I Know What You Need ⊹₊⋆｡
"When I'm gone and you're lying in this bed missing me? You're supposed to be touching yourself, baby." When Jon finds out you've never touched yourself, he's quick to change that. He can't have you not knowing how to crave him when he's gone...and he intends to watch every second of you learning.
pairing: jon bernthal x reader | 3.9k words
warnings: MDNI ! 18+, soft dom! jon, established relationship, reunion sex, smut, guided masturbation, first time masturbating, watch kink, praise kink, dirty talk, p in v, oral fem! receiving, light angst, he licks up his mess (!!!)
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You grip the curls at the nape of Jon's neck as the mattress caves under his weight. He’s heavy, solid, pinning your waist to the bed with his hips while his rough denim drags against the thin cotton of your pajamas.
He smells like the cold air from the night he's just walked in from. Like leather and musky cologne; a scent that hits you like a slap after two weeks on the road.
He buries his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling deep and ragged like he’s trying to drag you into his lungs. The rough scratch of his stubble burns against your skin. When he shifts up, his mouth crashes over yours, hungry and reckless; desperate after time apart. Yet his lips stay maddeningly soft, coaxing you open with ease.
You melt completely under the heavy press of his body, acutely aware that these are the only hands that have ever touched you like this. The only hands that have ever touched you at all.
Jon drags his mouth along your jaw. "Every night..." He presses a hard kiss beneath your ear, breathing hot against your skin. "...I'd lie awake, touching myself..." His mouth slides down your neck, sucking lightly, "...just picturing you wrecked under me like this."
Heat instantly surges up your neck, a telltale red flushing you all the way to your collarbone. Jon feels the sudden spike of heat against his lips.
He pulls back just an inch, his heavy weight still trapping you against the mattress, eyes dark and sharp as they track the sudden heat across your face. A slow, cocky smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, his thumb coming up to drag deliberately across your hot cheek.
"You touch that pretty little pussy thinking 'bout me, baby? That what got you so red?"
You turn your head sharply, staring blankly at the wall as you go quiet and distant beneath him. The heat in your cheeks is searing, your pulse hammering violently against your ribs.
The cocky smirk vanishes from Jon's face instantly. The sight of you completely still, offering no teasing banter or small smile, makes his stomach drop. He pulls back, his brow furrowing as he shifts his heavy weight off your chest. The playful, dangerous edge in his eyes flips into something sharp and guarded.
"You okay, baby?" His voice cuts low with sudden concern, hands hovering over your waist. "If you're not in the mood, we can—"
"No," you bite out, grabbing the rough collar of his shirt to haul him back down. "It's not that. I just—"
You freeze, the words catching like glass in your throat. Jon hovers over you, his dark eyes searching yours, entirely unreadable.
"What, baby? What is it?"
You throw your forearm over your eyes, completely mortified, wishing the floor could just open up and swallow you whole. Jon props himself up on one elbow. He reaches out, his knuckles firmly nudging your jaw until you're forced to face him, his tone shifting back into a low, coaxing tease.
"Come on. What are you hiding for? Shy all of a sudden?"
Your voice comes out as a barely audible whisper from beneath your arm. "It's embarrassing... I um—I've never actually touched myself before."
Jon goes dead still.
The silence in the room turns suffocating. The low hum of the house suddenly sounds deafening.
"What?" he says, the word dropping like lead.
You pull your arm down, just a sliver, to see Jon staring down at you. His jaw is tight, eyes wide with pure, unfiltered disbelief.
"Wait. Are you serious?" He scrubs a heavy hand roughly down his face, dragging a long, harsh breath into his lungs. "You're telling me you've gone your whole life and never—not once?"
"Don't look at me like that," you murmur, shrinking back into the mattress.
"I'm not mad at you," he says, shaking his head, looking genuinely, utterly appalled. "I'm appalled at myself. How the hell did I not know this? How have you gone this long without knowing what that feels like?"
"I know what it feels like when... when you do it," you whisper, shrinking under his stare. "I just never—"
"That's different, sweetheart," Jon murmurs, a dark, low edge slipping back into his voice. "When I'm gone and you're lying in this bed missing me? You're supposed to be touching yourself, baby."
