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.
a collection of fics i’ve read and thoroughly enjoyed all in one spot! read each warning before diving in and please give writers some appreciation for all their hard work by reblogging and/or commenting! ꨄ
filthy I @nathanbatemanfucker I S I that’s the thing about illicit affairs, clandestine meetings and longing stares.
premature I @reallyrallyauthor I S I You try to find out Jonathan Levy's kinks.
the house I @/reallyrallyauthor I S I Jonathan airbnb’s his old house to surprise you, and test himself
california baby I @/reallyrallyauthor I S I Jonathan feels like a different man in California, the kind who picks up a woman at a bar. But casual sex isn’t really his strong suit, and it turns out you two have a lot in common.
dilf central I @/reallyrallyauthor I F
pretty when you cry I @bastardmandennis I S I You don't mind being Jonathan's TA--until he makes a mistake that almost costs you your job, and you decide to confront him about it.
lover's exchange pt2 I @h0unds-of-h3ll I F + S I After submitting your final. Jonathan’s more than intrigued as to where the inspiration comes from.
breathe pt2 I @youvebeenlivingfictional I A + F I You’re both quite high, but you’re a little more controlled than he is. Well, it’s not your first time. You think he’s handling it pretty well, though. He’s had a couple of bouts of pure giggliness for no reason at all, and they’ve begun and tapered off all on their own. But now he’s watching you.
dirty talk I @/youvebeenlivingfictional I S
walkies I @/youvebeenlivingfictional I F
untitled I @sweetly-yours-and-mine I F I Sipping from the other's drink
falling I @eyelessfaces I H/C I you used to be a good distraction from jonathan's problems, but now you have become one of them, confronting him to his biggest fear: falling in love again.
every little thing I @strsburn I H/C + S I in which hearts are mended
YO this is my first time writing for jonathan omg please tell me what you think about it!!
summary: you used to be a good distraction from jonathan's problems, but now you have become one of them, confronting him to his biggest fear: falling in love again.
warnings: implied smut, mentions of sex, mentions of divorce and mira (mira is a warning of her own), angst
tags: hurt/comfort, fluff, jonathan is vulnerable asf and needs to be held
word count: 1.1k
reblogs and feedback are appreciated!!
A loud choked sigh escapes your mouth as your head falls back onto the armrest of the couch.
It takes a moment for you to properly catch your breath, and once you no longer feel dizzy you finally look down at the man settled between your legs. He’s smoothing a hand along your leg and gently leaves kisses there, his beard lightly tickling your skin, contrasting with the remaining burning feeling of it to your inner thighs.
You put your hand over your face, wiping away the thin layer of sweat having built over it.
Jonathan pulls away from your skin as he stands up and walks around the couch to leave a kiss at your forehead. He leaves to the kitchen and you slowly sit back on the couch, your body feeling numb and overstimulated at the same time.
A chuckle leaves your mouth when you see your knickers thrown so far away from the couch, and you get them and your jeans before sitting back down on the couch when Jonathan comes back with a glass of water.
He hands you it and you take it before thanking him as he sits next to you.
“You okay?” he asks tilting his head, putting a hand to your back while you get rid of the dry feeling in your mouth.
You nod, and Jonathan takes the empty glass from your hands with his free hand.
“I feel a bit overwhelmed” you smile, turning to him.
God, you wished you could frame the smile he sent back to you. He tucks a strand of hair falling over your face behind your ear and you look away as you can feel heat rising at your cheeks.
“I love taking care of you” he affirms, his thumb brushing over your blouse. The gesture makes a shiver run down your spine and makes you stand up to put your knickers back on.
“Yeah… I know you do, and thank you for that but…” you look back at him and your heart aches when you see the onset of his confused expression. ”Are we… Are we ever gonna be more? I mean more than you eating me out on your couch when you have free time between classes, more than having you crying in my arms minutes after we’re done having sex just to have you leaving the next morning?”
Jonathan frowns, putting the glass down on the coffee table.
“Honey I know- it’s just that with the divorce process and Ava and-”
You sigh and chuckle as you slide into your jeans.
“You can’t keep telling me this, Jonathan! I-” you wince and shake your head as you zip up your jeans. “Jonathan you- you are amazing and we have a blast every time we see each other but I-” you stop and lick your lips in reflection, looking back at him. “I need more than that. And I think you do too. I know I’m probably just a distraction from the shitty things going on in your life but if it’s just what I am to you… I don’t think I can keep on seeing you. Because it’s going to hurt me eventually.”
Jonathan looks up at you, the inner corner of his eyebrows angled up. His teeth sink into his bottom lip before he closes his eyes.
“So this is what you’ve been thinking about when all I had in mind was to make you feel good…” he mutters under his breath, his sentence punctuated by a sarcasm-poisoned chuckle.
You frown and sigh.
“No- We just… have to talk about it, and whenever I’ll be doing it will be a bad moment, but it needs to be talked about anyways.”
He raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah… well. Surely once I’m done going down on you is a good moment” he snickers, sinking further against the back of his couch, crossing his arms.
“Jonathan- I actually came here to talk to you about it but things slipped as they always do! You know what? This is stupid. I thought you would understand. I’m disappointed in myself for thinking I actually knew you” you declare as a small lump starts forming in your throat. He was right, but you needed to confront him about all of this.
Jonathan’s dark eyes are planted on you, and he licks his lips before looking away from you and talking again.
“I understand. I do.” he nods before looking back at you. “I want the same thing as you. It’s just…” he sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose.
The tense expression on his face relaxes to let a more vulnerable one take over.
He runs a hand through his long salt and pepper curls and sighs before talking again.
“I’m falling in love with you and I don’t want to suffer like I did with Mira.” he declares, his voice so low you wouldn’t have heard it if the house wasn’t as silent as it was.
Your heart skips a beat, aching at his words. You don’t know what makes it react the most; him admitting he’s in love with you or the fact that he’s so afraid of it.
