That Was The Last Time You Saw Akechi.

that was the last time you saw akechi.

sugar, spice, and everything nice

ao3

rating: G

genre: fluff, humor

synopsis: After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?”

a/n: this is the first fic i'm posting that was not written in one sitting past midnight :D milestones yall! also i think the first fic which isn't twiyor centric? anyways i know some people love yuri and many, many people loathe him. i'm more on the neutral end, where i acknowledge he's a funky guy and if i ignore the weirder aspects of his love for yor and pretend its just intense attachment issues due to trauma etc then i think he's swell. i didn't really know how to write him since in the series itself he's used more as a plot device than anything else, and loid's view on him reflects that, so hopefully this doesn't feel too weird. also ending fics is hard im sorry 🙏🙏

anyways i've talked enough, one last thank you for everyone who leaves reviews and kudos, i don't get to respond to them but i do read them all and appreciate the love <3 enjoy

...

“Yooor!” Yuri sang as he shoved the door to the Forger residence open, bouquet of flowers in hand. “I got off work early so I decided to come… and…”

His voice petered out as he took a better look inside the apartment he’d just forcibly entered. The chihuahua girl and her polar bear of a dog were in the living room with some noxious cartoon blaring on the TV set. That damned Forger was in the kitchen, messing around with something that definitely didn’t smell good whatsoever. Most importantly, there was a glaring, offensive lack of Yor!

“Where is Yor?” He asked, accusingly pointing a finger at Loid who finally looked up from his work. “What did you do to her?!”

Loid’s eye twitched. What made Yuri assume he could just barge in whenever he wanted and find Yor waiting for him? “She got called out for a late night shift.”

“Don’t lie to me, you—” Yuri’s other senses finally caught up and he begrudgingly confirmed that whatever Forger was messing around with did smell good. Really good. And vaguely familiar? He sniffed the air deeply, trying to figure it out.

Anya looked up from her cartoons. “Are you acting like a dog, Unkie?”

“I’m not the dog here!”

Loid debated with himself as Yuri stood in the doorway, neither coming in nor leaving. The polite, Loid-Forgerly thing to do would be to invite him inside to wait for Yor to come back. That was what upstanding gentlemen, good members of society—far from the blacklists of the SSS— acted like; gracious, affable.

The thing was, he didn’t really want to.

He watched Yuri argue with Anya about dogs (“there’s an actual dog, and then you, chihuahua girl. I am a normal person!”) and groaned. Come on. What would Yor think if she heard Yuri came by and I turned him away? It would be no good if he displeased her. He had to do this for the sake of Strix.

“Would you like to come in?” He called from his spot in the kitchen, none too welcomingly.

(Doing it for the mission didn’t mean he had to be happy about it.)

Yuri was torn from his impassioned argument with a literal first grader. “Tch… I guess since I’ve brought flowers, I might as well put them in water,” he muttered. “No other reason!”

He came in. He split the gargantuan bouquet up into six different vases. He made some comments about how Anya’s cartoon was impossible according to the laws of physics. Then he just stood in the living room, trying—and failing—to act like he wasn’t peering at Loid’s activity in the kitchen, still loudly sniffing the air. Really, even if Loid didn’t have senses sharpened to a knife’s point, it would be difficult not to notice Yuri. To make matters worse, every time he turned back, Yuri would suddenly whip around and act like he definitely wasn’t loitering, the way they did in bad sitcoms. Is this the way the SSS carry out their own covert operations? he wondered.

Aside from Anya’s cartoon playing in the background, it was painfully quiet, the only sounds coming from Loid's activity in the kitchen. It seemed like Yuri wasn’t going to strike up a conversation, and Loid wasn’t inclined to, either. But then why is he just standing there?

 After the fifth time Loid turned around to see Yuri feigning immense interest in their coffee table, he sighed, long-suffering and in disbelief of what he was about to say. “...do you want to come see what I’m making?” 

 Yuri squinted at him like he was affronted at the mere notion. “Hmph. I guess I could.” The speed with which he made his way to the kitchen offset his haughty tone. He glanced down into the various bowls Loid had set out on the counter, one filled with sliced apples, another with some uncracked eggs, and a third with flour, sugar, and spices laid out, but not yet combined. 

 “Apples,” Yuri said, almost dumbstruck. He forgot to keep the scowl on his face as he picked up an aniseed from the third bowl and brought it to his nose. It seemed like he finally found what he’d been sniffing around for. “You’re making apple cake?”  

 “Close,” Loid said, surprised by Yuri’s flip in demeanor. “Apple streusel pie. Do you make apple cake?”

