Work Text:
04/18/19xx
07:24
Forger Residence
The ghostly presence of fingertips on her bare back is what wakes her this morning. Their pressure is light as they tease up and down her spine, a soft exploration. She doubts his intention is to rouse her, but she has always been a light sleeper. Although, their slightly-roughened texture is something she is quickly becoming familiar with.
Yor waits for a moment, savoring the feel of Loid’s fingers on her skin.
A few months ago, she would have woken very differently. Her body would have reacted before her mind; heart galloping, skin dewy, hands wrapping around her golden stilettos before jerking into action and eliminating the threat. It's pure instinct by now. And yet, in such a short time, Loid has unraveled her training and slipped past her defenses. It’s almost dangerous how soft she is in his hands.
If the Garden only knew… But they don't. And Yor is content to keep it that way.
She eases into Loid’s touch and sighs, feeling a smile stretch her lips.
“Sorry, did I wake you?” he murmurs.
“It’s okay,” she whispers back, voice husky.
Loid hums and then there is something soft between her shoulder blades. His lips, Yor realizes after a foggy second. She is hardly cold, with the sunshine warming their bodies through the window, but each press of his lips makes her flush and her toes curl into the sheets.
She can feel the heat of his bare skin against her own underneath the thin covers. Their hips still pressed together, legs tangled. And while it should have her flustered, Loid is so very good at keeping her calm.
Yor has become strangely used to her own nakedness ever since they began this…arrangement of theirs. He has seen every inch of her body and while the thought of another person knowing so much about her used to be terrifying, Yor finds she rather likes it. So long as it is Loid.
She especially likes the way he keeps kissing the spot between her shoulder blades, fingers tracing random spots along her spine. When they touch the still-healing nick along her ribs, however, Yor realizes his exploration is far from random.
Loid has already seen most of her scars. But he seems particularly fascinated by the ones on her back this morning.
“This one is new,” he murmurs.
His thumb strokes the mark on her ribs, almost hidden by her armpit. It's small, the result of a fellow assassin’s shuriken catching her in the middle of eliminating another target. The wound didn't require stitches, just a few bandages that she kept Loid from seeing the past few days. So small and barely a shade lighter than her normal skin tone, she’s nearly forgotten about it.
Which is why she's surprised he noticed the tiny mark at all.
Loid doesn’t ask her how it happened, and for that she is grateful. But she can feel the question in the way he continues to lightly rub her skin, the weight of his curiosity in his gaze on her back. Worry, in the press of his lips to the side of her neck.
A flash of guilt, striking cold to the warmth of their skin, makes her shiver. Loid hums as his arms slide around and pull her further into his chest. His left hand travels over her shoulder, soothing her shivers, and her side. Up and down slowly, like he’s enjoying the feel of her soft skin.
Eventually, his hand slides lower and cradles just below her navel.
“Your back is pretty, you know,” Loid says in her ear, voice the barest whisper. “Strong. Sturdy. Like you. Though I can't help but wonder what kind of work City Hall has you doing.”
He chuckles under his breath like it's some sort of joke, and Yor finds herself laughing right along with him. But higher, strained.
“Many of those scars are old,” she tells him. And it's not untrue. “City Hall is perfectly safe.”
Again, technically not untrue.
But a pit sinks in her stomach anyway. She hates lying to him.
Loid hums, thumb rubbing over the skin below her navel. He slides lower, to the edge of the soft tuft of hair guarding her pussy. And even though they spent hours wearing each other out last night, Yor feels the kindling of arousal deep in her belly. Her muscles are sore, well-used, but that doesn't stop her from stretching and pushing into his hand with a sigh.
Loid’s fingers, slender and calloused, grind firm circles against her clit and her whole body shudders. She feels her insides glow to life under his hand. And when two fingers slip lower to push inside, Yor all but melts into his embrace.
It's a gentle stretch, nothing like taking the girth of his cock, but still perfect. He is slow and methodical as his fingers work her open with shallow pumps. Her hips writhe, following his lead, eager for whatever he is willing to give.