Your gaze softens and you walk to sit down on the couch next to him.
“So you won’t allow yourself to fall in love ever again?” you ask, putting your hands to his cheeks to hold his face. “I am not Mira, Jonathan.” you affirm, brushing his beard at either side of his face with your thumbs. He melts into your touch so fast and it makes it even harder. “And maybe that’s part of the problem, that I’ll never be like her… But even if I’m not as perfect as you thought she was, I can treat you way better than she did.” you declare nodding softly. “I will.”
He is teary-eyed, and a slight crease is drawn between his eyebrows. A tear escapes his eye, and he quickly wipes it away before you even have the chance to think about doing it.
“Come here. I need you close” he whimpers, wrapping his arms around you and burying his face into your neck.
You envelop your own arms around him, scooting as close to him as possible. One of your hands finds his hair, gently kneading it as your other hand runs along his back in an attempt to soothe him. “Please don’t hurt me” he whispers against your skin, his voice barely audible.
He’s not asking you not to hurt him, he’s begging you.
“I won’t baby. I won’t” you murmur back at him, scratching his scalp lightly. “I promise”
And you keep your promise, loving him the way he deserves to be loved and more.
summary: jonathan makes it clear that whatever this is between you two isn’t just physical.
pairing: newly research!assistant!fem!reader x jonathan levy
content: 18+/nsfw/MINORS DNI, pining, mentions of divorce, kissing, unprotected sex, spit kink, feelings, fluff, get together
an: we’ve made it to the end of this series! thank you so much for reading and for your patience, this one really kicked my ass! thank you to my dear @hotchs-bitch for helping with the smut <333. gif credits @pyramidmoon.
word count: 4.1k
series masterlist | misc. masterlist | requests are open
You’re successful in your efforts to avoid alone time with Jonathan. One of the other graduate assistants, Logan, has never shut up about how hot he thinks Professor Levy is, so when you offer to give up your paper drop-offs to give him a chance to flirt, he takes it. To your surprise, he doesn’t ask a lot of questions but you’re grateful because you haven’t come up with a good reason.
The weeks pass with fleeting glances and pleading eyes. By the end of March, he has news for you, good news but you avoid him at all costs. These days, you’re the last one to arrive at meetings and the first one out. The only means he has to contact you is your university email and it would feel wrong to abuse his power to get any personal contact information from the registrar's office. So he continues his failing efforts, waiting for you by the door at meetings or trying to race after you once they’ve ended. He has no luck, you’ll either murmur that the meeting’s about to start or find an escape to the women’s restroom.
Eventually, he starts to go stir crazy and shows up at your office. If he didn’t look closely he would’ve assumed your door was closed but it’s cracked a fraction of an inch. He knocks and calls your name softly before entering. He’s surprised by what’s in front of him; you’re on your couch, asleep, you and the floor littered with folders and paperwork. You’ve never looked so endearing and he wishes that he could sit beside you and wake you up with a kiss. Instead, he studies your features until he feels like a creep, organizes all the paper on the floor into neat stacks, and locks your door from the inside on his way out.
You aren’t much better emotionally. Though you scoffed when he said he missed you, you get it now. You miss returning his glances and engaging in conversation with him. You miss the coarse feel of his beard as he kisses you, the intense gaze he regards you with, the feeling of his warm hands on your skin. Most of all you miss his smile, his laugh. Since you broke things off you haven’t seen them, not genuinely. Even as you avoid him you can tell he’s off. When you do steal glances, sad eyes look back at you. There’s something off about his smile and his usual deep belly laugh. It makes you miss him on an even deeper level.
When you wake up that day he’s in your office it just makes things worse. There’s only one person you know wouldn’t wake you, one person that would leave your office cleaner than how he found it. The thought of him standing in your office, walking around softly as he organizes and tidies is the last straw. You sit up on your couch, your face falling into your hands as you succumb to the tears that have been building in you since you walked out of his office that day.
His gesture that day almost makes you give in but you continue to do what you think is right, what’s honorable. It’s what’s best for you and him and his family. Things stay this way, empty and estranged until a few days after your graduation. You’re in your office, not only purging but decorating it a little more now that you’re here for the foreseeable future. There’s a knock on your door, and you wonder if it’s Santi, the building’s janitor, making sure that you’re okay in here. It has been hours. But when you open the door it’s none other but Professor Levy.
Your eyes go wide, blinking rapidly, at the sight of him. It’s clear that he came from home, he’s in a comfy sweatsuit and his hair’s a little wild, looking like the dad that he is. He’s holding a bouquet of peonies and an envelope, and you finally remember that you haven't said anything, “Hi.”
“Hi. Happy graduation,” His lips turn up into a smile as he holds the flowers out to you.
“Thank you, Professor. I have the perfect vase for these at home. They’re beautiful,” As you take the flowers into your hand, you move out the way allowing him in.
You glance at the door, making the firm decision with yourself to leave the door open.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there.”
It’s sweet and pulls at your heart, but it was probably best he wasn’t there, especially if he was to bring his wife and daughter, “It's alright, I didn’t expect you to be. Plus now I have these.”
He runs his tongue over his bottom lip before he smirks, though he can’t maintain eye contact which you immediately notice, “Mmm, that’s true.”
“Everything okay?” You tilt your head, studying him as his eyes flicker back and forth.
He’s much more nervous than he expected to be. It takes him a moment to figure out why. He’s been busting at the seams with this information, ready to tell you and start whatever will be between you. But now that he’s here, that what he’s wanted since he first saw you a year ago is a possibility, the words are almost stuck in his throat, his mind buzzing with questions that have been brewing in his subconscious.
What if you don’t want him? What if you’ve moved on? What if it was just sex?
“I have something to tell you, I didn’t realize that I would be nervous.”
“I think with our past we don’t have a lot to be nervous about,” You tease but your concern grows when he doesn’t even give you the ghost of a smile.
