body gave its own, unspoken answer: her cunt clenching around him in a soft, sleepy, ecstatic pulse, her legs hooking around his waist to pull him deeper.
Even asleep, she wanted him. The thought was both terrifying and exhilarating. The perfect, broken, beautiful doll, all his.
He made love to her half-conscious, tiring body all through the night.
Sometimes his movements were rough, a primal, possessive claiming.
Sometimes they were gentle, a tender, loving worship.
But they were always, always relentless, as he filled her up with his cum again and again and again.
Her cock became a living, breathing extension of his own. She whimpered and moaned in her sleep, her hips bucking instinctively with each and every thrust.
Sometimes her eyes would flutter open, dazed, unfocused, before she would collapse back into a deep, sated slumber.
Her body still moving with his, a perfect, beautiful, mindless rhythm.
Her insults dissolved into a series of sleep-muffled, incoherent murmurs: "…pig… trash… more…"
Her walls, slick with a potent, intoxicating mixture of his cum and her own arousal, clenched around him in waves.
Her body chased climax after climax, even in her unconsciousness.
By the time the sun finally peeked through the curtains, a bright, intrusive sliver of light, she was a ruined, beautiful, and utterly breathtaking mess.
Her Ganyu costume was shredded, her pale skin was covered in bite marks and love bites. His cum was leaking from between her thighs to stain the ridiculously expensive satin sheets.