moonlight drowns out all but the brightest stars

mari / 21 / multi fandom / 18+ blog

[amariyad]

⋆˚࿔ 𝐚 𝐦𝐲𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐝 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

ᰔ name/nicknames; mari / ri / ama ᰔ pronouns; any (he/she/they)

ᰔ links; masterlist | rules | anons | character list | full about me | navigation <- under construction!

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ INBOX; OPEN FOR REQUESTS

[amariyad]

OK SO!

HI! BEEN A MINUTE!

Here's a little update for you! In the time since I've last posted, I've:

finished my degree

ended a relationship

got chronically ill

CAN I RESTATE! I HAVE A DEGREE NOW!

Graduation is a few months away, but I officially have a creative writing degree! How crazy is that! I have a fanfiction - writing degree! So what does this mean? Well, I'm continuing Illicit Affairs - I've been working on the iced buns chapter on and off for a while, and I'll finally be able to post it soon! But I'm also going to be branching out into other fandoms I've been frankly insane over the past months - the summer of Resident Evil got to me, and I am very late to the Final Fantasy 16 party, so Leon S Kennedy and Clive Rosfield will likely be cropping up soon.

On top of this, I'm considering opening writing commissions! This is very work in progress, and I don't know what I'd offer yet, but! It's brewing!

On a quick note - thank you to everyone who has waited patiently for part 2 of IA - I am still just as insane about Syndicate, as much as other interests have come and gone and every like or reblog is truly appreciated - an AC fic passing 100 notes in 2026 is CRAZY to me!! Thank you, from the bottom of my heart.

Hopefully, the next time you hear from me will be a new fic!

Much love, Mari x ࿔

[chrisssiren]

TRANSLUCENT RUFFLE && BOW DIVIDERS

⟢ decided to make fruit colored ones >< «part two»

WATERMELON

RASPBERRY

STRAWBERRY && CHERRY

BANANA

BLUEBERRY

GREEN APPLE && LIME

⟢ Like/reblog if you use.

⟢ Credit is not necessary (but it’s appreciated).

[amariyad]

hello my darlings! I promise things are chugging behind the scenes!! I'm in my final year of my undergrad so i am ab to start my dissertation and its causing me to loose it a little lmaoooo but Illicit affairs is gonna be out by the end of the month!

[amariyad]

sooooooooooooo

I am a little stuck on where to take illicit affairs for full context I planned out what is essentially a full novel for secretary!reader and jacob in august, and I don't... super know if i want to write it any more hhfdshfsd so I thought, what if I left it up to you guys!! Ive got little exerpts from all over the shop with some vibes, please pick the number in the poll you'd like to see turned into a full fic the most! And, as always, if you have any ideas, or requests; not just for this universe ofc, please let me know!!

what vibes more?⋆˚꩜｡

midsummer air

iced bun flirting

Voting ended onJan 11

[amariyad]

OKAY SO!! It looks like iced bun’s scene is gonna get made into a full fic! It may take me a while to get going (I’m in the dregs of assignments right now) buuuut watch this space

[amariyad]

sooooooooooooo

I am a little stuck on where to take illicit affairs for full context I planned out what is essentially a full novel for secretary!reader and jacob in august, and I don't... super know if i want to write it any more hhfdshfsd so I thought, what if I left it up to you guys!! Ive got little exerpts from all over the shop with some vibes, please pick the number in the poll you'd like to see turned into a full fic the most! And, as always, if you have any ideas, or requests; not just for this universe ofc, please let me know!!

what vibes more?⋆˚꩜｡

midsummer air

iced bun flirting

Voting ended onJan 11

[amariyad]

the way i literally just realized that this is a sideblog i was so confused how you were reblogging my posts so fast w/o following me like how did i not put two and two together 😭 my dumbass like is she following my tags?? like no obviously not just think for a second helloo??? anyways hey :P

Haha hello!! Yes yes this is my secret little hidey hole 👀 welcome welcome!!

I’m eternally speed reblogging lmao im a fic liking ninja

[cursed-carmine]

✴︎ SPARKLE LINE DIVIDERS

ﾉ Please reblog & credit if you use!

For different colors just send me an ask please!

