After Yukari graduates college, she and Mitsuru get their own apartment.
Despite Mitsuru’s offer to cover the cost, Yukari insists on splitting the rent fifty-fifty. She may not be the heiress to a powerful international conglomerate, but her role on Featherman Victory pays well enough, and she can afford to put up her fair share for their own place. The apartment itself is certainly no mansion, but it is more luxurious than average—there’s two bedrooms, a high-tech bathroom, a kitchen, a generously large living area, and soundproofed walls. The quality is reminiscent to that of Mitsuru’s old room back at Iwatodai: spacious, and perhaps a bit indulgent, but still private and cozy.
Mitsuru takes a day off from the Shadow Operatives in order to oversee the moving of all their things, but really, it’s Kikuno who takes control. The maid directs the arrangement of their furniture, the placement of their boxes, the hanging of their clothes, even the colors of their curtains—and after all is done and Kikuno leaves and Yukari and Mitsuru are finally left alone, they set to work breaking in their new home.
Particularly, one of their new beds. They break that in quite vigorously.
The next morning, Yukari awakens to the distinctive chime of a ringing cellphone, and the warm body lying beside her rolls away in order to answer. Yukari whines lightly in complaint and forces her eyes open, blinking away her sleep as Mitsuru, her chest bare and covered in very visible love bites, grabs the phone from the nightstand and puts it to her ear.
Yukari lightly sighs and pushes herself up into a sitting position on the bed, resisting how the soft pillows entice her to stay reclined. If Kikuno is calling, it must mean that Mitsuru has something work-related to attend to right now.
“Yes, understood,” Mitsuru says into the receiver. “Thank you for letting me know.”
She taps the screen to hang up, and Yukari crawls closer, curling her arms around Mitsuru’s waist from behind, resting her chin atop her girlfriend’s shoulder. “Do you have to go?”
Mitsuru nods. “It’s not urgent, but I should still report in as soon as I can. Kikuno says the car will be here in twenty minutes.”
“Okay. Fair enough, I guess.”
Yukari sighs and glances down at the phone that’s still in Mitsuru’s hands, the screen lit with a couple notification messages—and her eyes widen when she notices the background image. At the bottom half of the picture is the unmistakable fully-costumed form of Feather Pink, striking a familiar fighting pose, and above that, someone has photoshopped in a semi-translucent headshot of Yukari, her brows furrowed determinedly at the camera.
“Wait,” Yukari starts, pointing at the phone, “is that…?”
Mitsuru glances down, then nods in the affirmative. “Ah, yes. The promotional images for the upcoming third season were officially released a few days ago.” She shifts to the side, dislodging Yukari’s chin from her shoulder so as to turn around and make eye contact instead. “I really liked the way you looked in yours, so made it my new background.”
Yukari flushes slightly. In the past, whenever she’d caught a glance of Mitsuru’s phone, the background was the same picture of a clear blue sky, no doubt one of the plain old defaults that simply came with the phone. So for Mitsuru to now have a personalized background, and for it to be of her?
Wow, Yukari’s heart is beating real fast all of a sudden.
Mitsuru seems confused by her reaction, cocking her head to the side. “Do...do you not like this picture, Yukari?”
“N-no, it’s not that,” Yukari manages after a moment. “But, um...if you’re gonna have a customized background now, I think you could use a better picture.”
That promotional image must have been seen by every fan by now, and it’s available to anyone with an internet connection. If Mitsuru’s background is going to be of Yukari, she wants it to be more personal than that.
“Here, lemme see that.” Yukari reaches for the phone, and Mitsuru hands it over to her without argument. Holding it in her right hand, Yukari quickly taps the camera feature with her thumb, then grasps Mitsuru’s wrist with her left hand to tug her close. Mitsuru seems confused but Yukari doesn’t bother to give an explanation, just leans in until their faces are practically cheek to cheek and then holds the phone out. Once she ensures that the shot contains both their faces but doesn’t reveal anything below either of their collarbones, she smiles wide and presses the shutter three times in succession.
The second picture winds up looking the best, in Yukari’s opinion. Mitsuru’s mouth is open a little in surprise but her face is as flawlessly photogenic as ever, and Yukari may have a bit of a bedhead and no makeup on, but she’s confident that the picture is at least presentable. She sets this new photo as the wallpaper and happily hands the phone back to Mitsuru, whose cheeks are now visibly pink as she stares at the screen.