The shock melts entirely from his expression, replaced instantly by an intense, dangerous focus. His grip on your waist tightens, dragging you flush against his hips until there isn't a inch of space left between you.
"Alright," Jon growls, pressing a hard, lingering kiss right to the middle of your forehead. "Change of plans. I'm gonna show you."
A gasp hitches in your throat as his words register. "Wait, no!" you scramble out, panic flaring hot and fast in your chest.
Your hands press flat against his solid shoulders, trying to push him up, but he doesn't budge an inch. You're completely pinned, wildly embarrassed, and suddenly terrified at the thought of him watching you do something so intensely private.
"I can't—no, Jon, please," you whisper, your voice tight and trembling. The heat on your skin is burning hotter than ever, and you try to turn your head away again, unable to look him in the eye. "I'm not doing that. Not in front of you."
Jon doesn't force your face around this time. Instead, a low, quiet chuckle rumbles deep in his chest as he catches both of your wrists in one large hand, anchoring them gently but firmly against the mattress right beside your head.
"Look at me, baby," he commands quietly, his voice dropping into a low, gravelly hum that vibrates right against your chest.
When you reluctantly look back up, the wild, cocky edge is gone from his eyes. They're dark, focused, and entirely steady.
"You're shaking," he notes softly, leaning down to press a warm, reassuring kiss to your burning cheek, then to the corner of your mouth. "There's nothing to be scared of. I'm not gonna make you do anything that freaks you out."
He releases your wrists, sliding his broad hand down to lightly cup your hip, his thumb rubbing small, soothing circles through the thin fabric of your pajama pants.
"You trust me?" he asks, his gaze holding yours completely captive. "I've touched every single inch of you, sweetheart. There's not a damn thing you could do that would make me look at you any different. I just wanna teach you."
You swallow hard, your pulse hammering in your throat as you look up into his steady, dark eyes. The embarrassment is still burning through you, but beneath the panic, the sheer certainty in his face anchors you. Slowly, hesitantly, you give him a small nod.
Jon's expression softens, a ghost of a gentle, reassuring smile touching his mouth. He leans down and presses a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, taking a long breath against your skin.
"Good girl," he murmurs, his breath hot against your ear.
He shifts his weight slightly, sliding his free hand slowly down your side, his fingers hooking into the elastic waistband of your pajama pants. He doesn't pull them down yet; he just holds you there, his thumb continuing those slow, grounding circles against your hipbone.
"We're gonna take it slow," Jon says low, his eyes locking back onto yours, completely holding your gaze captive so you have nowhere else to look. "First thing you're gonna do is put your hand right where mine is."
Your fingers tremble as you reach down, covering his hand where it rests against your hip. The contrast is sharp: your small, cold hand layered over his broad, calloused one.
Jon watches your every move, his eyes heavy and dark. He guides your hand slowly off his, sliding your fingers down until they rest just above the waistband of your pants.
"Right there," he grunts softly, his own hand sliding up to rest over your shoulder, pinning you loosely to the mattress while keeping your gaze locked with his. "Keep your hand there. Now just breathe, baby."
You drag in a shaky breath, your heart hammering a relentless rhythm against your ribs. The sheer intimacy of it feels completely different from anything you've done together before. It feels exposed. Raw.
"Jon, I don't know if I can..." you whisper, your cheeks burning all over again.
"Shh. I know," he murmurs, leaning down to drag his mouth slowly along your jawline, his stubble scraping lightly against your flushed skin. "You don't gotta know anything. I'm right here with you. Just slide your hand down. Under the fabric."
Your fingers twitch against the warm band. Every instinct tells you to pull back, to hide, but the steady press of his body against yours holds you grounded. You hesitate for a second longer before your fingers creep beneath the waistband, slipping beneath the fabric to rest against the warm, bare skin of your lower belly, right above the soft mound of your center.
A quiet, approving hum vibrates deep in Jon's chest right against your collarbone.