Still sensitive from last night, it's easy for Loid to make her see stars. Only a few thrusts and Yor is tip-toeing the edge and all too eager to fall. His fingers glide a little faster, lubricated by her neverending slick. When her pussy clamps down, the pressure in her belly swelling too quickly, Yor reaches behind herself and latches onto Loid’s blonde hair.
“Loid…” She tugs.
He kisses her neck again, licking her pulse. “Turn over,” Loid murmurs.
Yor obeys, chest heaving as she lays flat on the bed. It forces Loid to remove his fingers, making her whimper, before he buries them inside her again. This time deeper. Harder. Loid braces his other hand beside her head, hovering over her. Their noses brush and the smell of his soap fills her nostrils as she sucks in gulps of air. He lowers himself, until their lips touch, drinking up her sighs.
“So beautiful,” he whispers against her lips.
“Loid,” she whispers back. His fingers find the soft spot inside her and she whines, wordlessly begging for more.
He grants it by crushing their mouths together.
They are both late for work, but Yor can hardly find it in herself to care.
05/07/19xx
06:12
Forger Residence
Mornings in which she wakes before Loid are few and far in between. He is a naturally early riser and prefers to take his time to enjoy his coffee and newspaper before heading to the hospital. But there are these rare days in which he sleeps in, and Yor has the pleasure of watching.
He's still deep asleep, brow smooth and mouth slack. His breathing is so even, body so still, one might mistake him for dead. Loid sleeps in an exact contrast to their daughter, who sores and rolls around all night.
More than likely, his exhaustion is a result of her insatiable libido last night. Flashes invade her brain – riding him fast and hard, swallowing his length, milking him between her breasts. She coaxed three full orgasms from him. And while her over-enthusiasm should have her mortified, Yor is quickly learning that shame has no place in their bedroom.
There is no indignity in enjoying sex.
Hands tucked under her cheek, Yor studies Loid’s face. They are facing each other, the thin sheets draped over their waists, giving her the perfect view of her favorite chest. She can't help the way her eyes rake down his torso, watching the way his chest expands and contracts with each breath.
All she wants is to reach out and touch it, feel the smooth expanse for herself. But, that would wake him for sure. So she settles for looking instead.
Yor’s eyes travel over every inch of his skin, taking inventory of the planes and ridges and swells of toned muscle. As well as each little mark and line, the smattering of faded scars. She is starting to memorize them. Each one of them has a story, and although Loid is still hesitant to share many of those stories with her, he still tries to entertain her curiosity.
What must it be like, Yor wonders often, to be a regular citizen? To be able to speak to another so freely about their career and interests?
It is something she has never been able to do.
She has found that she is at least able to share many of her interests and hobbies with Loid and Anya. More than she has ever been able to share with anyone, including Yuri. But there are still limits. And it makes her chest feel strangely heavy when she thinks about the fact that she will never get to share herself fully with her family.
The resulting pang of jealousy is unexpected and quickly chased away.
“You’re staring at me,” Loid murmurs with his eyes still closed, and Yor nearly jumps out of her skin.
Her spine stiffens and her face burns. “How did you know?”
A slow smile spreads across his lips and Loid’s eyes open to half-mast. It is a lazy, content look he rarely wears in front of others – one that Yor has come to know well in the privacy of their bedroom.
“I could feel it,” he says.
“Sorry…” Yor’s eyes duck away, face still hot.
“No,” Loid chuckles, “don’t be. I don’t mind.” He reaches for her hand and pulls it into the center of his bare chest. “You can stare at me for as long as you want.”
Yor’s fingers flex, relishing the feel of his sleep-warm skin. Underneath the soft swell of his pectorals is the firm plate of his sternum, and the solid thumping of his heart. Each beat makes Yor soften into the bedsheets again and she finally lifts her gaze to meet his.
The color of island waters, glowing from the inside.
Her stomach flips.
“Good morning,” he says, hand still over hers.
Yor leans in, mesmerized by the heat swimming in the depth of his eyes and the languid curl of his lips. “Good morning,” she echoes before slotting her mouth over his own.
His flavor seeps on her tongue and she sighs.
Mornings like these are her favorite.