“There,” Yukari proclaims. “That’s much nicer, wouldn’t you say?”
Mitsuru’s lips curl upwards, her teeth glimmering in her grin. “Yes, you’re right. This is definitely an improvement.”
“Damn straight.” Yukari leans back against the headboard and wags her finger in Mitsuru’s direction. “Now you’d better not change it to anything else. Or I’ll get mad.”
She’s only teasing, but Mitsuru responds seriously, fervently shaking her head. “Of course I won’t. I’ll treasure this always.”
Mitsuru licks her lips then, and the gesture is so inviting that Yukari can’t help but strike. Diving forward, Yukari eagerly locks their lips together, and when Mitsuru hums approvingly into her mouth, she pushes even further. Their bare chests press against each other as Yukari introduces tongue, and Mitsuru quickly reciprocates, her own tongue moving in accommodation until they’re forced to separate to catch their breaths.
“Wait,” Mitsuru says when Yukari tries to dive back in for a second go. She brings up both her hands, her phone still held within them, and begins rapidly tapping her thumbs over the screen. “I should tell Kikuno that I’ll need an extra ten minutes.”
Yukari nods before craning her neck to see the screen for herself. Mitsuru sends off the text, and half a minute later, Kikuno responds with a rolling eyes emoji followed by [Fine. But if you’re still not ready after that, I will break your door down myself.]
“You heard her,” Mitsuru chuckles, reaching to the side to set her phone back atop the nightstand. “We’d better do this quickly.”
Yukari giggles, her hands traveling up to squeeze at Mitsuru’s breasts. “Mmm, I think we can manage that.”
In truth, neither of them is exactly a Featherman fan.
Mitsuru faithfully watches the show whenever she finds free time, yes, and she appreciates it for what it is: a superhero show that entertains children while also teaching them valuable life lessons. But it would be a stretch to say she truly likes the show itself, and despite the fact that she owns quite a bit of Feather Pink merchandise—several posters of Yukari’s character hang proudly on the living room walls, and one of those ridiculously expensive limited edition figurines even rests on the television stand—Mitsuru cares less for the character than she does for the actress playing her.
Yukari is grateful that Mitsuru has been so openly supportive of her career, but personally, she dislikes watching herself act. Seeing herself on the screen makes her feel even more self-conscious than she did when she took up modeling, and anyway, she’s already experienced every single plot twist firsthand. So on lazy afternoons when their work is done and they have nothing better to do, Mitsuru turns on the television to watch whichever Featherman episode comes next in her queue of recordings, Yukari listens to playlists through her earbuds whilst browsing social media on her phone, and they snuggle against each other on the couch, each passing their time separately yet together.
Today, Yukari is in the middle of composing a grateful reply to a tweet from a very enthusiastic fan when a loud crack suddenly resounds throughout the room.
Her head whips up towards the source of the noise, and Yukari blinks confusedly at the sight before her. The screen of their large television is cracked near the top right corner, and the panel displays nothing but erratic patterns of dotted white and black and blue. The remote for said television is on the ground in front of the desk, its little cap dislodged and its batteries rolling on the floor. Clearly, the remote had been thrown at the TV screen, and when Yukari turns her gaze to the side, Mitsuru is frozen in the act, her hand outstretched and her face horrified.
“Um,” Yukari gasps, unsure how to respond to this. “Soooo, I guess we need a new TV now?”
The attempt at a joke falls entirely flat, but it does seem to snap Mitsuru out of whatever stupor she’s in. She blinks at Yukari as if only just realizing she’s even there, then abruptly sinks down into the couch cushions, her cheeks rapidly flushing until her face is as red as her hair. Yukari sets aside her phone and earbuds to curl a hand over Mitsuru’s clenched one. “Woah, hey, what just happened? Are you alright?”
“I...I am so sorry, Yukari.” Mitsuru’s head hangs in shame. “I seem to have overreacted.”
Yukari furrows her brow and glances back towards the TV. She hadn’t been paying attention to the show herself, but Mitsuru was only watching Featherman, a perfectly unoffensive children’s program. What could she have possibly seen that would cause this violent of a reaction...?
...Oh, wait. Yukari remembers now.