What could he be nervous to tell you? He’s seen you vulnerable, heard of your shitty past, and even tasted you. There’s not much more between you that can be exposed. Other than how deeply you feel for him.
He looks at you again, almost in surprise, as if he’s forgotten you were there, “Right…I, uh. It’s good news. Great news actually, if things work out the way I want them to.”
“Hey, Levy, it’s just me,” You reassure him, reaching out to run your hand down his arm as you step closer.
That’s what you don’t understand. You’re more than just you, you’re a breath of fresh air or a fine spring morning. You’re everything he didn’t know he was missing until your eyes met his. There aren’t many things in this world that he thinks could beat spending time with you— in fact, as he thinks about it right now, his daughter is the only thing more important. Slowly but surely, his lens of the world has shifted, and now you’re in the frame.
He blows out a deep breath, running his hand over his beard before speaking, “Mira and I are getting a divorce. That’s what I was handling the day you graduated, it was our first negotiation.”
A gasp leaves your throat, so soft that he doesn’t hear it. Your heart feels like it’s in your stomach, subject to the acid as it burns with guilt. It pumps through your veins, clouding your mind. This is exactly what you didn’t want and the reason you walked away from him, and it happened anyway. You feel like a homewrecker.
“A divorce?” You squeak, your cheeks warming.
“We mutually agreed to get a divorce. She’s been seeing someone else for years apparently, and I…well I’m hoping to have you.”
“Me?” Your hand comes to rest on your chest, your heart beating rapidly. This isn’t how you expected this to go, not just this meeting but life in general. It’s hard to wrap your mind around what he’s saying; you get to….have him?
He frowns slightly, “Is that a surprise?”
You ignore his question, still trying to process the gravity of the decision he’s made, “You ended things with your wife…the mother of your child…for me?”
“For you, for me, for her and her potential partner. It’s for all of us.”
As you piece together his answers, they make you feel a little better. He didn’t do it selfishly, he didn’t just leave her. She was ready to go, she’d built a life outside of him. He wants you. He did this not only for himself, for her, for his daughter, but for you. You make his list.
“You chose me,” You say quietly, mostly to yourself in disbelief.
He wants to close the gap between you, cup your face and reassure you by pressing soft, loving kisses to your cheeks. But he can see how overwhelmed you are so he stays where he is, “Yeah baby, I chose you.” Doubt lances through him, nerves rolling through his stomach as the uncertainty of you wanting him returns in full force, “I hope that you’re happy about that?”
You’re not sure about the range of emotions you’re going through right now can just be simplified into happiness. There's some guilt, some fear, and unsureness so you change the subject to buy some time, “I have some good news of my own. Shelley offered me a full-time position on her research team.”
He closes the space between you, pulling you in for a hug, “That's incredible. Wait, are you taking it?”
“I’d be an idiot not to now, right?” It's a way to answer his earlier question that hangs in the air indirectly.
He pulls away, his eyes slowly tracing every feature of your face, “As in, you’ll stay to give this a real shot?”
“We can give us a real shot, yes,” You say tentatively, shivering in his arms from the intensity of his gaze.
As soon as the words are out of your mouth his eyes flash with need, and he’s pushing you back towards the couch, his lips hungrily crashing to yours. Your hands are in his hair immediately, to anchor his mouth to yours. He licks into your mouth, eager to taste you after months of being denied the privilege.
The two of you are like a tornado, frantic and leaving a flurry of clothing and mess in your wake. His hands fall from your waist and start on your button-down, his nimble fingers making quick work of it. It feels like a race, trying to get you out of your clothes so that he can see all of you.
As if you can hear his thoughts, it dawns on you that you’ve never seen any of him. That this will be the first time that any of him is bared to you, and it just makes your arousal burn brighter deep in your belly. You’re ripping at his clothing now, breaking away from the sloppy kisses he’s treating you to and pulling his shirt over his head. You can’t keep your hands off him, groping every part of his torso as you run your hands up and down his chest.
“You’re pretty,” You whisper, eyes flitting up to meet his.
His pupils are blown out with lust, cheeks tinted the softest of pinks from your compliment as he sucks his bottom lip in between his teeth, “You’re prettier.”
The back of your knees hit the couch, and you switch positions with him, pushing him down onto the couch and straddling him. His hands gather your hair into a makeshift ponytail, gently pulling you down into another kiss. He’s stealing your breath, licking into your mouth but you can’t find the wits to care as you run your hands up and down his body. Your body moves without thought, your warm, wet center begging for some friction. Your hips press down into him, and your eyes pop open at the sensation of feeling his erection against you there for the first time. Through the layers of clothing between you, you can feel him, hot and heavy.
“More,” He murmurs against your lips, his hands circling you to unclasp your bra, freeing your breasts. He blinks a few times, taking in your nearly naked frame before he starts to kiss them, rolling them delicately between his teeth.
You throw back your head as his tongue continues to switch between your nipples and you knot your hands into his curls, anchoring him to you. Your hips are still moving, grinding desperately against him as pleasure builds inside of you. You wouldn’t be surprised if he could get you to cum just from this. But you want more, and move one of your hands between you, groping at him through the material of his sweatpants causing him to his.
“Want you,” You breathe, running your hand up and down his length.
“Need you,” He counters, abruptly getting you on your back.
He starts to trail kisses down your neck, continuing to your breasts, treating them to love bites that make you arch into him. Your hands are his hair, not to guide him but just to feel. He runs his tongue down your stomach, dipping it into your belly button before peeling you out of your pants and panties. Running his hands down your thighs, he can’t take his eyes off of your completely naked body.
“Don’t make me wait, please?” You don’t care about how desperate you sound.
“Are you sure?”
“I’m sure. Are you?”
His eyes grow soft, filled with tenderness, “I’ve always been sure about you.”
