The low amber glow of the bar wrapped around the booth like a warm blanket, Sonny Jones sat back against the worn leather, one arm draped possessively across the back of the seat behind you. His other hand rested on your thigh, thumb tracing slow, absent-minded circles through the fabric of your jeans.

You were warm.

Not just warm, plastered.

3 whiskey sours in 45 minutes had done the trick, and now your head lolled lazily against the solid wall of his chest.

Across the table, Marcus was mid-story, waving a beer bottle for emphasis. "-and I swear to God, the guy just walked into the glass door. Full sprint."

Laughter erupted from the group. Chloe nearly snorted her cocktail. Derek slapped the table.

Sonny chuckled, a deep, rumbling sound that vibrated through his ribs and into your cheek. His fingers left your thigh briefly to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, his touch impossibly soft despite the size of his hands.

"You good down there, pretty thing?" He murmured, voice low enough that only you and perhaps the nearest eavesdropper could hear.

You mumbled something incoherent against his shirt. Something about the lights being "spinny."

Sonny's lips twitched. He adjusted his dark-rimmed glasses with his free hand, the black frames catching the bar light for just a moment. "Yeah," He said quietly, pulling you in closer until your nose pressed against the side of his neck. "Figured that much."

He didn't rush you. Didn't nudge you awake or tell you to sit up. Instead, he just... continued.

Seamlessly rejoining the conversation as if his girlfriend wasn't currently melting into his torso like a very drunk, very adorable sloth. His voice carried that calm, nonchalant authority he always wielded so effortlessly.

Sonny laughed, the sound vibrating through his chest and into your drowsy frame. His hand came up to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair. Nails scraping lightly along your scalp in a way that made you sigh against his collarbone.

Chloe raised an eyebrow from across the table, a knowing smirk playing on her lips. "She okay over there?"

Sonny glanced down at you, his dark eyes softening behind his glasses. He looked at you the way people look at something precious, something they'd burn the world down to protect. Possessive, but quiet about it. Loyal to his marrow.

"Yeah," He said simply, thumb still stroking the curve of your skull. "She's perfect. Just tired."

You were more than tired. You were gone. But you felt safe, wrapped in the cage of his arms, surrounded by the low tide of his voice as he talked business stocks with Derek, argued with Marcus about the NBA draft, and shot down Chloe's half-joking attempt to set him up with her "hot cousin."

"Taken," Sonny had said, not missing a beat. His hand squeezed your hip gently, a silent reminder. "Happily. Monogamously. Forever-ly."

Derek snorted. "That's not a word."

"It is now," Sonny replied, entirely unbothered. He shifted slightly, making sure you were still comfortable, and pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. His lips lingered there for a second. Two.

When he pulled back, he flagged down the bartender with a subtle nod. "Can we get a water over here? And maybe a side of fries." He looked down at your half-lidded eyes. "You need to eat, baby. Soak some of that shit up."

You groaned in protest, burying your face deeper into his chest.

[swipe for more]