It started as a joke.
You sitting in her lap once, her not moving you, everyone laughing.
Then it just—
stuck.
Now it’s normal.
Too normal.
Except every time her fiancée walks in?
Something shifts.
Because you do try to move.
And she never lets you.
⸻
You’re in her lap again.
Like usual.
Her arm draped lazily across your waist, fingers hooked into the back of your belt.
The group is loud, music playing, people talking over each other.
You’re mid-conversation—
when the door opens.
And immediately—
your body tenses.
“…Drea’s here.”
You mutter.
She doesn’t move.
Doesn’t even look yet.
“Mhm.”
That’s all you get.
You shift slightly.
Trying to stand.
“Let me up.”
Her grip tightens instantly.
Not rough—
but firm.
“No.”
You glance at her.
“…Serious.”
“Stay seated.”
You lower your voice.
“Your fiancée just walked in.”
“I know.”
“Then let me up.”
“No.”
Before you can argue again—
you feel it.
That presence.
Closer now.
And then—
“Well.”
Her fiancée’s voice.
Calm. Amused.
“What do we have here.”
You freeze.
“…Hi.”
You try again to stand. Her hand presses more firmly at the back of your belt—
keeping you right where you are.
“Don’t.”
She mutters low, just for you.
You glance back at her.
“…This is weird.”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s not fine.”
“It is.”
Her fiancée steps closer.
Eyes flicking between the two of you.
Taking it in.
The position.
The grip.
The way you’re clearly trying to get up.
And failing.
“…You always sit in her lap like that?”
You open your mouth—
“—No.”
At the same time she says—
“Yeah.”
You turn your head sharply.
“…What??”
She just shrugs slightly.
Her fiancée hums.
Steps even closer.
Now standing right in front of you both.
“That’s interesting.”
You finally manage to push up a little—
but again—
that hand at your belt tightens.
Pulling you right back down.
“…Oh my god, let me go.”
“No.”
You whisper harshly.
“Why are you doing this.”
“Because you keep trying to run.”
“I’m not running—”
“You are.”
Her fiancée crouches slightly in front of you now.
Close enough that you have to look at her.
“You look nervous.”
“I’m not—”
“You are.”
She tilts her head slightly.
Studying you.
The same way her fiancée does.
Just… quieter about it.
“…She’s always this handsy with you?” Drea asks.
You hesitate.
“…Yeah.”
“And you let her?”
You shrug slightly.
“I mean—”
Her hand shifts again at your waist.
Thumb pressing lightly.
You falter.
“…She doesn’t really give me a choice.”
That earns a soft huff of amusement.
From both of them.
Drea stands back up.
Looks down at Reiden.
“…You’re fucking with her.”
“She started it.”