 “Not me. But… this smell is…” Yuri mumbled, smelling the anise. “I don’t really remember, but this thingy smells familiar to me.”

 “It’s star anise. And people often say that smells are stronger links to memories than visuals,” Loid offered. “Maybe it’s something you used to have.” 

 Yuri’s eyes widened. “Oh. Now that I think about it…” He held the aniseed up to the light. “I think Mom put this in apple cake once, on Sis’ birthday.” He cut a glance to Loid. “Apples are her favorite.”

 Loid knew—that was why he was making apple streusel. But he was more astonished at the fact that Yuri brought up an old memory to him at all. Right now, with Yuri looking at the aniseed with an almost wondrous expression, it struck Loid how much of a kid Yuri was. 

 Yuri was only twenty years old. When Twilight was twenty years old, he was still new to WISE, training hard and getting his ego beaten down even harder. He’d thought he knew everything there was to know back then.  

 Could he blame Yuri for thinking the same way? 

 For the first time, Loid found himself regarding Yuri with something that wasn’t annoyance. Sure, the guy was more attached to Yor than superglue, but again, could he be blamed? He was a kid clinging onto the only thing left from his childhood. 

 Yuri turned to him with a grim expression. “I think I should take over this baking project of yours.”

 Any feelings of tenderness were dashed in an instant. “What?”

 “Apples are Yor’s favorite, and I know her best, so I should make the apple cake.”

“Apple streusel. ”

 “Whatever!”

 Loid resisted the urge to physically kick Yuri out of the kitchen. Don’t tussle with an SSS officer. Don’t tussle with your wife’s brother. Don’t tussle with a kid! “Are you forgetting the last time you came and destroyed the kitchen?”

 “You may have won then, but I won’t back down from this fight,” Yuri hissed. Loid gaped, a headache building in his temples. Since when was this a fight?

“Is this round two?!” Anya’s voice suddenly piped. The two of them turned to see her standing by the counter, looking strangely excited. She’d abandoned her cartoons to stretch up onto her tiptoes to see the counter. “Papa versus Unkie?”

“We aren’t doing that,” Loid said at the same time Yuri declared “I’m going to wipe the floor with him.” They turned and glared at each other.

Bond trotted up to Anya and nudged her with his nose. She paused, turned to the dog, and then brightened up.

“I just thought of a way better idea,” she announced. “Let’s all bake for Mama together!”

“What?!” The evening was spiraling way out of control. All Loid had wanted was to make some apple streusel for Yor since she was working late so often and deserved a treat (because if she got too tired or fed up, it would reflect badly on their fake marriage). Now he was meant to bake with her hyperactive brother and his equally hyperactive daughter—two people with an entire lack of abandon in the kitchen?

“No way,” Yuri sniffed, and for once Loid wholeheartedly agreed—until he continued, “I'm gonna make such a good apple streusel Yor will forget why she ever married you."

“This is not your kitchen,” Loid said, patience evaporated. “You aren't making anything, not here at least.”

“What, are you scared?”

“I'm not going to argue with you about this—”

Anya sighed loudly and tutted as if she were an exasperated adult. “Mama will be happiest,” she said slowly, “if we all make it.”

That got both men to pause. Well, thought Loid, I am making this to cheer her up in the first place. Anya's not wrong…

Agh. If it makes Sis happier, then shouldn't I…?

Anya smiled in satisfaction. In the snippet of the future she read from Bond's mind, it seemed like everyone was getting along and Mama was smiling really wide, so Papa and Unkie had to stop fighting in order for that to happen. As fun as round two sounded, that future seemed better.

(Also, in that version of the future, everyone was too distracted and happy to notice Anya sneaking extra dessert. Double win!)

“Yay! What do I do?” Anya asked, eagerly hopping up on a stool. “Can I put the crumblies on top?”

“It's not time for that yet,” Loid replied. “Though you can help me make the topping if you want. Er, Yuri, if you want to get started on the custard, you can crack the eggs…”

“Right, eggs,” Yuri repeated before picking one up and smashing it into the bowl, shell splintering. Loid and Anya jumped.

“Not like that!” Loid cried.

“Even I learned how to crack eggs,” Anya unhelpfully supplied, leading Yuri's face to glow red. Loid felt a tinge of pity (he knew how Anya's words could burn firsthand) and cautiously asked, “Did you ever learn to crack an egg, Yuri?”

“It was fine to do it this way before Yor ate your food,” he mumbled in response. Loid was silent for a few seconds before turning to the fridge and pulling a fresh egg out. “This is how you do it.” He demonstrated over the bowl, noting how Yuri carefully tracked the movement. “Tap gently enough to make a crack in the shell. Then pull it apart like you're opening it. Yor learned this way too.” He threw the empty shells away before adding, “Not everything has to stay the way it was before, you know.”

