Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It was rare for Yor to wake up earlier than Loid. 

Letting out a satisfied sigh after a good stretch, she glanced at her husband, who was still fast asleep beside her. He seemed tired, eyes dark with exhaustion, as he didn’t even stir when she got out of their bed to begin her morning routine. His side-missions must’ve kept him awake late into the night, and it made her worried that he’d overwork himself again.

Determined to let him rest, Yor quietly left their bedroom and made a beeline for the kitchen. It was six-forty in the morning and Anya had to go to school at eight, which meant Yor only had at most half an hour to make breakfast. Flipping her kitchen knife, she took a deep breath and began to work.

“Good morning, Bond,” Yor greeted their family dog with a smile when he came over to nudge her leg. “How was your night?”

Bond replied with a quiet ‘worf’. Yor went back to mincing a capsicum as she continued making idle one-sided conversation with the dog. The quiet morning was peaceful and relaxing, and it prompted her to hum a cheerful tune she’d often heard from Anya’s nightly Spy Wars. 

“Bond, could you help me wake Anya?” She asked the dog as she poured some seasonings into her flaming pan. Fire danced prettily, though it made her a little worried that it might grow and burn down their house. “I’m a little busy right now.”

Bond barked and trotted into Anya’s room. Five minutes later, he came back out with Anya, who was rubbing her eyes sleepily.  

“G’morning, Mama.”

“Good morning to you too, Anya,” Yor beamed at how cute her daughter was. “Go wash your face and brush your teeth. Breakfast will be ready soon.”

“‘Kay…,” Anya mumbled and disappeared into the bathroom.

Yor smiled and went back to the pan in her hand. It was smoking a little bit, but it still seemed fine to her. She had put a lot of nutrients in it to energize both her daughter and her husband. Humming happily, she increased the heat—

When a warm, large hand covered hers, and turned the stove off. 

“You’re going to burn down the house at this rate, Yor.”

“L-Loid!” Yor gasped and turned her head. She was immediately greeted with his face, so close to her own, and he moved even closer to peck her lips. She felt like she would combust like her pan at any moment. “It’s still early. You should sleep more.”

“How could I, when my wife is up early to cook us breakfast?” He sighed and hugged her from behind, burying his face into the nape of her neck. “You should’ve let me cook, Yor. It’s my day off and you have work soon.”

“You seemed tired so I wanted to let you sleep more,” Yor said and giggled when he nuzzled her neck. She leaned back on his chest and they stayed like that for a couple of minutes, content with being surrounded by each other’s warmth. “What time did you come back last night?”

“Around four, I think,” Loid murmured, squeezing her tighter. “It was a difficult mission.”

Yor kissed his cheek. “You should’ve let me come with you.”

“Yeah, I should’ve,” he chuckled, voice still raspy from sleep. One of his hands turned her head gently towards him so he could kiss her on the lips. “Thought it was going to be a short one. I was ready to come home early when those smugglers called for backup. If only you were with me, I could’ve finished the job in five minutes.”

“Mm,” Yor breathed and leaned in for another kiss. He was so warm and comfortable, Yor wished they could stay like that forever. And maybe do more, were it not for the tiny footsteps coming their way.

“Mama! Papa!” Anya popped into the kitchen, almost catching them red handed. Thank god for speedy reflex and trained poker faces. Didn’t stop Anya from eyeing them suspiciously, though. “Were you flirtin’?”

Loid coughed into his hand and denied it. Yor wanted to tell him to please, just give up, because their daughter was telepathic and she could read their minds.

“A-Anyway, breakfast’s ready!” Yor said a tad cheerfully. “It’s seven-forty already. You should hurry and eat your breakfast, Anya. Wouldn’t want you to be late!”

Thankfully, their breakfast was edible and was only a little bit charred. Their morning was off to a good start. Soon, they accompanied her to the bus stop to see her off.

“Mama, Papa!” Anya beamed at them and stretched her arms wide. “Morning mission!”

The Forger parents chuckled at their daughter’s antics, and crouched down to give her a peck on each cheek.

“Have a fun day in school, Anya.”

Anya waved them goodbye and got into the school bus. Though, she grinned slyly at them through the window before the bus took off.

“Have fun too, Mama, Papa!”

Chapter Text

She was like a flower that bloomed bright in the middle of the night.

Sparks shot into the sky, before blossoming into a myriad of brilliant colors. Sharp cracks boomed around them, followed by the lively cheer of the crowd. It was a beautiful moment where fireworks brightened the night sky, but instead, his eyes were drawn towards the silhouette dancing on the other side.

She spun and stretched, and blood bloomed around her like flowers of death. She was like a flower with poisonous thorns, pretty but deadly. The fireworks drowned the screams of her victims as the intense light masked the ongoing carnage from the public’s eyes. He could barely make out of her form amidst the chaos, but it was the first time Twilight ever witnessed her in action. 

“Wheeeeeee—!” Anya whooped and drummed his head excitedly as more fireworks exploded above them. “These ones are red! Papa, did you see them?!”