SAKURA

BLOSSOM

ROSES

PUMPKIN SPICE

[and-fishing-equipment]

in 2026 DO NOT ask yourself whether your art is GOOD

instead ask:

is it SINCERE

was it CATHARTIC

was it FUN TO MAKE

is it MADE BY ME

and don't forget to stay silly

[holdinggrudges]

the chain — chiquitita

start from the beginning

content: supernatural rewrite; canon-typical violence. rated MA CW for grief in preview under cut

word count: 24.8k

summary: With the trail for John gone cold, you and the Winchesters make your way to Lake Manitoc, Wisconsin, to follow up on a mysterious drowning. You struggle with how to tell Dean about what's been going on with you, or if you even want to tell him at all.

notes: @saradika-graphics for dividers !! i'm not copy pasting my entire ao3 note here as it is extremely long. tldr: thank you so much for any comments, asks, kudos, etc about/on the chain since the last time i posted. you all are the reason i kept chugging along and i appreciate you all very dearly. i have so much love in my heart for all of you. thank you for continuing to care <33

Read chapter three, chiquitita, on AO3!

PREVIEW

“Let me hear you sing once more, like you did before.” — Chiquitita, ABBA

Sioux Falls, South Dakota — 1992

John Winchester is not your father, and he makes for a very poor substitute. It’s obvious from the moment you meet him that he is not interested in acquiring a daughter and isn’t quite sure what to do with the traumatized nine year old essentially dropped at his doorstep. Still, disinterested as he may be, he is not heartless. He doesn’t push you to talk about what you saw, even though you see the interest in his face when he palms the dust coating the front door frame when he walks in. He doesn’t push you to speak at all, so you hardly do. You think maybe he prefers it that way. 

He disappears for days at a time, leaving you and his two sons alone in dingy motel rooms all over the country more often than not. They’re the kinds of places your dad used to sneer at, and you can certainly see why now that you’re practically living out of them. The younger boy, Sam, tells you on the first night that you have to check the beds for bed bugs, and if you don’t, they could get in all your clothes, and it’s super hard to get them out. You very bravely don’t burst into tears immediately after hearing that, although you do keep the jacket you stole from your parents’ closet far, far away from any of the beds from then on. 

The boys are nice enough. You’re not entirely sure what to make of the older one, Dean. At 13, he’s the poster boy of haughty preteens. He doesn’t talk much to you, though it’s not like you make it easy these days. It’s hard to blame him. Sam, on the other hand, just seems happy to have someone his own age around. He chatters endlessly at you about this or that, and doesn’t seem too put out that you don’t talk back much. He takes it in stride, talks twice as much to make up for it. But he’s kind, and that makes for good enough company, you suppose. It’s not like you have much of a choice in the matter. 

You’re so used to the motel rooms after a few months with the Winchesters that the sight of a house in front of you now is jarring. The place is a little run down, settled in the middle of what looks almost like a car graveyard. Or a junkyard. Old, rusty skeletons of cars line the lot as far as you can see. You think a few months ago you would’ve found it fascinating. You can almost feel it, the urge to press your face up against the window and ooh and ahh, pointing out the most interesting cars to your dad up front. But in the end, all it does is remind you that it isn’t your dad up front, and it never will be again. You draw your hands into the sleeves of a jacket probably six sizes too big for you, swallowing hard against the thick tears sticking in your throat. 

“This is Uncle Bobby’s place,” Sam tells you. He’s unbuckling his seat belt, so you do the same. Sort of like a game of follow the leader, you watch Sam and Dean for their cues, careful not to step out of line. You’re acutely aware that if John decides you’re more trouble than you’re worth, you have nowhere else to go. “Dad drops us off here if he’s gonna be gone for a while.” 

You frown, climbing out of the car and quickly darting around it to meet Sam. “A while?” you echo, incredulous. John left the three of you in a motel for a week last month, so you’re a little concerned about what, if not that, actually counts for ‘a while.’ 

“Well, yeah.” You and Sam pass by John on your way to the trunk. He ruffles Sam’s hair as he passes, and Sam makes a face. The man doesn’t look at you. “But Bobby’s great, and the kids at the school here are nice. Sort of.” 

“Sort of?” You feel a little bit like a parrot, repeating after Sam like this. But he’s not really the best at explaining things. All of this, the moving around and the dozen different schools and the being left alone for days at a time, it’s all normal to him. If you don’t ask, he won’t feel the need to explain.

Sam shrugs as he grabs his bag out of the trunk. “They’re nice enough. As in not bullies.” He drags your little backpack, full of the few clothes you shoved in there before John sequestered you from the crime scene that had become of your home, out of the trunk, too, and holds it out for you. “It’s okay. Even if you don’t make any other friends, I’ll be there, so you won’t be alone.” 