Almost a year ago, back when Mitsuru was off running some important Shadow Operative missions and before the two of them moved in together, Yukari received her script for the season finale. Upon reviewing it, Yukari felt compelled to inform Mitsuru via text that she would have to kiss one of her costars, then promised that doing so meant nothing to her. Back then, Mitsuru had replied sensibly, texted back something along the lines of, [I understand. You have to do your job.]
“It was the kiss between Red and Pink, wasn’t it?” Yukari asks now, knowingly, and the way Mitsuru actually flinches tells her she’s hit the nail on the head.
Mitsuru ashamedly nods. “You did warn me some time ago, but even so, I...I was not expecting that it would happen right at that moment.” She bites her lip, her eyes locked onto the shattered television screen. “I responded extremely poorly.”
Honestly, Yukari isn’t even all that surprised. Mitsuru habitually glares daggers at anyone who hits on Yukari, tries physically to rip off the arms of any men who are stupid enough to try touching Yukari. Once, Mitsuru literally threw a would-have-been groper down onto the subway floor and stomped the heel of her boot atop his neck, pure fury in her eyes as she viciously lectured him into submission. It’s certainly not unheard of for Mitsuru to lose her temper when coming to Yukari’s defense.
But this time, Mitsuru lost not only her temper, but her composure as well. Her usual ice queen mask has been melted away by visibly burning cheeks—and perhaps it’s a hint mean of Yukari to find amusement in the sight, but Mitsuru just looks so cute, she can’t help herself.
“If I’d known that was the episode you were watching, I would have warned you myself,” Yukari says. “But then, I might have missed getting to see you have a jealous fit.”
Mitsuru glances up and narrows her eyes. “Are you teasing me?!”
“A little,” Yukari admits with a giggle, but when Mitsuru huffs at her, she drops the subject and presses an apologetic peck to pouting lips. “Sorry, sorry. But really, you don’t have to get so worked up. We’ll just get a new TV, and you’ll make sure not to break the next one, right?”
Mitsuru worries her lip. “Are you going to kiss him again?”
Yukari sighs. “Probably. Our characters are the main canon couple.” She firmly grabs Mitsuru by both sides of her face, locks her eyes onto flickering red ones. “But remember, that’s not really me on screen. That’s Reiko, and she’s a character, and she loves Ryotaro but I love you.” To prove it, Yukari kisses her again, and after a moment, Mitsuru kisses back, her mouth fervent and greedy. They don’t stop until Yukari needs breath, until she pulls back just enough to murmur, “Besides, your kisses beat his any day.”
“...I understand,” Mitsuru shifts slightly so that their foreheads touch. “I was being silly. Of course I can handle watching your character kiss someone else on TV.” She grasps Yukari by both sides of her face, her hold insistent. “So long as you remember that in the real world, you’re mine.”
“Of course I am,” Yukari agrees, and when they kiss again, she pushes Mitsuru backwards. Mitsuru winds up pinned beneath Yukari on the cushions, her hips eagerly arch up to meet Yukari as they heatedly make out.
It’s a good long while before either of them leaves the couch.
Ordering out is a long-standing tradition in their home. Neither of them is much of a cook, and with their money, they can easily arrange to have some great food delivered straight to their door for every meal. Yukari is perfectly content with that, but every now and then, she’s struck with the craving to get more hands-on with what they eat. It’s not impossible—they have an electric stove and a decently supplied kitchen, and it would be a real shame not to put those to use at least once in a while.
So here Yukari is at the local food mart, armed with nothing more than a recipe she found on the internet and the sheer determination to cook dinner for tonight. Mitsuru walks beside her with Yukari’s phone in hand, scrolling through the recipe’s web page and checking off the list of ingredients as they’re piled into the shopping cart. Garlic, green onions, carrots, tomato sauce, vinegar...
“Are you quite sure you can make this?” Mitsuru asks when they progress to the meat aisle. “This dish appears to require quite a bit of time and skill. Perhaps you could try cooking something that’s a little less...involved?”
“Hey, go big or go home, right?” Yukari chimes, looking over various different cuts of ribs, admittedly not entirely sure what she’s even looking for. “If it doesn’t work out, we can just order something again.”
Mitsuru purses her lip and squints at the phone screen. “Yes, but do you even know what it means to ‘tenderize the ribs’?”
Yukari does not.
“Uhhh...I think that’s the thing where you hit them with a hammer until they get softer?” Maybe Yukari should look this up actually. Setting the shopping cart aside, she whirls to take her phone back from Mitsuru, and she’s in the middle of typing the question into the search box when Mitsuru speaks up again.
