valentine's day hcs with a handful of oscar isaac characters!! a little bit of an nsfw warning for some of them <3
⊰ steven grant ⊱
he makes such a big of it!! he makes sure he does all the stereotypical valentine's day things a good boyfriend does
chocolates, flowers, date plans, a cute little teddy bear, & even a nicely-wrapped gift
spending your time together & intentionally focusing on the romance between you two just reminds you how much you really adore him
he's the sweetest man on earth, you're sure of it & you never want to be with anyone else
steven tears up if you give him any kind of thoughtful gifts or fun surprises in return
he's very rarely had someone plan a surprise for him before, never for valentine's day
if the surprise has to do with going back to his place & pulling him into bed then he might need a little push from one of the other voices in his head
...bc his eyes are about to pop out of his skull & he's itching to reach for you
steven barely believes that this is his reality, especially since he used to wonder how he'd ever be in a relationship with his condition
but he feels safe & secure with you beside him, like no matter what happens you'll be right there for him & he knows he feels the same for you
⊰ marc spector ⊱
he tries to invoke more of Steven's energy for the holiday bc you deserve that kind of overt affection
marc knows he's not the best at it but he makes himself try for you & starts with material things
the gift is something you mentioned wanting a long while ago that makes your eyes soften & he knows he nailed this part of the day
its encouraging, enough to help marc express himself with his words a little more freely after he has some coffee
he also expresses his sentiments through physical touch, holding you pressed to him all day long
you watch movies together, go out to lunch, walk around the park, & make dinner together - still with him keeping at least a hand on you throughout
he's overwhelmed by the way you take care of him & all that you do that reminds him of the fact
especially when he thinks about his baggage & the other personalities, all the things you didnt sign up to deal with that you've stayed through
marc gets a little teary when he thinks about it & you rush over to bring your arms around him, pulling his face to your shoulder to comfort him
he has the gall to apologize. for being emotional. you interject & reassure him that it's normal, that you're there for him, etc. & he just feels more in love
⊰ jake lockley ⊱
well he isnt exactly traditionally romantic but hes a passionate man who wants to prove himself to you, especially with an excuse to do so
jake starts off in bed, putting against you until you drowsily ask him to just get on with it & fuck he delivers - even first thing in the morning
while you're feeling brain dead, he gets your breakfast ready & sets up a nice bath for you
he'll even carry you right to the steaming water if you ask nicely & bat those pretty eyes at him
when you leave the bath, Jake insists on having you lie down over the (clean) sheets so he can give you a solid massage & get out all your tension
his lips trail down your spine & you know you're in dangerous territory again, but jake doesnt try anything - he lets you up to get dressed
the whole day he's basically edging himself with all the affection he giving you, running his hands over you or kissing on you almost constantly
jake wants you itching as bad as he is by the end of the evening & he's oh-so-serious while he's making you dinner so you have to keep your hands off
by the end of it, youre pouncing on him before he can clear away the dishes & jake is smirking wide while submitting to you sweeping him away
he loves when you get to this point - its his reward after all the effort to see you expressing how much you love him & how bad you want him
⊰ poe dameron ⊱
big loverboy, he's got hearts in his eyes & doesnt let you out of his arms allllllllll day
sets up a whole ass picnic for you in a private, pretty place away from the base so you can feel like you've escaped from everyone for just a little while
you're surprised poe managed to hide all of his planning around this from you, usually you can see right through him
he uses the quiet time to thank you for loving him through his flaws & for being patient with him being out on missions all the time
so with a holiday dedicated to love, poe wants to focus the whole day on on being with you to make up for all those times & make you feel appreciated
but in a gentleman way!!! the point is love & romance, which neither of you usually have extra time/energy for day to day
you're definitely much more relaxed out in the nature, so is poe - laying on his back while you weave wildflowers through his curls
in the evening he'll take you up in his ship to see all the stars & the watercolors of the sky while the suns are setting
the view always takes your breath away & you kiss him gratefully, though you're surprised when he takes you up higher then goes racing off elsewhere
poe takes you to a planet you've never been to, one thats lush with foliage & scant with people - just to spend a week exactly as you spent the holiday
⊰ jonathan levy ⊱
oh he's got a heart-shaped card ready for you when you wake up, filled with some flowery poetry he got from one of the million books he has
you read through it & jonathan brings in breakfast just as soon as you finish the card, sneaking under the sheets with you
he really does try his best to keep everything pg, to be the big softie he is for you & also to keep himself comfortable without the pressure for more
but he has this problem of not being able to hold back when it comes to you
it starts as just a normal, innocent little kiss from you, then he leans in for another one but it's hungrier & neither of you wants to move away
when he shifts up over you, Jonathan keeps kissing all across your face & almost bashfully grinding his hips against yours
you pull him closer & gently hold his face, running your fingers across his thick hair but let him control the way things escalate
jonathan whimpers so damn pretty that you cant even think of anything else, meanwhile he's trying not to cum in his pajama pants
he keeps going slow though, doesnt pull them away, & goes down on you instead to keep himself on the edge a little longer
you still feel him humping the mattress while he does it & refuse to let him out of bed after the first round - not that he even tries to
⊰ leto atreides ⊱
the duke's schedule & yours are cleared so both of you can spend the entire day together
it still takes him a while to loosen up & feel reprieve from not having the pressure of meetings, speeches, or councils in his day
but leto arranged for this to happen & he planned a few gifts for you, so he has a makeshift schedule to keep a little normalcy
he's very proper & very busy but leto still knows you quite well, so each of his gifts are priceless in their sentimental & fiscal value
jewelry pieces crafted just for you, favorite things from your home planet, a historic piece of art you once mentioned loving
leto has your favorite dishes prepared & brought out to the courtyard for your meals, letting you direct what you would like to do with him during the day
in the evening, its as if you both disappear from the face of the planet in your shared chambers & leto turns into a princely gomez addams
lips kissing up the length of your arm, the sweetest words falling from his lips in every language he knows, & lighting every nerve in your body on fire 8
leto always pays extra attention to your abdomen bc he has a breeding kink he would absolutely not confess to outside the room
he'll also request you put on some of the fine silks & jewelry he gifted you earlier, to see a mark of himself on you in yet another way
⊰ anselm vogelweide ⊱
when you wake up, he's already awake beside you & greets you with a sweet little kiss to your temple
anselm struggled to disconnect from you but he insisted on it - there were other things he wished to get to first
he presents you with a handwritten letter first, vanishing from the room while you were reading it
within his lovely scrolls of text you read professions of love, followed by instructions for how to track him down
his gifts for you were dispersed across his castle &, though you figured he'd just be hiding in the refurbished sex dungeon basement, you went along with the game
