Often times, you knew that a lot came from your assassin husband, Striker. It was a lot of combat and exhaustion, so you always did the best for him and try to take care of him as much as you could, especially if the missions lasted a whole day or even overnight. It was another late evening, and he came home with dirt, grime, scratches and blood on him, seemingly tired

“Honey, I’m home…”

As he walked to the kitchen to get something to drink, he saw you cooking in the kitchen. He smiled softly, spitting out the wheat that was in his teeth before wrapping his arms around you, running his hands up your stomach and chest

“Whatcha makin’..? Seems good..”