09/21/19xx
05:44
Forger Residence
She notices it early in the morning, one of those rare times where she wakes before him. The light from their bedroom window is pale grey, leftover gloom from the thunderstorm that shook their home during the night. Yor wakes the moment the drizzle turns to fine mist, opening her eyes to the broad, toned planes of Loid’s back. A sight she has become increasingly familiar with.
The storm has lowered the temperature outside significantly, signaling the end of summer. The resulting chill sweeps through the bedroom and turns her flesh prickly.
Yor shivers and slides closer to Loid to share his warmth.
Arms winding around his waist, she pushes her chest between his shoulder blades and her nose into the short hairs at his nape. He smells of his soap and linens, with a little bit of stale sweat. It has quickly become one of her favorite scents.
Loid inhales and softens into her embrace. Yor’s fingers trickle up his side, playing along his ribs, as she searches to tuck her arm underneath his against his chest. It's there that she discovers it – the mark between his second and third rib.
Yor pauses. Her fingertips are feather light as they trace over it again and she frowns.
Over the months, she has learned every inch of Loid’s skin. Every bump, mark, and scar… This is not one she is familiar with.
Sitting up, Yor moves her hand to study the new blemish. A thick line about three inches long, pale pink and shiny. Yor is well-versed in these kinds of wounds. They result from slices, or narrow attempts at stabbing. Seeing it so close to his ribs, his heart, makes everything in her stomach plummet. It must have been an intentional wound.
Her thumb skims the edges and Loid shifts. A little hiss escapes him as he stretches and it pulls on his new scar.
“Did a patient do this?” she asks without giving pause for him to orient himself.
Loid grumbles something, voice thick. His eyes are bleary as he peels them open and cranes his neck down to look at her hand framing the barely-healed lesion. Suddenly, his eyes harden and he clears his throat. His fatigue vanishes.
“It was a few weeks ago,” he says, reaching for her hand. He squeezes. “It's already healed. Nothing to worry about.”
Yor frowns as she stares at the wound. Still fresh and angry. She thinks back, searching her memories for when this could have happened, and recalls the day he came home from a three-day retreat, near a month ago. He stumbled home pale and sweaty, looking exhausted. Loid was terribly weak and ill for days. Yor remembers that specifically, as she nursed him back to health with her mother’s soup and changed the cool rags for his fever as much as he would allow her. They slept in separate bedrooms for over a week, as Loid insisted she couldn't catch his illness. He must have also been recovering from this wound, without wanting her to know, and the knowledge pains her.
Why wouldn't he tell her?
Yor blinks down at their entwined hands, feels the weight of Loid’s thumb as it strokes the skin over her knuckles.
But her mind doesn't stop there. Suddenly, she recalls that was the same week the Garden assigned her newest target. An elite expert of espionage, reportedly attempting to gather intelligence and potentially assassinate the chairman of the National Unity party. One of WISE’s best and brightest, feared for his cunning, and a threat to the stability and peace between east and west should he succeed in his mission. The Garden could not provide her with his true name, only the pseudonym under which he operates: Twilight.
Yes, Yor thinks as she lets Loid continue to hold her hand. He must have received this injury around the same time she clashed paths with this agent from the west.
She can still see in her mind, vividly, the pitch-black alley she confined him to in order to limit his field of vision and mobility. Unfortunately, his reputation precedes him, as he was able to slip from her grasp. Nearly a month later and she's still not quite sure how he managed to escape; it bothers her. But, she rests well enough knowing that he did not escape unscathed. She managed to skewer him alongside his ribs.
Around the same area as Loid’s new scar.
Yor frowns harder at it and wonders if this Agent Twilight has developed a similar scar. If he was able to recover from the poison she laces her stilettos with. She's assuming so. An agent of his caliber won't be so easy to kill. What a terrible coincidence, she thinks with a sigh as she lays back down, for them to have matching scars. She must try not to be reminded of her newest enemy and most recent failure while in bed with Loid.
Even though their marriage and relationship is hardly conventional, fake by most standards, it feels adulterous.
“Yor?” His deep voice shocks her out of thought. “You’re so quiet and serious. Is everything all right?”