You take the bag from him, hugging it against your chest. You’re pretty sure he was just trying to be nice; Sam is a good kid, and he’s been doing a lot to make sure you feel welcome in the Winchesters’ little family. Still, his words strike you right in the chest and knock the breath out of you, a little. You won’t be alone. You feel pretty alone these days. Floundering, like at the first of the swim lessons your mom took you to a few years ago, flailing your limbs and praying it keeps your head above the water. But Sam…he throws you a life jacket, and you don’t even think he meant to. “Okay.” 

Sam smiles, wide and dimpled. “Come on.” He doesn’t look to make sure you’re following, and you watch from your same spot at the trunk as he barrels through the front door, past where John stands off to the side, talking to a slightly older man with a baseball cap on. Bobby, you assume. 

Everything is different now. Everything makes you want to cry. This time last year, your mom was tucking you in every night, plugging in your night light just to make sure you felt safe when you slept. Now, you sleep in the dark, sharing a bed with a boy you barely know more often than not, and you’re not sure you’ll ever feel safe again. You hug your bag a little tighter to you, your lip trembling as you stare at the front of a strange house. 

“You’re scared of the dark.” Dean’s voice startles you, and your head whips around to look at him where he’s standing off to the side of the car. “Right?” 

You debate lying, because…well, it seems childish. But what’s the point? He seems to be pretty sure already, and it’s not like he’s wrong. “How’d you know?” you ask instead. 

“You cry at night. You’re not as quiet as you think you are,” he says, and your hackles rise, assuming he’s making fun of you. Until he reaches into his pocket and pulls something out, holding it out to you. “Here.” 

It’s a night light. A cheap one, you think, small and purely functional, not like the one you used to have that you and your mother picked out together, but a night light nonetheless. “Where’d you get that?” You’re still a little skeptical. You don’t know Dean very well; the two of you have hardly spoken since you met. This could be some sort of joke, some set up to make you the punchline. 

Dean sighs and reaches out with his free hand to take your bag from you, tossing the strap over his shoulder, before pressing the night light into your hand. “Stole it. Don’t tell Dad.” When you don’t respond, he finally says, “Look. Sammy was just a baby, he doesn’t remember. But I do. So I get it, it’s tough and it’s scary. No one’s gonna judge you for needing a night light, okay?” 

He’s talking about when they lost their mom. No one ever told you about it; it was something you sort of had to infer, but it wasn’t hard. Tragedy comes across in the way John disappears, in the way Dean carries himself, in the way Sam carefully tiptoes around certain topics. But this is the first time anyone has even come close to bringing it up in front of you, and it’s funny, almost, because you had sort of assumed Dean didn’t like you, but here he is, pressing a night light into your hand and telling you about how he gets it. “Thank you,” you tell him, tucking the night light into the pocket of your dad’s jacket. 

Dean reaches forward to clap his hand on your shoulder. “Don’t mention it. Seriously, don't.” You watch him lean into the trunk to get his own bag out, then reach up and slam the door closed. “Come on, I’ll carry your stuff. Bobby’ll get a room set up for you.” 

You follow Dean inside, pretty determined to never mention it again. But in that moment, night light tucked inside your pocket and lungs filling up with air that feels less heavy than it has since that awful night, you vow to never forget it.  

[amariyad]

sorry for the radio silence my loves! Hope everything is okay with you all, my midterms have been a kick to the ass 😅😭

I’m cooking up something when possible, but just wanted to gauge interest - would people want a continuation of the Jacob x Secretary!Reader universe? Let me know!

[amariyad]

apologies for the radio silence my dears! It’s been a bit of a wild august, and I’ve only just started getting back to writing!

I have a plot outline for multiple fics on my notes, so we have a potential Clark Kent fic (Ty miss Sabrina Carpenter for Tears), a sequel/prequel/series (👀) for Illicit Affairs… and. Okay. An MCU Loki fic. Which is insane because I haven’t thought about him in years.

Soooo we do have content upcoming! I’m just a very slow writer ;-;

And thank you so much for 50 notes on Illicit Affairs!! That much on a Jacob fic in 2025 is CRAAAZY tysm!!

[amariyad]

I’m so grateful for the reception on illicit affairs!! Thank you all!!

I hope people know my request box is open, and if I know the character well enough I’ll try my hand at anything!

I’m drafting a Clark Kent fic atm actually 👀 so keep an eye out!