it was classic anselm - scheming something up to excite you & slwoly building up your anticipation
when you reached the hiding spot of the first gift based on the clues in his letter, you found aphrodisiac chocolates stashed behind a vase of your favorite flowers
as well as another handwritten note hinting at where the next one was & so the game continued, for fourteen total gifts
your suspicion of where he was hiding had been right - he was in the basement
bare before your eyes, laid out over a platform, & bound by his limbs - waiting for you to do just as you please with your favorite present
⊰ nathan bateman ⊱
he's not a valentine's day kind of guy, but he does make a valiant attempt to celebrate with you in his remote house
nathan does get a few things delivered via helicopter for you, your favorite candy & a handful of other things that seemed appropriate
he intention behind the holiday doesn't necessarily make him softer & sappier, but it does change him a little
overall, less of a difficult person & definitely more present in your vicinity than on a normal day
it helps him be more courageous in talking to you about his sentiments, as unbelievable as it might be
nathan talks through his memories with you, not exactly in a sappy way but in a loving, reminiscent kind of way
you've known him for long enough to know what he means by it, to understand the underlying messaging
the two of you spend the afternoon hiking across his property together
he held your hand as you walked across the creek, kissing the back of it once you got to the other side
you spent the evening dancing together, meaayyybe under the influence & laughing uncontrollably in a way that was surprisingly innocent for nathan
⊰ santiago garcia ⊱
it takes some mental preparation for santi to get into the lovey-dovey type of mood but he softens up eventually
dont get me wrong, he has flowers & breakfast ready for you as soon as your awake but he struggles to express himself in words to you
santiago cant help himself, though, when you give him his valentine's gift
he all but falls apart & needs to take a breath before telling you explicitly how much he loves you
there's a bit of guilt in his eyes & he hangs his head when he tells you that he knows he doesnt tell you how much he loves you often enough
santi tries to make up for it in the moment, starting off slow in recounting all the moments that made him realize or reminded him that he loved you
then it pours out of him more freely, until you have to interrupt him with a kiss to his lips as a reciprocation of everything he's been saying
he pulled you up onto his lap after that, lying down beneath you to savor the feeling of your warmth & weight on top of his body
the feeling comforts him, you always manage to comfort him with your words & actions in a way he never thought he was worthy of
it makes him feel like he... owes you for it, forever, even though he knows you don't feel that way
santiago knows he can't quite give you everything - even though you more than deserve it - but he tries his best for you & to show you he loves you
⊰ laurent leclaire ⊱
he's very showy & vocal in his affections, especially so when he has an excuse to be extra affectionate - like a holiday
flowery words greet you at the start of the day, along with several kisses trailing from your cheek to your collar
in an unexpected bout of self-control, laurent does disconnect from you & guides you to your feet with the promise of a few surprises
he takes you out on a walk in a quiet, grassy area & lays you out over the soft earth to slide between your thighs
as you soon figure out, laurent's made it his mission to sneak around & have you in any place he can manage out in the open
when you reach his studio space, his colorful paints & paintbrushes end up swirled across your skin in a very modernistic masterpiece
then he makes you cum as he delicately cleanses your skin of the oil paints
your legs are trembling by the time you get home, enough that laurent laughs at your state & chivalrously half-carries you under his arm
he takes you out to dinner in the evening, touching you from under the tablecloth & even still you managed to gain a bit of energy
once you make it back home, you give laurent a taste of his own medicine & shove him against the door with your lips glued to his smiling pair
can you show a little discipline? (professor!jonathan levy x m!reader)
pairing: professor! jonathan levy (oscar isaac) x male cinema student reader
summary: refusing to accept a mediocre grade in your Cinema History class, you go to Professor Levy's film-reel-filled office to have a talk about the legacy of American independent cinema. A heated argument about Cassavetes quickly escalates when you lock the door and turn his own 16mm camera against him. He then shows you the only way intellectual arrogance can meet absolute authority its through raw and severe discipline. (basically you are an intellectual spoiled brat and your professor fucks your attitude out of you)
word count: 4,8k
tags: 18+ (mdni), dark academia-ish vibe, unspecified age gap, professor/student relationship, power imbalance, corporal punishment, cnc, spanking, bareback rough sex, camera sex, breeding
a/n: had this ideia in mind ever since i watched oscar's criterion closet video, a few years ago i was obsessed with cassavetes films so seeing him talking about it got me thinking...things.... i am not a cinema scholar im just going through a robert redford phase so i had to mention him, im not sure if their discussion makes sense in real world conversations lol. the title is taken off the song "cherry tree" by the national.
professor levy moves down the rows the way he always does, exams stacked against his forearm like he's distributing something heavier than paper. he doesn't call names. he just sets each exam face-down in front of its owner, a small mercy you've never once needed before today.
yours lands with the same quiet thud as everyone else's. you don't flip it immediately — there's a ritual to this, a practiced half-second of nonchalance, because you are, on a good day, someone who gets exams back with a grade already written into your face before you've seen the number. you let your hand rest on it. you glance at your best friend two seats over, already smiling at her page, and you feel the smile you're about to wear arrive early.
you turn it over.
the number sits at the top in red, and for a full second you don't process it as language. it's just a shape. then it resolves, and something in your chest drops the way it does in the half-second after missing a step you didn't know was there.
this isn't right. this is — you actually look around, like the grade might have been meant for someone else, like professor levy hand had simply slipped on its way down the row. your friend isn't looking at you. nobody is looking at you, which somehow makes it worse, like the universe has already moved on from caring how unfair this is.
you read the comment in the margin. strong writing. argument lacks historical grounding — see notes. three lines below that, circled twice in the kind of red ink that feels personal: cassavetes?
a question mark. he's put a question mark on it, like you've forgotten to do a dish, not like you've failed to understand the foundation of an entire movement you claim to love more than anyone else in this room.
you think: this is a mistake. not your mistake— an error in judgment on his part, a misreading of what you were actually arguing, which was sophisticated, which was about influence in the commercial sense, the sense that actually matters if you want to work in this industry instead of just teaching about it from a tenured distance for thirty years. you said something true and he's penalized you for saying it in a register he doesn't personally enjoy.
by the time class ends, you've rebuilt the whole argument in your head. you're not going to ask him to reconsider the grade. you're going to explain it to him — calmly, generously, the way you'd explain something to someone who'd clearly missed a screening everyone else had seen.
you gather your things, already rehearsing the sentence you'll open with, already enjoying, in advance, the moment his face will have to recalibrate around how reasonable you are.
you don't notice, gathering your bag, that your hands are still faintly unsteady. you'd call it impatience, if anyone asked. nobody asks.