Yor barely stifles her startled squeak. She mustn't allow herself to be overcome by such thoughts, especially in Loid’s presence. The last thing she wants is to make him worry.
“Yes, sorry,” she apologizes as she resumes her position behind him. Lining her front up with his back, pressing every inch of their bare skin together to ward off the chill. “I was just thinking you should be more careful at work… When you come home like this, I…”
It bothers her.
Loid is a good man. Better than any other man she has met. Regularly putting his physical safety in jeopardy in order to help others is noble, and something she relates to all too much, however…
It more than bothers her, seeing him come home weak and wounded like this. But she won’t tell him that. She’s not sure she can express to him the depths of the complicated feelings she’s only recently begun to understand… So instead, she swallows it down and channels it into something she knows better.
“I know a little self defense. I could teach you, if you want…” Yor murmurs.
Loid’s chuckle rumbles through his frame and into hers. “I might take you up on that. My newest patient is…rather difficult to treat.”
“We can start today. After we get home from work and Anya goes to bed,” she says, tucking her arm underneath his and flattening her palm across his chest. Feeling for the steady thrum of his heartbeat. “You can’t let them hurt you like this again, Loid. Anya needs you.”
“I know.” He squeezes her hand over his heart. “I won’t. Trust me.”
His promise lifts a solid weight off Yor’s chest and suddenly she can breathe a little easier. She smiles as she inhales and pushes her nose back into the short hairs at the nape of his neck, savoring the moment.
“Good,” she murmurs around a kiss.
11/10/19xx
06:38
Forger Residence
Loid pushes between her shoulder blades, pinning her upper body to the mattress while he hikes her hips and waist up higher. The angle is obscene, her back bending deep enough to leave her breathless. As if she isn’t already struggling to breathe with her face buried in the pillows to muffle her voice.
Yor loves every bit of it.
The slap of his thighs against her ass, the hard plunge of his cock, the bruising grip on her skin, the way he struggles to keep his breathing tempered as he works both of them toward the peak again. It will be her third orgasm of the morning; his second.
She woke to familiar, calloused hands stroking her sleep-warmed skin and a husky voice in her ear telling her to roll over. Yor supposes this is only fair, considering she kept him awake far longer into the night than usual. Her libido has been out of control recently and she can’t help but wonder if it’s tied to her level of frustration.
Her new target hasn’t been easy. She has met failure twice now. And if there is one thing the Garden does not tolerate, it is failure.
Failure is an issue she has never encountered before. And it’s had her coming home tense and on edge, which Loid is sensitive to. He seems more than happy to let her channel her frustration through him as he wears her scratches on his chest and back with pride, eyes hot and wanting each time he looks down at himself and sees them.
It must be the reason he woke her so fervently this morning.
“Fuck,” he huffs behind her.
“Loid,” she gasps on a particularly sharp thrust, reaching back for him.
Loid’s hands abandon her back and waist to latch onto both of her wrists. He pulls back, keeping her arms straight, and using the leverage to drive into her even harder. His cock is merciless, plunging deep and hitting her sweet spot each time. She can feel him in her guts and almost forgets how to breathe.
Yor’s vision is spotty. Her brain is scattered, making it difficult for her to pinpoint sensations.
All she knows is the feel of his cock stirring her insides, and the resulting pressure building in her lower belly like a water balloon. Each time he fucks into her, cramming himself inside her pussy as far as he will go, the water balloon gets a little fuller. She doesn’t need to look down her body or between her legs to know she has already soaked herself.
She can hear it in the sticky squelch each time Loid moves.
Another hard thrust, and Yor squeaks. Her pussy clamps down on him and he grunts.
“Gonna cum,” he states, though it was likely supposed to be a question. He doesn’t need to ask anymore. He knows by now.
Robbed of words, Yor can only jerk her head in a nod.
Loid keeps the rhythm steady. Hard and fast, just the way she likes it. The weight of his balls slaps her clit each time he thrusts forward and the shock is like a bolt of lightning up her bent spine. Another muttered curse under his breath and Loid’s fingers adjust their grip on his wrists before he shifts, angling his hips slightly lower.
And there.