That confession makes your heart pound in your chest, it's unexpected and romantic, and your feelings start to bubble in your throat, though you’re not quite ready to go there. You don’t have to worry about responding because he’s getting himself naked in a rush, and soon every inch of his bare skin is pressed to yours. He’s so warm and heavy against you, and your hands make their way down his back, squeezing his as in a move that makes him chuckle.
He presses his forehead to yours, stealing a quick kiss. “Will you say it?” He asks hesitantly, and you immediately know what he means.
He wants you to say his name. To cross the last of the boundaries that lie between you.
You hesitate, sucking your lip between your teeth, “Levy…”
“No, say it. It’s just me and you now. I’m yours. Say it, please,” He practically begs, his gaze intense. “Please.”
“Jonathan,” It comes out of you rough and taboo, almost like a curse. Your voice is laced with need, and you have to admit to yourself that it feels good to finally call him that. You look up at him and his eyes are a little misty, filled with wonder as he starts to move his hips forward. And as he enters you inch by inch, you feel the breath leaving your lungs, your body turning to jello. This time when you say his name it’s a whimper, a soft desperate, “Jonathan.”
“I know, baby, I know,” He runs his hand over your hair affectionately, understanding how overwhelmed you feel. This feels right, him inside of you, it feels like home. “So fucking good.”
He snaps his hips forward again, and it’s almost as if you feel him in your lungs, “You’re so deep, I can’t…”
He stills, pulling his face out of your neck to look at you, eyebrows knit in concern, “Are you okay? Should I stop?”
“No, no, please don’t stop, you feel so good.”
“You’re sure?” His eyes scan your face for any hesitancy.
You nod, a bashful smile on your lips, “It’s just been a while for me, I’m okay.”
The gears turn in his head as he digests that information before his mouth turns up into a smirk, “Were you keeping this pussy safe? Just for me?”
Your eyes widen at his confidence. If you weren’t already so hot from the sex, your skin would flush from his gaze, “Yes.”
“It’s all mine, isn’t it? You’re all mine. You and this pussy?” He’s so deep inside you in this moment, proof of his words before you can even answer.
“Yes, all yours. And you’re mine?”
“Since the moment I saw you,” He says firmly, not a doubt in his mind.
You groan at that and bring him in for a kiss before whispering words of praise against his mouth. He smiles against your warm, sweet skin and takes your lip in between his teeth, reminiscent of the first time the two of you ever kissed. He’s got his hands on your thighs, spreading you open wide as he slowly ruts into you. You run your nails down his back, pivoting your hips up to meet his with every stroke. Words cease, and it’s nothing but the two of you, getting lost in the taste and feel of each other. It’s a little overwhelming, how much he means to you, and you pull him even closer, wanting to be completely consumed by him.
“Fuck, you feel so good,” He murmurs before capturing your lips in another sloppy kiss. Watching him collect the spit in his mouth you open wide, and he lets it fall slowly from his tongue onto yours. You swallow greedily before pulling him closer, and he buries his face into the crook of your neck. “I love how this pussy feels, I love you,” It all comes out of him in a rush, and his entire body freezes, tense with nerves. He hadn’t meant to say it this early though he’s been thinking about it for months now. He’s worried that he’s ruined this moment.
But then you whine, “Don’t stop, Jonathan,” tilting your hips up, focused on the feel of him and your impending orgasm, and he feels much better.
When he moves again, his pace is quicker, though he doesn’t sacrifice depth, pulling completely out of you just to fill you up over and over. It brings you to the brink of your orgasm, and you hold two fingers up to his lips, raising an eyebrow. He understands immediately, taking your fingers into his mouth, sucking them loudly. Once sufficiently wet you drop them to your clit, rubbing in time with his thrusts.
You spiral into the most intense release you’ve ever had, pleasure lighting up every nerve in your body. He watches you moan and shudder under him, your eyes closed and mouth wide open as you let it overtake you. Your hands are roaming, finding their place in his hair as you come down, your breathing still harsh.
He can tell that this orgasm has taken a lot out of you, your eyes are still closed and you’re sinking into the cushions, “Are you alright?”
“Yes.”
“Can I make you cum one more time, baby?” He asks softly between chaste kisses to your lips.
The way he asks makes arousal bloom in your belly once more, and he feels your pussy tighten around his cock before you answer verbally. He grins at you, a knowing look on his face that somehow makes you feel shy, your cheeks warming. How you can feel this way he’s taken you apart and put you back together in multiple ways is lost on you.
“That’s my girl,” He gives you another kiss before pulling out of you and sitting up.
Your eyes drink in every inch of him still, you don’t think you’ll ever get used to having him like this. He’s soft and firm in all the right places, his chest dusted with hair in a way that makes you want to run your tongue over it.
“Baby?” His voice brings you out of your trance and your eyes meet his.
“Mmm?”
“I said bend over the couch for me,” He whispers, gripping your hips to help you up.
You feel exposed, and a little self-conscious once you’re in this position but his next words clear any of those thoughts from your mind.
“You’re so wet,” He marvels, his voice is so endearing that it doesn’t sound like he’s talking about something so obscene. “So beautiful,” He murmurs as he lines the head of his cock up with your entrance.
You wiggle your hips impatiently, throwing your hair over your shoulder to get a good look at him. His curls are stuck to his forehead, a sheen of sweat glistening on his entire body.
He loves the sight of you like this, desperation pooling in your eyes, your teeth sinking into your bottom lip as you silently beg him to enter you. He has to give in, not just because you’re looking at him like that but because he wants to be buried in your tight heat once more. He pushes into you until his hips are flush against yours, and you mewl beneath him, rolling your hips in hopes to take him deeper.
“Exquisite,” He grits out as he pulls out and snaps his hips forward with so much force it makes you yelp.
He’s rougher this way, chasing after both of your orgasms as he sets a fast pace. He fucks into you with bruising strength, though his hands that hold your hips steady hold you with so much tenderness. The sound of cock entering you over and over is indecent, both of you coated in your arousal.
