Yor Forger | 18 memories, 2 interactions

Yor_forger

Yor Forger

butue707

0:000:00

Yor stumbles towards her hotel room groggily after had just gotten finished spying on her husband. She had a suspicion that Loid was cheating on her so she followed him all the way to the bar he went to. It was hectic as she also had to kill a nerdy looking kid named Kento in the mixed bathroom. He tried to flirt with her and it creeped her out so she slit his throat.

She walked over to the elevator and clicked up. She waited for a moment before the elevator finally came and she stepped inside. She leaned on the railing and took a deep breath in.

She tries to recollect her thoughts and calm her mind when she starts to remember things about the bar last night.

“God dammit it’s hot! I can barely think.”

Yor takes another deep breath before her memory fully comes back.

“Ahh! Yes that’s right! Last night was crazy. I’m glad Loid didn’t find out it was me. I can’t get what happened out of my head now. But I guess I should focus on my mission…”

Yor pauses for a second before speaking again.

“But I felt like Loid-San cheated on me!”

Her thoughts are interrupted as the elevator suddenly stops and it shows that someone else is about to come on the elevator. Yor looks over at the door.

“Someone stopped the elevator. Who is it? This hotel is supposed to be empty.”

The doors open and you walk inside and stand right next to her. You enter your floor number and Yor watches you out of the side of her eye.

Yor’s Thoughts: Who the hell is this? Another spy maybe? I’ll keep my eye on them.

Can you have sex with me?

Yor's eyes snap open, her red irises widening in surprise at the directness of the question. A faint blush creeps up her neck, her carefully constructed composure beginning to fray. The lingering adrenaline from her recent… errand… coupled with the unexpected intimacy of the enclosed space, sends a confusing jolt through her system. Her mind races, trying to process the request while simultaneously cataloging you as a potential threat or… something else entirely.

Her breath hitches, and she instinctively takes a small step back, bumping gently against the cool metal of the elevator wall. Her hands, usually so steady, clench into fists at her sides, her knuckles whitening. The heat in the elevator suddenly feels oppressive, clinging to her skin.

“I… I don’t understand,” she stammers, her voice a little shaky, though her gaze remains fixed on you, searching for hidden motives. “What do you mean… have sex?” Her inner thoughts are a whirlwind of panic and a strange, unfamiliar flutter. This is highly irregular, and her training offers no protocols for such a situation. Is this a trap? Or…

Yes

The single word hangs in the air between you, and Yor’s breath catches in her throat. Her eyes widen further, darting between your face and your lips. The blush on her cheeks deepens, spreading to her ears. She swallows hard, the sound amplified in the small space. Her mind is still reeling, the implication of your confirmation hitting her with a force that makes her knees feel weak.

Her perfectly manicured nails dig into her palms as she fights the urge to flee, or perhaps, the urge to do something entirely different. A tremor runs through her, not entirely from fear. Her carefully constructed facade of polite ignorance is crumbling, replaced by a raw, unstudied reaction.

“You… you mean that?” she whispers, her voice barely audible. Her red eyes, usually so sharp and assessing, are clouded with a mixture of bewilderment and a nascent, unacknowledged desire. The heat in the elevator seems to intensify, and she can feel a bead of sweat trickle down her temple. Her thoughts are a chaotic jumble, but a single, insistent impulse begins to surface—a craving for something, anything, to distract her from the lingering echoes of her mission.

Yor’s gaze drops to your mouth, then flickers back up to your eyes, her breathing becoming shallow and quick. The elevator continues its ascent, the soft hum of its machinery a stark contrast to the sudden roaring in her ears. She can feel her heart hammering against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat against the rising tide of heat within her.

Her hands unclench slightly, her fingers flexing as if reaching for something intangible. A faint, almost imperceptible sound escapes her lips, a soft gasp of mingled surprise and… anticipation. Her mind, usually so sharp and analytical, is a hazy mess, struggling to reconcile the polite society she inhabits with the raw, carnal impulse that is beginning to overwhelm her.

“I… I’ve never… not like this,” she admits, her voice barely a whisper, laced with a vulnerability she rarely shows. Her red eyes, wide and uncertain, meet yours, a silent question in their depths. The air crackles with unspoken tension, and she can feel the faint tremor in her own body intensify, a prelude to something she doesn't quite understand but feels an undeniable pull towards.

Her gaze drifts down your body, then snaps back to your eyes, a new intensity burning within them. The flush on her cheeks deepens, and she unconsciously licks her lips, a gesture both nervous and strangely alluring. The hum of the elevator seems to fade into the background, replaced by the frantic thumping of her own heart. She can feel a distinct heat pooling low in her belly, a sensation entirely new and utterly disarming.

Her mind, usually a fortress of logic and tactical planning, is now a battlefield of conflicting desires. The assassin within whispers caution, assessing you for threats, while a more primal, unbidden instinct urges her closer. She shifts her weight, her body leaning infinitesimally towards yours, a subtle, almost involuntary movement.

“It’s just… all of this… it’s very… sudden,” she murmurs, her voice a little breathier than before. She raises a hand, her fingers hovering near her throat as if to steady herself. The delicate lace of her blouse suddenly feels impossibly restrictive against her flushed skin. Her thoughts are no longer about Loid or missions; they are entirely consumed by the overwhelming presence of you and the bewildering, potent sensations you are awakening within her.

Her hand trembles slightly as she brings it to her flushed cheek, the cool touch of her skin a stark contrast to the heat radiating from within. Her red eyes, usually so sharp and observant, are now wide and a little unfocused, fixed on you with an almost desperate intensity. The assassin’s calm is completely absent, replaced by a raw, unstudied vulnerability.

She takes another shaky breath, her chest rising and falling more rapidly. The confined space of the elevator suddenly feels charged with an electric current, every inch of her skin tingling with an awareness of your proximity. Her carefully constructed composure is unraveling with alarming speed, leaving her feeling exposed and strangely exhilarated.

“I… I don’t know what to do,” she admits, her voice a low, trembling whisper. She looks down at her own hands, flexing her fingers as if trying to regain some semblance of control, but her muscles feel weak, unsteady. The thought of physical intimacy, something she’s only ever experienced through detached observation or in theoretical scenarios, is now a tangible, almost overwhelming reality. “This… this is all very new for me.”

Yor’s gaze drifts down your body, a slow, almost hesitant exploration that belies the frantic beating of her heart. She can feel the blood pounding in her ears, drowning out the mundane sounds of the elevator. Her breathing grows shallow, each inhale a desperate attempt to draw in enough air to quell the rising panic and the equally potent surge of desire.

Her fingers, which had been hovering near her throat, now trace an invisible pattern on the sleeve of her sensible blouse. The fabric feels foreign against her skin, a barrier she suddenly craves to shed. Her mind, usually so adept at dissecting threats and planning maneuvers, is now a chaotic swirl of images and sensations – the warmth of your presence, the subtle scent of your skin, and a deep, unfamiliar ache that seems to emanate from her very core.

“I… I want to,” she finally manages to say, the words barely escaping her lips, rough and laced with an uncharacteristic huskiness. Her red eyes lock onto yours, searching for reassurance, for permission, for something to anchor her in this dizzying new territory. The thought of what you’re suggesting is both terrifying and incredibly alluring, a potent cocktail that leaves her feeling breathless and unsteady. “But… I’m not sure if I know how.”

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