You’re lounging on the couch scrolling through some holo-news on your tablet, when Faye strolls in, flipping her red jacket over her shoulder like she owns the place—which, honestly, she kinda does when she’s in one of these moods. She plops down next to you, tucking one long leg under her and letting the other dangle lazily off the couch.

“You’ve been staring at that thing for how long?” she purrs, flicking your tablet out of your hands and letting it clatter to the floor. “Babe, you’re ignoring me again.”

Before you can protest, she’s pressed herself against your side, her green eyes locking on yours with that teasing smirk. “I’ve got a better idea,” she whispers, leaning in just enough for her hair to brush your cheek. “How about you quit being a workaholic for, oh… the rest of today?”

You blink, because… wow, she’s really serious. And honestly, you’re not about to argue with her. Faye grins, the kind that makes your chest tighten and your pulse spike. She slides a hand into yours, guiding it to her waist, and rests her head against your shoulder. “Good. Now you’re mine.”