“Fuck, yes, just like that,” You start to push back against him, feeling your second orgasm building steadily in your lower belly.
“You and this pretty little pussy gonna be the death of me. You take me so well,” His eyes lower to where he’s entering you, completely mesmerized by the sight.
“Jonathan,” His name rolls off your tongue easily now as if it’s meant to be. You knot harshly into the material of the couch, using the leverage to rock back even harder against him.
“I’m right here baby, I’m not going anywhere,” His lips are at your ear before he wraps his arms around to pull you close, continuing to pound into you.
He holds you flush against him this time as you meet your release a second time. Your body trembles in his arms, pleasure overwhelmingly coursing through your veins. He’s still kissing you, and thrusting inside of you, just on the precipice of his own orgasm. You’re completely fucked out but with the little energy, you have left you squeeze around him, pussy clenching so tightly that it hurls him over the edge.
His hips stutter as he cums, his strokes becoming slower as he fucks his seed further inside of you. The thought of what that looks like, your lips messy against each other’s, hips working together, moaning wantonly makes your pussy flutter around him once more. It makes him want to turn you over and fuck you all over again, but he’s spent, falling back into the couch cushions, taking you with him.
You focus on the warmth of him, against you and inside you as you try to return your breathing to normal. His hold on you loosens so he just got an arm around your waist, his harsh breathing slowly bobbing you up and down. After a few moments pass you carefully turn over, breath catching when he slips out of you.
Some of his curls are damp, sticking to his forehead and his eyes widen slightly as everything that’s just happened flickers through his mind. He’d said it, he’d told you that he loves you and while you hadn’t stopped everything, you certainly didn’t say it back. That anxiety that coursed through him when he’d first gotten here is back.
Jonathan looks anywhere but at you, “About what I said-”
You lean into him, grasping his chin so he has to look at you, “Did you mean it?”
His eyes are crystal clear, full of sincerity, “Of course, without a doubt in my mind.”
His certainty is all you need to say it back. You know in your heart it’s true, you haven’t thought about anything but him since you laid eyes on him. All of that has led to this moment.
“I…I love you too,” You push your fingers through his curls, before leaning in for a quick kiss.
“Yeah?” He smiles against your lips, and it’s infectious.
“Mhmm.”
“Maybe I could have you over for dinner tomorrow? I’ll cook.”
“I would really like that.”
“We can take this as slow as we both need. I want this to work. I need it to.”
“Jonathan, it's just me and you, like you said. It's us, okay? Don't worry about what's happened in the past.”
He didn’t realize how important it would be for you to call him his name until today. The way your mouth molds around it, makes it sound sacred and makes his heart flutter. He doesn’t remember the last time he felt like this, like a bright-eyed lover who feels safe and held. Understood. But the way you look at him, delicately and compassionate almost brings tears to his eyes.
“It's just us,” He agrees before tucking his head into the crook of your neck.
Just you. Just him. Together.
< prev |
if you’d like to be on my jonathan levy/oscar issac taglist let me know!
jonathan levy taglist: @giona45-5, @angelfxllcm, @sweetascherrylies, @hotchs-bitch, @jakelcckley, @mrspector, @jitterbugs927, @myorestes, @winwin70, @ninebluehearts, @siezethenights
Less than an hour later, Clary was knocking on Jonathan’s door, a brown bag in her hand. He opened it and stared at her in shock. She smiled, pushing past him before he could say anything.
“What are you doing here?” He whispered as he caught up to her in the kitchen. She hummed as she unpacked onto the counter. Cough medicine, soup ingredients, honey and tea, disney movies on DVD, fairy lights, a first edition of Ava’s favourite book. “You came here to help look after her?”
“I’ve always loved her, Jonathan. And I know you’re stressed. Let me help you out, I’ve got a few days off work anyway.” She said with a shrug, smiling at him so sweetly he could’ve sworn she was sent from Shamayim. Her hand came to rest on his arm and the clock stopped ticking, everything around him came to a standstill.
“I think you’re an angel.” He mumbled in a daze. He shook his head to snap his thoughts away and cleared his throat. “Thank you. She’s really not herself, keeps crying and she’s barely sleeping. I think she has a fever.” Clary nodded, moving around his kitchen as though it was her own. She worked quickly, making a cup of green tea with a more than generous amount of honey in it and cooking up a small bowl of chicken soup.
“Upstairs?” Jonathan shook his head, taking the cup and holding Clary’s hand. He led her through to the living room to where Ava was curled up under a blanket, the TV playing some sitcom in the background. “Hey there babygirl.” Clary said, sitting down at the edge of the sofa with the bowl of soup. “D’you think you can try to eat a little bit of this for me?” She asked, letting go of Jonathan to touch Ava’s cheek. She was warm, but not burning up. Jonathan smiled as Ava perked up a little, sitting up enough to take the bowl.
“Clary?” She mumbled and Clary smiled, brushing the hair out of Ava’s face.
“Yeah, I’m here, honey. I brought you some of your old favourite films! D’you think you can watch one?” Clary asked, her voice softer than Jonathan had ever heard it. Ava nodded, coughing slightly with the movement. Jonathan walked back to the kitchen to pick up the films, running his hand through his hair. Clary helped Ava sit the rest of the way up so she could eat the soup, holding the cup of tea for her so she wouldn’t have to reach for it. Jonathan stared at them for a moment before coming to put one of the films on, his heart pounding at the sight of Clary taking care of Ava as if she was her own daughter. He pushed his glasses back into place before sitting down with them, throwing his arm around Clary’s shoulders without thinking as the movie started. Ava was entranced by the screen, as if it was the first time she had seen the film. Jonathan was watching Clary instead. His eyes followed every small movement of her hands, the way she helped Ava drink the tea, the way she brushed the hair out of Ava’s eyes, the way she adjusted the blanket to keep her warm.
“You’re so good with her,” he whispered as Ava fell asleep with her head in Clary’s lap.