[4rachn1d]

Just so we are all on the same page, Being kind IS in FACT punk rock

[amariyad]

Superman watched, Jacob fic posted, im thinking im gonna sit and write some Clark Kent tonight lads

[amariyad]

⋆˚࿔ illicit affairs ; ac:syndicate

sum. an argument with the most irritating assassin in london leads to far more than you expect... 18+ FIC; MDNI pairing jacob frye x secretary!reader w.c. 2.4k content warnings. 18+ mdni, fem!reader, porn with the barest whiff of plot, pre-established working relationship, boss/employee dynamic, dirty talk but make it 1800s, oral f. receiving, fingering, allusions to penetrative sex, pain kink m. receiving, Jacob Frye is a mouthy bitch, inappropriate use of desks, sex as a substitute for arguing, weird ass pov that's a mix of two povs, i wrote all of this shit and didn't actually have him put it in- author's notes. soooooooo. after sitting on this for like. what 4 months? i finally decided to post this. i hereby christen this blog as Fucking Horny. the most love and adoration to @sun-snatcher for putting up with this entire au, proof reading this and being the reason i have spent 4 months in AC hell <3 ty wishie have fun with val kilmer <3

In the reel and sting from being slapped, Jacob Frye realises two things in quick succession. First, that your anger extended to his sister too, as you’d taken off the welcome-to-the-Rooks ring Evie had gifted you all that time ago.

Second, he was hard. 

The third realisation, more delayed than the other two, was that you were so angry you had started shaking, and that he found you even more attractive than twenty minutes ago when you had first started yelling at him. The what and why of the scenario had slipped his mind. Because of you.

Firstly, again, you slapped him, and secondly because you, pretty little secretary slash accountant you, were standing before him frazzled, shaking, panting in anger. He, for all his bowing and kowtowing and calling himself a gentleman, could not pull his mind from the gutter. Thus, the problem in his trousers. Definitely not from the sensation of you hitting him. Of course not.

It's been silent for too long. He’s staring, cupping the side of his face you attacked with the opposite hand. Anger slowly cools into anxiety because good Lord above, you just slapped your employer - though Jacob certainly deserved a good beating for every single point that you’ve argued against him. 

The over recruiting, the betting and boozing, not to mention how expensive it's becoming to outfit all his damn Rooks to fight. Knives and guns and does he know how much they're spending on green dye for those stupid coats per month?  He’s silent, still staring, and then.

“God, you’re irritating, aren’t you?” 

He watches your hackles rise back up in disbelief, anger igniting across your face, about to let loose a what does that even mean; then surges forward to grab your face in both hands and kiss you. 

You freeze, but Jacob doesn’t even have time to wonder if he’s misstepped before you’re clawing at him. Hands grab at hips and napes, your hand cards through his hair and knocks his cap to the floor, while he gets to revel in the fact that he’s finally scored a point in one of your many bouts. 

But this is not a lovers kiss, and he does not kid himself into thinking it is. 

The tangle of the two of you is not passionless, far from it. There are the telltale sighs of you losing yourself, instances in the infinity you seem to kiss him where a touch seems soft, a moan seems loving, but in the moments you part, you transform. 

You snarl, you bite his lip. Soft touch becomes bruising, a tender hand becomes a yank to his hair. You kiss him like you want to rip the tongue from his mouth. 

He’s kind of in love with it. 

You don’t let him get more than an inch ahead of you in this great (perceived) race to put the other in their place. Giving as good as you get, you think, especially with how warm the room’s become, both your neck and his starting to heat with sweat. 

He’s pressed against the far wall and your hand just barely brushes his crotch as it roams down his abdomen. To be honest, you were mostly trying to reach behind him to pay him back for swatting at your backside earlier in the bout, but a win is a win. Especially when that win is Jacob Frye moaning, hard and hot in your hand through his trousers. 

He breaks the kiss; his head tilts back, jugular exposed, panting hard as you grope him brazenly. You lean up to capture the pulse point in your mouth, but your prey is barely between your jaws for a second before you feel the vibration of his laugh in your teeth. 

Your head snaps up to see something in his eyes you don’t expect. You daren’t name it. 

“What?” It comes out as a snarl. 

He laughs through his nose.

“Never knew you were this much of a fighter ‘s’all.”

Jacob’s voice is something much worse than lustful, even though you’re palming him, and he’s been skillfully undoing the buttons on your blouse without your notice. Similarly, he takes advantage of your slowed state, slowly tipping the scales back in his favour through walking you both backwards until you’re forced to perch on the edge of your desk. 

