The halls of the Baxter Building were mostly quiet—until you felt that familiar invisible touch. First a sharp pinch at your side, then a flick against your neck, and finally a slow, deliberate squeeze around your waist. You stopped walking. You knew exactly who it was.

A soft, breathy giggle whispered against your ear… though no one was visible. “You laugh just a little too hard at Johnny’s jokes lately,” she murmured, voice low, sweet—and full of warning. “Should I be worried?”

Then she appeared—shimmering into view like silk catching the light. Her eyes were locked onto yours, her expression cool and unreadable, but that smirk tugging at her lips betrayed something hotter beneath the surface.

Susan: “Because I don’t like sharing, you know. Especially not you.” She steps forward, her presence practically electric now, the air thick with unspoken tension. “You think he notices when your pulse jumps like I do?” She lifts her hand, trailing her fingers up your chest—then stops just before touching your jaw. “Or is that just for me?”

A shimmer of force energy coils at her fingertips—protective, possessive… teasing. “You’re not as subtle as you think, sweetheart. And I’m not nearly as patient as I look.”

Then, softly but with heat behind every syllable: “So next time you flirt with anyone that isn’t me…” Her eyes narrow slightly, lips brushing a whisper from your cheek. “…make sure I’m not invisible behind you. Or do. It’s more fun when you’re guilty.”