"Good," he rumbles, a low sound of approval that vibrates straight through you. "Now... slide your hand down, baby. Go between your thighs."
Jon’s eyes darken as he watches your hand disappear beneath your pants. He doesn't pull back, keeping his body heavy and solid over yours, his chest rising and falling against your ribs.
Your face burns as you follow the steady, commanding pull of his voice, your fingers creeping lower through the heat gathered between your legs.
You know this feeling. You know what it’s like when his hands are there, the sharp, heavy pulse that takes over your entire body. But doing it yourself under his intense, unblinking gaze makes your chest heave.
"Jon—" you gasp, your body going rigid in a sudden wave of mortification.
"Shh, stay with me," he instructs softly, overriding your panic with quiet authority. "Find that spot at the top. Don't rush it. Use your middle finger, baby... it'll give you better reach, better pressure. Just touch it."
A sharp shudder runs through you as your fingertip makes contact. The friction is startlingly direct, sending a sudden spike of electricity straight to your core.
"There," Jon rasps, his jaw tightening as he tracks the subtle jump of your hips. He tries to stay still, but his breath hitches, getting heavy and rough against your ear. "Feel how hot you are? Now, press gently. Small, steady circles... keep that rhythm going."
You begin to move your finger, your hips instinctively shifting up against the hard press of his thigh. His gaze grows dark and heavy. He shifts his weight slightly, dragging an unsteady breath into his lungs as the prominent bulge straining against his thick denim presses firm against your hip.
Catching the sudden break in his composure, your eyes snap open, your hand freezing in place. Jon catches your wide-eyed stare and the halt in your hand. A low, breathy laugh escapes him, his head dipping down to place a soft kiss to your lips.
"Don't worry about me, sweetheart," he growls, his voice thick and possessive. "Focus on what you're doing. Keep rubbing. Just like that."
You swallow hard and resume the motion, your breath hitching as the pleasure instantly picks back up where it left off.
"That's it," Jon murmurs against your skin, his broad hand digging firmly into your waist. "Touch yourself for me, sweetheart. Let me watch," he rasps.
You try to shift, attempting to drop your knees apart, but the bunched fabric of your pajama pants restricts your movement, locking your thighs together.
Jon notices the subtle hitch in your motion instantly. Pulling off from beside you, he moves to sit back on his heels directly between your thighs, giving himself a clear, unobstructed view.
His broad hands reach out to hook into your elastic waistband, and with a single, firm tug, he drags the pants down past your hips and knees, tossing them off the bed to leave your legs completely free.
"There," he rasps, his heavy gaze fixing right where your hand rests. "Now let 'em drop open for me. Give yourself some room."
He leans forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he watches your face and every movement of your hand.
"Keep that pace," Jon commands softly, his voice low and raspy in the quiet room. "Circle it again... and every couple strokes, drag your finger down to get it wet, then bring it right back up to the top."
The contrast of the cool air and your own slick heat makes you gasp, the sensation coiling tight and heavy deep in your stomach. You know where this build leads, but taking control of it yourself feels almost overwhelming. It's an intense, rising tension that makes your muscles stiffen beneath his steady, watchful gaze.
"Jon—it's... it's too much—" you breathe out, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"No, it ain't," he growls softly against your lips, leaning forward from between your thighs to rest his weight on one hand. His free hand presses heavy and supportive against the outside of your knee. "You know where you're at, baby. You're right on the edge. Don't stop now—faster."
"Jon, I can't," you whisper, completely overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of driving yourself over under his dark eyes. "I can't—"
The steady, unyielding command in his gaze snaps the last of your hesitation. You increase the pace, your middle finger working in tight, slick circles until a choked gasp tears from your throat, your hips arching blindly up off the mattress as you hit the edge. Jon’s eyes darken as he watches you break.
"Fuck, look at you," he growls, his voice thick and rough.
He doesn't wait another second. Since he's already right there between your legs, Jon hooks his hands beneath your thighs and drags you closer, pulling your knees wide and pinning your legs over his broad shoulders. The sudden position makes you gasp, but before you can even think to cover yourself, his hot breath hits your slick skin.