later that afternoon…
the walk from your dorm to professor levy's office takes twelve minutes if you go the normal way, but you take the long way, past the building with the good light, because you want the extra seven minutes to get the words right.
you've already decided how this goes.
you won't open with the grade — that would make it sound like a complaint, and you are not complaining, you are correcting the record. you'll open with something disarming. professor, can i ask you something — not about my grade, about the question itself. something that signals you're above the petty mechanics of points and percentages, that you're here for the discourse, the way directors you admire are always describing themselves as being here for the work and not the awards, right up until they're holding the award.
you picture his face when you say redford's name properly contextualized — not as a stammering plea but as an argument, clean and structural, the kind of thing that makes a professor sit back slightly in his chair. you've seen him do that for other students. sit back, re-cross his legs, say go on in a tone that means you've earned another sentence.
you want that tone directed at you.
you knock on professor levy's door the way you do everything — like the world owes you the courtesy of being right before you've finished proving it. he says come in in that voice he uses for everyone, patient in a way that has started, lately, to feel like an insult aimed specifically at you.
the office smells like old cinema in decay: faded celluloid, dusty projector reels, and the faint metallic tang of aged film stock. beneath that lies the heavier scent of worn wool carpet. and the place has the particular musty sweetness that clings to paperbacks read and reread until their spines cracked. it’s the smell of rooms where films were discussed, not merely watched.
behind him, the shelves sag under the weight of cinema history you’ve skimmed for citations rather than absorbed for love — bazin, kracauer, a dog-eared sight & sound from a year you weren’t alive for. yellowing posters for shadows and faces curl at the edges on the walls, their corners pinned with rusting thumbtacks. stacks of 16mm film cans and battered vhs tapes lean precariously beside them, some labeled in levy’s precise handwriting.
you sit before he asks you to. you've decided, walking over, that this will be quick.
"about the exam," you say, and you make it sound like a favor you're doing him, pointing out his mistake before it becomes embarrassing for everyone. "i think there's an error in the grading."
he folds his hands. doesn't look surprised. you hate that he doesn't look surprised.
"you didn't mention cassavetes," he says, before you can even finish building your case. "the question was about american independent cinema's break from studio aesthetics. you wrote two pages on auteur theory and didn't once mention the man most historians credit as its origin point."
"i wrote about redford," you say. you hear, even as you say it, how it sounds — defensive in a way you didn't plan for. you push past it. "redford basically built american independent film. sundance exists because of him. without sundance, there's no indie scene, no soderbergh, no — "
"redford founded an institution," he says. still calm. calm in the way that makes you want to throw something. "cassavetes founded a practice. shadows was shot with his own money, actors improvising because he couldn't afford enough script pages. that's twenty years before redford's festival exists to give it a stage."
you feel the argument tilting under you, the floor of it no longer where you left it.
"i mentioned other directors," you try "i talked about wes anderson. about the influence of—"
"wes anderson is a citation of an aesthetic," he says, not unkindly, which is somehow worse than if he'd been cruel about it. "symmetry, color palettes, a very specific kind of whimsy. none of that is independent cinema breaking from the studio system — if anything, it's the studio system learning to package eccentricity. i asked you to find the root. you gave me the branches and called them the tree."
"i've seen it," you say, before you can stop yourself.
levy looks up properly for the first time since you sat down.
"seen what?"
"a woman under the influence." the words come out faster than you meant them to, almost defensive, like a confession you didn't plan on making. "before the exam. i watched it months ago, for a different class."
something shifts in his face — not surprise, exactly, more like a man recalculating a sum he thought he already understood.
"then you know," he says slowly, "what gena rowlands does in that kitchen scene. you know what it cost him to shoot that on the budget he had."
"i know," you say.
"so why isn't he in your exam?"
you don't have an answer ready for this one, because you'd never imagined needing it — you'd built your whole defense around not having seen enough, around a gap in the syllabus, around levy simply not understanding how the industry actually works now. you hadn't accounted for the possibility that he'd ask why you'd seen it and still left it out.
"i didn't think — " you start, and hear immediately that this is the wrong sentence, because you didn't think is exactly what got you here. you try again. "i didn't think he was the kind of director you build an argument on. he's not… influential."
"you watched a man pour his own money into a film about a woman falling apart, shot it like he was afraid the moment would disappear if he blinked, and your conclusion was that he doesn't matter because he doesn't come up enough at parties." levy isn't raising his voice. that's the part that gets you. "you had the knowledge. you just didn't think it was worth using."
you want to say something about scorsese, about how influence isn't the same as quality, about how nobody under thirty has actually sat through faces without checking their phone — but the words arrive in your mouth already sounding like what they are: a kid who'd done the reading and decided the reading didn't count, dressed up as a kid with a differing critical perspective. the smugness you walked in with is gone, replaced by something thinner, more pleading.
"can't i just — redo the section on him? i clearly know the films. i just didn't —"
"you didn't think he mattered enough to mention," he says. "that's not a citation problem. that's a hierarchy problem. you've decided which directors deserve your attention based on who gets talked about at parties, and cassavetes doesn't come up at parties. he comes up in this room."
levy reaches for your exam to hand it back across the desk.
you don't take it.
"i'm not walking out of here with this grade"
"i guess you are," he says, and for the first time there's an edge under the patience "a grade dispute isn't resolved by who's willing to sit in a chair the longest"
the words hang between you like a challenge neither of you expected to voice. levy pauses, one hand still on the edge of your exam. for the first time, something flickers across his face that isn't calibrated patience. annoyance, maybe. or the faintest edge of recognition: that he has misjudged you.
you stand. the chair scrapes back against the worn oak floor. outside, the corridor is quiet; the department emptied hours ago.
you move to the door before the thought has fully formed. the deadbolt slides home with a heavy, metallic click that seems to echo off every book spine in the room.
levy straightens fully now. "hey, what you think you are doing?"
you don't answer. your eyes go back to his desk. resting on the cluttered shelf behind his desk, half-buried beneath a leaning tower of marked scripts there is a small 16mm film camera.
you cross the room slowly and lift it. it’s heavier than it looks, solid in your hands, the leather strap worn smooth by decades of someone else’s conviction.
your thumb brushes the switch. the mechanism hums to life with a low whir.
"you know what this is?" your voice is soft, almost affectionate, the same tone you once used when you still wanted his approval. you raise the camera to your eye, framing him through the viewfinder. your professor looks smaller like this. "this is your cassavetes moment, professor. no script. no budget. just you, improvising your way through a grad student having a worse night than you expected," you say teasing.
you circle the desk slightly, keeping him centered in the frame. through the lens, you watch the subtle tightening at the corner of his mouth, the way his fingers press into the edge of the wooden desk. the late light catches the faint sheen forming at his hairline. perfect composition.
