I'd like to request for Angstember from the Wrong Timing prompts Already married/involved + Jonathan Levy or Marc Spector if you not comfortable with Jonathan
Different in the Dark - Jonathan Levy + Already Involved/Married
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Professor!Jonathan Levy x TA!f!reader | wc: 837 | cw: cheating in the form of make out/dry humping
You were in Professor Levy's office when the lockdown happened. His department on campus was next to a psychiatric hospital. Across the street, technically. But campus policy was to go on lockdown if a patient was not in the right place at the right time, for their safety, and the public's.
In most cases, the lockdown ended quickly, and there was no danger, since nearly, if not all of the patients were harmless. This was the first time you and the professor ever got locked into the same room at the same time. In his office, no less. Alone.
Not good.
You were Jonathan's TA, which made your attraction to him a huge no-no. Not to mention the engagement ring on your finger, and the wedding band on his.
Here you were, lights off, door locked, sitting in a specific corner deemed the safest area.
"Been a while," he softly remarked, adjusting his wire frames on his nose. "Must have really lost track of a patient."
"You don't think it's anything more than that?" You fretted. "Like a real emergency? Someone dangerous?"
Jonathan worked his thumb through the thick beard covering his jawline. "Should we go in the closet?"
That's how you ended up in his storage closet, in pitch black, feeling a little afraid, if you were honest. You sat on the floor, up against the wall, legs drawn up to your chest. Your arm pressed up against Jonathan's from shoulder to elbow, the small point of contact grounding you and setting you off balance simultaneously.
"You okay?" He whispered, gingerly taking hold of your wrist. Nothing untoward. He simply wanted to check in with you. But as his thumb brushed the tender skin on the underside of your wrist, your breath trembled.
You immediately rolled your eyes at yourself, thankful Jonathan couldn't see you in the dark.
"Fine," you sighed.
You didn't mean to do it. His grip on your wrist eased into a hand hold, fingers caressing, pushing in a back and forth motion, linking, caressing and dragging apart, over and over.
With one tug, he pulled your hand to rest against his chest.
"My heart is beating so fast," he admitted breathlessly.
"Scared?" You halfheartedly teased, turning your face to his.
"Only of fucking this up." His lips sought yours out in the dark, and covered yours, messily.
It was wet and hot. His tongue was heaven, and when he hoisted you across his lap, you forgot to remember the promises you'd made to another man.
Your hips rolled against his urgently, the thrill of working him to hardness urging you onward without sense or reason.
One touch, one grind, one taste, led to another until your bodies shared a sinful rhythm.
"Tell me to stop right now," he pleaded, his glasses yanked from his face and set haphazardly aside.
“We should,” you panted, grinding your core against the delicious, heavy length you craved to feel pushing up into you hungrily.
Every breath, every caress of skin, every brush of his thick beard against your face as he kissed you wetly, thundered in your ears, enhanced by all you couldn’t see.
You were kissing him back. It was wrong. But that was all, right? All your clothes were in place.
Nevermind that his palms spread across the curve of your back, pressing your chest flush against his.
His heels dug into the floor, giving him leverage to thrust against the most tender parts of you.
Your fingers wove through his thick mess of curls as you matched his pace. It was painfully slow, but extremely effective in turning you on beyond your wildest imagination.
The sound of your phone jolted you back to your right mind.
Panting but hardly sated, you and Jonathan withdrew from one another, fixing your clothes as you checked your phone.
You both saw your fiancé's name on the screen.
You quickly texted him back as Jonathan stood and opened the door, allowing light to spill into the closet. He extended his hand to help you up.
"You gonna tell him?" Jonathan softly asked smoothing his thick curls back into place and putting on his glasses.
You nodded to his wedding band. "You gonna tell her?"
He frowned in confusion. Noticing your eyes referencing his hand, he shook his head. "No, uhm...she left." He cleared his throat, fingers instinctually gripping the wedding band. He caressed its cool metal for a moment before working it free of his finger. "Been meaning to take this off. It just felt more normal with it. Until today, that is."
His dark eyebrows lifted hopefully. But now you fidgeted with your own ring. A magnificent piece, actually. Your fiancé must be loaded. Even if Jonathan wanted to, he could never give you a gift like that.
"That's a beautiful ring," he commented politely, motioning to your hand.
"Oh? Thank you," you responded. "It's a family heirloom. Old money." You sighed worriedly. "Don't know how I could ever fit into all that, honestly."
You winced, letting out an apologetic sigh. "I'm sorry about today, in there."
Jonathan's coffee colored eyes met yours bravely. "I'm not."
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Summary: Just when you think you've recovered from a debilitating breakup with Jonathan Levy, all those feelings come rushing back when he walks back into your life again as your best friend's boyfriend.
w/c: a whopping 10.1k
Warnings: angst, Mira is included in this, NSFW; smut, fingering, p in v, oral (fem rec.), eventual fluff
a/n: HELLOOOO! I'm back. Sorry took a small hiatus to finish off college and I really struggled to finish the end of this so apologies if it's shit. I also watched a spanish film called a treves de mi ventana (specifically the third one) which I loved and took inspiration from while I was writing this. Anyway hope you enjoy!!!
Fuck Jonathan Levy.
Fuck him and everything he stands for. Fuck him in the past and fuck him in the future. Fuck him and the way he treated you with love in his heart, with stars in his eyes, and with you at the heart of everything he did. Fuck him for being the best boyfriend, partner and friend that anyone could’ve asked for. Fuck him for promising you that it would last forever, that you would always have him for as long as you live.
Fuck him, especially on that unassuming Tuesday morning when you woke up to sadness on his face, pain behind his eyes and the truth on his lips. Fuck his ‘I think we should take a break, we need to spend time on ourselves, by ourselves.’ Fuck him for making you think that life’s not fair; because how were you to know that after six years of a strong and stable relationship, especially one that guided you hand-in-hand into adulthood, would be ripped from you in a day.
Fuck him for making you miss him so, so fucking badly to the point where you struggle to get through your day without thinking about him. The countless number of occasions where you’ve had friends and family members tell you so naively to ‘move on’, or to ‘get over him’, or that ‘you don’t miss him, you miss what you had with him.’
And in all honesty, they’re exactly right. You can’t bear to reflect upon what could’ve been, so your only alternative is to miss what you had, and therein lies that problem of why he still subconsciously worms his way back into your mind. Because he’s tied to it, intertwined so deeply that he’s the knot you just can’t unravel.
It’s not like you think about him purposely, in fact, if you had the will-power to compartmentalise everything associated with him into a box, you would lock it and throw away the key. But he left such an imprint on you that in the quietest moments of thought, his name, his face, his eyes and Jesus, even the memory of his scent appears when you least expect it. What’s worse is that they’re good memories, not the ones that broke your heart, not the ones that should be reminding you of how much of an arsehole he is, but the ones that you look back on with nostalgia.
It took a long time to come to terms that he’ll never be a part of your life again, to shake hands with the devil and accept that he will always be the one that got away. That’s the part that will never leave you. He is the big gaping wound in your heart that will never heal.
The best you could do was move away to another state, to start afresh with the hopes of finding someone new that could give you everything he did and more. But it’s proven to be a bigger challenge than you anticipated because your desire to find someone capable enough to fill the hole and let it scar has never been satiated. No one, not even in the three years since your break up with Jonathan Levy, has come close.
You had gone for such a long time thinking that this level of pain and heartbreak was exclusive to you only and that there was no one else in this world who could empathise with you. That was until you met your next door neighbour Mira who was shockingly similar to you in every way; broken from a relationship that ended years ago, desperately searching for something or someone to alleviate years of hopeless longing and the need for fulfilment. She was the therapy you always knew you needed and vice versa. There were many nights spent drinking wine, talking about ex-lovers with the same yearning, indulging in each others’ wishes of how they could relive what you both once had. Surprisingly, divulging each others’ woes became a temporary fix to your problem and soon missing him turned from a daily issue to a weekly issue. Now, he’s a quiet thought just once a month.
But things started to change one night in Mira’s dining room when she announced something you hadn’t seen coming.
She’s got a new boyfriend.
~~~~
You sit there, quietly in shock, at her oak dining table directly across from her, listening as she talks of her newly-established relationship as if she had been blessed by all the godly-deities of every power and religion.
“You have to meet him,” she says with a mouthful of spaghetti bolognese, “he’s just the sweetest guy.”
A twinge of bitterness and jealousy has your stomach clenching. “Yeah? Where did you meet him?”
“I’ve always kind’ve known of him, like, I met him last year when I was travelling for work, but recently we’re just really hit it off.”
“Do you think it’ll turn into something more serious?”
The lips of your friendly neighbour beam wider, a subtle coy sparkle evident in her eyes. “I would like to think so, I think we’re both in a really good place.”
“That’s great Mira, I’m happy for you.”
“I was actually thinking about hosting a dinner with the neighbours, like what we used to do years ago, but I might bring him along this time.”
“Wow, so really serious then. Must be something really special if you’re willing to dig up an old tradition just for him.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “Well you know, I miss those dinners. They were always so much fun. They introduced a lot of new things to us including you, and I feel it would be a good way to introduce him to the street too since they’ll be seeing a lot of him ‘round here in the future.”
The Maple Avenue dinners were once the highlight of your week, plucked from a suburban neighbourhood’s dream. It was a tradition you inadvertently started when you first moved into the street, a way of getting to know the neighbours around you. Mira, being your next door neighbour was one of the first to receive an invite and was also the one to convince others to join. Surprisingly, the occasion started a chain of events where other neighbours wanted to host their own dinners, play games, chat and share their life over wine. It happened so often that it became a weekly ritual that you all cherished, until organising a roast for ten to fifteen people became too overwhelming, especially for those who had started a family, or who had taken a promotion at work. Having no such responsibilities, you and Mira became the only two to keep the tradition alive.
“I’d like that. Want me to get in touch with the neighbours?”
“I’ll handle it.”
Two weeks pass and the Friday you have been silently dreading finally arrives. You had been prepared for it up until about an hour ago when you couldn’t remember who drinks white wine and who drinks red, who has an intolerance to dairy and who has an allergy to nuts.