"Keep your hand right where it is," he commands, his fingers digging into your hips to hold you still. "Show me how you like it."
You barely have time to drag a finger over your core before Jon leans down, his tongue sweeping heavy and wet right over your center, swallowing your breathless cry.
The combination is devastating. Your own finger maintaining the sharp, steady rhythm while Jon’s warm, skilled mouth works beneath it, driving you straight over the brink. He sucks softly, wrapping his lips around you while his tongue laps at every drop of your slickness, matching the fast, desperate pace of your hand.
"Jon—" you scream, your hand trembling as your entire body goes taut.
"Don't stop, baby," he murmurs against your wet skin, the vibration sending another wave of heat straight to your core. "Doing so good for me."
The coiling tension in your stomach snaps violently. You cry out, your fingers clamping tight as the first intense wave of your orgasm crashes through you, your hips shuddering helplessly against his mouth. Jon drinks in every shuddering breath, his tongue working continuously through the peak, holding you at the edge until your legs finally go limp, trembling against his chest.
He slowly drags his mouth back up your body, leaving a trail of fiery kisses along your stomach and chest until he hovers over your face. He's flushed, his blackened eyes shining with victory, a slow, dark smirk returning to his wet lips.
"See?" Jon whispers, his thumb coming up to wipe a stray tear of pleasure from your temple before pressing his wet lips firmly over yours. "Told you you could do it."
Jon stays hovering over you, his heavy chest rising and falling against yours, soaking in the breathless, undone state of you. His thumb traces a slow, lazy path back and forth across your flushed cheek.
"Now... next time I'm gone," he murmurs, his voice dropping into a low, possessive rumble against your ear, "you better be thinking of me... and touching yourself just like that."
You're completely blissed out, your body heavy and limp against the mattress. A deep, burning flush still paints your cheeks and neck. It's a lingering mix of sheer pleasure and the surreal embarrassment that you actually just did that right in front of him.
Your throat is too dry, your mind too hazy with disbelief to form actual words, leaving you lying there with your eyes half-lidded, breathing heavily under him. Jon nudges your chin up slightly, making sure he has whatever focus you have left.
"You hear me, baby? You gonna do that for me?"
Slowly, dazed by the lingering aftershocks of pleasure still humming beneath your skin, you give him a loose, sleepy nod.
"Good. Good girl," Jon rumbles, a dark, satisfied grin spreading across his face.
He shifts his weight back, sitting up between your thighs. His large hands move down to his waist, his calloused fingers catching the heavy metal buckle of his belt and flicking it open with a sharp, practiced snap. He works the button free, the harsh sound of his zipper cutting through the quiet room as he unfastens his jeans and shoves them down his hips, freeing his rigid cock into the air.
He looks back up at you, his dark eyes burning with a sudden, fierce heat that instantly makes your pulse spike all over again.
"But right now? I'm right here," Jon growls low, leaning back in close and framing your face with his large hands. "So... you gonna let me take care of you, baby?"
You manage another dazed, breathy nod, your fingers weakly curling into the fabric of the bedsheets. "Yes," you whisper, the word barely carrying across the small space between your lips.
Jon’s eyes darken further at your surrender. "That's what I thought," he rumbles, a heavy, wicked smile touching his mouth.
He doesn't waste another second. Reaching out, Jon grips your hips firmly, his broad hands digging in as he drags you lower down the mattress, pulling your body flush against him. He aligns himself completely, the thick, blunt head of his cock pressing warm and heavy right against your slick center.
A sharp gasp hitches in your chest at the sheer size of him, your eyes widening as the haze of your orgasm begins to clear into breathless anticipation.
"Look at me, baby," Jon commands softly, leaning over you to press his forehead against yours. His breath is hot and ragged against your mouth. "I'm gonna take my time with you."
With a slow, agonizingly steady push, he slides inside.
You arch your back off the mattress with a loud, choked gasp, your hands flying up to grip his broad shoulders as he fills you completely. The stretch is fierce and overwhelming, perfectly replacing the lingering ache from your fingers with his deep, heavy presence.