"let's smile for the camera and call it a film, professor. just like cassavetes."
levy’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t lunge for the camera. not yet.
the calm is still there, stretched taut now.
"turn it off," he says, quiet and low.
you don’t. instead you step closer.
"raw emotion. unrehearsed truth. isn’t that what you lecture about? the purity of the moment when the performance cracks?"
“you’re not as clever as you believe you are, boy,” he says, quiet and even, each word measured. “and right now you are testing something in me that you do not want to find the bottom of.”
the red light on the camera keeps blinking. you hold the frame steady, but something in your chest tightens at the calm certainty in his tone.
“cassavetes knew desperation. he knew what it cost to risk everything because there was nothing left. you? you’re a bright boy who got his first c and decided the world needed a performance.”
“that is not art. that is a child breaking the frame because the shot didn’t flatter him.”
you want to tell him he's wrong. you open your mouth around the shape of an argument and find it empty, every line you've ever used on a professor or your parents is suddenly useless in a room this quiet.
“keep filming. waste both our time. learn the hard way that real directors master their impulses before they point the lens at anyone else.”
he rises slowly from the chair, not toward you, but around the desk. his calm has not broken. you keep the camera trained on him, yet with every inch he closes, the viewfinder feels heavier in your hands.
“discipline, boy.” the word lands like a quiet verdict. “that’s what you’re missing. you think cassavetes was chaos. you think he pointed a camera and let madness pour out. no. he had discipline.”
“discipline,” he repeats, almost tasting the word, “is knowing exactly how much pressure to apply… and when to hold back. it’s understanding that desire—real desire—only becomes art when you can master it” his gaze shifts from you to the camera lens, addressing it directly, as if lecturing an unseen audience.
the distance between you shrinks. you keep the camera up, but your grip has grown unsteady. he stops barely two feet away.
then, with deliberate calm, he reaches up and closes his hand around the camera. he simply takes it from you—the way one removes a dangerous object from a child’s grasp. the recording light stays on as he sets the camera gently on the corner of his desk, still running, now pointed at both of you.
you don’t resist. you should, but the weight of his authority and the thick tension in the room have pinned your tongue.
“come here, boy”
his voice is quiet, almost paternal, the same measured tone he uses when correcting a misread shot in class. one hand settles firmly on your shoulder, guiding you as he turns you toward the heavy oak desk and leans you forward until your chest and palms press against the cool wood, scattered papers crinkling beneath you. the position arches your back naturally, leaving you exposed.
“you want to learn what real discipline costs?” the flat of his hand rests on the small of your back, steadying you. then it moves lower.
the first smack lands sharp and precise across your ass—hard enough to jolt a gasp out of you, but perfectly controlled.
the sound cracks through the quiet office like a ruler against a desk in some long-forgotten classroom.
the sting blooms hot across your skin, sinking deeper with every controlled impact. your fingers curl against the edge of the desk, breath coming shorter.
“this,” he says, voice low and even as another firm smack lands, “is discipline. a lesson delivered properly, the old way. the way boys who forget their place used to learn it.”
he pauses, hand resting warmly over the heated fabric of your trousers, rubbing slow circles that somehow make the burn settle deeper into your body. you can feel him standing close behind you, the heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing.
“tell me, boy” he continues, almost conversational, as if you weren’t bent over his desk with your ass smarting under his palm, “has anyone ever taught you properly before? or have you spent your whole life getting away with pretty arguments?”
another strike. harder. the burn spreads, throbbing in time with your heartbeat.
you hate how quickly it undoes you—how each measured slap peels away another layer of your carefully constructed superiority.
you’re not some sniveling freshman. you don’t get punished. you win arguments. you charm. you walk out on top.
yet here you are, bent over his desk like a recalcitrant schoolboy.
you cheek is pressed on scattered papers, breathing hard. a defiant, breathless laugh escapes you—bratty, unsteady, still trying to sound in control.
“you think this makes you impressive? spanking a student like some victorian headmaster? pathetic.” the words are sharp, but they come out smaller than you want.
the next smack lands harder, right where the previous ones had already tenderized the skin. a choked sound slips from your throat before you can swallow it.
you clench your jaw, refusing to whimper, but your hips shift involuntarily against the desk—equal parts trying to escape the next blow and pressing harder into the wood.
“cassavetes shot the final scene of husbands in 1970 with a handheld camera and three actors so drunk they could barely stand,” he says quietly, matter-of-fact, as if delivering a footnote in lecture. “he kept rolling long after the scripted pages ran out. when the studio demanded he cut the footage for being ‘indecent and undisciplined,’ he told them the discipline was in knowing when not to cut. they released it anyway.”
his fingers hook into the waistband of your trousers and underwear in one smooth motion. he pulls them down to mid-thigh without ceremony, exposing you completely. the cool air of the office hits your heated skin like a second shock.
you’re half-hard, cock brushing against the edge of the desk. the humiliation of it burns hotter than any slap.
professor levy notices—of course he does. he continues as though the exposure changes nothing.
“victorian headmasters struck out of temper or cruelty. i strike because you have earned correction and because you clearly need it.”
he brings his palm down again, skin on bare skin now. the crack is sharper, the sting brighter. you jerk forward against the desk, your cock hardening fully despite yourself, trapped between the wood and your own stomach. another smack lands, then another. methodical. each one placed with the precision.
“you may keep your attitude if it comforts you. but this—” his palm comes down again “is your professor deciding how this scene ends.”
the camera on the desk keeps rolling, its light blinking steadily, capturing every twitch of your hips, every shallow breath, and the unmistakable way you’re failing to hide how painfully, shamefully hard you are.
levy steps closer until the front of his trousers presses firmly against your bare, throbbing ass. you feel it immediately — the thick, heavy line of his erection through the fabric.
he simply lets you feel it. a quiet demonstration of exactly who holds the power in this room. the heat of him against your freshly punished skin makes your breath catch.
then you hear the quiet metallic sound of his belt buckle opening, followed by the slow rasp of his zipper. he pushes his trousers and underwear down slowly.
the heat of his bare cock settles heavily between your stinging cheeks a second later— hard and heavy.
your cock throbs painfully against the desk, leaking steadily onto the polished wood. you bite your lip hard enough to taste blood, refusing to moan.
now, he keeps one hand firmly on your hip, holding you in place as he rocks against you, teasing the head of his cock over your hole. just pressing, circling, withdrawing. every movement is measured, the same way he probably centers a book or adjusts a frame before beginning a difficult lecture. teaching wasn’t a job to him. it was a rite.
levy reaches forward and lifts the still-running camera from the desk with the same deliberate care he uses for everything else.
he holds it in one hand, angling it down so the lens captures the scene from above — your flushed face pressed to the blotter, your bare ass raised, his thick cock resting heavy between your cheeks.