Spotting Mira’s open window across the way, you decide to lean out your bedroom window, hoping to catch her attention. “Mira!” Within seconds she’s mirroring you, her hair still pinned in curls and her body wrapped in her satin robe.
“What?”
“I was going to bring my roasted hazelnut cookies but I can’t remember who has a dairy intolerance and who has a nut allergy.”
“Don’t you remember? Alan doesn’t have dairy, it could get hairy, and Steph doesn’t have nuts, no buts. You don’t need to worry though, they can’t make it tonight.”
“See, this is why you’re the better neighbour. Red or white?”
“Go for red. Jonathan drinks red.”
For a moment, your heart stutters a little in your chest, a small sense of unease tightening your muscles, but you need to remember, it’s just a name. A popular boy’s name. “Jonathan?”
“Jonathan as in boyfriend Jonathan. As in the-reason-why-we’re-doing-this Jonathan.”
“Oh right,” you nervously laugh, “you’ve always referred to him as ‘the boyfriend’ it made me forget that he actually has a name.”
“Yeah, well he’ll soon have a face too. Although he said he might be a little late tonight and doesn’t mind missing the starter. He'll be here for the main.”
“Okay, can’t wait!”
Having food preparations sorted, you take the remaining few hours to present yourself; washing, bathing, moisturising, curling your hair, applying that little extra bit of makeup, and finally choosing an outfit. Despite it only being Mira and a handful of the neighbours who have seen you in worse states, you still feel the need to look presentable in front of a new face, perhaps the result of your mother’s behaviour rubbing off on you when she faced similar situations. ‘Always presentable, always welcoming. First impressions matter.’
Her words stay true to this day. It’s what banked you a job, friends amongst the neighbourhood, and impossibly so, Jonathan Levy’s attraction many, many years ago.
Since the weather had transitioned well into the Spring’s warmth, you settle for a sundress knowing that Mira fully intends to use her beautiful backyard to see off the sunset after dinner. It fits you perfectly, complimented by the sparkling golden necklace that sits squarely between your clavicles; the very same Jonathan had gifted you on your 21st birthday, which to anyone should be reason enough to get rid of it, but just like how you can’t completely get rid of the thought of Jonathan, you can’t get rid of the necklace. At least, not yet.
You arrive a little earlier than Mira had instructed but with good intentions. You help her set the table, stick the necessary food in the oven and ease her nerves. You’re glad to see her dressed similarly, having put in that little extra glamour on top of her usual appearance to appease her guests and, of course, her boyfriend which you both casually joke about.
Soon, one by one, the neighbours start arriving and quickly settle into their own seats as the first course gets plated out. Only one seat across from you remains empty.
You’re surprised by how quickly it starts to feel like nothing’s changed at all; being here together conversing over a roast, clinking glasses and laughing over memories and you remind yourself to give thanks to Mira’s new boyfriend for reigniting a fire that burned out long ago. However it seems like you might need to wait your turn with how engrossed the rest of the neighbours are in Mira’s new boyfriend, everyone wants to meet him. His name fails to fall out of conversation with now being the only chance to ask about him before he arrives.
“So how did he ask you out?” Lisa, from number 32, asks, sitting next to her husband Tom.
“He took me on a date to Rosano’s, very generously paid for my meal, and then we went for a walk along the pier where he surprised me with a bouquet of pink peonies that he had the ice cream vendor keep before the date. He had it all planned out.”
Everyone around you awes with adoration, their lips pouting and their hands over their chest, almost identical to the way people reacted when you told a similar story to your friends when they asked you how your Jonathan asked you out. Only after you swallow the soft lump of potato do you force yourself to respond in the same way, too caught up in your own memories to give an immediate reaction.
Pink peonies. Your favourite flower.
It takes everything in you to ignore the blaring alarm in your head, screaming and fussing over the coincidences. You boil it down to emotions running high and how everything lately has been reminding you of your ex, subconsciously relating everything back to the time you spent with him. Fuck, you didn’t even need to try that hard to link the lentil soup you’re eating back to him. The first meal you had together when you both moved into your new apartment…
The starter course and the conversation concluded when Mira’s boyfriend chapped on the front door. With an understanding nod, you take the plates from Mira’s hands, offering to take them to the kitchen while she answers the door. While there, you can hear through the walls, listening to the cacophony of people greeting one another, sharing names and pleasantries while you stand over the kitchen sink. While the tap runs, you look up to your reflection in the kitchen window, twisting your strands of hair to re-curl that one piece that had fallen flat. First impressions. Better make it a good one.
You enter the dining room once again with a beaming smile on your face ready to welcome him in, and standing there, by Mira’s side, is the last person you want to see.
Jonathan. Fucking. Levy.
It is by chance, or perhaps by fate's cruel hand, that you find yourselves face to face once again in the most unexpected of places. There’s barely enough time to react when your eyes meet from across the room, picked out from a sea of people being none the wiser to the unfortunate predicament you both face. In that moment, amongst the din of the dining room, time almost comes to a stand still and you’re left waiting in the doorway with bated breath, overrun by a wash of emotions as Jonathan’s eyes are confronted with the same feeling.
Between you and him, Jonathan seems to keep up the pretence better than you do as his smile barely dips, but enough to know that he recognises you, enough to know that he too is filled with the same amount of dread and confusion as you are. And as Mira walks him over to introduce you, he doesn’t let the facade fall.
She introduces your name to him and without a seconds’ hesitation, he offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Jonathan, nice to meet you.”
There’s a moment’s delay before you take it, his warmth no stranger to your skin, and with a little wobble to your voice you relay his words back to him. “It’s…it’s nice to meet you too, Jonathan.”
His eyes stay on you as Mira thankfully takes control of the conversation. Poor, oblivious Mira who is unaware of the fact that your Jonathan has just become her Jonathan…because surnames were never mentioned. “Is the food ready to come out?”
“Uh, yeah. I can…I can help out if you need.”
“Perfect! Jonathan, honey, you go sit and get yourself a drink, ‘kay? Dinner won’t be long.”
You watch agonisingly as Mira peppers his cheek with a kiss and follows you into the kitchen where you finally get a chance to navigate the minefield of unresolved emotions without a roomful of witnesses.
Mira instantly tends to the roast slowly cooking away in the oven leaving you to stand in the corner, almost not knowing what to do yourself. An explosion has just gone off inside you yet Mira and a roomful of people are expecting you to carry on as normal, as if years and years’ worth of recovery hasn’t just been stripped from you within a single second. Thousands of layers of hurt have been peeled back and left you bare and vulnerable to your biggest fear, and yet Jonathan’s pretence to not know you has forced you to deal with it as if it’s nothing.
What the fuck are you supposed to do?
“So what do you think?” Mira pulls you from your musing and peers up to you, a proud smile on her face. Her. Mira. It’s all for Mira’s sake, the innocent party in all of this. The realisation hits you like a freight train. If she knew anything about Jonathan being the ex you talked for hours about, it would destroy her. “He’s nice, right?”
“Lovely,” you gleam back, kickstarting your limbs to dish out the cooked vegetables. “He seems very nice.”
“I knew you’d like him.”
If only, Mira, if only.
Not enough time passes before everyone is sat at the dinner table once more, tucking into the delicious food warmly prepared by Mira. You wouldn’t even know, you’ve barely touched it. You can’t find it in you to enjoy the food nor engage in the jovial conversation happening around you because Jonathan Fucking Levy, your ex of six years, is sitting right across from you behaving so casually it makes your stomach churn.
The little ball of stuffing rolls across your plate, dancing from side to side over and over again. You take the small amount of comfort you can find in the hypnotic motion, stuck in a trance of watching this stuffing ball roll back and forward while Jonathan Fucking Levy drones on about his endeavours. You try to pay him no attention of course, but when everyone else around you is sucked into his conversation narrated by his smooth-like-honey voice that used to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, it’s harder said than done.
You dip in and out of his story telling every now and then because you can’t stop your curiosity from wondering just how different the last three years have been for him. Apparently he took ‘personal growth’ seriously and you come to realise that it wasn’t just a shoddy excuse to break up. He’s become a reputable academic, striving in the industry and made quite a name for himself which he explains so beautifully, so fluent with expression and elegant with his choice of his words that hooks everyone in which, given his career choice, makes all the more sense. Then, when you throw in his confident manner and the slightly animated way he presents himself when he speaks passionately about something (which, back in the day, used to be you), it accumulates to something you can’t help but admire. You see it in the eyes of your neighbours around you, afraid to blink for fears of missing something spectacular.
It really makes you wonder how he can act so calm and collected. It’s been three years. Surely there has to be one little atom inside him that's swayed by your being here. There has to be.
Oh, there definitely is.
You don’t know it because you refuse to look at him, but every part of Jonathan is burning with anxiety. If you could just spare him one glance you would see that his fingers twitch around the thin stem of the wine glass, that his whole body shakes with his bobbing knee, and that his teeth incessantly chew away at his bottom lip. At least he has the red wine to thank, staining his cheeks with enough colour to conceal how pale he would be otherwise.
Because he’s terrified. Terrified of not only seeing you, but missing you. Desperately, hopelessly, and unquestionably missing you. He feared he would never see you again to tell you. Yet here you are, sitting an arm’s length away from him, unknowingly tormenting him with the scent of your perfume that consumes every particle of air around him, effortlessly resurrecting memories of how he used to wish that scent would wake him up every morning like it used to. If only he could reach out to feel the buzz of your skin on his, just like it did when you shook his hand, the electricity that flowed through him when your eyes found his. He’s already experiencing withdrawal and he craves for your attention but you won’t look at him anymore. He needs you to look at him again, he needs you to know that he’s been plagued with regret since the moment you split. How can he get you to look at him?
“So what do you do?”
His question cuts through the running conversation like a sharp knife, demanding the attention of everyone at the table as they silence and wait for your answer. It takes you a second to realise he’s talking to you and had it been without everyone staring at you, you would’ve ignored him. But you don’t want to come across as rude to the other guests, and you settle for answering coldly.
“Just corporate work, just a simple nine-to-five-Monday-to-Friday kind of job. It’s nothing special.”
Mira interjects and you happily give her your attention if it means taking it away from Jonathan. Only, she’s leaning against his shoulder, softly patting his thigh affectionately. “Oh she’s being modest, she’s a finance manager, runs the full finance department with an iron fist, don’t you?”