He hits that deeper, harder to reach spot and Yor breaks. She cums on a silent moan, mouth wide open and eyes scrunched shut. Her inner muscles shudder, massaging his cock, milking him until he follows after her with a broken grunt.
Loid holds very still as his cock pulses, spurting into the slick latex, and shoved as deep inside her as he can possibly be.
One of her arms slips free and Loid grabs for her waist, right where her tattoo is. It's one of his favorite places to grab. She can hear him heaving for breath behind her, over the sound of her own heartbeat and the rush of blood in her ears. Her whole body trembles and shudders as something wet trickles down the inside of her thighs.
Once the sweat has started to cool on her skin, and her heart slows to a mild canter, Yor’s spine softens. Loid’s hand flexes on her tattoo in response and he draws back from the tight heat of her pussy. It resists, trying to suck him back in, and Yor whines when he finally pulls out. Her body flattens against the mattress and she goes boneless as the last waves of ecstasy roll through her shattered nerves.
With quick fingers, Loid removes the condom and drops it on the nightstand next to the first one.
“Shit, Yor,” he rasps. Still behind her, he smooths a hand up her back and brushes aside the heavy weight of her damp hair to let her skin breathe. “I – ”
When he suddenly cuts himself off, the muscles in her back stiffen.
“Is that a bullet scar?” Loid murmurs, fingering her left shoulder blade.
It cuts through the euphoric bliss like a cold knife. Instantly sobering. Yor pushes herself upright, heart jumping into her throat and sweat beading at her hairline for a whole new reason. Loid watches her with puzzled, dark eyes and it's not a look she likes.
“What? No,” she stammers. Her hands twitch in her lap, fighting the urge to reach back and cover the wound. “No, that's not… Why would I have a bullet wound?”
“I don't know,” he says, voice low. “But I know what bullet scars look like. And I know…” He stops, jaw working as he rethinks. “I know that scar wasn't there before.”
He's right.
It wasn't there until her second failed attempt at eliminating that Agent Twilight. This time, it was he who left his mark on her and it burns her with a frustration she can't even begin to describe.
But she can never tell Loid that.
“I must have burned myself the other day when doing my hair,” Yor lies, and it takes every ounce of her willpower to keep from frowning at the sour pit it leaves in her stomach. “I tried to do this new style that Camilla told me about. It didn't go very well…”
She hates lying to him.
Loid nods after a moment, but his eyes never leave her left shoulder. Even though her hair has covered the mark, it's like he can still see it.
“Loid?” she whispers when he doesn’t say anything.
He blinks, and the hard look in his eye is gone. Replaced with the Loid she knows as he sighs and pushes a hand through his damp hair.
“You really need to be more careful,” he says.
Yor bites her lip, choking on the bitter taste of the lies in her mouth. “I know.”
12/24/19xx
03:31
Forger Residence
It's not the gentle light of morning, Loid's familiar hands, or the birds that wake Yor this time. Instead, it's the press of a cold metal ring against her temple. She recognizes the familiar feeling of a silencer even deep in sleep and her body reacts with practiced ease. Grabbing for the golden stiletto she stashed under her pillow the night before and throwing her shoulder into the body next to her, she knocks them both off balance. They roll across the disheveled sheets of the mattress, a flurry of naked limbs and weapons.
Yor swings her leg over Loid’s hip as she presses the point of her blade to his throat. The elongated muzzle of his gun kisses her jaw.
A tense moment passes as they stare at each other, willing the other to make a move first. Another moment passes and they do nothing but breathe. Then a third. Yor refuses to even blink, scowling down at eyes she once thought familiar.
Now they look at her with a cold shine.
“Thorn Princess,” he says finally.
It's the first thing Loid has said to her in over a day. No, not Loid, she corrects herself.
Yor continues to look down her nose at him. “Agent Twilight.”
It’s all too easy to ignore the fact that they are both naked. Yor barely registers the fact that she is straddling his pelvis, pushing down on him with her entire body weight. It’s not the first time they have found themselves in this position, but the addition of cold steel in their hands changes everything.
And also changes nothing, as a liquid heat stirs in her lower belly.
