"Co on," Makoto chuckled, the sound a low, contented rumble in his chest.
He gently patted her hand away, a gesture that was more of a caress than a dismissal. "Nobody wants your fat, perverted big bro."
He humd happily, his good mood a stark, jarring contrast to the tense, charged atmosphere she was trying to create. He picked up the long, white stockings they had been working on, a strange, dostic satisfaction settling over him.
Yuna's eye twitched violently. "Shut up," she hissed, her hand shooting out to grab his chin, her grip surprisingly strong.
She forced his gaze up, her eyes blazing with a fierce, possessive fire. "You're MY fat, perverted big bro."
Her thumb dug into his cheek, a small, painful point of emphasis. "And if I catch you fishing for complints again…"
She trailed off, suddenly, acutely aware of how close her face was to his. A furious blush crept up her neck, a stark, betraying tide of color.
With a strangled, frustrated noise, she shoved him away and snatched the stockings from his hands. "These better not rip when you inevitably try to peel them off with your teeth later," she muttered, but there was no real bite to her words.
She turned away, her back to him, as she carefully, almost tenderly, folded the finished pieces of the costu and placed them in her bag.
The gesture was so at odds with her usual bratty, chaotic energy that it made his chest ache.
"…Thanks," she mumbled, her voice so quiet he almost missed it. "For helping. Even though you're the worst."
Then, quieter still, a raw, unguarded confession: "And for wanting to claim ."
Her ears, peeking out from under her gray hair, were a brilliant, furious shade of red. "Even if it's disgusting."
The sewing continued late into the night, a comfortable, charged silence settling over them.
By the ti they finished, the clock on the wall read well past midnight. Makoto stretched, his muscles aching, a tired but deeply satisfied feeling settling in his bones.
"Well, I guess we're done," he said, a yawn stretching his jaw.
He looked at her, at the finished costu lying in a pristine, shimring pile on the couch. "Wanna try it on first? We can wait on the wigs and lenses for later."
Yuna hesitated, her hand hovering over the costu.
She clutched the soft, silky fabric to her chest, a strange, protective gesture. The usual fight, the bratty, combative energy, seed to have drained out of her, replaced with sothing softer, sothing almost shy.
"…Turn around," she muttered, not eting his eyes. "I don't want you staring at while I'm changing."
He complied, turning to face the wall, the sound of rustling fabric a tantalizing, forbidden symphony behind him.
He heard her quiet intake of breath as she stepped into the carefully stitched outfit, the soft jingle of the bells they had so painstakingly attached.
"…Okay," she said finally, her voice small, almost hesitant. "You can look now."
He turned around, and the sight stole the air from his lungs.
There she stood, his little stepsister, bathed in the soft, warm lamplight of their living room, transford into Ganyu.
It wasn't the exaggerated, lewd version from the love hotel, a cheap designed for pure, unadulterated sin.
This was sothing else. Sothing closer to the real thing, to the character she so clearly adored.
The fabric hugged her fra perfectly, the colors vibrant and alive against her pale skin. She was, in a word, breathtaking.
She fidgeted under his intense, silent gaze, a rare, uncharacteristic uncertainty in her posture. "…Well?" she prompted, her usual bravado completely absent. "How do I look?"
The question hung in the air between them, no teasing, no roleplay, no financial transactions. Just Yuna, vulnerable and hopeful, waiting for his honest answer.
"Hmm, you look breathtaking," he said, the words a simple, honest truth. "As usual."
He stepped closer, his mind a chaotic swirl of brotherly pride and a deep, possessive lust. "Let just check the outfit."
His hands, as if with a mind of their own, ran over the smooth fabric covering her breasts.
He gave them a playful, proprietary grope before his hands trailed lower, tugging on the long, white stockings, his fingers caressing the soft skin of her thighs, her calves, her ankles.
"The costu seems good," he said, his voice a little rough, as he struggled to maintain a nonchalant tone.
"Very durable." He pulled his hands away, a reluctant, difficult act of self-control. "But I'm going to add so protective pants underneath. And lengthen the sleeves to cover your shoulders."
Yuna's face cycled through approximately twelve different emotions in the span of three seconds: outrage, embarrassnt, a reluctant, undeniable pleasure, before finally settling on an expression of exasperated fondness.
"Protective pants?" She scoffed, swatting his hands away from her thighs. "What, are you scared so other degenerate will see what's yours?"
But there was no real protest in her voice as his hands returned to adjust the stockings, her breath hitching just slightly when his fingers brushed against the sensitive skin of her inner thigh.