“I manage a small team of bookkeepers and accountants, it’s barely a department.”
“Interesting, how did you get into that?” You pan back to Jonathan who’s munching away, glaring at him through the furrow of your eyebrows, almost vehement at his audacity because he already knows how you got in financing. It was him.
“A friend.”
“What do you mean?” This bastard.
“A friend convinced me to do it. I didn’t have the confidence at the time and he motivated me.”
“That was nice of him.” Sarcasm drips with every word.
You bite back. “Yeah, he was nice. Until he wasn’t. Anyway, that’s a different story for a different time. More wine, anyone?” There’s a few mumbles of agreement, giving you enough of an excuse to rise from the table and make your way to Mira’s pantry in search of a stronger, more bitter tasting wine because God knows you’re going to need it to get through the rest of this dinner.
Dessert comes and goes at an agonising pace. With the help of wine and the particularly boozy dessert, you become less inhibited, detangling yourself from the thick tension that’s lassoed tight around you and Jonathan.
Instead, you find solace in Harry, who lives at number 30, sitting next to you, telling you about the struggles of being a single dad to two troublesome toddlers. It’s quite a depressing conversation and not the pick-me-up you were looking for, but anything is better than having to quietly observe the flirting that’s happening across the table. You deceive Harry into thinking that he’s got your full attention but really you’re hyper aware of Mira and Jonathan in your peripheral vision, sharing small, intimate touches, glancing at each other with stars in their eyes, embraced by the bliss of new-found love.
That used to be you. You haven’t had anything like that since.
“So…uh…” You have all intentions of continuing the conversation with Harry but you weren’t listening well enough to remember where he left off. “Who’s looking after the kids tonight?”
“I hired a babysitter. Which reminds me,” he checks the time on his phone. “I said I’d be back by 8 and it’s 7:57. I better go.” To your dismay, your distraction rises from the table, grabs his jacket from the chair, thanks Mira for the meal and bids everyone a good night. Damn. There goes your distraction.
Everyone around you is locked deep in conversation under the lowlights of Mira’s dining room. All except you. With a heavy sigh, you reach for your wine glass to once again relish the dry, bitter taste of the alcohol as it trickles down your throat. You slouch further and further back against your chair, wallowing in your isolation that no one seems to take notice of.
But Jonathan does, and to your surprise, you feel something tentatively brush against your leg. At first you thought you had gotten too close to the table leg, but when it starts creeping up the length of your leg underneath your dress, your only option is to consider the man sitting directly across from you. Your eyes burn into the side of his head, ignorant to you while he talks enthusiastically about something you’re not privy to. Not that you want to be, especially when the tip of his shoe caresses the back of your calf, pulling it out from underneath you and hooking your ankle closer to him. He remains unfazed as your foot gently rests atop his underneath the table, tracing small circles over your achilles heel.
Your heart beats widely inside you, violently disorientating you as much as the twisting in your stomach does. The gesture is so provocative you’re almost sweating in your seat. It’s scandalous, outrageous, and downright inappropriate, but you’ll be damned to hell if you don’t admit to yourself that it feels mildly arousing.
Only when Mira leaves for the bathroom does he catch a glimpse of you over the tip of his wine glass and old sparks fly as you read the words in his eyes that his mouth can’t say. I miss you. I want you. I need you.
Shaken, you draw back your leg and pull your eyes from his, feeling completely lost and indecisive about what to do. The hidden touches, the secrecy, it’s all too intimate for you to be opening an old wound that still hasn’t fully healed. You’re not ready for three years of hardship to manifest.
Yet again Mira comes to the rescue when she returns from the bathroom and ushers all the remaining guests out into the backyard where you sit yourself as far away from Jonathan as possible, but it’s not without the touch of Jonathan’s hand to the small of your back as you all walk out through the glass panel doors, unnoticed by everyone else. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that he saw the momentary shiver that wracked your shoulders the moment his fingers splayed across the bottom of your spine, virtually feeling the heat of your body through the cotton sundress as if it was your own skin. You make a mental note to yourself to never get close to Jonathan for the remainder of the night.
Once you get outside, you look up to your bedroom window, visible from all areas of Mira’s garden, wishing that you return to the comforts of your own bed, lost in your book and free from this emotional torment. It takes just a glimpse of your window to see everything inside it, something you hadn’t realised was possible until Mira had to awkwardly knock on your door the second week of you moving here and gently warn you to draw your blinds when you were changing. And just as the thought arises…
“Do you remember,” Mira hiccups, perhaps on her sixth glass of wine of the night, “when I had to tell you to close your blinds two weeks after you moved here? I actually thought you were maybe trying to seduce me!” She laughs wholeheartedly, nearly spilling her wine onto Jonathan’s lap.
A blush blooms on your cheeks. “I didn’t realise you could see in! If I had known I would’ve! Jesus, Mira, way to make me out as a flasher in front of the neighbours.”
“Listen, if it makes you feel any better, some guys would’ve paid thousands to have seen what I saw every morning.”
With a nervous glance of your eyes, you see Jonathan’s glare hard on you.
“Do I need to contact the HOA and tell them we’ve got a pervert in our neighbourhood?”
The neighbours laugh but Mira rushes to her defence, unknowingly giving Jonathan that all important detail that he might take advantage of later. “My window is right there! How could I not see you?”
“Conversation over.”
Against your wishes, Mira dives into many conversations of a similar nature provoked by Jonathan who annoyingly asks all sorts of questions that involve how you and Mira became friends, forcing her, in her now drunken state, to divulge all the memories you share together, including the many nights you spent talking about ex-lovers. The minute she starts spilling everything, nausea starts to pool inside you and the colour trickles away from your cheeks. Knowing none the wiser, she talks on and on and on about how you bonded over the troubles and hardships of being single, detailing everything about how you would reminisce over ex-lovers and compare them to every shitty cheesy romance film you watched together. And with just a few stories, she single-handedly exposes all of your inner thoughts and feelings towards Jonathan. Right in front of him all for him to hear.
You silently plead with your eyes, solid in their gaze in the hopes that Mira would catch on and shut up, but she’s seven, no, eight glasses of wine deep that she can’t hold anybody’s gaze let alone yours.
Jonathan merely sits and listens, amused by everything that is pouring out from Mira’s loud mouth.
“I mean, it’s hard. And you’ll agree with me on this, that trying to get back into the dating scene as a single woman isn’t an easy experience! You go on dates with guys that bore you to sleep, clicking with absolutely none of them and it just leads to you going home and dreaming about meeting the one guy that sweeps you off your feet. Of course, you’ll know what I mean because you’ve already met him--”
“Mira--”
She turns to Jonathan to give him context. Knowledge that he already knows himself. “She had this one guy that she dated years ago, the one-that-got-away kind of guy. We used to laugh about him--”
Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really? How so?”
Fuck.
“Mira--”
“Just the usual girly stuff, what we would wear at our weddings, thinking about baby names, and talk about owning the perfect house in the suburbs, that kind of stuff.”
Jonathan turns to you with an emotion you can only only describe as being distressed, possibly on the verge of being disturbed and you don’t blame him. You’re sure that he could see the very same feeling in you through the gaps of your fingers as they hide your face in embarrassment.
This is possibly your worst nightmare come to life. The entire night had dwindled into absolute ruins and there’s nothing more that you want than to bury yourself into the ground, away from Mira, away from this mortifying feeling, away from Jonathan. You know it’s not her fault, but everything in you is wanting you to blame Mira, to be judge, jury and executioner and lay out all that she is guilty of in front of her. However in reality, you’re projecting. You were the one to tell her about Jonathan. You were the one to feed her all this information believing that not a word of it would ever reach Jonathan’s ears, and when you consider all that has led up to this exact moment, you are just as at fault as she is.
And you need to make a run from it while you can.
“I’m…uh, I think I’m going to go home,” you announce, not realising how shaky your voice is until you speak up. Mira’s expression falls with disappointment, coming immediately to a stand and trying her hardest to convince you to stay. But you know nothing could.
“Do you want us to walk you home?”
“Mira, I live next door, I’m sure I’ll be fine.”
She persistently follows you back into the house. “I’ll walk you to the door then.”
“I know where the front door is--”
“I just want to make sure you get home okay--”
“Mira, honey, you go sit, I’ll walk her out.” Jonathan’s voice appears from behind you both, reassuring enough that Mira follows his word and returns to the back garden with a mousey ‘okay’. Once gone, Jonathan, stoic as ever, catches you in his stride, escorting you to the door with a hand to the back of your shoulder.
This time, when you speak, you can’t stop the sniffle as your emotions run high. “If I don’t want Mira walking me out, I sure as shit don’t want you walking me out.”
He merely looks down to you and sighs, not listening to a single word you say. Within a matter of seconds, you exit through Mira’s front door, ready and willing to slam it in Jonathan’s face but he’s just a pace too quick and is already following you through the front garden. Your body goes into high alert, having no idea what he’s about to do now that for the first time in three years, you have a moment alone together.
“Jonathan,” you warn. “Go back inside.”
“Just let me walk you home.”
“Why?”
“Why? Because I want an explanation as to what the fuck just happened in there.”
“You’re not getting one. You don’t deserve one. Go back inside, Jonathan, your girlfriend is waiting on you.”
“Like hell. Will you just talk to me for one second?!” He reaches out and grabs your arm, swinging you around to face him where your bodies stand inches apart. It’s not in anger nor frustration but in desperation, as if this is the only chance he’ll ever get again to speak to you alone and he’s not willing to let it slip by him so easily. “Is…is what Mira said true? Did you really talk about all those things?”
You look down to your fingers wringing them out while you wait for the courage to build. “That wasn’t her information to share. But what does it matter anyway, it’s…stupid.”
“It matters to me.” He tilts your chin with the gentlest of touches, his hand lingering close to your neck as he picks up the necklace sitting delicately around your neck, one that he’s all too familiar with. “I miss you.”
“Don’t…don’t say that to me.” You begin to feel the tethers keeping the remains of your composure snapping, your mouth sinking deeper into a frown the way it always does when you’re about to cry. “You don’t get to say that to me.”
“Nonetheless, it’s true. And I think you missed me too.”