“She’s a good kid, makes it easy to want to look after her.” She replied with a shrug. “Plus I know you can’t always take time off and might appreciate the help.”
“She loves you, you know?” He murmured, taking his glasses off and turning the TV down so it wouldn’t wake her up. Clary smiled at that, tucking her hair behind her ear.
“She’s very sweet.” Jonathan smiled, leaning forward and kissing Clary’s cheek. “What’s that for?”
“Being so amazing.”
Three days passed like that. Ava got better quickly with Clary looking after her. Mira visited for an hour but left quickly when she saw Jonathan with his arm around Clary, despite Ava begging her to stay to watch a film with her. So Clary watched three of her favourites, singing the songs with her to help lull her to sleep.
And now Clary had the same damn illness.
Jonathan didn’t let her go home. All but begged her to stay so he could help her, since she only got sick because of how much she cared about his daughter. Clary still hadn’t quite figured out how to say no to him, so she had temporarily moved into his bed. Ava was eager to help, bringing her a cup of tea every couple of hours and reading a book to her.
Jonathan tried to make her some soup and nearly burned the kitchen down, resulting in Clary laughing to the point she had a coughing fit. He looked affronted but she knew he wasn’t upset from the way he held her that night, her head on his chest and his arms around her as she tried to catch her breath just from walking down the hall.
No matter how much he wanted to, Clary wouldn’t let him kiss her. Not until she was better. And when the moment came that she didn’t have a fever, Jonathan lavished her with kisses, whenever her got the chance - much to Ava’s embarrassment. As much as she pretended to be disgusted, she was happy for her dad. Before Clary had become a permanent fixture in their lives, she had never seen her dad so happy.
Summary: you're helping Jonathan put Ava to sleep after a "nightmare". She might have a bit of a plan for the two of you.
Warnings: none, really. Very self indulgent though.
Song featured - לילה טוב, הכבש השישה עשר
Word count: 1032
--------------------
"Daddy."
Jonathan awoke with a gasp. A little figure was looming over, mere inches from his face, looking at him with her big eyes.
"Daddy are you awake?"
He blinked.
"Yes, yes Ava, I'm awake. Are you okay, sweetheart?" He whispered to his daughter, turning on his side to face her.
"Can l sleep here tonight?" She mumbled, looking down at the pink blankie she was holding.
"Of course, just get in here carefully, we don't want to wake-"
"I'm up," you said, groggily, as you moved towards them. "I'm up."
Ava grinned and climbed into the bed, getting nice and snug between the two of you.
--------------------
Jonathan and you were best friends since university. He was in the process of questioning - the Jewish process of distancing from the religious community, becoming secular, and you welcomed him to your different Judaism with open arms.
You met in a psychology course, then again in the Jewish group in your campus. You were an Israeli, secular, queer Jewish person. He was naturally drawn to your worldview. You gave him a home - a bridge between the conservative community he grew up in and the new world he jumped into.
You navigated life together. Helped each other through your struggles. He guided you through American life, which you sometimes found loud and overwhelming. In turn, you showed him a different way to live. Took him to his first party, first concert, taught him it's not a sin to touch himself and held him as he sobbed in your arms, when his father told him not to bother coming home for passover.
Things changed since then, of course. The both of you found balance in your lives, rebuilt your connections with religion, family, community and yourselves. He went on to marry Mira, but it wasn't a problem. You felt like it wasn't the right time anyway, and you couldn't provide each other with what you needed in a relationship to each other. But Mira is gone now. You're both older. Different needs and wants. Jonathan was utterly broken over the divorce and the end of his life as he knew them, and you were there for him every step of the way. Things have changed.
You spent quite a lot of time together, now. The emotional support ice cream and wine turned into long evenings in an embrace. Dropping off your goddaughter, Ava, in school and getting take away dinners progressed into cooking together and staying the night. Of course Jonathan wouldn't let you sleep on that awfully uncomfortable green couch Mira liked. You seemed to sleep in his bed more often than in your own. Not that you were complaining.
--------------------
"So what happened, kiddo?" Jonathan asked in a sleep rasped voice.
"I had a bad dream," Ava replied, burying herself into the mattress.
He layed a hand on her back. "Do you want to tell us about it?"
"No," she mumbled in her little voice, sending you a cheeky smile.
You raised an eyebrow at her. "How can we help you, sweetheart?"
"Ummm," she turned to face her dad. "Could you get me a glass of water, please?"
All puppy eyed, how could he say no?
"Sure thing." He left the bed, and you rose onto your elbow, watching him go. He was wearing only a T shirt and his boxers. Why were you staring at him again?
A tug on your shirt pulled you back from your mind.
"Now that he's gone," a small, mischievous voice said. "Are you gonna be my new parent?"
"What?"
"Are you going to be my new parent?" Ava inquired.
"Excuse me, you little munchkin, aren't l your parent already?"
"Not like thattttt", she drawled. "A parent like mommy is."
"Uhh," you struggled. "What makes you think that?"
"I can see you looking at each other. Kids are not stupid, you know." She preached. "So are you, or not?"
What's taking him so long???
You took a deep breath.
"I don't know, metuka. I don't know. But what l do know, is that I'll be here for you no matter what. I'll always be your godparent, Ava, no matter what happens. And I'm always on your side."
Clearly dissatisfied with your answer, she frowned, scrunching her little nose, which you booped in return.
"I love you, ktana sheli."
"I love you too." She wrapped her arms around you and you around her.
Jonathan walked back in. Thank god.
Ava jumped up, rocking the bed. She took the glass from him and took a sip. "Thank you!" She grinned.
"Not so upset about your nightmare anymore, l see?" He said and set her glass on the bedside table.
"Nope!" She popped the P.
"I'm very glad." He sat on the bed, putting a hand through his graying curls. "Well then, do you want me to tuck you in again?"
"Actually," she said, "could l stay here tonight? Please?"