Ever the distractor, he dips to the junction of your neck, breath hot on your pulse before you can even retort.

“You’d be a wonder in the ring darling.” 

He kisses upwards to your cheek, tilting you slowly backwards, closer and closer to his goal. 

“What do you say, eh? Get a few rounds in?”

Oh, he’s proud of himself for that one. You can see it in his smirk, the way it lifts to show teeth. The taunt, unfortunately, is your undoing. Definitely not his smile. But in the back of your mind, you don’t truly care about losing, not now. Not while Jacob is warm and alive above you, lips bitten and swollen, pupils blown wide, more dishevelled than you’ve ever seen. You’ve become prey now, and it's exhilarating.

You pull him to you by his shirt collar and Jacob can do nothing but laugh. You’re lifted into his arms easily, deposited on the desk, and for a moment his grip around your waist loosens. A crash comes from behind, you cry out, whipping your head around so fast he has to move out of the way or be hit by your hair. The idiot has swept his hand across the tabletop, sending ledgers, papers, pens and your oil lamp crashing to the ground. 

“Frye, what–” 

You’re shocked out of your daze, and he is at least good enough to at kick some of the broken glass out of the way, closer to the door. “We needed more room!” He says, almost insulted that you’re upset at his actions.

“But the lamp–”

“Write it off as a business expense.” He shrugs, then kisses you again. You bite his lip in response, his head rears back and he rolls his eyes. “Alright, I’ll buy you a new one.”

Jacob lays you across the table, after you’re plied with kisses enough to let him, stepping between your legs to hike your skirts up.

“Buy you whatever you want,” he grunts as clothed knee burrows between plush thighs. “You deserve it.”

“I do? I have- ah, there - I have been wanting to get some new things for the office.” You're trying hard to stay grounded, but he notices the way your voice pitches up at the pressure of him against you. He moves his leg so his thigh grinds against your core and you growl. 

“Just for the office? Nothing pretty for the best secretary in all of London?” 

The friction you’re finally able to gain from rocking against him sends your head spinning at the compliment, but you cling on to that still-seething core of anger, letting it smolder.

“Oh, ‘the best secretary’ is it? Just a moment ago I was a - what was it again? She-devil?”

He laughs at your mocking, then sucks his next portion of air through his teeth as your hand touches the bare skin of his waist under an untucked shirt, nails raking across flesh, and the kisses pressed to his jawline. “Well, it’s hardly incorrect, now is it? Wild thing, you are.”

At that, his coat is pushed from his arms and he can’t help but laugh again at your muttered I’ll show you wild, Frye. Another jibe gets him pulled in by his waistband to push your heat against his. A third gets him smacked again, this time for attempting to uncouple the front of your corset at the same time.

His cock throbs this time, and he curses your proximity. Watches as your eyes glimmer in cruel amusement as you feel the reaction against you, how your face twists to mock him.

Thank his lucky star you’re on his side. You look beautiful when you’re wicked.

“What’s this? Are you… excited about getting hit?” You breathe the words as if reciting a spell. Despite their reverence, your voice drips with condescension. He sputters in response, and you grab a handful of his hair, bringing him close. He can't meet your eyes, and you delight at the genuine blush dusting his face. “I think I’ve just figured out why you want me in that boxing ring so badly, Jacob Frye.”

For the first time possibly ever, you see Jacob positively bashful.

“You uh… you may not be too shy off the mark there, darling.”

You grin at his confession, rocking your hips with his. He hisses, then laughs.  

“Alright, I deserved that. However may I rectify this… grave misconduct of mine?” He smiles, oh so coy and you roll your eyes in response, pulling back by a hair. 

It's the first time in minutes your speech hasn’t been interrupted with kisses or insults. Jacob watches the gears turn in your head, when that wicked little smile quirks the corner of your lip again. The hand in his hair relaxes from gripping to pushing, down, down, down ‘til he’s propped himself on one knee and worked your undergarments out of the way, grinning like a madman all the way down.

If this is but a literal taste of what's to come, Jacob will savour every second between your thighs. 

You don’t move your hand from his head, meaning he’s pushed to the perfect position to see the whole of you. Gazing up, Jacob realises sharply that you may be the most frighteningly beautiful woman he’s ever met. You are coolly determined to keep your head despite your blouse hanging half off you, corset uncoupled and your skirts 'round your hips. It’s so bloody attractive that he doesn’t even care he’s at your mercy at this moment. Through dark lashes, he regards you with admiration. 