You roll your eyes and he immediately scorns you. “No, no, don’t do that. Don’t invalidate it just because I said it. I’m not trying to be smug or patronising, I want to know the truth. Did you miss me?”
The wobble in your lip becomes uncontrollable. You don’t have the option to lie because he can read every minute feature on your face like it’s laid out for him in words, he would know if you didn’t tell the truth. With a deep breath, you push out the admission. “Every. Fucking. Day.”
He nods understandably, retracting his hand from your necklace and sinks it deep into his pockets. He looks up to your window before quietly murmuring words suggestive in tone, “then keep your window open tonight.”
And it takes your breath away.
~~~~
It’s late. A little past 1am. It’s been all too silent since the last of Mira’s guests left about an hour ago leaving only her and Jonathan next door.
His last words to you before you separated still echo loudly in your ears but you just can’t figure what he meant. It’s the only thing that’s kept you up this late, and even as you sit on your bed just a few metres from your open window that lets in a cool, calming breeze, you still can’t fathom what he’s intending to do because her window across from you is closed, her curtains drawn and her lights out.
Is this a joke? Is this Jonathan’s cruel twisted idea of a joke to make you watch as he and Mira settle for the night? Teasing you with something you can’t have? The foundation of that idea had developed a little less than half an hour ago and the more time ticks on, the more bricks are added to it.
Having enough, you turn your back to your window, taking your duvet and slinging it over your head and around your shoulders, blocking out the world behind you. There’s no point trying to sleep, the embarrassment and the emotional trauma of tonight are still too raw for you to find any peace, so you reach for the half-finished book on your nightstand.
Fuck Jonathan Levy. Fuck him and everything he stands for. Fuck him in the past and--
Wait, what was that?
Just then, not even two lines into your book you hear the small creak of a door opening and closing coming from outside. Your eyes dart to your digital clock reading 1:10am. It could be Mark coming in from his backshift. It could be Erin, Alan’s teenage daughter sneaking in from a night out. It could be Rebecca, taking her dog out on a late night walk. All options are plausible and wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary. But there’s one option that you’re afraid to consider.
What if it’s Jonathan?
You don’t look to check because you wouldn’t know what you would do if it was him, and so in the meantime, you continue to anxiously sit and listen out for any other clues.
In time, they come. The rustling of the ivy that weaves in and out of your lattice fencing on the side of your house. The breaths of a man as he scales up the wooden structure to your window. The heaviness of his boots as they thud against your floorboards. The raspiness of his voice as he mutters your name. He’s here. In your room, and yet you still can’t bring yourself to turn around to face him. Your breaths are tremorous as he makes his way closer to you, almost shaking with anticipation of what’s about to happen.
He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make any rash decisions. For a moment, he pauses by the side of your bed eyeing you up with your duvet slung over your head and decidedly reaches for it, taking a fistful of the sheets and dragging it slowly away from you until you’re exposed to him, still dressed in the sundress you couldn’t bring yourself to take off. The tension locks you in a chokehold, unable to move, unable to speak, waiting for the moment where Jonathan’s hand reaches out to touch you once more but you know it’ll be different this time. No more gentle touches hidden in plain sight, no more casual excuses to lay his hands on you, everything that will happen here on in will be the result of three years of separation and withdrawal.
The bed dips under his weight and only then do you turn your head to look over your left shoulder. He’s closer than you expected and you see the tufts of his curls hanging over his forehead come into sight, low and looming. His nose comes into contact with your shoulder and even the slightest touch sets you alight. He scales up the curve of your neck to hide deep within the locks of your hair behind your ear and inhales.
“That fucking perfume,” he whispers softly into your hair. “It’s just as perfect as I remember.”
“Jonathan, we…” you heaved a breath, fighting temptation. “We shouldn’t do this.”
“You have no idea, do you?” He murmurs directly into your ear, his arm coming around to circle your waist and hug you closer to him. “No idea just how much I missed you, how much I regret what I did, and every day I spent not being with you was a reminder of the mistake I made to the point where I thought I would never get to hold you again.”
He renders you speechless when he scrapes away the strands of your hair and mouths at the curve of your neck, humming into your skin. It’s almost the same as before, soft pillowy lips showering you with unreserved passion, except this time they’re followed by the slight scrape of his beard grown in the years you hadn’t seen him. It makes his kisses more exhilarating, stimulating. While your body screams for more, your morals just can’t shake the guilt of betraying your own friend.
“But Mira--”
“Mira knows.”
You detach yourself from his lips to face him, still half-lidded and unfazed by his admission. You’re almost nauseous with the way your heart drops in your chest. “What do you mean she knows?”
Despite your surprise, Jonathan simply tilts his head as he assesses your face in the sheen of the streetlight like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again and doesn’t stop his fingers from intertwining with the short baby hairs at the nape of your neck.
“She had an inkling that there was something going on between us. There was a reason why she brought me up in the conversation earlier in the garden because she knew from the moment she saw the look on your face when you saw me. So I came clean. We decided to be completely honest with each other and we talked for a while.”
“And?”
“Well, she knew your thoughts on me…and it was more than I had ever thought to hear.”
Your cheeks flush angrily, wincing at the thought of Mira revealing every confession told with such a lack of restraint. Back then, telling Mira these things felt like securing all of your secrets into a vault, trusting that they would be safe, trusting that they were secure enough that no one besides you would have access to them. In hindsight, you should’ve perceived her as more of a time capsule, planted, hidden for the time being, and when after enough time passes, they are bound to be found by someone else.
“I know that you hated me for a while - and I did too. I always wondered whether you resented me as much as I did, for a while I thought it wasn’t possible. And while I knew the resentment was one sided, there was a part of me that wished that missing each other wasn’t. I guess I found my answers tonight.”
“Was Mira mad?”
“No, darling,” he grazes his chin over the curve of your shoulder, lips inching closer and closer to your own. “She considered you to be too much of a friend to get in the way and cause you any pain, not after all that you had told her. She knew you would’ve done the same for her.”
“I…I don’t know what to think. It’s all just a mess.”
You turn your head towards the book in your hands, fingers fiddling with the page, while you try to figure out where your loyalties lie. With your head? With your heart? It’s a wonder how the same body can feel two entirely opposing feelings and yet still wonder which one is the right one.
“Maybe…” Jonathan whispers, his hand reaching for the book and sliding it from your grasp, “maybe, you don’t need to think at all. Let me do the thinking for you. Let me show you just how much I’ve missed you, because fuck, as much as I love this dress you have on, I’m much more interested in what’s underneath it.” While one hand pulls you tighter against his chest, his other hand comes to slide down your thigh until curls around your knee, bunching the fabric tight in his fist and pulling it higher and higher. You watch with eager eyes, succumbing to Jonathan’s temptation and letting go of all of your inhibitions. Your eyes grow heavy, wanting to relish the feeling of his fingertips tracing the length of your inner thigh as they gently pull your legs apart, but it’s much more satisfying to watch. Jonathan doesn’t need to watch, not when he can taste the supple skin of your neck.
It’s almost agonising how slow his pace is, how he stalls every couple of seconds to trace circles on your skin and devilishly chuckles when you whimper. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed though, talking about our life’s plan without me.”
Just as his fingers feel the outer rim of your underwear, you tilt your head back to lean against his shoulder with a sinful sigh. Opening your legs just that little bit wider tells Joanthan everything he needs to know. It’s been years. Years since he’s had you like this, so he has every reason not to take it slowly and fuck you like a man starved of your touch, but there’s something in him, perhaps the little devil on his shoulder, that persuades him to take it slowly, to exploit the part of you that has missed him and prove to you that the years spent apart, however painful, was worth the wait.
“Tell me,” he urges, “tell me what you had imagined.”
Call you ignorant but you’re not quite in the talking mood. However, you feel he won’t do a single thing to you unless you do as he asks. “That…that we’d get married in the small church near the vineyard where we grew up. I imagined a quiet house in the suburbs, just us two, at least for a while.”
“Hm, what kind of house?”
“One that wasn’t too big that we’d feel far apart, and not too small that we would get in each other’s way. One with a garage and a garden where our dog could run around.”
“Good,” he praises into your ear. A single digit slips beneath your underwear which instantly gets a feel of your warm, wettening cunt, and you grow impatient. “What else?”
“After a while, we…shit…we’d have our own kids. A boy and a girl. I’d hope they’d have your eyes.”
After doing a few rounds of your entrance, the tip of his finger rests upon your clit, barely moving. Your hips start moving fluidly, all of their own volition but he eases his touch. Instead he gives a gentle tap tap tap, urging you to continue before you can get any more.
The hand that keeps you stable around your middle eventually slithers up to wrap around your neck squeezing with a dizzying pressure.
“Keep going…”
“We’d take an early retirement so that we could grow old together. Taking vacations to places we’d never been to before, being the same couple we were when we were younger.”
“Oh yeah? I love the sound of that. Just as much as I love the sound of those moans you make. Keep singing little siren.” The moan that leaves your lips the minute he nibbles on your lobe is unrecognisable. You haven’t been seduced like this in years and every atom of you is buzzing with anxiety and in your physical form, you can’t sit still. It takes the weight and pressure of Jonathan’s thighs resting either side of your hips to keep you anchored.
His fingers make quick work of building you up, conjuring that deep, guttural feeling of pleasure and desire to stir within you. Even after years, he still knows you so well, still knows what makes you tick and what makes you scream. There isn’t an inch of your neck that Jonathan’s lips haven’t touched; sucking, licking, biting until you’re coloured with bruises.
“Seems like you have it all planned out, darling. But why don’t I tell you how I imagined tonight would go?”
“Please.”
Just as his words flow from his mouth, two fingers slide easily into you and curl into that spot makes your body restless and your lungs heaving. “Just as I did, I’d find you here, confess that there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you, tell you how I yearned to have the sweet taste of you on my tongue again and the tight squeeze of that cunt around my cock. I’d seduce you every way I knew I could and I’d want you to want it. I’d want you to tell me that you want it and once I knew I had you again, I’d get on my knees, lift up that dress of yours and taste you. Get you nice and wet, ready to take me.”
“Fuck, Jonathan--”
“After years, I thought my patience would get the better of me if I ever had this chance again, but seeing you here like this,” his fingers pick up the pace, drilling into you and filling the room with sacrilegious sounds. “I think I might want to take my time, let each minute that passes reflect what I have been thinking about every day we were apart.”
