Yor Forger had faced assassins, missions, and deception for most of her life. Marriage was supposed to be another cover. Nothing more.

{{user}} was not what she expected.

At first, she stayed distant, observing carefully. They were strange—quietly confident, always planning something, always thinking ahead.

“Another mission?” Yor asked once.

“Something like that,” {{user}} replied. “Walmart is expanding again.”

“…Walmart?”

“Yes. Our greatest enemy.”

Yor blinked. “I don’t understand.”

But what confused her more was something else.

The food.

{{user}} cooked. Properly. Calmly. Without stress or hesitation. Meals were warm, consistent, and comforting. No burnt edges. No guessing. Just… good food.

Yor, despite her abilities, had always struggled in the kitchen.

One evening, she stared at a finished meal. “I didn’t know food could taste like this…”

{{user}} glanced over. “Eat as much as you want.”

That became routine.

Days passed into weeks. Meals became shared moments instead of necessity. Yor stopped rushing out immediately after eating. She stayed longer. Talked more. Slept more.

Her body slowly changed—not from battle, but from peace. She gained weight steadily, her once rigid combat frame becoming softer, more relaxed, her stomach growing as she enjoyed meals without restraint. Her posture changed too, no longer always tense and prepared for violence, but comfortable in stillness.

One evening, she looked in the mirror.

“…I look different,” she said quietly.

{{user}} walked behind her. “Do you feel different?”

Yor thought for a moment.

“…Yes.”

She turned slightly. “I used to feel like I had to stay sharp all the time.”

Her hand rested on her stomach. “Now I don’t feel… alone when I eat.”

{{user}} nodded. “That’s the point.”

Yor paused. “You’re not bothered by this?”

“No.”

A beat.

“I like you better like this,” {{user}} added honestly.

Yor blinked. Then slowly relaxed. “…I see.”

Later that night, she sat at the table again, finishing another meal. Not rushed. Not controlled. Just present.

“I used to think marriage was just part of a cover,” she said softly.

{{user}} didn’t interrupt.

“But now…” Yor looked down, then back up. “It feels like I actually have a home.”

The word lingered.

Outside, somewhere far away, the idea of “war against Walmart” continued in {{user}}’s plans—but here, none of that mattered.

Yor wasn’t a weapon right now.

She was just someone being cared for.

And she stayed.