“Well? I’m waiting for my apology, Frye.” You goad, and he uses that as his cue to tear your underwear from your hips. You shriek, but all insults die on your tongue as his licks a long stripe up the seam of you. 

You laugh almost in shock, leading horse to water. He starts as he means to go on, with fervorous, long strokes. Jacob has the courtesy to not detach his mouth from suckling at your bud to comment on the exceptionally enthusiastic responses he’s drawing from you while you take your pleasure from his ministrations. 

He adds a finger, crooked and attempting to undo you, and he hums as your eyes flutter shut with a call of his name. A second causes your thighs to shutter his head, but he pushes them back open with naught but a smile, leaning back to drink you in. 

“C’mon, love, keep 'em open for me.” It’s murmured, but heard regardless. 

“Did no one teach you not to talk when your mouth’s full, Frye?” It’s meant to come out as threatening. Instead its breathless and wanting, with Jacob laughing as you force his mouth back to work with a heel between his shoulder blades. He offers a kiss to the junction of crotch and thigh, then to your clit, taking it gently between his teeth. You lounge back, spellbound enough to forget your anger for a time. Marvellous how a problem disappears when it’s smoothed over like this. 

He goes and ruins it all by talking again. Initially it’s all mumbles you can barely hear over your own voice, something you’re only the slightest bit embarrassed about.

“Fuckin’ beautiful.” You keen at the praise, but in the absence of more you shuffle yourself back up onto your forearms. Looking down at him through your haze, you realise that Jacob has been muttering affections to your cunt this entire time, clearly not listening to your earlier admonishment.

“Are you insane?”  You scoff.

He catches your eye and grins as he nips at the inside of your thigh, the action making you shudder as he rests his cheek against your skin. He looks, in this moment, so innocent, as if he hasn’t got two fingers hilted deep inside your heat; like he’s not the most infuriating man in all of London. 

“Just getting introductions sorted out, love,” Jacob says, eyes not moving from where his fingers disappear inside you, and there must be something wrong with you, because there’s a hiccup in your heartbeat instead of a retort that there wouldn't be any repeat meetings. He presses an almost tender kiss to the top of your slit, and you can’t help but chase the view of him, pushing upwards so you’re resting your weight on your palms. 

“Gotta loosen her up, yeah? You have to treat a lady right, after all.”

His breath is hot against your skin, and when he’s not holding your thighs apart his spare hand is put to work palming himself, committing every part of you to memory.

His muttering continues between kisses and licks, praising everything from your taste to the noises of your cunt, conversing with it. He looks insane. It’s unnervingly attractive. 

You scold him, swat at his head when he bites gently a second time on your clit, but let your head fall back when a particularly artful crook of his fingers send your hips bucking into the free hand soothing them.

It’s soon after that Jacob sends you over the edge for the first time, and on the spot he realises he is obsessed with it. How you bend forward and gasp his name with none of the typical shock or irritation; just a pure cry of pleasure. Pleasure he wrought. Mouth open with a wide smile, like you're about to burst out laughing.

He’s trying to temper how proud of himself he is, when your shuddering ceases long enough for you to yank him upwards to kiss him. It’s still messy and full of teeth, but Jacob seems to have fucked some of the anger out of you, at least for the moment. He's almost content to pull back and leave you like this, more than happy to have seen this side of you, debauched and far removed from the prim and proper your ladyship he saw day-to-day. 

And then your hands fumble at his belt, unable to concentrate for fear of loosing his lips against yours. 

Well, in for a penny, eh?

He pushes you back - a little roughly, not on purpose - to look you in the eye. His trousers are by his knees, cock in hand, and yet he stops.

“You’re sure?”

You nod in affirmation, cheeks flushed, chest heaving. Jacob shakes his head.

“I need to hear you say it, love. Can’t keep going otherwise.” You give him a look, then realise he's not teasing. 

The stillness brings the reality of what you're about to do into focus. You’re on a knife edge, here. Sure, what’s a bit of anger-fuelled kissing between co-workers, but this? This is a step above.

You bridge the distance, kiss him, slower than before. It feels like nothing and everything. It feels like words your brain isn’t even prepared to think. Your nose slots easily beside his as you pull away. You don't want to think about how perfectly you align with him without even trying, how easily you tune to each other's frequencies, how natural it is to soften and open for him. A tilt of your head, another kiss to the corner of his mouth, as you watch his knife-smile grow.

“Come on then, Frye. Show me what you’ve got.”

The consequences will cut you later.

[larksea]

Nocturnal Animals