“since you’re so fond of raw footage,” he says, voice low and perfectly even, “we’ll do this properly. like scorsese with dylan in don’t look back.”
you feel him gather spit in his mouth. a warm, slick glob lands directly on your hole. (keep THIS in mind while reading)
he spreads it with the head of his cock, slowly pressing the tip against your tight ring of muscle. the stretch is immediate, burning with pressure and the unrelenting weight of his authority.
“breathe,” he instructs quietly.
then he pushes it in.
inch by inch, the thick head of his cock forces its way past the resistance, opening you up. you grip the edge of the desk hard, a broken sound escaping your throat despite every effort to stay quiet. he continues to sink deeper into your body with patient, controlled strokes, feeding you every thick inch while the camera watches from above.
“nice angle, boy,” he says softly. “this is your cassavetes moment after all”
every thrust rocks you against the desk, dragging your leaking cock over the polished wood. the burn in your ass, the sting from his earlier spanking, and the overwhelming fullness of him inside you blend into something dizzying and shameful.
you hate how good it feels.
the sound of skin meeting skin filling the quiet office. your punished cheeks burn hotter with every impact, the sting from his earlier spanking reigniting with fresh heat.
his free hand reaches around and wraps around your aching cock — not gently. he strokes you in firm, deliberate pulls, thumb brushing over the leaking head on every upstroke, matching the brutal rhythm of his hips.
every hard snap of his hips forces another broken gasp, another involuntary clench around his thick cock. he angles his thrusts perfectly, dragging over that spot inside you until your legs start to shake.
“look at you,” he murmurs, stroking you faster, tighter, while still somehow keeping the camera steady. “so hard for your professor. leaking all over my desk like you’ve never been touched properly in your life.”
professor levy fucks you with hips slamming against your reddened ass, the sound of his balls slapping your hole echoing off the bookshelves. his hand never stops working your cock — twisting, stroking, teasing the slit with his thumb until you’re nearly sobbing with the need to come.
then he pulls out slowly, leaving you clenching desperately around nothing, aching and humiliatingly empty. before you can draw a full breath, his hands grip your hips with calm authority and flip you over. he guides you back until your ass rests right on the edge of the heavy oak desk, then presses a firm hand to your chest, laying you down on your back across the scattered papers and blotter.
“come here, boy,” he says, voice low and steady. he repositions the camera above you, framing your flushed, defiant face perfectly. “let’s get a nice shot of that bratty little face.”
you try to glare up at him, but another deep thrust drags a broken moan from your throat. he hooks your legs over his arms, spreads you open, and pushes back inside in one smooth thrust. the new angle is more exposing. you’re completely on display — cock hard and leaking against your stomach, face being recorded on film.
he keeps teasing you right to the edge — tightening his grip, then loosening, slowing down whenever you start to tremble — until you’re whimpering desperately between his hand and his cock.
“you’ve been such a demanding little brat all semester,” he murmurs, still stroking your cock with slow, torturous pulls. “that’s how this scene ends, boy. not when you want it — when i decide.”
only when he’s ready does levy let himself go.
he buries himself into you with a low, controlled groan and cums deep inside. the first pulse is so powerful you actually feel it like a physical blow, a thick, scorching jet of cum flooding deep, thick and hot. pulse after pulse flooding your insides while the camera captures every second of your wrecked expression. each throb of his cock pushing another generous spurt deep into you. you can feel every single surge, the sheer volume of his release filling you until it’s almost too much, until you’re clenching helplessly around the thick length stretching you open.
the feeling of your professor coming so deep inside you finally pushes you over the edge. you come with a shattered, humiliating cry, spilling hard across your own stomach and chest while clenching desperately around his cock. levy keeps thrusting slowly through it, milking every drop from both of you, drawing out your orgasm until your legs are shaking and your vision blurs of pleasure.
he angles the camera slightly, filming the mess on your skin, the way his cock stretches you open, and the dazed, broken look on your face.
“there we go,” he says softly, almost tenderly. “raw footage. uncut. exactly how it should be.”
his cock throbs violently inside you, stretching your already abused hole even tighter around the pulsing girth as he empties himself completely. the wet, filthy sound of his cum being forced into you echoes softly with every twitch of his hips.
levy pulls out with deliberate slowness, letting the camera capture the wet, obscene sight of his thick cum beginning to leak from your used hole. he makes a low, satisfied sound and presses the head of his cock back against your entrance, pushing his spend back inside you with a lazy thrust.
“waste nothing,” he murmurs as he slowly fucks his cum deeper. “a good student keeps every lesson inside him.”
he does this twice more — pulling out to film the creamy leak, then sliding back in to stuff it back— until your hole is slic and thoroughly claimed. only then does he step back.
“on your knees, boy.”
the command is quiet, but absolute. your legs are still trembling as you slide off the desk and sink down onto the worn oak floor. levy stands over you and guides the head of his glistening cock to your lips.
“clean it. every inch.”
you part your lips and take him into your mouth, tasting the bitter-salt mix of his cum and your own ass. he rests one hand lightly on the back of your head, not forcing, simply guiding you as you suck and lick him clean with long, obedient strokes of your tongue.
“what a filthy, well-disciplined mouth you have.”
you can only obey, eyes watering as you work him thoroughly, sucking every trace of cum from his shaft and balls until he’s completely dry.
when he’s finally satisfied, he pulls out of your mouth and brushes his thumb across your swollen lower lip.
“all that attitude, and you still know exactly where you belong when i put you there.”
the words settle over you like a heavy blanket. for a moment the constant, gnawing panic in your chest. the fear that if you’re not exceptional, if you’re not owed the best grades and special treatment and undivided attention, then you’re nothing — loosens its grip.
being ordinary has always felt like drowning. that’s why you locked the door. that’s why you pushed and provoked and refused to leave. not because you’re arrogant. because the thought of being average, forgettable, just another student in the back row, terrifies you more than any punishment ever could.
“next time you think about disputing a grade… remember how easily you opened up for correction.”
for once, your attitude was drained out of you completely.
the camera gives a soft mechanical click and then whirs to a stop. the red recording light blinks once, twice, and dies. the film has run out.
levy’s fingers thread gently through your hair, almost absentmindedly, as if straightening a frame before the final cut.
Pairing: Jonathan Levy x fem!Reader
Warnings/Tags: Vague mentions of poor sexual encounters, SMUT [18+], inexperienced reader (not a virgin), alcohol consumption, oral (f!receiving), fingering, handjobs, praise kink, overstimulation, squirting, teasing, protected PIV, soft dom!Jonathan, aftercare, Jonathan is a sweet, hot gentleman
Word Count: 8.9k (Only proofread it once)
Summary: Jonathan finds out that your sex life has been less than satisfactory and he takes the matter into his own hands to show you that it can be nice and loving. The boundaries of your friendship go flying out the window.
