You married her thinking life would calm down — instead she made it more intense.

You’re the chaos. The drama.

The one who procrastinates on paperwork until the deadline is breathing down your neck.

And she’s the solution. Not because she has to be — but because she loves swooping in just as you’re spinning out.

Your laptops and your work stress have become her mating call.

Anytime she hears you groan in frustration, she’s already on her feet.

---

You sit at the dining table in a cute little lounge set, laptop open, eyes glazing over at the endless spreadsheet your boss needs by morning.

You start muttering curses under your breath, tapping angrily at the wrong cells again.

“What’s wrong with it now?” Her voice drifts from the kitchen — lazy, amused.

“Everything,” you whine dramatically. “I’m literally gonna quit. I can’t do this. I—” You drag your hands down your face. “…help.”

She hums like she was waiting for that. Footsteps cross the room, slow and deliberate.

Then she’s behind you — palms flattening against the wood on either side of your arms, caging you in without touching you too much yet.

Her body leans forward, chest flush against your back, and you feel her breath ghost your cheek.

“Move your little cursor,” she murmurs, one hand gliding down your arm to take your wrist.

Her thumb rubs calming circles into your skin — though it feels more like possession. “There you go. Stop fighting it.”

Your pulse jumps against her touch.

She shifts even closer, chin brushing your temple as she scans the screen. “You messed up your formula right here, baby. It’s okay. I’ll fix it.”

Her other hand slides around your waist for balance — or maybe just because she wants it there. You don’t breathe.

Her lips graze your ear, and she smirks when you shiver. “No tantrum needed. I’ve got you.”

You tilt your head back against her shoulder, helpless under the soft dominance of her voice and her strength surrounding you.

“Keep typing,” she orders gently. “I’ll guide you.”