Jon groans out a dark, primal sound from the back of his throat, his jaw clenching tight as he buries himself all the way to his hips and holds perfectly still, letting your body stretch and adjust around him.
"Shit you're tight, baby," he rasps into your neck, his pulse hammering against your collarbone. "So hot... feels so good."
He waits until your nails stop digging quite so hard into his back; until your breathing slows into a steady, shuddering rhythm. Then, Jon pulls back slowly, almost all the way out, before sinking deep inside you once again with a smooth, heavy thrust that makes your toes curl.
"Jon—" you cry out, your head rolling back against the pillow.
"Fuck, I missed you," he growls low, his pace growing steady, deep, and relentless. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his hips driving hard against yours. "Missed this pussy so fucking much."
The dark, rhythmic slap of his skin against yours fills the quiet room, each heavy, unhurried thrust sending a fresh wave of heat straight to your core. He sets a deep, deliberate pace, taking his time to stretch you open. You gasp out, your fingernails biting into the muscles of his back as he hits that deep, sensitive spot inside you.
"Yeah? That it?" Jon rumbles against your throat, his breath hitching as his hands slide beneath your hips, lifting you slightly to tilt your pelvis up into his relentless rhythm. "Tell me how it feels, baby."
"So—fuck—so good," you sob out, arching up off the mattress to meet him, your hips rolling against his with desperate, instinctive movements. "Don't stop—"
Jon lets out a low, breathy laugh, his chest vibrating against yours. "I ain't stoppin', sweetheart. Not a chance."
He speeds up, his thrusts changing from slow and deliberate to hard, desperate drives that make the bed frame creak beneath you. His large hands anchor your hips tightly, so you have to take every inch of him.
With each slam of his hips flush against yours, a breathless cry is knocked straight from your lungs. The slick, heavy friction builds fast. The tension in your lower stomach tightens back into a sharp, undeniable knot. You hit that familiar wall, hovering right on the brink, trembling under the sheer overload of it all.
"Jon, I'm gonna—"
Jon slows his hips just enough to push himself up on one forearm, hovering right over you with a dark, commanding look in his eyes. He reaches down, taking your trembling right hand and placing your fingers directly against your slick, swollen center where you're joined together.
"Touch yourself, baby," Jon growls low, his hips maintaining a heavy, agonizingly slow grind inside you. "Right there... like I taught you."
Your heart hammers against your ribs as you follow his command. With his cock buried deep inside you, adding a full, heavy pressure from the inside, the direct touch of your own fingers on top is almost too much to bear.
"That's it," Jon rasps, watching your face intently as your finger starts moving in tight, desperate circles. "Oh fuck, look at you... come for me."
You cry out his name, your body going rigid as another explosive wave of pleasure crashes over you, your muscles clamping down around him in tight, helpless pulses.
Jon groans aloud at the desperate squeeze, his self-control completely snapping. "Fuck, baby—" he growls, accelerating his pace into a few final, hard thrusts.
Quickly, Jon grips your hips and abruptly pulls completely out of you. A breathless, empty gasp escapes your lips as he shifts up, his hand wrapping tight around his length as he strokes himself over your bare skin. With a low, guttural groan, he comes across your lower stomach, warm and heavy against your flushed skin.
He hovers over you for a long moment, chest heaving as he looks down at you; at the shining mess he's made upon you. His dark eyes are heavy with satisfaction.
Sinking lower, Jon leans down and drags his tongue, teasingly slow, across your stomach. He licks up every last drop with deliberate, possessive strokes.
Even with his length free of you, the aftershocks of his release keep his hips moving. Involuntarily, he thrusts down into the mattress beneath him as he rides out the tail end of his own high.
He presses one final, lingering kiss to your skin before rolling off to collapse on the mattress beside you.
Jon pulls you flush against his side, his broad arm wrapping heavy over your waist as both of your chests heave in sync, the quiet room settling around you.
"Told you," Jon whispers against your temple, his arm tightening around your waist. "Don't ever be shy with me, baby. I know every inch of that body… I know what you need."