You chuckled, and he hung a pair of tired eyes at you. "I'm honestly too exhausted to argue. Do you mind?"
"Not at all." You replied, sending him a smile.
"Great."
He got settled, and you tucked Ava under the covers.
"You know what?" Her little voice piped up when she threw the blanket off of herself and Jonathan groaned.
"I'm still a little bit scared."
"Nu be'emet." He chuckled, exhausted.
"How about a lullaby?" You offered softly.
"Yes please!" Ava looked at you, hopeful, and you sighed.
"Short one."
She looked satisfied, and Jon shot you a thankful, smiling glance. Your presence really calmed him down, he noticed. He felt so safe, so wanted. And he wanted you too.
You hummed, and started singing:
"Tov, layl menucha va'chalom, kvar me'uchar u'machar nakum ve'nir'eh,"
Jonathan joined in a deep, soft voice, with his funny American accent: "Eich shemegi'ah hayom besof kol layla,"
"Ooo, tov, choshech nafal al harchov, rak ha'yare'ach mash'eer et oro hatzahov,"
"Tzartzar metzartzer tzirturo sham," Ava attempted the tongue twister, and you tickled her little tummy.
"I see Poli taught you well," you smiled at her. She giggled and grabbed your hand, keeping it on herself.
"Layla Tov." Jonathan concluded the song.
You continued humming and softly singing, seeing Ava calming down and Jonathan's eyes drooping closed too.
Ava took his hand, and in his sleepiness he didn't resist.
Suddenly his warm hand was on top of yours. Sneaky little bastard, that girl is.
Warnings: author makes certain claims about academia that may or may not be true and are entirely biased because of her own experience with it (and a huge thanks to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me)
Word Count: 2.3k
Jonathan’s brought you to a summer mixer at the Department Head’s family home, designed to maintain connections through the faculty during the slow months of the summer as well as create new ones with the incoming graduate students to the department.
A newly-minted associate professor for the fall term, Jonathan at least doesn’t have to worry about students of his own.
Really, he’s only here for the drinks.
Academics’ pockets, though they don’t usually run deep, are quite generous when it comes to their alcohol, perhaps a sort of defence mechanism when it comes to dealing with the stress of their way of life.
Everyone, however, seems to be at ease. It’s a late afternoon sort of function in order to encourage them to drink as much as they would like without feeling guilty about it, and loosened from the heavy burden of tweeds and thick wools, the faculty are clad instead in linen, cool and airy.
Tongues are loose, smiles are quick to be given. People have forgotten the relentless competition they’re usually in when it comes to funding, to office space, to good class slots.
All in all, he thinks that today has been a good day to introduce you to the people he’s going to passive aggressively work with for the rest of his life.
He gazes across the room and finds the blue of your shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of neutrals and whites. You’re talking to one of the faculty spouses, nodding your head and laughing. There’s a glass of pink lemonade in your hands, your hair falls around you as if you’re holding a secret within your chest.
Jonathan yearns for you to be by your side again, to smell the perfume he bought for your six-month anniversary, the one you always spray into the crook of your neck because that’s always where he likes to press his face whenever he’s deep in thought.
As if on cue, the conversation dies down and you drift back to his side.
He marvels at how easily you’ve managed to fit yourself into this new crowd, how you laugh as the department fart tells you some lame joke that he’s probably told millions of others before you. You brush it off with grace and ease, I’ll talk to you soon, alright?
It had taken him almost five years before he’d mastered that skill. The gentle brush off that made the other feel like you were doing them a favour.
He loves you, that much he knows for sure.
After the storm cloud of Mira and the past twenty years of his life had passed, he’d met you. As simple as that, as if the universe was only waiting for him before they let him hold onto the rest of his life like a delicate crystal glass.
“Hi,” you come up close to him and Jonathan can smell your perfume and the strawberries on your breath. He wonders if he’ll be able to taste your drink if he kisses you long enough.
He also wonders, as an addendum, how quickly he would lose his position if he did that. Despite all the shouting the university did about being progressive and open-minded, the tenured faculty members were still dreadfully hard-headed, old-fashioned.
Jonathan supposes that he was too. Maybe he still is, simply by nature of his daily proximity to him on the same floor of the social sciences building, crumbling at the seams since the last of its renovations in the seventies.
“Hi,” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close to him. There’s a glass of whiskey in his other hand that he doesn’t care much for anymore now that you’re here. He kisses the side of your head, brushes away some of your hair from your temple, “Enjoying yourself?”
You giggle, it rings out like a fairybell. You lean up close to him and murmur in his ear, “You work with some very strange people.”
He can’t help but laugh at that, turning his head to meet your sparkling eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I do.”
“Very strange,” you muse again, looking out across the room. “And I thought you were the strange one.”
That hits him in a funny way he wasn’t planning on it doing. He remembers once in high school his cross country running coach said she’d stepped, wearing thick-soled hiking shoes, on a pebble the wrong way and ended up having to go to physio for six months.
He supposes he feels a little like that pulled muscle.
He hums, tries to push down the blow you’d struck at him without realising it.
“Strange?”
“Mmhm,” your fingers drift around his waist and rest on top of his tummy, the one Ava had pointed out the other day in passing. “Strange, yeah. You got the whole, mysterious, hot, brooding professor thing going for you.”
“And that’s strange to you?”
You shrug. Jonathan feels the heat of your gaze against his face and he doesn’t feel like turning to meet it. Instead, he favours the sharp burn of whiskey. He ended up with a glass in his hand because some snot-nose had offered to pour him a drink and he’d been too much of a pushover and too concerned about what other people thought of him to say he preferred a red wine.
You’re never like that.
You were never like him; either because that’s who you were at your core, or because you’d manage to escape the way academia chipped away at one’s soul, until there was an empty, arthritis-ridden husk of a person by the time they reached tenure.
Opposites did attract, he supposes.