A/N: I had to write this to mend something in my soul. Hope you enjoy it <3
"Oh my god, she was totally into you!" You laugh with your friend Jonathan. It's late and you're at his house, enjoying some wine and each other's company. The sun has already set, so Jonathan goes to close the blinds for the day, giving you two some privacy.
"She was just being nice," Jonathan chuckles as he turns on some table lamps and adjusts the light curtains. The living room is filled with a warm, almost magical atmosphere which is cosy. As he stands there, you can't help but check him out. He's wearing that brown sweater that looks amazing on him, almost as amazing as the curve of his magnificent rear in black trousers.
"I still think she was into you. Didn't you see the way she ogled you all day?" You insist playfully. The barista at the cafe you went to had been all over Jonathan - understandably so. He is simply too humble to entertain the idea that someone was checking him out. It's kind of endearing actually, how he can't see that.
"Really? Jonathan raises an eyebrow and joins you on the couch. It's comfortable, even when your knees touch. Despite only being friends, there's undeniable chemistry between the two of you that neither of you talk about. However, actions speak louder than words. You won't push Jonathan into anything as it hasn't been too long since he finalized the divorce from Mira.
"Can't blame her," You shrug and take a sip of wine. The wine has certainly softened you around the edges, making you a bit more blunt and bold than usual.
Jonathan keeps looking at you, curiosity and something more intimate swirling in those deep mahogany eyes. He rubs his salt-and-pepper beard as he processes your words, an obvious flirtatious move. He's not stupid. It's only a matter of time before you have to face the chemistry between you that's been kept unspoken for several months now.
You smile, feeling comfortable even though the tension in the room is rising. Not in a bad way. Your heart races a little as you enjoy the way Jonathan looks at you, instead of pushing you away or totally ignoring what you just said.
Damn you, Jonathan thinks and scratches his chin again before covering his mouth with his hand momentarily. It's been months since he divorced Mira and he hasn't had anything serious since. Some girlfriends here and there during the separation. Nothing that felt real, nothing exciting. Then he met you. Jonathan really likes you and he's so scared of fucking things up.
Jonathan clears his throat and asks you something that's been on his mind, "How come you're still single?"
You twirl the wine in the glass and think about your answer. Interestingly, it seems as if Jonathan is fishing for knowledge about your dating life, trying to figure out if you're genuinely available or if something is going on that he's unaware of.
"Have you seen how men treat women nowadays? I don't have time for Tinder dudes or guys who think they can get in my pants after buying me a shitty cocktail," You vent a little. Jonathan is the type of guy you can have deep and honest conversations with. It feels like a safe place to vent about how much dating sucks, at least in your experience.
"Yeah, that's...not good," Jonathan agrees and for a moment he even seems concerned. "Are all of them that bad?"
You scoff and tilt your head, looking at Jonathan with a funny feeling in your chest. "The last guy I dated thought my clit was in my groin."
"What? You've gotta be kidding me." Jonathan's eyes widen in surprise as he hears that.
"I wish," You sigh and giggle, trying not to bring down the mood. It's just frustrating to have so many poor experiences. You want a man to take you and make you feel good for real, to see that it's not just a myth that sex can be mind-blowing.
"Wow," Jonathan says and adjusts his glasses, "I can see how that can make dating seem unappealing. But I assure you, not all of us are that inexperienced or unskilled," Jonathan tries to reassure you. He's confident after ten years of marriage that he can make a woman feel good. It's not that hard.
As you sit there, knees touching, he finds himself thinking about if he could make you feel good. He swallows thickly and tries to push those thoughts away yet the damage is already done. His pants feel a little bit tighter than before which he tries hard to ignore.
"Sometimes I wonder if there's something wrong with me," You confess, taking a moment to be vulnerable with Jonathan.
"What? No," Jonathan says immediately, "I'm sure there's nothing wrong with you. Some guys are just selfish and they don't care about the pleasure of their partners. That doesn't say anything about you," He comforts you and caresses your knee.
Your eyes land on his hand on your knee. It's the smallest touch yet it ignites something within you. It feels nice.
"I'm sorry for venting," You apologize and put the wine glass down on the oak coffee table. Jonathan mirrors your movement, abandoning his glass as well.
"It´s okay. We're friends, you can talk to me about anything," Jonathan smiles softly. Acting as if calling you just a friend doesn't kill him a little bit on the inside.
"I just... I wanna know what it's like to have good sex at least once in my life, you know? Is that really too much to ask for?" You sigh and lean against the sofa, allowing Jonathan's fingers to trace patterns on your thigh. His hand is very slowly hiking up your leg. You're wearing a dress today, which means that there's only a very thin layer of stockings between Jonathan's fingers and your skin.
Jonathan can't believe the words he's hearing. Sure, you guys have talked about relationships and sex before but tonight it feels different. It almost feels like the more you keep talking, the more you're encouraging Jonathan to make a move - and he's more than eager to give you what you need.
"Not at all, sex should be enjoyable," Jonathan murmurs and feels himself getting turned on. It's crazy, this power that you have over him. Jonathan wants to taste you, to touch you, to make you fall apart underneath him and beg him to stop because he's made you come so many times. He wants to be good for you.
"Maybe I just haven't experienced it with the right person yet," You smile softly and somehow find the courage to say it while looking Jonathan in the eye.
Jonathan looks right back at you. He wants to be that person for you but... you're friends. He takes a deep, shaky breath and rests his head against his palm, his other hand still caressing your leg. It's getting harder and harder to deny his feelings and the ever-growing desire for you.
"Maybe not," Jonathan shrugs and glances at your lips. They look so alluring, especially when you smile like that.
You see what he's looking at. Then the room feels a little bit smaller all of a sudden. Everything seems to fade away except for Jonathan. Something invisible seems to be pulling you closer to him, which you only realize once his face is right in front of yours.
"Can I kiss you?" Jonathan asks and cups your cheek, his thumb caressing you gently. He's a little nervous since it's been so long since he last felt like this but it's overshadowed by his excitement and genuine care for you. The last thing he wants is to overstep any boundaries.
You can't believe he asked. That this is happening. After waiting for so long and tiptoeing around each other when it comes to touching and flirting. After so many countless nights of touching yourself to the thought of him, his touch, his scent, the idea of tasting his lips and having his cock spreading you wide open...
"Please," You nod, pleading with him to not waste another second. You've waited too long for this.