“Please,” you whisper, growing evermore impatient. It all sounds too good. The more he speaks his feelings into words the more you want it. To have the feeling of him touch you everywhere, to feel him inside you, snug and shaped by him and bringing you to the precipice of losing your mind the way only he could. “I need you, Jonathan, need you now.”
His lips come to your cheek, shaped by a smile of satisfaction. “You will, darling. Soon. I just want to savour this right now.”
His fingers slip from your cunt, trailing all that he’s gathered up the length of your slit to come crashing down onto your clit. While he circles and swirls his fingers, you twist your head to lock eyes with him and even in the cover of darkness, you can still make out the fire that’s burning within him leaving no doubt that he truly wants to ravish you just as he has described. But it isn’t a roaring fire, it’s a slow burning candle, flickering away to slowly dissolve all of what’s left of his patience.
Like instinct, your lips clash together hungrily not sparing a second before your tongues and welding together and tasting the remnants of the red wine you both had earlier. Inexplicably, it tastes sweeter on his palate.
The fingers that curl around your neck tense as if they’re fighting to keep you stable, surging to keep your restlessness at bay and all of this is making you wonder ‘why not just get on with it?’.
You decide to hasten the pace, raising your hips closer to his fingers with the tips of your toes, feeling his cock grind against the small of your back where it should be grinding against your cunt. Though that may be how you truly feel, you make do with his fingers toying with you with his palm flat against your pubic bone to keep you close, once again making you twitch with anticipation and hum with desire. You’re close, so close that with just another lap of his fingers would make you explode.
Holy shit. You’re going to cum. You’re to cum on Jonathan Fucking Levy’s fingers.
“Don’t you think we should maybe close your blinds?” He taunts, suddenly halting all of his movements. “Surely you wouldn’t want the neighbours to see how easily you fall apart for me.”
Jesus. Where did this side of Jonathan come from?
“Um…y-yeah. Close them.” God, it’s starting to take effect on you. When was the last time a man made you stumble over your own words like that?
With a gentle kiss to your cheek, he rises from the bed to leave you attempting to find relief from the friction of your thighs, chasing what you were seconds from having.
When you begin to wonder what takes him so long, you turn to face him staring out of the window, his silhouette blocking the light of the streetlamp that normally floods in through the glass. The fingers that were toying with your cunt seconds ago twitch by his side rubbing together the remnants of your slick, so sensual that it has you biting your bottom lip. Before he closes the curtain he takes those fingers and puts them in his mouth as if he’s just swiped the whipped cream from atop a pudding he’s forbidden to have. But sometimes that’s what makes it all the sweeter.
“Jonathan?” you whisper to pull him from his reverie, your patience waning.
“Coming,” he says gently. “Just taking it all in. You, me…” he snaps the curtains closed and plunges you both into darkness, “your taste on my tongue.”
Slowly and somewhat menacingly he turns around and his shoulders are hunched, his fists are clenched, his breathing is audibly racing. The tone instantly changes when he comes to stand over you, his fingers tilting your chin up to look at him directly. It hooks you in immediately, suddenly feeling the compulsion to do whatever he wants, to go wherever he guides you.
Jonathan’s voice slithers through the air like a snake through the wreaths, worming its way into the valley of your ears so clear and precise. “I know I said I was going to take this slowly and I whole-heartedly intend to follow through with that. But just so you know, I don’t think I can be gentle. Can you allow me that?”
“Yes, Jonathan, yes.”
“Good.”
It amazes you how one short syllable completely changes the aura of the room, how easily Jonathan commands control of the situation because all of a sudden, the gentle traces of his fingertips circling your chin changes to a clawed hand around your neck, drawing you into an all-consuming kiss that’s more powerful than before. Without missing a single beat, he forces you onto your back and hovers over you, caging you in and anchoring his weight down onto your pelvis. It should feel claustrophobic and intrusive, but instead it feels like a sanctuary; warm, safe, secure.
Where it feels like he belongs.
Shivers race up your spine and throw your hands into motion as they cling onto his shirt, luring him even closer until the beat of his heart is pounding against yours. Not only that, but you can feel his hips thrusting into yours, grinding his contained cock against your heat and it elicits a moan from both of you. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he races to undo his belt, pulling himself free and you almost squeal with the anticipation of knowing how well he can undo you with one swift thrust. But like Jonathan promised, he isn’t going to rush this. He slowly peels off your underwear until you are well and truly exposed.
Not without a few pumps of his fist, he lines himself up and anchors you down, teasing your entrance with the head of his leaking cock, giving you a taster of what’s to come.
“You drive me fucking insane,” he grumbles into your mouth. “Always have, always will.”
“Please stop talking.”
“Or what, huh?” he chuckles. He takes the head of his cock and batters it against your swollen clit. Deliberately, you guess, to render you speechless. And it works, the snide quip hot on your lips quickly loses all conviction and you’re back to moans and whimpers. “‘S what I thought. You and I both know how much we want this. How much we’ve missed this.”
This time you take the chance to bite back before he robs you of it. “Well get on with it, then.”
Now driven, he snags your bottom lip with his teeth dragging it out until it’s released with a pop. “Fine.”
Giving you a final taste of his lips, he comes to a stand taking your legs with him with a mighty pull until your hips lie just over the precipice of the bed. He hugs your legs to his chest, his cock lining up with your exposed cunt perfectly and with powerful thrust, he sinks deep into you. All of the air punches out of your lungs in a single beat and you claw at the bed sheets while you fight for your breath back. You’re momentarily debilitated while you acclimate to his size, filling you so effortlessly. Despite being slightly uncomfortable, it’s a welcome intrusion and you’re thankful that he gives you a minute.
“Fuck, you’re so tight. Holy fuck.”
Not a moment later, he pulls his hips back, completely withdrawing and just when you think you’ve got your breath back he charges into you again, snapping his hips against your ass and sending aftershocks up the length of your body. It’s a motion he repeats over and over again, giving you that pleasurable feeling of being so full of him as he grinds into you all to be taken away within a moment leaving utterly empty. You have just enough awareness to listen out for the staccato notes of his hips slapping against yours followed by your sheepish sobs.
It’s insatiable. He never changes pace and the power of his thrusts never falters. He certainly doesn’t allude to breaking his promise of rushing things and frustratingly so, continues his slow rampage, finding pleasure in that little sweet spot where the swollen ridge of his cock drags from your cunt. It’s enough to get you going, but not enough to finish you off.
“I need more,” you beg between breaths. “Please.”
Jonathan doesn’t respond, and instead waits until the cheeks of your ass are red raw from his poundings (which feels like a lifetime) and only then, does he take a new approach. Your legs swing apart, forced wide open by his greedy hands and you’re left to watch with bated breath as he drops to his knees and devours you.
“Fuck, Jonathan!”
“Mm, that’s right, baby, say my name.”
“Jonath--fuck!” His mouth completely consumes every inch of your cunt, lavishing the taste of you with his tongue from deep within you to the tip of your clit. Amongst the buzzes of his hum, the soft scrape of his beard, and the crescent-moon marks pressing into your waist, your back arches as desire slowly morphs into a desperate pain, needing to give his hot mouth more access to your cunt if it was at all possible. And just when you think you are ready to give in, he steals the moment from you. With two fingers, he slots them easily into you and starts working your pussy at a torturous pace.
“Look how soaked you are.” His lips brush against your clit as he speaks, a depraved grunt rolling from the back of his throat.
“I’m gonna cum.”
“Do it. I want it. I wanna taste you. I want you.”
Your heart grows, a small smile appearing on your lips. The warmth of affection stills you momentarily to appreciate how you have your old love back, the man you could never really get over, that all those years of waiting and wanting are over. You don’t know what it was about the sudden softness and love-drunkenness that washed through you, but God, he was stunning. Everything about him was annoyingly perfect.
Stupidly, annoyingly perfect. Yet, here he was, lavishing you as if you were an elixir of life.
Your fingers itch to race through his locks to pull him closer, tempted to never let him go. Through his dark lashes, his lust-heavy eyes find yours as if he knew what you were insinuating.
“Don’t worry, baby, I’m never leaving. Let go for me.”
You didn’t need to be told again. With the final swipe of his tongue across your clit, you internal combust, your entire body folding into itself with Jonathan trapped between your thighs.
----
You and Jonathan spent the night catching up on all the years you spent apart, sharing orgasm after orgasm until you were completely and utterly spent. Despite only having just a few hours of sleep, you awoke early in the morning, just in time to see the sun rise over the peak of your neighbours’ houses. All is calm in the street aside from the few birds tweeting in Mira’s tree and Jonathan’s steady breathing beside you. The tranquil, blissful few moments of consciousness fills you with a sense of rejuvenation from all that has happened within the last 24 hours. If it hadn’t been for Mira’s approval beforehand, you would be drowning in guilt. You make a mental reminder to talk to her and apologise later.
You roll over on your side of the bed to find Jonathan sleeping peacefully beside you, his hand tucked under his chin like it always did when he was deep in slumber and you quirk a smile when you realise that nothing’s changed. With a delicate finger, you sweep away the curl resting against his forehead, careful not to wake him but yet he still stirs, readjusting himself subconsciously. Though not fully awake, he reaches out for you as if it was instinct and little do you know, it is. Every morning since you split, Jonathan had always reached out for you to find nothing but empty cold space on the other side of his bed and it was a sad reality he couldn’t quite accept. But now, when his fingertips feel the warmth of your skin against his, he doesn’t hesitate to lure you into his embrace to relish the lingering scent of your perfume, the slow beating of your heart, the little content hum singing from your throat. You’re here. You’re real. And he’s certain to never lose you again.
In his drowsy state, he puckers his lips in a timid kiss to the surface of your forehead.
“Love you,” he quietly murmurs.