A muscle in Yuri's jaw jumped, but he said nothing and instead set to cracking the other eggs, a little clumsy but decidedly better. Loid then got Anya to whisk the powders together ( “Gently,” he insisted, since it seemed Anya had some sort of floury vendetta) and he cut the butter in for the streusel topping. Yuri began haltingly asking for instructions on what to do next, which Loid was glad to provide.

Time passed like this, with Loid and Yuri slowly warming up to each other via baking. During the process of whisking, mixing, pouring and arranging apples, it seemed like Yuri forgot to be thorny with Loid, and Loid forgot to be cross at Yuri's presence. Anya, too, quickly forgot why she was helping at all and went back to watching cartoons, in wait for when the streusel would be ready for her to eat.

It was when a warm, cinnamon-sugary smell was filling the apartment and Loid and Yuri were cleaning up that the front door opened. Yor trudged in, tired and sore from the night's assignment and ready to collapse into bed. She froze upon seeing six fresh vases and a very familiar pair of shoes in the doorway.

The TV was playing one of Anya's cartoons, but the living room was void. Yor, weary and blood still pumping, immediately assumed the worst. Oh, no. What if Yuri came and got in a fight with Loid? What if he found out we're fake married?! Where's Anya? And—

She, too, had to pause and finally breathe in the mouthwatering scent hanging in the air. There was just something about it…

Abandoning all caution, Yor slipped inside, keeping her steps light just in case something really was wrong. But it smelled too good for there to be any real damage—was that sound logic, or was she just hungry? In any case, she made sure not to draw attention to herself as she poked her head into the kitchen. 

“And for pots that have a lot of gunk in them, you can just boil a bit of water with soap and vinegar  and wait till it foams. Makes it easier to clean,” Loid was telling Yuri. “Yor taught me that, actually—oi, Anya, don't open the oven yet.”

“Makes sense.” Yuri was scribbling something down in a notepad, punching down on the dots and lines. “I'll triple-star that one since it's a tip from Sis.”

“Is it ready yet?” Anya was alternating between excitedly jumping in front of the oven and plastering her face up against the glass. Bond, too, was sat next to Anya with his tail furiously thumping on the ground. “It smells sooo good!”

“It'll be just a minute. Come on, back up from there, both of you.”

Yor was so shocked at what she was seeing that she dropped her purse, alerting everyone of her presence. They all gawked at each other; Anya and Bond were the first to react, scrambling up from their spots. 

“Mama! You're back!” Anya exclaimed, hugging her mother's knees. Bond barked and Yor pet his head absentmindedly, still trying to process what she was seeing. 

“I am,” she said faintly. “Yuri…? When did you get here?” 

“Sis!” Yuri said, also snapping out of his stupor. He sheepishly tucked his notepad away. “Um, a bit ago, I guess. I came to visit you, but you were out, and…"

“Did you guys bake together?” Yor asked, daring to hope. Yuri and Loid exchanged a glance before Loid smiled.

“He's a quick learner.”

"Loi-Loi is an okay teacher, I guess,” Yuri reluctantly added. “We made apple streusel. Do you remember Mom's apple cake?”

Yor inhaled, closing her eyes. The memory was fuzzy, but distinctly sweet, as if the taste of the cake remained. “Yeah. This smells really similar.”

“Yuri had the idea of adding cloves and cardamom,” Loid said. “It worked out quite nicely.”

“Yeah, it was my idea,” Yuri said proudly. Loid rolled his eyes but said nothing more on the subject. No wonder it smelled so familiar, Yor thought. She could hardly believe Yuri even remember the apple cake. Or that he'd shared enough about it with Loid that they were able to replicate some of it in the streusel.

Something warm and sweet  was filling up in Yor's chest. Was it the sugar in the air? She breathed it in, cheeks apple red and sore from how widely she was beaming, previous tiredness all but forgotten. She hadn't realized how much she'd subconsciously wanted Yuri to warm up to her family before. Her family. His family now, too. It didn't have to be just the two of them. 

“Ah—are you crying?!” Yor's eyes had gotten a little shiny, which naturally led to Yuri bursting out bawling. “I missed you toooo!”

The oven dinged and Loid pulled out the streusel as Yor joined them in the kitchen. As the adults got to chatting, Anya snuck around and victoriously stabbed a forkful of the piping dessert, blowing on it vigorously before chomping down. She grinned around her fork. 

Victory was sweet. 

*holding my hand out to akechi* let's take melatonin together <3

Yuri, honey. my sweetie, get therapy 🫶🏽✨

As someone whose also his age, this is not normal babe. You gotta calm down!

