Yuna stirred as the first warm rays of light hit her face, her eyes fluttering open with a low, animalistic groan.
"…W-What…?" Her voice was raw and shredded, her body aching in places she didn't even know could ache.
When she tried to move, a fresh wave of his cum spilled out of her, warm and sticky against her skin.
Her eyes widened as the memories of the night, hazy, dreamlike, and utterly debauched, flooded back to her.
"…You," she whispered, her voice a potent, intoxicating mixture of awe and horror. "You didn't stop… all night…"
Then, with a weak, exhausted, but undeniably triumphant smirk, she collapsed back onto the pillows.
"…Breakfast in bed," she rasped, her voice a low, demanding command. "Now, you pig."
Makoto let out a weak, breathy laugh that quickly turned into a groan. "Come on, at least give me a rest first," he rasped, his own voice raw with exhaustion.
He collapsed onto the bed next to her, a spent, sated, and utterly happy man. "I wonder if that was enough to finally shape your cunt into the shape of my cock, huh?"
Yuna let out a weak, breathy laugh of her own, the sound turning into a pained, pleasurable groan.
"You wish," she rasped, her voice raw and shredded.
"You'd have to fuck me for a week straight for that to happen." Her eyes fluttered shut, her body a dead, contented weight against the mattress.
But even in her exhaustion, her hand, sticky and trembling, found his and squeezed.
"…Fine," she mumbled, her voice a low, reluctant concession.
"You get ten minutes. And then you're getting me my pancakes." Her fingers curled around his, a silent, possessive claim.
She shifted, wincing as her sore, abused muscles protested.
"…And if you even think about getting hard again," she muttered into the pillow, "I'm going to make you lick your own cum off of me first, you fucking animal."
Despite the threat, her leg, as if with a mind of its own, hooked over his. A subconscious, intimate gesture that said more than her words ever could.
"Pancakes it is, then," Makoto chuckled, his voice a low, affectionate rumble.
He picked up the hotel phone from the bedside table, his fingers fumbling with the buttons.
He ordered them a ridiculously large, decadent breakfast, then patiently waited until he heard the soft, discreet knock on the door.
He threw on a pair of pants and quickly, quietly, retrieved the tray from the hallway.
Yuna stirred as the rich, sweet scent of maple syrup and fresh coffee filled the room, her eyes fluttering open with a low, contented groan.
She pushed herself up, the satin sheet pooling around her waist to reveal a beautiful, breathtaking mess of love bites and hickies.
"…Took you long enough," she rasped, her voice still thick and heavy with sleep.
But her eyes softened as he placed the tray on the bed, a rare, unguarded, and utterly genuine smile gracing her lips.
"Idiot," she muttered, but there was no heat behind it.
She took a bite of a fluffy, syrup-drenched pancake, her eyes fluttering shut in a moment of pure, unadulterated bliss.
"…It's not bad," she admitted grudgingly. "But the ones you made are still better."
Her foot nudged his under the sheets, a playful, intimate gesture that felt more real, more honest, than any of her insults ever could.
"So," she said, her voice still a little hoarse, as she took a sip of her coffee. "What's the plan for today, you pig? More fucking? Or…"
Her eyes, bright and clear in the morning light, met his, a hint of a raw, terrifying vulnerability peeking through her usual armor of sarcasm and bravado. "…just us?"
"Let's just rest and check out first," he said, his voice a little thick. "And then we can go for another shopping trip."
He giggled, a giddy, lovesick sound, as he rubbed his still-soft cock against her foot. "But I don't think this thing can get hard again today, not after last night. How's yours?"
Yuna's eye twitched as he rubbed himself against her, but she didn't pull away.
Instead, she took another slow, deliberate bite of her pancake, her gaze lingering on his crotch with a mixture of disgust and a deep, undeniable fascination.
"…Mine's ruined," she said flatly, but there was a hint of a proud, triumphant smirk playing at her lips.
