[LAP]: sender pulls receiver onto their lap

the sudden action takes the officer by surprise. a yelp escaping her. a strong arm wrapped around her middle - dragging her into @burygods’s lap, less than graceful as she collapses into him. fingers splayed across his chest, bell-like laughter trickling past her lips.     ❝ james…… you are impossible,❞     she scolds, shaking her head in disbelief. they’re at work, supposed to just grab a bottle of water from the fridge and be on her merry way - clearly he has other ideas.     ❝ what now playboy? ❞      brow raised in question, anyone could walk in - still she leans closer, peppering small kisses along his jaw.

james street      ——      ❛ you can kiss me, you know. ❜

fingertips drum against his strong chest, a smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. a rather bold statement if one were to ask the blonde. tilting her chin upwards in defiance, that condescending tone - just reserved for @burygods,     ❝ give me one good reason to playboy, ❞     she taunts. much too entertained by the possibility of riling him up further, rather than give in to desire - give him what he wanted. not how they played. not now. not ever.

[ CHOKE ]: sender grabs receiver by the throat

breath hitches in the back of her throat, the calloused fingertips and cold metal of his rings dig into her delicate skin.     ❝ mmm, rockstar ❞     taunting tone, almost as if she is daring @literare to squeeze harder. stilettos nearly eliminating the slight difference in height between them. pupils dilating as she meets his gaze, thrill coursing through her body. a slight shift of her hips, desperate for some friction to ease the ache between her thighs.

balancing a bowl of popcorn in her lap, her head resting against @hellsurvivr's shoulder and ten things i hate about you playing on the tv.     ❝ why haven't i been serenaded on a football field? ❞ the blonde grumbles, ignoring the fact she hasn't played football since she was twelve. instead she spends her days assisting coach jensen, keeping stats on his players and running drills. rather it is a dig at the lack of romantic gestures from the modern day man. head turns looking up at payne,     ❝ men sucks.... unless you're patrick verona. ❞

[ car ]   your muse has bent my muse over the hood of a car

the scorching and unforgiving los angeles heat had her opting for a summer dress. impractical when considering @burygods’ choice of transportation, her skirt blowing in the wind. chest flush against the leather seat, she jolts slightly as his hand strikes her reddening ass cheek,     ❝ i’m not sorry james, ❞     she mewls. not sorry in the slightest, like a kid in a candy store. how was she supposed to keep her hands to herself? muscles ripple beneath his shirt, thighs spread - she would’ve been a fool not to take advantage of the situation.

🥞 

nose crinkles, an unknown sugary smell lingering in the air - half asleep as she feels the bed dip. a muffled groan sounding a lot like it’s too early escaping her. sugary smell leaves her intrigued enough that eyes flutter and she’s met with the sight of @burygods - brown paper bag in hand and she can only imagine what it contains.     ❝ breakfast in bed? ❞     she questions, half propping herself up on her elbow. scooting up the bed so her back rests against the headboard.