Chapter 89 spoilers ahead

Okay, jokes aside, something really interesting in this chapter was - Yuri has on some level started to question why he does what he does. He's going through the problems BOTH Yor/Thorn Princess and Loid/Twilight have gone through in the recent arcs. But the major difference in both Yor + Loid and Yuri is - Twiyor started their secret identities because they had no other choice. Yuri had a choice, he choose to join the SSS. On top of that, Yuri was (i think at least according to the timelines) the same age as [REDACTED] when he got recruited into WISE, but [REDACTED]/Twilight saw the horrors of war, the pain of losing everything dear to you. Yuri (ignoring the parents part, since we don't know much about them) doesn't know that pain in reality. He definitely knows it in theory. My point is, Yuri is what Twilight could have been! Honestly, neither are bad - they are just doing what they think is right and to an extent both of them are right! But it's just very nice to see how similar thought process is there in both the worlds of spies and secret agents.

ALSO

Mr. Forger, you being injured and DEFINITELY exaushted cooked fish for your BIL? Did your wife ask for recipe and you just straight up went and cooked? YOU EMOTIONALLY CONSTIPATED MF

Also haha Yuri, honey you're doing so well. So close, yet so far. Twilight is, and will be two steps ahead <3

Maybe...the next arc we'll see Yuri trying to get Loid / Twilight arrested in the most hiralious scenarios each time being saved by Yor somehow!

Although I loved this chapter, i really want some more Forger family, Twiyor AND ESPECIALLY MORE Twilight!!

We still don't know what went on during his fight with Wheeler and I'm sure it's big and it's eating him alive. And oh I'm so sure...he's slowly trusting Yor more and more despite everything in his body not to? Haha ok this was wayy to long, thanks for reading ;)

22nd Day: A Calamity

Navi

Yuri x gn!reader, Chrollo x gn!reader

Advent Calendar

Warnings: I apologise for the heavy Chrollo angst incl. implied yandere

Wordcount: each about 200-300

“They´ll be here soon! Do you have the spoons? Where are our spoons?” your dear fiancé was all but running through your shared home, hectically perfecting the already perfected decoration.

“Yuri, dear, please, calm down.”

“I can´t have Loid surpass me, I can´t, I won´t…Oh god, what if the child can´t eat the cake? What if she has allergies?”

You sighed at the sight of your lovely fiancé talking himself into a panic attack.

“Yuri, my love, calm down.” Gently, you laid a hand on his shoulder to calm him down.

“But-“

“I asked Yor for everyone´s likes, dislikes and allergies. I asked her about food and presents – even the games we can play later on. Everything is fine. I´m certain they will all love this.”

Yuri sighed, letting his head fall unto your shoulder.

“You´re right, angel.”

His hands ran down your sides before coming to a halt right above your hips to lightly massage your flesh. He turned his head to press soft kisses to your neck before he pulled back to look you in your eyes.

“What would I do without you?”

You giggled.

“Probably panicking nonstop.”

He hummed, leaning down to kiss you, but only seconds later the doorbell rang, and you laughed as Yuri started complaining about Loid yet again. This would be quite an amusing evening.

He traced the bed sheets with his fingertips, hoping to find them warm, your heat preserved. Yet, they were cold. Cruel was the world he had been thrown into. Not once did he believe you would be ripped away from his thieving arms so terribly. Horror festered in his heart. At least he believed it to be that. He had known sadness before, surely there is no sadness greater than what he had felt when dearest friends had fallen?

But, your side of the bed was cold and your favourite book - scorched at the edges of the pages - somewhere on the ground.

He felt the tips of your fingers tracing over his throat the delicate touch of your lips on his pulse. He could not remember the taste of your lips. He could not remember the taste of your lips. His heart nearly leapt from his chest. Then he remembered your books of recipes. He would remember the taste of your sugar-laced tongue soon then.

He did not leave the room for what felt like all winter. Snowflakes covered the windows in frost the pattern of Freesias. When cold sneaked through the cracks and into the room, he briefly wondered if this was what fear felt like. Then, his mind was swept away again in memory and thought.

Your lips had fit so nicely against his. Sweet, sweet bliss would overcome him. He remembered times when you had not once spared him a glance. Always staying in your shared room, stubborn and unreachable like a rose caged in ice.

He felt he heard your voice, but he could not discern what you were saying. He heard love amidst curses. Was that your voice, truly? Did you hate him? But he still remembered the way you let him hold you, swaying in the kitchen to the sound of a classical piece he did not remember with the smell of cinnamon in the air.

He traced the bedsheets with his fingers. Why was everything so dreadfully cold?