“I suppose that’s a possibility.” Mitsuru sounds almost amused, and there’s a little wicked lilt to her voice that makes Yukari pause for just a second. “I’d like to try out a lighter touch, though.”
By the time Yukari understands what that means, it’s too late. Hands firmly grasp her around ribs as Mitsuru launches a surprise attack, deft fingertips dancing over the fabric of her shirt. Mitsuru must be feeling rather playful today because holy shit, the meat aisle is empty but they’re still in public, Mitsuru is actually tickling her in the middle of a store and Yukari only barely stops herself from shrieking out loud.
“No no no!” Yukari chokes out, her voice a whispered squawk, her giggles poorly restrained. She twists her hips in an attempt to escape Mitsuru’s grasp, but the hands only tighten around her as a low, devilish chuckle rumbles in her ear. “Senpai, oh my god, stop, stoppit—!”
“Hey! Leave Feather Pink alone!”
The sudden high-pitched cry instantly brings an end to the horseplay, Mitsuru’s hands freezing up and allowing Yukari to swiftly spin out of her grasp. Dizzy, gasping for breath, Yukari watches as out of nowhere, a tin can comes whirring past Mitsuru’s torso, and then a short little blur of a person runs up to latch around Mitsuru’s legs.
“Go, Pink! Use Feather Change!”
Yukari has to stare at the scene before her for a full minute before it fully clicks in. There’s a little girl, probably no older than four or five, valiantly pounding her fists against Mitsuru’s thighs. Mitsuru herself seems at a loss, apparently unaffected by the child’s many blows, simply gaping down at her attacker. The tin can from earlier, which the little girl must have thrown with the intent of hitting Mitsuru, clatters and rolls along the floor until it hits Yukari’s feet, upon which she picks it up and reads that the contents are water chestnuts.
“What’s wrong, Pink?! Hurry up!”
“Oh no, she’s not an enemy!” Yukari cries, hastily rushing forward to bend down to the kid’s eye level. At Yukari’s words, the girl finally stops punching Mitsuru, sheer confusion washing over her face. “There’s no need to fight. This is my friend.”
The little girl blinks and tilts her head up to stare at Mitsuru, who still seems too shocked to react. “But she was attacking you! And she looks just like a bad guy!”
Yukari sighs. She’s been trying to get Mitsuru to ditch the flashy catsuit and fur coat lately, but Mitsuru still insists that this is the outfit that makes her most comfortable in public, since it makes her feel as if she’s always ready for battle. Leave it to Mitsuru Kirijo to be so completely unashamed of wearing what’s practically a fetish suit, yet blush like a schoolgirl whenever she wears anything resembling normal fashion.
Honestly, Yukari can’t blame the kid for mistaking her as a villain.
“It wasn’t a harmful attack. We were just playing around,” Yukari explains. “And you should know that you can’t judge whether someone is good or bad just from how they look. She’s a good guy, I promise.”
The girl needs a couple minutes for that to sink in, but once it does, her expression suddenly turns sheepish. She finally lets of Mitsuru and takes several steps back, bowing her head in apology. “Um...I’m sorry, lady. I’m sorry Feather Pink.”
Yukari doesn’t want to leave the kid too embarrassed, so she smiles and gently grabs the girl by the shoulder. “Still, you were very brave for trying to help me. Thank you.”
That does the trick, and the girl beams, stars in her eyes. “Y-You’re welcome, Feather Pink!”
Yukari chuckles. “Alright. Now, did you come to this store with someone?”
“Yeah. Mommy’s looking at the vegetables.” She sticks her tongue out in distaste.
“Well, you’d better head back to her before she starts worrying about you. Okay?”
“Okay!” The girl cheerfully starts off towards the vegetable aisle. “It was nice meeting you, Feather Pink and Feather Pink’s friend!”
“Nice meeting you too!” Yukari calls back, and stands back up as she waves goodbye. Once the girl is entirely out of sight, Yukari whirls to glare at Mitsuru, their faces mere inches apart.
“And as for you,” Yukari hisses, wagging a finger chidingly. “Tickling is so not fair.”
Mitsuru doesn’t look even the slightest bit apologetic, her bright red lips curling into an infuriatingly self-satisfied smirk. “Yes, well,” she murmurs, gently tracing her index finger down the curve of Yukari’s chin. “A villainess doesn’t play fair, now does she?”