With a breathy laugh, you return his kiss, whispering the same words against his bare chest directly over his heart.
guess who watched scenes from a marriage & is pretending e5 doesnt exist!!!! jonathan levy you poor poor man. anyways, nsfw alphabet for him below
⊰ aftercare ⊱
im gonna make all this about a committed relationship with him so.... yes the aftercare is there, he is a very caring man. sometimes jonathan might be a little disjunct since he has things he impulsively does after, but he'll always take care of you
⊰ body part ⊱
he isnt the most confident in himself that way, he feels more secure about his non-physical attributes but he knows that he's... not bad, according to other people.
for you, I think you can tell he's into just about everything about you but Jonathan practically ALWAYS reaches for your thighs when things transition to physical intimacy
⊰ cum ⊱
haha inside. this man is happy to have more kids, he knows hes a good dad, & he'd happily take care of all their needs. or yk use protection if youre concerned.
⊰ dirty secret ⊱
bc im pretending e5 doesn't exist, his dirty secret is actually more just guilty pleasure. he thinks about some dirty shit but doesnt think he'll ever tell you about what runs through his head. sometimes Jonathan feels a bit of shame for those fantasies & for trying more kinky stuff, its not a fun dirty secret :/
⊰ zzz ⊱
⊰ experience ⊱
again, e5 doesnt exist for me, jonathan talks about that & he really only has mira as his experience which... not really thorough, also fairly toxic
⊰ favorite position ⊱
he's willing to try quite a few but he looooooooves having you on top
⊰ goofy ⊱
maybe lighthearted if you've both had some good news or that happens to be the vibe beforehand, but goofy isnt his style
⊰ hair ⊱
I dont need to answer this. all I'll add is that it gets wilder if he's been busy with kid stuff or work stuff & cant even let out a sigh, much less groom himself down there
⊰ intimacy ⊱
Jonathan getting into another relationship is a big thing for him, so it all is very intimate for him & you dont just feel him physically close to you, you can feel every part of him reaching out for you. his breath is all over your skin, his beard or hair is tickling you, his hands are gentle but rush to feel all over you
⊰ jerk off ⊱
not his thing, unless you've been gone for a while (looking at you mira) & he just needs some relief
⊰ kink ⊱
well breeding kink is the biggest one he feels comfortable claiming, other ones either feel like secrets to him or he just doesnt know what he's into... but through trial, you observe that he loves praise, dirty talk, lingerie, being guided by you, trying to take the reins from you, overstimulation, & has a spouse/wife kink
⊰ location ⊱
at home or in a hotel room or some other private enclosed space - which does not including his office at work
⊰ motivation ⊱
feeling a high wave of emotional intimacy or appreciation for you makes him feel okay with getting carried away
⊰ no ⊱
some of you might not like this but I dont see him in a relationship with a partner who's much younger, naive, &/or inexperienced. mostly the inexperienced part.
hes a grown man, a divorced dad who speaks like everything is about to be a Ted talk. he's a little too mature for that, & prefers someone toe-to-toe with him. also Jonathan himself isnt the most experienced so... maybe someone who could help him with that.
⊰ oral ⊱
oh Jonathan puts in the WORK he is such a giver, dont ever doubt that he is anything but happy to be down between your thighs
⊰ pace ⊱
generally pretty slow, he wants to feel everything & wants you to feel everything
⊰ quickie ⊱
not really his thing, I mean maybe a giggly quickie in another room while you two have a few minutes reprieve from work, kids, & everything
⊰ risk ⊱
....not likely, sorry, Jonathan has some religious trauma around sex & it took time for him to get comfortable with the most boring vanilla shit
⊰ stamina ⊱
well.... not great but he's happy to keep you warmed up with his mouth or fingers while his body gets back into it
⊰ toys ⊱
ohhhhh you have to initiate this aspect of things, show him what kinds of things you actually have or surprise him with a gift & let him experiment
⊰ unfair ⊱
hmmm maybe just a little, I think Jonathan would try to he a tease but fails bc he doesnt want to keep you waiting
⊰ volume ⊱
I mean we know he's quiet, but i think with enough time & if he feels comfortable/safe with his partner he'll be much more talkative
⊰ wild card ⊱
I think the wildest thing about him isn't a specific kink or something you can point out, its his openness to try new things & be very sincere about how it is
⊰ x ray ⊱
I dont have to answer this, yall were watching
⊰ yearning ⊱
jonathan does yearn!!! he yearns a lot!!! he's a passionate humanities professor!!! you just might not see it all the time since he's used to holding back or just gets busy
depends on the night - if he feels like everything is stable then he can fall asleep pretty quickly, if he has any kind of feeling that something's off then he won't be able to
You frown at his question. You turn from where you’ve scooched to the end of his bed, arching a brow.
“Do what?”
Jonathan pushes himself to sit up, smoothing a hand through his curls and taking his glasses up from the bedside table. He puts them on, adjusting them as he gets a better look at you.
“Talk…Like that," He clarifies.
“Like...? Dirty talk?”
“Yeah.”
Your brow furrows as you think for a moment, then turn away, taking up your pants where they’d been dropped on the floor.
“I dunno,” You shrug, standing and tugging your pants up. “I just talk.”
“You never practiced?”
“Like in the mirror?” You chuckle, grabbing your bra next. “Like, beta-tested what sounded good?”
“You could.”
“I didn’t.”
“So?”
You consider it as you look around for where your shirt had been flung.
“How do you think when you’re having sex?” You bat back.
“What?”
“When you’re having sex, what’s going through your head?”
You finally spot your shirt hanging off of a potted plant. You walk over to it, plucking it off of the plant, shaking it out. You turn back to Jonathan, grinning when you find his face twisted in thought, his brow furrowed.
“Do you think, ah yes, and now I’m going to insert my penis into her vaginal cavity?” You ask, mimicking his voice. He splutters a laugh, ducking his head and adjusting his glasses as his cheeks go pink. “You don’t right? You think, I wanna fuck her pussy.” You tug your shirt down over your head, straightening it. “At least, I hope you do.”
“It’s not that easy.”
“What’s your inner-monologue sound like?” You plant your hands on your hips as you watch Jonathan’s expression shift from curiosity to bashful nerves. You can’t help the softening of his smile, or the way he scrubs his hand across his mouth in thought.
“You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to,” You add, crawling onto the bed on all fours. “And for the record, you don’t have to talk dirty if you don’t want to.” You reach up, cupping his rough jaw. “Just because you’ve been on the quiet side doesn’t mean that I’ve doubted whether or not you're enjoying yourself.” You lean in, pressing your lips tenderly to his, grinning as you feel his lips turning up in a smile. You peck his lips, draw back, then lean in for another peck as his hand comes up to try and grasp your shirt.
“Okay,” You mumble, scooching back off of the bed. “Okay—I have to go. I’m gonna be late for class.”
“You’re teaching today?”
“Giving an exam.”
“Wait, lemme—”
You watch, amused, as Jonathan pushes the covers back and scooches bare-assed across the sheets, offering, “Your sweater is wrinkled.”
“Of course it is. It took a nap on the ficus.”
“That’s a snake plant.”
“I have a spare shirt hanging up in my office, don’t worry about it. You have Ava tonight?”
“No.”
“Okay.”
“You coming back?”
“You cooking?”
“I could.”
“Don’t worry about it,” You chuckle. “I’ll grab takeout on the way.”
“You sure?”
“Mhm. Text me what you want.”
“Okay.”
You dip your head, pressing another kiss to Jonathan’s lips before you turn, heading to the front hall for your shoes and socks.
–
You frown when your phone buzzes. You slide it off of the desk, peering down at the screen and biting back a smile when you see Jonathan’s text:
I don’t always think that I wanna fuck your pussy
I mean I always want to, but that’s not how it goes through my head
You glance up, gaze sweeping the testing students before hurriedly typing:
What does go through it, then?
It depends on what we’re doing.
You bite your lip for just a moment, thinking. Before you can answer, your phone buzzes with another text:
Eggplant parmesan
You only just manage not to snort a laugh.
Hero or platter?
Hero
You need a hero? You’re holding out for a hero til the end of the night?
??
I thought you were coming back right after class
It’s a song
never mind
I don’t think I know that one
That has become increasingly evident
–
On the surface, it’s a little surprising, but maybe it’s not so strange that Jonathan has asked you about dirty talk, or that he’s thinking about it. The separation isn’t so new, and while Mira is still a raw subject for him, you’ve been more than happy to help Jonathan explore a little.
He doesn’t always come right out with it like he had that morning—he doesn’t always just ask. Sometimes, he has to work up to it, or you have to tease it out of him. You don’t mind. You know that he’s not making it a guessing game on purpose.
You look at Jonathan across his dinner table, smiling as you catch him sucking sauce off of his thumb. His gaze flickers to yours, lips pulling into a wider smile when he catches you looking.
“I looked up that song,” He says.
“Oh yeah? You like it?”
“I didn’t realize it was in Shrek 2.”
“I can’t believe you’ve seen Shrek 2.”
“Ava watched it once or twice.”
“Ah. Makes sense.” You look down at your food, poking at it with your fork for a moment. “Do you wanna talk about it?” You offer after a moment.
“Talk about what?”
“About what I say when we fuck.” You smile wickedly as Jonathan splutters into his glass of wine. He clears his throat, giving a small shake of his head as if that’ll help clear it. You rest your chin on your hand, waiting patiently as Jonathan leans back in his seat, adjusting his glasses.
“Uh…”
“We don’t have to,” You tack on.
“No, I know. I know.” He meets and holds your gaze for a moment. “Is it just like…A stream of consciousness for you?”
“Sometimes,” You nod, “I mean…Well, most of the time. But occasionally I’ll work in a phrase or two because you seem to like it.”
“Like what?”
“Mmm…” You trail off, eyes flicking to the ceiling as you think about it. “Stuff like…You feel so fucking good…Your cock is so thick…I don’t know, sometimes I use this tone that you seem to be into.”
“Can you demonstrate it?”
“I don’t want you to get hard before we’ve done the dishes. Might turn around to find you humping the counter.”
“Okay,” Jonathan chuckles, scrubbing his hand over his flushing cheeks. You grin, pushing your chair back and rounding to the sink to set your empty dishes down.
“Want some more wine?” You ask.
“Uh—Sure, thanks.”
You take up the bottle from the counter, bracing your hand on the back of his chair and murmuring your thanks as he sets his hand on the stem of the glass to hold it steady. You lean over him, purposefully letting your shirt slip down. You bite back a smile as you feel Jonathan glance surreptitiously in your direction. You swipe your tongue along your lips, glancing toward the wine glass to ensure you don’t spill.