"I'm pretty sure you broke it last night, you animal." She kicked his hand away, a half-hearted, playful gesture. "And if you think you're getting another shopping trip out of me, you're dreaming."
But then she leaned in, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper: "Unless…" Her eyes glinted with a familiar, mischievous light. "…you're buying me a new Raiden Shogun Nendoroid."
She took a sip of her coffee, her gaze never leaving his. "Think of it as your... payment. For my poor, abused pussy."
"Fine, fine, more figurines, no problem," he giggled, taking a sip from her cup, their lips touching the same spot on the rim.
"But in exchange, I demand some naughty cosplay shots from you next time, too."
Yuna's smirk turned downright predatory. "Oh, I'll give you naughty shots," she purred, leaning so close that her breath, warm and sweet with the scent of coffee and maple syrup, ghosted over his lips.
"I'll give you shots that will get you banned from every social media platform known to man."
Her fingers traced the rim of the coffee cup, her touch lingering on the spot where his lips had just been.
"But you'll have to earn them," she whispered, her voice a low, dangerous hum. "Starting with…" Her eyes drifted down to his lap. "…getting that floppy, useless dick of yours hard again."
She leaned back with a haughty sniff, taking another bite of her pancake.
"And if you can't?" Her smile was pure, unadulterated sin. "Well, then I'll just have to send those naughty shots to someone else who can appreciate them."
The threat, delicious and terrifying, hung in the air between them.
"You are trying to get me jealous, aren't you?" he growled, leaning in to kiss and bite her lower lip, a possessive, territorial act.
"Well, the next time you mention someone else, I'll just go and find some cosplay sets from those bimbos on OnlyFans instead," he added with a casual, dismissive shrug.
Yuna's eyes flashed with a genuine, incandescent fury.
Her hand darted out, grabbing his chin in a bruising, painful grip. "You wouldn't dare," she hissed, her voice a low, dangerous growl. "
You're MINE, you hear me? Your stupid, fat, perverted ass belongs to ME."
Her teeth sank into his bottom lip, drawing blood.
When she pulled back, her eyes were blazing with a possessiveness that was both terrifying and exhilarating.
"And if I ever catch you even LOOKING at another cosplayer's OnlyFans," she whispered, her voice a venomous purr, "I will personally castrate you with my sewing scissors."
She shoved him away with a huff, her chest rising and falling rapidly with a mixture of rage and a raw, undeniable arousal.
"…And then I'll make you buy me a new sewing kit," she muttered, her cheeks a furious, beautiful shade of crimson. "Because I don't want to use... contaminated scissors."
But the way she leaned against him, her thigh pressing possessively against his, told him everything he needed to know: She wasn't letting him go. Not now. Not ever.
"Fine, fine," he chuckled, a fond, indulgent sound. "What a possessive little stepsis you are."
He walked to the bathroom, turning on the taps and filling the ridiculously large, heart-shaped tub with warm water. "Bath time?"
Yuna's scowl softened into a reluctant, grudging smirk as she watched him go, her eyes tracing the curve of his back.
"…Shut up," she muttered, but there was no real heat behind it. "And you better not use up all the hot water."
She stood, the satin sheet pooling around her feet as she stretched. A lazy, sensual movement that showed off every single bite mark and love bite he had left on her.
Her body was a roadmap of their shared depravity, and she wore it like a badge of honor.
"…Fine," she sighed, her voice a little softer now. "But you're scrubbing my back. And if your hands wander… I'm not responsible for what happens next."
The threat, thick and promising, hung in the air between them as the steam began to fog up the glass.
"…Carry me," she demanded, her voice a little smaller than usual. "My legs are still jelly, you animal."
But as he lifted her into his arms, she didn't complain.
Instead, she buried her face in his neck, her arms looping around him with a possessive tightness that feels more real than any of her insults.
"I changed my mind, you will scrub my body," she mumbles into his skin. "Everywhere."
The unspoken truth hung between them: She wants his hands on her again. And again. And again.