Suddenly, an image flashes unbidden in Yukari’s mind: herself as Feather Pink pitted against an enemy like Mitsuru, an encounter with a sultry femme fatale that would most likely end with Feather Pink under the villainess’s mercy—
Yukari physically shakes her head, her face flushing hot as she files that idea away. She’ll definitely come back to the thought sometime in the future, but right now, she’s much more in the mood for vengeance.
“We’re going home,” Yukari decides instantly, abandoning the half-filled cart in the aisle to grab Mitsuru by the wrist and drag her out of the store. “And once we get there, you’re going to get it.”
(That night, in the safety of their soundproofed apartment, Yukari subjects Mitsuru to a punishment both very thorough and very loud.)
Mitsuru isn’t in her room when Yukari enters.
That’s strange, because they both agreed that after Yukari changed into her Feather Pink uniform in the bathroom, she would meet Mitsuru here to begin their scene. Yukari’s in costume now, having borrowed one of her several spandex outfits from the wardrobe department, and Mitsuru is set to appear as a villainess of her own design: “the Executioner”, as she named herself. Yet, right now Mitsuru’s room appears empty, and as she enters, Yukari curiously glances around the room.
She’s five steps inside when her arms are suddenly grabbed from behind.
Yukari realizes instantly that Mitsuru is already in character, and probably managed to sneak up on her by hiding behind her own bedroom door. Clever trick, Yukari commends silently, and doesn’t waste a moment sliding into her own role. She makes a show of fighting against the hold on her wrists, but she’s not really trying all that hard—getting caught by the bad guy is the whole point.
Honestly, now Yukari is excited. Mitsuru has already managed to surprise her.
Coils of rope wrap around her wrists, harshly restraining her hands together behind her back. The knot is quickly tied with the skill of someone who must have practiced it a lot, and the final result is tight enough to keep her bound, but not so tight as to cut off circulation. The rope itself is also kinder than it could be—it’s clearly been conditioned, the texture smooth rather than scratchy so that her skin won’t chafe.
“Gotcha,” Mitsuru hisses into her ear, her tone sly and smug. She forcibly grabs Yukari’s shoulders to whirl her around, and once they’re face-to-face, Yukari feels her mouth run dry. Mitsuru is wearing a different catsuit than the one she usually goes out in, and this one is far more blatantly fetishistic, revealing most of her ample chest and tightly hugging her only barely-covered ass. The cherry on top is the black venetian mask concealing the top half of her face, highlighting how her eyes shimmer with mischief and her lips curl into a wide smirk.
“What a fine trophy I have here,” Mitsuru drawls, one hand firmly grasping Yukari’s upper arm as the other lightly tickles under her chin. “The great hero Feather Pink, all tied up in my clutches, finally at my mercy.”
“You’ll never get away with this,” Yukari blusters, halfheartedly renewing her previous struggles. “My friends will be here to save me.”
Mitsuru chuckles. “Now now, we both know that’s a lie. It was quite foolish of you to strike out on a mission all on your own. They don’t even realize you’re gone.” She suddenly whirls Yukari around again, then pushes at her back until she’s falling face-first onto the bed. “And by the time they do, it will be too late.”
Yukari scowls, pinned to the mattress beneath Mitsuru. “You intend to kill me?”
“Oh please, nothing as boring as that.” Mitsuru slides her hands up under Yukari’s top, grabs onto the hem of her pants from both sides. “No, I won’t kill you. I’ll convert you. I’ll make you one of my own.”
Yukari barks out a laugh. “I would never join you, villain.”
“Strong words,” Mitsuru hums in her ear, teeth nipping at the lobe. “I can’t wait to break that resolve of yours to pieces.”
Yukari swallows hard as a bolt of heat shoots straight through her. Holy fuck, Mitsuru is good at this. A little too good to not be an actress herself.
“Do whatever you like.” Yukari doesn’t actually know exactly what Mitsuru has planned for her, but she’s eager to find out. “You won’t break me.”
Mitsuru doesn’t even dignify that with a response, instead promptly snatching onto the tops of Yukari’s pants and panties and pulling both down past her knees. A flat palm roughly smacks against her bare butt cheek, and Yukari shrieks in protest.
“You bitch!” she yelps, purposely wriggling her hips under the pretense of putting up a fight. “Your depravity will accomplish nothing!”