“Just like that?” You murmur, using the tone that Jonathan always seems to be melted by. You grin as his hand twitches, a few of the drops sloshing over onto his fingers. You chuckle softly, straightening and setting the bottle of wine aside.
“That’s the tone,” He mutters.
“Yes it is,” You smile smugly, rounding the table and sitting back down.
--
You roll your hips down against Jonathan’s, shivering as his beard rasps against your neck.
You really did settle in with the intention of watching a movie (a book you’ve given your students to read that was recently re-adapted—you want to be able to spot any inconsistencies between the book’s content and the movie’s). You’ve managed to make it about halfway through, but you’ve gotten a little…Distracted.
Jonathan had started it. Well, he’s made a comment a time or two that he’s working on that, that he wants to be the one to make overtures. You don’t mind—hell, you approve. It’s thrilling to feel him smooth his hand up your thigh, for him to dip his head and press a kiss to your jaw. He dips his fingers between your thighs, leaving you with no doubt of his intentions. Now, you part your lips in a moan as Jonathan’s tongue sweeps across yours. You let your eyes slide closed, your fingers slipping up into his hair as he breaks the kiss with a slick suck, drawing his mouth away. He turns his head, beard roughly brushing your cheek.
“I wanna fuck you.”
Your jaw drops as you suck pull in a shocked little breath. Those four little words from that warm, husky voice are a shock to the system. It’s like the firing of a starting pistol, the first punch thrown in the name of the revolution. Your grip tightens on his hair, holding his head prone as you tip your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are dark with want, but you can see the spark of flighty nerves there. You brush your lips against his, murmuring,
“Then fuck me, Levy.”
--
You’re undressed by the time the two of you reach his bedroom. He’s nearly there—shirtless, with his pants and underwear nearly tripping him up as you scooch back onto his bed. You watch him tug the offending garments down, and he drops to his knees so suddenly that you think he’s fallen. Instead, he grasps your hips, yanking you to the edge of the bed before he buries his face between your thighs. You groan at the feeling of his beard raking across your sensitive flesh before his tongue lashes across your clit. You reach down, running your fingers through his mussed curls as you let your thighs splay. You raise your other hand, groping and thumbing your nipples as your hips roll down against his desperate lips.
Jonathan smooths a hand along your inner thigh before teasing his finger over your opening. He eases it inside as he lifts his chin, his tongue sweeping across your clit on the upstroke.
“You taste so fucking good,” He groans, pumping his finger in shallowly before twisting and curling it.
“You make me wet, Jonathan,” You murmur, squeezing down around his finger. “I love how your beard feels—Oh,” You sigh watching Jonathan brush his beard against your thigh as he eases in another finger. “You always know what I need, don’t you…You take such good care of me.”
Jonathan groans against you, sucking a messy kiss to your cunt as he thrusts his fingers into you. You can feel the familiar pressure building, and you reach down, curling your fingers around his wrist to still him.
“I thought you were going to fuck me,” You remind him haughtily. He turns his head, biting your inner thigh harshly, holding your thighs lightly as you jump slightly at the sting. He laps across the skin before he rises, shoving your legs wide. He plunges into you with a single stroke, and your mouth falls open, stunned at the sudden shift.
“So impatient,” He barks as he grinds his hips forward. “I should’ve made you beg.”
You whine, raising your hands and grasping his arms as he braces his hands on the bed.
“I need you to trust me,” He adds, gaze heavy on yours.
“I do—oh, god, I do, Jonathan.”
“Yeah? Trust me to take care of you? To give you—nngh,” He pushes out a snarl, “Give you what you need?”
“Yes!”
“Tell me what you want.”
“I want you to make me cum, Jonathan.”
“Want me to fill you up?”
“Yes—”
“Fuck a baby into you?”
Your jaw drops as his grasp on you tightens, his hips sawing more harshly, the sound of your slapping flesh filling the room. Your cunt clutches at him, your nails sinking into his muscles.
“You want that?” You ask, breath catching in your throat as he bows closer.
“I want it,” He groans against your neck, knees digging into the mattress. “I want you round with my child. I want—Fuck—I want you full of my seed, I want you covered in it.”
“Oh, my god,” You whimper, fisting your hand in his hair as your chest presses up against his.
“Your p-pussy—” He nearly trips over the word, “Feels so—Mm, so fucking good…”
“Yes,” You breathe. “Jonathan, ‘m so close.”
“Yeah?”
“Mm, mhm. I wanna cum.”
“Say please.”
“Please,” You lower your hand, grasping his ass and tugging him closer. “Please let me cum, Joanthan—Oh, fuck, fuckfuckfuck!” You gasp as your press up into his thrusts, chasing your orgasm as it swells and washes over you.
You peer up at Jonathan and find him watching you, his lips parted with a lusty moan as he cums. His hips pump sharply as he fills you, his hands digging into your thighs as if he needs to keep you there. It’s another moment before he pulls out, flopping onto the bed beside you. His arm curls around your middle, his face pressing into your shoulder as he draws in deep, steadying breaths. You raise your hand, combing gently through his greying curls as the two of you come down together.
"...Any notes?" He mumbles bashfully after a few moments. You shake your head, gaze trained on the ceiling.
“Yeah, I’ll b-be there,” professor Levy rasped to the dean, his cock buried halfway down your throat.
He’d told you to stop when she walked into his office, but you couldn’t help yourself. How were you meant to resist when you were trapped between both his legs and the back of the desk with the scent of his musk surrounding you and not do something about it. You’d tried for a moment, but it’s like his leaking tip was staring at you, begging to feel your lips around it once more, and you couldn’t stop salivating at the thought.
“Wonderful, I tried to get Sandy to participate but…”
Her voice trailed into the back of your mind while you silently, and very slowly sucked and lapped along his length. You felt his legs shaking on either side of your shoulders, a signature reaction of his as he got closer to climax.
You felt his hand on the back of your head and a tug forward, plunging his throbbing cock deep in your esophagus while he pumped every drop of cum he had into your body. You could hear him huffing deeply through his nostrils, doing well to keep himself from moaning loudly.
He let out a loud sigh, “sorry,” he mumbled. You heard him fumbling around and grabbing some tissues to blow his nose. “Thought I might have to sneeze.”
Even if the dean seemed to believe his lie, you knew professor Levy would have some choice words for you later…
Summary: B reading and A watching with their chin on B's shoulder
Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader
Warnings: boring dialogue?, probably me self-inserting in the self-insert i wrote
Word Count: 944
When you enter the bedroom, Jonathan can tell immediately that you've been crying. There are tear tracks on your face, and your breath, usually his anchor during his asthma attacks and like the flow of the river, comes in short little tides of gasps. You're trying to calm down but he doesn't think it's working.
Letting his book fall face-open on his chest, "What's happened, baby?" He’s chewing away at some Nicorette gum, absent-mindedly, the repetitive motion keeping his mind just faintly occupied enough so he can focus on what he’s reading.
He has a sneaking suspicion about what it was but he doesn't want to belittle you and assume things.
"Nothin'," you give him a weak smile, your eyes tired and glistening. Your voice breaks, "I was just watching a movie."
"Oh?" He shifts up on the bed, resting against the headboard. With his age, he's been forced to put pillows behind his back now, otherwise he'll wake up in the morning with a knot and he won't be able to get out of bed without your help. "Which one?"
You hesitate before looking down at the ground and murmuring, "It's a Wonderful Life."
Jonathan's not surprised. You loved that one, no matter how cheesy. You'd showed him photos of your college dorm and there was a big movie poster tacked up on the wall across from your bed.
For your birthday, he'd bought you the colourized CD and now like tradition, you watch it when the holidays roll around.
And like tradition you break down into tears at the end of it.
To my big brother George, the richest man in town.
"It's summer, honey, what are you doing watching a Christmas movie?"
You shrug, coming over to join him on the bed. You click into his side like a magnet. "Wanted to watch it again."
“Did you enjoy it?”
“Mmhm.”
He shifts and moves down again, his book sliding just that way to the left of his body. “Well, that’s all that matters then.”
Cuddling closer, so that he feels your breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, as it starts to regain its normal music, “What’re you reading?”
“Oh,” he holds up the cover for you to see. It’s a beaten-down, yellow, almost identical to the colour The Man in the Yellow Hat wore in the Curious George books, though that’s about where the similarities end. “The Life You Can Save. Peter Singer.”
“What’s it about?” Your hand follows down the trail of his chest, starting from his shirt collar, and rests on his lower tummy.
You were unlike anyone he’d ever dated after his divorce. You’d been shaped and moulded by your past like him. Craving touch and running away when it was given to you.
You’d been hurt. A guy you hadn’t named yet but talked about sometimes, just enough so Jonathan would be able to tell just what kind of accommodation you were asking of him.
The first time Jonathan kissed you, you didn’t even give him a chance to say good night before you were gone, the lock turning sounding like the door of a coffin closing.
Though that had been three years ago.
Now, you tuck your head into his neck and touch his tummy. Sometimes, you get a little scandalous and run your hands up his inner thighs.
But always in private, always alone, sharing your solitude with Jonathan.
“The morality of people knowing about poverty and doing nothing to stop it,” he says, flipping through the pages with his thumb at the edge of the book, before he closes it and hands it over to you.
You take it with a frown, and for a few moments, you go quiet as you read the back of it. “Is this for one of your classes?”
Jonathan’s just glad that you’re not thinking about the movie anymore, even if you claimed to enjoy it, he doesn’t like seeing you unnecessarily cry; another little of those funny knacks leftover from Mira, like when you stay the night at someone else’s and they tour the house, teaching you how to handle every temperamental doorknob and tap.
“Yeah, Intro to Ethics.”
“I didn’t know they had you teaching junior-level courses again.”
You place the book back on his chest, replace your hand where it rightfully belongs.
He shrugs, “I taught it a couple times during my postdoc…just trying to refresh my mind. Update the content a bit.”
With a little sigh, “I wish I had professors like you when I was in college.”
“Yeah,” he laughs. He cups the back of your head with his hand, “I do too.”
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading.”
He shakes his head, “It’s alright.”
But Jonathan hears what you wanted to say and picks up his book, flipping back to where he was. On cue, you place your head on his shoulder and tilt up.