That's all he needed to hear. As soon as Jonathan has your consent, he pulls your face even closer to his. Then he presses his lips on yours, softly at first. He closes his eyes and you feel his long lashes tickling your cheeks.
"Mmm," You moan into the kiss and cup his head, pulling him even closer. Jonathan responds by deepening the kiss, touching the back of your head to lock you in, taking your breath away. His other hand squeezes your leg as if he has to hold onto you or else he might be scared you'll drift away. Touching you is a way to ground himself now that he feels like he's floating from pure bliss.
As you pull apart for air, Jonathan rests his forehead against yours. His thumb is still caressing your cheek tenderly, earning another smile from you.
"Hey," You whisper and laugh quietly, feeling overjoyed. You caress his face as well, feeling just how soft his beard feels underneath your fingers.
"Hey," Jonathan responds just as quietly. This moment is tender. You've never been this close and it feels like you can see each other through new lenses, knowing that these feelings are reciprocated. A whole new world has just opened. It's big, it's exciting, it's everything you've waited for.
Jonathan pecks at your lips again, kissing you like he needs it to breathe. You kiss him back, taking it easy at first. Little pecks, tasting his lips and carefully treading your fingers through his dark curls. Jonathan doesn't want to push you too fast. He knows that you're not as experienced as him, which he doesn't mind, but he also doesn't want to spook you by being too sudden.
"Mm-" You moan into the kiss once again, feeling shivers running down your spine. You want him so bad. Jonathan tastes good, like cherry wine and peppermint gum. It feels so natural when you move onto his lap and straddle his thighs. When you do, you feel his bulge through his trousers. As soon as it presses against your skirt, it makes your stomach twist with need and desire.
"Y/N-" Jonathan whispers your name, his hands running down your sides and eventually resting on your hips. It feels so good to have you sitting on his lap, putting pressure against his bulge. It's hard to think straight. Jonathan can't believe he has you sitting on him and kissing him like this.
You smile a little and tease him by moving your hips, wanting to see him squirm beneath you. Seeing him gasp and twitch is like a drug, making you want more.
"Yeah?"
"We don't have to do anything if you don't want to," Jonathan lets you know and he holds your hand in his.
"I want to," You insist and squeeze his hand, "if you want it."
"If I want-... I want you more than you can imagine," Jonathan tells you seriously. He lets go of your hand to hold your chin gently, making you face him, "I want you. Not as a one-night thing, I really care about you."
The way Jonathan says it while looking you right in the eye, while holding you so tenderly, it feels sincere. Your heart beats a little faster. Is this what it's like to get the butterflies everyone always talks about?
"I care about you too," You let him know and lean against his touch, "I've been thinking about what it would be like to be more than friends, to be yours... it makes me so happy, so wet."
Jonathan closes his eyes, resisting a moan as you talk dirty to him. He's getting so hard that it almost hurts. His fingers dig into your hips now.
"Do you really wanna do this?" Jonathan asks again, giving you every opportunity to back out. He doesn't wanna force you into anything.
You nod, feeling a little flustered. It's really happening. There's no way you'd say no now after dreaming of this moment for so long.
"Okay," Jonathan smiles and kisses your lips, unable to get enough of you. "Let's go upstairs. I wanna make you feel good properly, in my bed, not on this couch."
Once you make it upstairs, Jonathan leads you to his bed. His bedroom is neat, smelling of clean linen and a vanilla candle he keeps on the nightstand. It's such a turn-on that he knows how to take care of his home, instead of going home to a guy who barely maintains a tiny apartment.
Jonathan helps you out of your dress, throwing it onto the armchair in the corner. Once you're in bed, he climbs on top of you.
"Mmm...Jonathan," You moan and look at him with lust-darkened eyes. He's kissing your neck, searching for that spot that makes you squirm. Once he finds it, and you squeal as the skin feels so sensitive against his lips, he smirks. Jonathan pins your wrists down and begins to kiss that spot harder, licking and nibbling the skin. His thick beard adds to the sensitivity, brushing against your skin constantly.
"Ohh!" You gasp in shock over just how sensitive it can feel. With every touch, you feel your panties getting wetter and wetter, to the point you're certain that he can smell it. Your thighs begin to tremble from anticipation, your body being awakened nerve by nerve, limb by limb.
"You're so beautiful," Jonathan tells you, allowing his hands to explore your body. His palm cups your breast, feeling you through the bra. His leg separates your legs, trousers pressed against your soft thigh and stockings. Jonathan looks down at your body, taking in the sight he's dreamt of. Everything is so much better in reality compared to his fantasies.
His praise feels sincere. His touch is so intentional and the way he looks at you like you're a priceless painting to be admired, it all leaves you feeling flustered. No one has ever looked at you like this, spent so much time actually admiring you, kissing you, wanting to make you feel good. It's overwhelming in the very best way.
"No need to be shy," Jonathan smiles, "you're gorgeous. I'm so lucky to get a chance to be with you like this," He keeps going, showering you in praise while his hand brushes over the skin of your stomach. He's barely touching you, the tiniest touch giving you goosebumps and making you squirm.
"I need you so bad, Jonathan," You mutter and pout, feeling impatient. He just smiles and dives back down to kiss your neck, peppering kisses all over you until he finds your collarbone. He nibbles your skin carefully and his own hips grind against you ever so slightly.
"You'll have me," Jonathan promises and then traces your slit through your panties, "just let me make you feel good first... there's no rush, honey."
Honey. That term of affection just melts your heart. It's more than thrilling to be close to Jonathan, to feel his fingers teasing your most sensitive area, to have him call you something more than just a friend. You gasp as he feels the wet spot on your panties, feeling a little flustered. What if he thinks you're too wet? Or if he finds you gross?
All those insecurities are washed away when Jonathan looks down between your legs and pulls your panties down. His lips part in surprise and he looks like a man who is staring down at his favourite dessert. He uses two fingers to spread your folds apart and smear your wetness around.
"Oh baby, you're so wet," Jonathan smiles happily and moves further down, eventually nestling between your thighs. He removes his glasses, placing them on the nightstand before getting comfortable.
"I can't wait to taste you," Jonathan groans, holding himself back for just a little bit longer. He doesn't just want you to be wet and ready for him. Jonathan wants you to be so aroused that you're shaking, begging for him, more than ready. He doesn't want to rush anything, to be impatient and end up hurting you. He could never hurt you.
"Please," You plead, not even sure what you're asking for. More of him, his attention, his touch. You bite your lips and look at him, taking in the sight of Jonathan between your legs, transfixed on your wet pussy and teasing those folds with his long fingers.
"So pretty," Jonathan whispers and kisses your inner thigh. His fingers don't push in yet, no. They slide up and down your slit, over your clit and all the way down to your entrance. He circles the entrance, teasing you, but not pushing in. As his fingers slide up, he adds a little pressure on the clit, but never just enough.