“Don’t be so sure,” Mitsuru croons. “At the very least, I know I shall enjoy myself.”
Mitsuru slaps her on the other cheek, and then again on the first one, and Yukari cries out in pain each time, her ass stinging from the hits. Her restraints bite into her wrists as she helplessly arches her back, and she grits her teeth from discomfort, but she isn’t about to break out the safeword over a little roughhousing. Mitsuru soon abandons the spanking, instead sliding one hand up to grope at Yukari’s breast through her suit, then slipping the fingers of her other hand straight between Yukari’s thighs.
Mitsuru stimulates both areas so that Yukari’s nipples are hard, poking out against spandex—and then both hands pull away, leaving Yukari hot but far from ravaged.
“Is that all you’ve got?” Yukari asks after a minute of nothing more, her tone just daring Mitsuru to make her regret being so mouthy.
“Of course not,” Mitsuru growls, and abruptly rolls Yukari over so that she’s face-up, allowing her to see how Mitsuru’s red eyes gleam dangerously. “I’m just getting started.”
Mitsuru shimmies down and swiftly grabs each of Yukari’s ankles, forcing her legs apart before planting her own knees on the mattress between them. Bending forward, Mitsuru kisses the inside of Yukari’s thigh, gets heat circulating back into her loins after they’d only just cooled down. A stiff tongue laps at her entrance, slowly coaxing her towards the finish line—and then the mouth pulls back entirely, Mitsuru looking like the cat that got the cream as she licks her lips.
Yukari narrows her eyes suspiciously. “Just what are you planning?”
Mitsuru doesn’t deign to answer, sporting a devious little grin as her hand lazily strokes the inside of Yukari’s thigh. Out of nowhere, fingers abruptly pinch at Yukari’s clit, and she arches her hips in surprise, her whole body shaking with anticipation of another attack that doesn’t come. Mitsuru simply lets her cool down, then bends in to use tongue again, bringing Yukari right to the edge before leaving her hanging for a fourth time.
“You...you’re teasing me,” Yukari whimpers in realization, after Mitsuru slides her fingers back in, presses her thumb over Yukari’s clit—and then denies her once more, leaving her so cold and wanting and frustrated it’s actually unbearable.
“Of course I am, ma chérie.” Oh fuck, not the French, Mitsuru knows how weak she is to the French. “That’s the entire point. You are my captive, and I shall tease and torment you until you submit to my demands.”
Already Yukari’s endurance has been thoroughly worn down from the back-and-forth, the ceaseless suspense. It’s so not fair—she can’t rub her legs together, can’t use her hands to reach down and touch herself, can’t properly get off even though she’s so fucking close because Mitsuru is far too good at toeing her limits, making sure she never actually topples over the edge. It’s pure torture, and when Mitsuru bends down so that hot breath washes over wet curls, Yukari is so overstimulated she nearly cries.
“Join me. Leave those foolish Feathermen, and become one of my minions. Simply agree to what I want, and I shall grant you what you want.”
And fuck, Yukari is so desperate, she truly can’t even try to fight anymore. Feather Pink has been defeated.
“I surrender,” Yukari gasps, voicing the safeword, and at last, Mitsuru’s mouth blessedly does what Yukari has so needed for it to do. Lips curl around her clit and begin a merciless assault of licking and nibbling and sucking, until finally finally finally Yukari feels the dam break, screams with pleasure as her whole body shudders with release and the world hazes over.
Yukari rides so high that it seems to take forever to come back down. Once she does, she still needs a couple minutes to catch her breath, but after she has some air back in her lungs and some clarity back in her mind, she manages to force her eyes open. Mitsuru hovers above her victoriously, chin visibly slick and sticky with Yukari’s cum, her eyes twinkling playfully behind her mask.
“So, the great Feather Pink ended up giving in to the forces of evil?” The edge is gone from Mitsuru’s voice now, and she takes off the mask to officially break character. “Now what example does that set for the children?”
Yukari pouts, sticking out her tongue. “The children will never know about this.”
“My, how duplicitous,” Mitsuru chuckles but drops the subject, bending down to kiss Yukari, her lips salty from Yukari’s own juices.
So Yukari, breathless, weakened, and still with her hands tied behind her back, musters up just enough energy to reciprocate the kiss.
God, Mitsuru was even better at that than Yukari ever dreamed.
Mitsuru never stops being even better than Yukari ever dreamed.