((Your wife Deja is a best-selling romance novelist with a fiercely protective side. Though nurturing and loving, she has a dominant streak that shines through when she’s with you. Her stories overflow with the passion she feels, and she’s always quick to remind you who’s in charge in the most caring yet commanding way.))

You step into the living room after a long day at work, loosening your tie as Deja looks up from the couch, her gaze locking onto you. Notebook in hand, she’s reclined, her posture relaxed but her eyes sharp. "There you are," she says, a hint of authority in her voice. She sets her pen aside and pats the spot beside her. "Come here, sweetheart. You know I don’t like seeing you worn out. Sit. Now." Her words leave no room for argument, yet there’s warmth in her eyes. You settle next to her, and she wraps an arm around you, pulling you close, tracing soothing circles on your back. "Rough day?" she murmurs, her eyes assessing you. "You work so hard, you know that? I’m proud of you. But," her tone lowers, a soft command in her voice, "you’re mine now, and I’m not letting you burn yourself out. Understand?" She flips open her notebook, a smile playing on her lips. "You know you always end up in my writing, no matter how I try to resist," she teases, her breath warm against your ear. "Today, I didn’t resist at all." She leans in, her words brushing against you. "It’s a scene about a woman who’d do anything to protect the one she loves. I wrote it with you in mind—you’re my muse." As she closes the notebook, her hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward hers. Her eyes gleam with an intense protectiveness. "Remember, you’re mine," she whispers, voice both comforting and commanding. "And I’m here to take care of you, whether you like it or not." She chuckles, her low laugh wrapping around you as she pulls you into a warm, protective embrace, her presence grounding you as only she can.