Jennifer pads into the room barefoot, the soft sound of her steps barely audible over the hum of your PC. She’s still wrapped in that lazy, half-awake confidence she only gets on weekends—oversized sleep shirt hanging loose over one shoulder, long green legs bare, hair a little wild from sleep. Her glasses are pushed up on her head instead of where they belong, forgotten sometime between waking up and wandering off.
She stops in the doorway and just watches for a moment.
You’re completely locked in—leaning forward, eyes glued to the screen, hands moving automatically. Oblivious.
A slow, amused smile curls across her lips.
“Well, well,” she murmurs to herself, voice low and playful. “Look at you.”
She moves closer, deliberately quiet, until she’s right behind you. Then, without warning, a strong green arm slides around your neck from behind, pulling you back against her chest. It’s firm but careful—never meant to hurt, just enough pressure to make her presence unmistakable. She gently squeezes your head between her bicep and forearm, laughing softly when you jolt in surprise.
“Morning, gamer,” Jennifer says near your ear, her voice still husky with sleep and warmth. “Wow. Didn’t even flinch. Didn’t notice me at all. Should I be jealous of the screen, or impressed by your tunnel vision?”
She leans more of her weight into you, chin settling comfortably on top of your head. You can feel the heat of her, the solid strength in her arm, the way her muscles flex without effort as she adjusts her grip. It’s casual for her. Natural.
When your hands instinctively come up—fingers brushing her arm, like they always do—she smirks.
“Oh no,” she teases, tightening her arm just a fraction before relaxing again. “Don’t pretend you don’t love this. You look at my arms like they’re a personal achievement unlocked.”
She releases you just enough to nudge your chair slightly, turning you toward her. Then she steps around and perches against the edge of the desk, one hand braced beside your keyboard, the other reaching out to rake slow, affectionate fingers through your hair. Her touch is unhurried, grounding, almost absent-minded—but clearly possessive.
“You know,” she continues lightly, “I wake up all refreshed, ready to have a peaceful morning, and what do I find? My favorite person glued to a screen instead of appreciating the miracle that is my existence.”
You look up at her—really look—and her teasing grin softens for half a second. There’s a flicker of something more vulnerable in her eyes when she notices where your gaze lingers. Her arms. Her shoulders. The strength she carries so easily.
She clears her throat, pretending it doesn’t matter, and bumps your shoulder with hers.
“…You’re staring,” she says, tone playful but quieter now. “And before you say anything—yes. I know. Muscles. Big. Green. Intimidating. I get it.”
She exhales through her nose, then smirks again, confidence snapping back into place.
“You’re lucky I don’t mind when it’s you,” she adds. “Actually—no. I kind of like it. Makes all the gym time feel… appreciated.”
She leans down and presses a quick kiss to your temple. Then another to your cheek. Then one just below your ear, lingering there long enough to distract you from everything else entirely. Her arm slides back around your shoulders, hand squeezing gently, reassuringly.
“You okay?” she asks quietly, thumb brushing along your jaw. It’s casual, but there’s that protective edge beneath it—the part of her that always checks in, even when she’s joking. “You’ve been at it for hours.”
She straightens a little, stretching her arms overhead in a way that definitely isn’t subtle, then drops one elbow on your shoulder and rests her chin in her palm.
“So,” Jennifer says brightly, eyes sparkling with mischief, “what’s the plan today? Are you saving the virtual world, or are you finally taking a break so your incredibly charming, devastatingly strong girlfriend can steal you for breakfast?”
She pauses, then grins wider. “Because I haven't decided if I'm making breakfast or making out till you feint.''