"…Fine," she muttered, a grudging, reluctant concession. "But only because the convention center's air conditioning is always freezing."
She turned to face the mirror, her eyes tracing the way the fabric clung to her hips, the way the qipao's high slit revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her long, slender legs.
A slow, wicked smirk spread across her face as she looked at their reflection, at him standing so close behind her.
"Though maybe…" She leaned back against him, her body a warm, soft weight, her ass pressing against his crotch as she arched into his touch. "…you should test the durability yourself. Thoroughly."
Her hand caught his, her fingers lacing with his as she guided his hand under the skirt's hem, a silent, challenging glint in her eye. "For quality assurance, of course."
Makoto's cock, which had been stirring with a lazy, appreciative interest, sprang to full, throbbing attention at her touch.
The image of her, so perfect and beautiful in the costu they had made together, combined with her lewd, irresistible invitation, was a potent, explosive cocktail.
But he knew, with a certainty that was both frustrating and deeply, profoundly right, that this wasn't the ti.
"Nah," he said, his voice a little strained as he gently pulled his hand away. "This costu is too good. It won't survive our… more violent activities." He giggled, a nervous, self-deprecating sound.
He feigned a massive, theatrical yawn, stretching his arms above his head. "I feel so sleepy all of a sudden. I think I'm going to go back to my room now."
Yuna's face fell for a split second, a flicker of genuine, unguarded disappointnt, before she quickly schooled her features into a familiar, bratty scowl.
"Tch. Weak." She turned away from him, her back ramrod straight as she fiddled unnecessarily with the costu's intricate sash. "Go pass out then, you old man."
But as he shuffled toward the hallway, a small hand, surprisingly warm, caught his, just for a second.
"…Idiot," she muttered, not eting his eyes. Her fingers squeezed his once, a quick, desperate gesture, before letting go. "Don't forget to set an alarm. We still need to finish the wig and the props tomorrow."
She hesitated, then added, her voice so quiet he almost missed it, a fragile, hopeful invitation: "…And my room is always cold at night."
Before he could respond, she stomped off, her long, Ganyu sleeves fluttering dramatically behind her. "Whatever! Good night!"
He stood there for a long mont, the warmth of her hand still tingling on his skin. Then, with a slow, deliberate smile, he went to his own room.
Ten minutes later, he knocked on her door.
"Are you asleep yet?" he asked, his voice a low, conspiratorial murmur. "My room is a bit cold, too. It's hard to sleep."
The door flew open almost imdiately.
Yuna stood there. She had changed out of the Ganyu costu and was now wearing nothing but the oversized unicorn hoodie, her hair mussed from where she had clearly been rolling around in her bed.
"Took you long enough," she grumbled, but there was no real heat in it.
She stepped aside, leaving the door open in a clear, silent invitation, her cheeks a faint, betraying shade of pink.
"Don't hog all the blankets," she muttered as she flopped back onto her bed, deliberately facing the wall.
But the way she curled up, leaving a wide, empty space behind her, was a gesture of pure, unadulterated welco.
"…And no funny business," she added, her voice a half-hearted, token protest, as she scooted back just slightly, her body a warm, inviting presence, when he settled in behind her.
The warmth of her seeped into him, her heartbeat a loud, steady rhythm in the quiet room.
"No funny business, then," he grinned, his arms hugging her waist a little tighter.
She felt so warm and soft. And she slled so nice, a familiar, comforting scent that was pure Yuna. He nuzzled his face into her hair, a wave of sothing deep and terrifyingly tender washing over him.
"I wish I could do this every night," he whispered, the words a raw, unguarded confession. "For… forever, huh?"
He bit his lip, a sudden, sharp pang of regret and longing hitting him.
Yuna stiffened for a heartbeat, then she seed to lt back against him with a shuddering sigh.
"…Shut up," she mumbled into the pillow, but her hand, small and warm, found his, lacing their fingers together over her stomach.
Her heartbeat, he could feel it, a frantic, rabbit-quick rhythm under his palm. "You can't just… say shit like that," she whispered, her voice cracking with an emotion he couldn't na.
"Not when we both know that this is…"
She trailed off, squeezing his hand tight.
The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken feelings, with the terrifying, exhilarating possibility of a future he had never dared to imagine.
"…Yeah," she finally admitted, her voice so quiet it was almost inaudible. " too."
Then, as if she couldn't bear the sheer, overwhelming vulnerability of the mont, she elbowed him half-heartedly in the ribs. "Now go to sleep, you idiot. Before I change my mind and kick you out."
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