“...Yeah, I see them,” he replied distractedly, more interested in the obscured figure twirling on the opposite rooftop. Thankfully, the fireworks were massive enough to draw the crowd’s attention from her. 

“They’re so pretty!!” His daughter bounced on his neck and clapped happily. “Papa, aren’t they pretty??!”

“Yeah,” Twilight murmured dazedly. “They are.”

Chapter Text

There was something... liberating about having a conversation on a sensitive topic with someone who knew very well about why it was sensitive in the first place.

"This one?"

"1956, Frankwurst. It was when our cover was blown during a joint mission with a couple other agents. I was holding my wounded comrade when a bullet ricochet off and unfortunately, I was too slow to dodge. This one?"

"Um, four years ago, I think. It was a Garden traitor. His signature weapon was fine strands of sharp wires and he managed to take a small chunk here before I killed him. This one?"

"1952, Drasden. I was a greenhorn back then. I was careless, and the enemy caught me. They pressed a live cig here when I refused to ans—Urgh…"

"Does it still hurt?"

"No, it doesn't. It's... a little sensitive though so don't lick it. This one?"

"Ah, this was from the cruise two years ago. Remember? There were a lot of fireworks going off in the background. I didn't want to come back to you guys too injured, but this swordmaster was very—Ah! L-Loid!"

"Sorry. It just so happens that the scar is in between your breasts. Though I think I saw you on that cruise that night."

"Huh? Really?"

"Mm. Anya kept slapping my head though, so I couldn't tell if it was really you."

"I see. Thought you were on the deck so I… Mm… I didn't think you'd be able to s-spot me from that distance… This one?"

"1963, West Berlint. Didn't even realize it gave me a cut when you kicked me there, Yor."

"I-I'm so sorry!"

"Heh, it's fine. Didn't even think you'd reject me so violently like that."

"Loid! It's so embarrassing, so stop it…"

"Alright, alright. What about this one?"

"D-didn't I tell you about that one already?"

"Hm. I might've forgotten."

"You're a spy. You're supposed to have an excellent memory."

"Your kick might've killed some of my brain cells."

"I-it was way before I told you about this! Way before I got that scar!"

“Oh! Was it the one during that time I asked you for a date? I remember you kept refusing to sit.”

“L-Loid! Stop teasing—Ah! Don’t squeeze my—Ah…”

“Sorry, heh, they’re so soft I can’t help it…”

Yor sniffed a little and glared at him. The spy had the gall to snicker. Determined to give him a payback, the assassin opened her mouth.

That night, Twilight received another scar in the form of a bite mark on his shoulder.

Chapter Text

Berlint in Love.

It was Becky's favorite drama series, in which a man loved a woman who loved another man who loved another woman, and so on and so forth. It involved a love hexagonal, or so Becky had claimed, and featured spicy dramas between individuals tangled in a web of lies and love. 

Anya usually didn’t care much about her best friend’s fixation on the sappy drama (because she very much preferred the cooler and more exciting Spy Wars), but Becky did share some interesting tidbits about people blinded by love. The relationship stories she had shared to Anya were much more complicated than that between Bondman and Princess Honey, but Anya had to admit that they did seem to be closer to the real life drama she’d often witnessed between her own Papa and Mama. Anya was no expert in love but Becky was; which was why she’d often ask her best friend for clarifications as to what was happening between her parents.

Becky often looked scandalized whenever Anya did that, though. So Anya had to make sure she was asking her about this stuff ‘for a friend’.

And so, today, Anya learned a new term from Becky that very much described the true identity of her Papa. 

It was eye-opening. It explained everything. The side of her Papa that Anya didn’t understand had now made so much sense.

Which was why she had to share this with her Mama.

“Mama!” Anya called for her Mama after making sure her Papa was not home so she could pass this secret to her Mama. She made a beeline to the kitchen, where her Mama was. “Mama, great news!”

“What is it, Anya?” Yor turned and smiled cluelessly at her.

“Come down here for a sec, I need to whisper to you in case there is a bug somewhere!”

“Alright, alright,” the assassin crouched down, indulging her daughter’s demand. “What is it?”

"Mama," Anya held her Mama's shoulder and looked her in the eye, making Yor gulp in apprehension. With the most serious tone she'd ever heard her daughter use, Anya leaned closer to her ear and revealed the most mind-blowing secret in history.

"Papa is Yor Simp."

.

.

.

"Loid, what is a 'Simp'?"

Those who resort to post hoc motivated reasoning to justify stances dictated by their baser instincts. They thus become immune to being reasoned with as the reasons they cite for holding particular stances are secondary and are only meant to provide cover for their baser instincts. This particular form of motivated reasoning is most keenly observed in para-social relationships where the lover would defend their beloved regardless of what they do, concocting and discarding reasons on the fly, solely because the lover happens to be lonely and the para-social provides them with a sense of intimacy—

"...It has many meanings, but to put it simply, a 'Simp' commonly refers to someone who's down bad for another person. Why?"

Yor turned a brilliant shade of pink at his explanation, before blurting out, "Anya said you're a Y-Yor Simp."

Loid looked scandalized by that.