Yor grimaces at her traitorous body. It's hard to digest the myriad of emotions coursing through her veins – fury, humiliation, despair – but her arousal cuts through it all. Even last night, after realizing neither of them are who they have pretended to be all this time, that feeling warred against all others and won.
They somehow ended up back here, at their home. Their bed.
Not a single word was exchanged between them as they tore off each other’s clothes. They shared all their anger, frustration, and hopelessness with each other in the press of hungry lips and impatient fingers. Allowed their scars and wounds to tell each other everything.
That it has all been pretend, their situation even faker than they realized.
That she, and Anya, have been pawns this whole time. And he unwittingly married a murderer and his natural enemy. And yet, despite all of that, Yor finds herself still trying to rationalize. Trying to find shreds of the man she thought she knew and the relationship she thought they were building.
The affection between them she thought was real.
In the burgeoning daylight, Yor can make out the scratches and bruises left behind from their talks. She can also see the thin red X engraved in the center of his chest. Fresh, still bleeding, a gift she bestowed upon him last night. Every time he inhales, he winces and Yor feels an echoing pang in the center of her left shoulder, just below her clavicle. His gift to her.
New wounds, new scars.
Proof they are finally living the truth.
“What are we doing?” he finally whispers. His gun never waivers.
Neither does her blade. “I don’t know,” Yor admits.
All at once, her eyes burn and her stomach plummets like she’s swallowed a weighted stone. She has no idea what they are doing. Until yesterday, she thought she knew the man she shared a bed with. She started to fall in love with the man she married – his easy smile and kind hands – only to discover she has no idea who he really is.
The two bullet wounds on her body are proof of that. As are the gouges on his chest.
“If your name isn’t really Loid,” and she almost chokes saying it, “then who are you?”
“...I don’t know.”
Finally, a flicker of real emotion in his eyes. It makes Yor’s hand tremble and she grits her teeth, adjusting her grip on her stiletto. She presses it harder against the thin skin of his throat and watches as a tiny red bead swells and trickles down his Adam's apple.
He – the man who isn't Loid – grimaces and she waits with bated breath as he slowly lowers his gun. Until his arm flops against the mattress. Leaving himself completely open and vulnerable.
Eyes, ocean water blue, stare up at her.
“Fuck,” he mutters, “I don't know. I don't know anything anymore.” His empty hand scrubs over his face, pinching the bridge of his nose as he breathes harshly. “I thought I could… But I can't. I just can't, Yor…”
Her hand starts to shake again. This time she makes no effort to stop it. She lets the thin blade slip out of her hand and onto the bedsheets by his neck. Her unsteady fingers trace the raw edges of the wound she carved into his chest last night.
She can’t either.
He flinches and her heart squeezes. “I’m sorry,” she whispers.
Despite everything – the roiling emotions that barely leave her any room to breathe – she means it. Twilight may be her target, her enemy, but Loid is her husband who she has come to truly care for. Started to love. And even though it is clear now that Loid technically never existed, part of him must be real.
She sees him now, lurking behind the hard stare of the man underneath her. So when he reaches up to thumb the tender skin around her wound, she doesn’t flinch away.
“Me too,” he says.
Whoever this man is, he is a liar. So is Yor. There is only one way for their relationship to go from here; he must know that as well. They are doomed. Yet she can’t stop herself from wanting him anyway.
Yor bends forward, bracing her elbows on either side of his blonde head. His hand slides over her shoulder and up the back of her neck to cradle her head as he pulls her down for a kiss that tastes like salt and iron. Her thighs, still straddling his hips, squeeze tight and draw a low sound out of his throat; something she knows well.
Things will never be the same between them. She knows that. What the future holds, however, remains to be seen. And with all this uncertainty and rife, ripping apart the little family they nurtured together, all she wants is something that she knows.
Something familiar.
And she finds it in the warmth of his hands on her back, thumbs rubbing over her scars and the indents of her hips. The rose tattoo on her waist.
Yor kisses him harder, soaking in the sensation. Trying to drown herself in it.
Tomorrow they will face the truth. But for now, they let themselves lie – it’s what they do best.