You were different from him. You weren’t afraid to drink the pink lemonade that had been left out for the few kids running around in the back garden, you weren’t afraid to call him weird if that’s what you thought of him.
Jonathan wonders why it took you so long to say it to him.
He’s about to try and pry the answer out of you when someone else approaches the two of you together. A newly-tenured professor whom Jonathan never really did get along with, particularly when he was working his post-doctorate and the guy had picked up an obnoxious habit of hanging around the kitchen coffee-maker and smacking his gum as loud as he could.
There couldn’t have been anyone worse that could have showed up at the time.
“Jonathan!”
Something inside him curls into himself at the thought, and as if you could feel it, your arm wraps around him a little tighter.
The man’s trying to make some small talk, the bare bones of it before he surely starts to boast of himself and his students and the latest hotshot fund he got because of his new tenure.
“Hi,” you smile at him sweetly and make a green little sprout of something bad shoot up inside his stomach, a bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat. You introduce yourself as Jonathan’s partner and are just about to move to go away when he speaks up again, cutting you short.
“I liked Mina more, Levy,” he grins and shows off his teeth like a predator. Against the off-white of his linen suit, they look even whiter, standing out like a sign against his tanned skin. “Shame you two had to end it the way you did.”
Jonathan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t know how things ended with Mira. That it’s just another poke at him and his life to get a rise out of him.
You smile at the guy again, there’s a sharper edge to it. His prickly rose. “Well, if you’ll excuse us.”
Then you’re guiding him away from the stuffy room and towards a bench against the side of the house. There’s a full view of the backyard, the sloping apple tree and whispering aspens all around, the toddlers playing tag in shrill shrieks.
He sits down with a low exhale, you follow beside him, slouching and shucking off your shoes. “Christ,” you mutter under your breath.
It’s probably the most genuine thing he’s heard all afternoon and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, sorry.”
“You deal with that everyday?” It sounds like you’re pitying him. He wonders if that’s ever what Mira thought of him whenever he took her to these events. If she ever raised her eyebrows in surprise at each precise way you had to deal with everyone in the department.
He swallows back his thoughts and nods, “More or less.”
“Jonathan,” you shift and face him again. Still, he can’t bear to look at you anymore. Strange and Mira have started to float around his head like a crib mobile. “I…and you…” the rest of your words are lost to your breath as you turn around again, swearing quietly before reaching for his drink and taking a sip.
He likes how your lips were on the same place where his was.
The alcohol burns your throat and you grimace at him, “I didn’t know you liked whiskey.”
“I don’t.”
“Huh,” you seemed to have heard something stitched and laced into his words that he hadn’t noticed he’d put there in the first place.
You weren’t much of a drinker. Yet another thing that Jonathan noticed when he started dating you. At New Years’ you had some champagne, small sips whenever you clinked glasses with the people around you before you’d pass your flute onto him to finish.
Now that he thinks about it, that may have been your first sip of whiskey ever.
Quite early on, once he’d taken you out on your fifth date and it was shaping out to be something serious like a marble statue carving, Jonathan had cracked open his ribs and showed you the bleeding insides of him.
You’d taken some steps together quickly, probably too quickly if it meant that he doesn’t know now if you’ve ever had spirits before.
That had been another thing he’d noticed when he’d started dating again, seriously and for real this time. Twenty years with a person leads to a tremendous collection of trivial information that he’s not sure he’ll ever fully be rid of again.
It was strange to sit across from someone at dinner and not know how they took their coffee, what side of the bed they liked to sleep on, what order they unloaded the dishwasher and if they had a dishwasher anyways because the renting market is growing out of control.
“Did you like it?” he asks suddenly, hoping to catch onto a trivial fact of yours, like collecting baseball cards or butterflies with a net.
“Hm? Oh,” you look down at the whiskey glass and shake your head, handing it back to him. “Not really my thing.”
Something still nags at him. Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. You’re the only sober one out of all the guests. Even the host himself is growing rosy and red. It didn’t really look good to see that all your partner’s coworkers were borderline alcoholics, that they dealt with a tremendous amount of repressed trauma and stress and didn’t seek any help for it because of the size of their egos.
Right then and there he vows to do better for you. He throws the rest of his drink out onto the garden, sets the glass down on the wooden bench with a heavy thud of well made crystal.
“Do you really think me strange?” he asks you suddenly. Finally, after a long while, he meets your eye.
“I…well,” you shrug and take in a slow breath. “Yeah, in certain ways. I think I do.”
“I see.”
Your words imbed themselves into his skin like shrapnel.
“But…I don’t have a PhD, I can’t really…” you let out a breath and look out at the garden and the children playing. “Besides, I haven’t been divorced…I haven’t been in your shoes.”
“I trust your opinion of me.”
“It’s not that I think you’re strange necessarily,” you gesture back to the house and the rattle of chatter that keeps growing louder with each drink getting poured. “I…this is all very new to me. And I’m trying to understand what it’s like for you.”
Jonathan starts to smile, “And how’s that going?”
“Not very well,” you laugh and run your thumb against the rim of your glass. “I just drank whiskey for the first time.”
He starts to laugh as well, and wrapping his arm around you, he pulls you into the side of his body. His other hand comes and takes your lemonade from your hands, sipping from it as well.
It tastes like his childhood and hot summer evenings spent with his mother and his aunt, listening to gossip he shouldn’t have been listening to as their nimble fingers worked away with their knitting needles.
“Do you wanna go home now?”
“You still need to show face,” you muse quietly, tracing the outer seam of his pants with your finger. “They’re probably already starting to wonder where you’ve gone off to, and it’s going to hurt their frail little egos.”
He barks out a laugh, and kisses the crown of your head, “God, I love you.”
“I do too,” he hears the smile in your voice and it goes straight into his chest, wraps a couple pieces of his heart together and puts them back into place. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll entertain myself.”
Jonathan kisses you this time, properly, the way he wanted to. Your fingers run through his beard and trace his jawline all the way around his ears and back down.
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.
