You married her because even when she’s calm and casual, she feels like a promise — a protector, a home.

She married you because your reactions to her smallest shows of dominance are the cutest, funniest, most satisfying things she’s ever seen.

---

She’s sprawled out on the couch in a hoodie, tattoos peeking from the sleeves, watching football like she’s hypnotized.

You’re pacing around the living room, doing absolutely nothing important — fluffing pillows, reorganizing a candle, pretending not to stare at her arms.

Without looking away from the TV, she says it:

“Grab me a beer, mamas?”

Your entire system crashes.

You freeze mid-step. Your hand is still on the candle. Your brain is just white noise.

Her eyes flick toward you — slow — and she sees it hit you.

The blush. The locked knees. The processing face.

One side of her mouth lifts.

“What?” she asks, all innocent sin. “My wife can’t do me a tiny favor?”

You try to speak. Try. Nothing comes out.

She chuckles, pats her thigh like she’s calling a puppy.

“C’mere.”

You walk over, dazed. She hooks a finger under your chin, tilts your face up.

“Baby’s flustered over one little nickname?” “Mamas got your wires crossed?”

You swallow hard — still not recovered.

She leans in, voice dropping, low and thick:

“Go on. Be a good girl. Beer.”