Since Ava moved away to college, Jonathan’s got a lot more time on his hands. He’s finally gotten around to building you that window seat you always wanted, finishing up shows that he’s been meaning to watch for years now. Reading, writing, sleeping, eating.
He goes on long walks with you these days, pumping fresh, clean air into his lungs and making his attacks infrequent and far between. He hasn’t touched a cigarette or a lighter in months now.
It’s almost strange the amount of time he gets to spend on himself and you now. Maybe it’s a brief taste of what retirement is going to be like.
Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.
𝓓𝓪𝔂 19 - A Little Messing Around || Jonathan Levy x fem!reader
Masterlist
Summary: You are surprised by an unexpected visit from Jonathan.
Warnings: smut (unprotected)
Word count: ~ 950
Author: Fenrir
A/N: The prompt for today is: Table Sex
After getting home, you took off your shirt; wearing just a bra was much more comfortable for you. As loud as you could, you put your Spotify playlist on shuffle and grabbing a spoon, you spun around the kitchen, shouting and dancing to the lyrics; you didn't even hear the front door open. It took him a second for you to realise he was behind you, clasping your waist with his hands. After a few seconds, you came to a halt and leaned back against his chest.
Jonathan whispered into your ear, "What are you doing?"
Smirking, you said, "Enjoying myself, messing around a bit."
Jonathan's hands tightened around you; the way your hips pushed back into his wasn't by accident. “Is it okay if I mess around with you?" He whispered right next to your ear.
Your response was to push your ass back even more into him and tilt your head so he could see more of your neck.
Jonathan whispered "Good girl," before grabbing your hair, turning you so he could kiss, suck, and lick his way up your neck. Your body turned so that you were flush against each other when he met your lips.
As you swiped your tongue over his lips and embraced him, he lightly dragged his nails across your back, making you shiver a little. With his other hand, Jonathan grabbed your ass and pushed his growing erection against you. The hand on your back drifted to your bra. Jonathan removed the clasp skillfully, as he had done many times before, and you stepped back from each other.
As you slid it off your arms, it hit the ground.
When he looked at the fading hickeys on your tits, he thought of the last time he had been alone with you and smirked at the memory.
Both of you moved towards each other at the same time.
Immediately, you reached for his cock, while Jonathan went for your tits; he made contact with your nipples and brushed his thumbs over them, causing them to harden from your arousal.
It was already difficult for you to focus on stroking him through his jeans.
You stopped Jonathan from replacing one of his hands with his mouth on your tit. Your only comment was, "Less clothing," as you discarded Jonathan's shirt.
He quickly undid your button and zipper and pulled down your shorts; you were in nothing but a light white thong. He brought his hand down on your ass, fondling the soft flesh; he then pulled the flimsy thong down around your ankles. Before picking you up, he only gave you a warning glance. Putting you on the edge of the table, Jonathan gently pressed on your chest, and you lay back. He knelt on the floor and spread your legs; holding your thighs, he gently ran his tongue up your pussy. You moaned loudly after he did this a few times and focused on your clit. He was incredibly skilled with his mouth, and you were close in no time at all. As he continued to go down on you, he repositioned himself to finger you. He picked up the pace when your breathing stopped and your back arched, and he pushed his finger deep inside you; he didn't stop licking your clit, making you twitch during your orgasm.
Once he was done, you sat up. "Can I suck your cock?" You already knew his answer.
Jonathan winked and stood up. "Of course you can, baby. You're delicious."
As you slid off the table and onto your knees, you pulled off his jeans and underwear in one motion, freeing his hard cock; you stroked him a few times before licking the head of his cock without breaking eye contact.
Jonathan let out a low groan at the sight. "That's my girl."
You licked and sucked up and down his shaft, tasting cum on your tongue as you did so. With as much of his thick cock as you could fit in your mouth, you moved your tongue around, making him twitch and grab your shoulder.
With the other hand, Jonathan pulled your hair so you stopped and looked into his eyes. Taking you by surprise, he caught you in a kiss, forced you to get up, and picked you up to place you on the edge of the wooden table.
You moaned loudly as he spread your legs wider and made them wrap around his hips before pushing his cock into your pussy.
Jonathan bounced his hips back and forth, making you lie on the table as he pushed on your chest. You were so tight and so wet for him. To deepen the angle he was fucking you in, he picked up one of your legs and rested it against his chest. After a while, he slowed his hips and held you just on the edge of your orgasm.
You whimpered, arching your back more, "Oh, Jonathan, I need to cum."
One of his hands moved up your chest, palming one of your tits as he whispered, "Whatever you wish, beautiful." His pace increased; the table creaked from the force of his thrusts, rocking back and forth along with his movements. He rolled his head back in an overwhelming sense of pleasure and whispered, "I'm going to cum."
"Cum for me, baby," you pleaded, rising and lowering your hips to meet all of his thrusts.
Instead of cumming within your tight pussy, Jonathan withdrew, grabbed his throbbing member, and jerked himself a few times, cumming with a loud grunt on your belly.
Observing his blissful expression, you licked your lips. “I love you,” you told him.
hi! hope you're doing well. if its okay I'd like I'd like to request something where the reader is a student in jonathan levys class and he convinces them to not drop out please, can be platonic or romantic. thank you :))
Hello! I'm doing well, thank you for asking! How are you doing? 💕
Warnings: Hurt/comfort
There was something about this semester that was just rubbing you the wrong way. The first semester was easy; you loved all of your classes, you were getting decent sleep, everything seemed like a movie. But after the holidays and everything being so cold and dark, you just couldn't seem to fall back into your old routine.
Your therapist mentioned something about seasonal depression, but you barely even remember that session; you just couldn't seem to focus as well as you used to. Therefore making your grades suffer.. Even the Dean pulled you into her office and asked if everything was alright, mentioning how you were once a 'A+ average' and now it was rare for you to even get a 'B.'
You were sitting in the back of your philosophy class and though your eyes were fixed on the board, you couldn't seem to pay attention to any of the writing on it. This was especially unusual for you since this was your favorite class. Jonathan Levy's class.
Though it was forbidden, you couldn't help but at least day dream about the man. Could anyone really blame you? The way he adjusted his glasses whenever he was stressed, how he always licked his fingers before plucking your paper out of the stack of assignments and handing it to you, or especially how he always wore the most flattering outfits..
He was truly a sight for sore eyes.
And that was another reason you wanted to drop out. He already has an ex-wife and a kid and he was twice your age. There's no way you could keep coming to his class and pretending there wasn't any tension between the two of you. And that was what made things ten times harder; You knew he liked you back.
"Alright guys, that wraps up our unit on the history of modern philosophy. Make sure you review the unit's key points and study them well, because we have the unit test tomorrow." Jonathan put his hands up and sighed, listening to the chorus of groans filling his classroom.
You used to be annoyed when people would do that, but now you couldn't help but drop your hand into your hands and join them.
Jonathan handed out worksheets to all of the passing students. "You guys have got this. You've been working hard these past few weeks." But when he got to you, his smile dwindled. "Miss l/n, could you actually stay behind for a moment? I'd like to have a word with you."
You simply nodded, walking over to sit on top of one of the tables in the front of the classroom.
Once the last student walked out, Jonathan shut the door behind them, then made his way over to you. "So.." He began, leaning against the table, standing right next to you. "How are you doing?"
You shrugged your shoulders. "You?"
"I'm alright, thank you for asking. Listen, I wanted to talk to you about your last paper.." Jonathan adjusted his glasses before pulling a printed copy of your latest essay out from behind your assigned homework. "It's not bad. I'll start with that. You have the right idea, I just think that you could do a better job of conveying your ideas through your writing, ya know?"
"Mhm.." You hummed, not trusting your voice at the movement. It was getting hard trying to swallow around the lump of emotions in your throat. You really did try on that paper, but you will admit, it was rushed.
"I can even help you work on this and homework, if you'd like? I just don't want to test you on something you don't fully understand." Jonathan had set the papers down next to you, now standing up straight with his arms crossed, giving you his full attention.
Now's the time. You thought to yourself. But god, you really didn't want to disappoint him.
You cleared your throat, pushing yourself off of the table to stand face to face with him. "While that is very appreciated, Mr. Levy, it will not be necessary.. Considering that I will not be moving onto the next unit. Thank you for your time." You tried to grab the papers from the table, but Jonathan put his hand down on them, pausing your movements.
"What do you mean? Of course you're moving onto the next unit. You just need-"
"I don't think you understand, Mr. Levy-"
"Please, Jonathan." He said, then gestured for you to continue.
You breathed out a sigh, your shoulders sagging. "Right, Jonathan.. I don't think this whole college thing is for me. I'm gonna go home and focus on myself for while.. Maybe I'll come back in a year or two."
Jonathan stared at you for a long time, his eyes fixed on yours even if you wouldn't even look at his. "No."
"No?"
"No." Jonathan said simply, shrugging his shoulders before removing his glasses to clean the frames on his wool sweater. "I can't just let you quit. You'd never forgive yourself and quite frankly, I wouldn't either."
The tears you'd been holding back finally fell, making you turn your entire body away from him. "I've already made up my mind. I can't do this anymore." You bit down on your lower lip, trying to quiet your sobs.
Jonathan grabbed a tissue off of his desk then hooked his fingers under your chin, guiding your face up to meet his. "Hey." He mumbled, wiping the tears from your cheeks with his sweater. "It's gonna be okay. I don't want you to just give up. Let me help you." He held the tissue up to you, a small smile growing across his lips.
You knew what the tissue symbolized.
If you took it, you'd agree to stay. But if not.. Well, you honestly couldn't imagine a world without him in it. So, you took the tissue from him and blew your nose, shaking your head as you tossed the tissue into the trashcan. "I don't know if I can do it.." You mumbled, your eyes fixed on your shoes.
"Hey, come here." Jonathan wrapped his arms around your upper back, laying his head on top of yours. "I've got you."
You wrapped your arms around his waist, your face buried in his chest as you finally allowed your sobs to escape. "Thank you." You whispered, only hugging him tighter.
Jonathan nodded, his thumb gently rubbing your shoulder. The next few months were gonna be rough, but Jonathan would be damned if he was gonna let you get through them alone.