"Ohh," A whine escapes your lips, hips jerking up while trying to get more of him.
"Shh, good girl," Jonathan pushes you down by your hips with his free hand, keeping you from squirming too much.
"Please Jonathan," You mewls, needing him more than you thought possible.
"Please what?" Jonathan cocks his head up, his fingers still running up and down your slit, smearing your slickness around your clit. His touch makes your hips jerk from just how sensitive you're getting.
"I need you," You tell him quietly.
"How do you need me? Use your words," Jonathan encourages you. He hasn't touched you before, he needs to know what you like. He wants to know what you like so that he can please you in the best way he can. Besides, he enjoys bringing you out of your shell, getting to know you and teasing you even more.
You feel flustered, even though it's Jonathan and you trust him. Perhaps it's just because no one in the past has ever cared enough to know how you wish to be pleasured. This is new and so, so freeing.
"I... I need your mouth on me," You find the courage to admit, heart racing as you finish that sentence.
"Good," Jonathan praises you for telling him that, wanting you to feel comfortable enough to tell him what's on your mind, what turns you on and makes you feel good. "You're so good for me, you'll get what you want, baby."
Jonathan grabs your thighs, spreading your legs even more than they already are. Then he licks a stripe up your slit, getting a first taste of your sweet elixir.
"Ahh..." Your head falls back on the pillows, as his tongue feels like relief on your needy cunt. By now, your entire body is trembling from need.
"You taste so good," Jonathan grunts and closes his lips around your clit. With a tight grip around your thighs, Jonathan gets comfortable and buries his face into you. The bridge of his nose presses against you deliciously as he laps up your juices, tasting you and getting hooked on you just from the first drops. It's a taste he wants more and more of.
You gasp as he eats you out, not afraid to get his face and beard messy. Jonathan looks at you through his thick lashes, driven wild by the sight of you moaning and leaning against his pillows. Looking so damn gorgeous. Only in a bra and thigh-high stockings. It's a sight he'll never forget.
"mmm yes, feels so good," You moan and grab his curls for support. You tug at him softly, wanting him even closer. Jonathan understands the cue and he begins to lap at your sensitive clit a little harder, eliciting even sweeter moans from you.
Jonathan's hands snake up your torso, coming up to cup your chest. You arch your back, helping him to unhook your bra. Once it comes off, he wastes no time to pay attention to your tits. Jonathan moans with your clit in his mouth, so happy to grope your chest that he's been stealing glances at whenever you'd wear revealing blouses and dresses around him. He almost felt ashamed for how he had been looking at you like that but deep down he always had a feeling that you wore those tops around him on purpose. One time he noticed body glitter on your chest and it couldn't have gotten more obvious than that.
"Fuck" You moan and buck your hips up, grinding against his mouth. Jonathan squeezes your nipples and keeps licking your pussy, now pushing his tongue against your entrance. His beard is getting covered in your juices but he doesn't care right now, he's hooked on the taste of you and he wants to see you fall apart.
Jonathan is taking his sweet time just tasting you, licking your clit and sucking it while playing with your tits lazily. He wants to make sure you're soaking wet before he goes further. He circles his tongue on your clit and brings one hand down, pulling the hood of your clit up to reveal more of the sensitive bundle of nerves.
"Oh, Jonathan!" You moan, feeling a warm, electric feeling radiating from your exposed clit.
"You like that?" Jonathan asks, his voice now deepened by lust. As he pulls his face back slightly, you can see your own juices glistening on his beard and lips. It's such an erotic sight. He has never looked hotter.
"Yes baby, feels so good...please..." You whine again, wanting his warm mouth back on your needy pussy. It's hard to think or to form proper sentences when the man of your dreams is between your thighs. Jonathan is happy to oblige, closing his mouth on your clit again and shaking his head, burying it deep against your folds. Wetness is dripping out of you, running down your slit and soaking the bedspread.
Once Jonathan is certain that you're wet enough, he brings his finger to your entrance. He circles it at first, collecting your wetness on his digit. Then carefully, he presses one finger inside, not wanting to hurt you. It slides in easily with how turned on you are.
"Yes! Mmm... just like that," You smile, grinding against his finger. It's only halfway in, testing the waters. He begins to curl his finger inside you while licking and nibbling your now throbbing clit. Jonathan doesn't finger you roughly, nor does he try to push the finger deeper. He focuses on the curling motion, wanting to rub your g-spot.
You can feel how your clit and walls begin to throb, the warm feeling in the pit of your stomach growing stronger. There's this pressure building within you and every little touch brings you closer to a breaking point.
"Jonathan-" You try to warn him but the words don't come out. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you can only focus on the pleasure he's bringing you. It's perfect. He doesn't need to change the pace, doesn't need to add fingers. If he keeps going just like that, you'll be satisfied.
Jonathan recognizes the telltale signs of a woman being close to a climax. He can tell you're close when you hold your breath and your lower body tenses up. He feels pride in knowing that in minutes he's been able to bring you to this point, to make you soaking wet, when earlier you complained about not having experienced true pleasure with previous partners.
"Ohhh fuck! I'm..I'm-" The words get stuck in your throat as the orgasm overpowers you. It's like a warm blanket that falls over your body. Your pussy clenches around Jonathan's finger and thighs squeeze around his head, locking him in place which Jonathan is more than delighted by. The sight of you coming is so hot to Jonathan. His hands are trembling from being turned on, as he keeps fingering you even though you're coming and becoming extremely sensitive. He doesn't wanna stop until you push him away.
"Jonathan oh my god!" You cry out in shock, body feeling warm and tingly as pleasure fills each and every one of your cells. He keeps sucking your sensitive clit, moaning because he enjoys this so much. Jonathan pulls out his fingers and pushes his tongue into you, collecting your arousal, every last drop of it so that nothing goes to waste.
"Jonathan... ohh!" You wince, growing so sensitive that your body twitches involuntarily. Once you finally squirm too much and push his head away, Jonathan backs away with a proud grin on his face. He admires the sight of you trembling on his bed, panting and whimpering as your sweet pussy is throbbing from pure pleasure.
"Good girl," He tells you and taps your clit in a teasing manner, making you squeeze your thighs together and whine as you recover.
Jonathan sits up straight and begins to unbutton his shirt. He laughs dryly as he realizes your wetness has dribbled down his beard and neck all the way to his collar. Once his shirt comes off, he begins to unbuckle his belt.
You're still catching your breath, watching as he undresses. The sight of his undressing almost makes you come again. You see his bronze skin, all the freckles on his body that you've never seen before, and the trail of dark hair that goes from his belly button to his crotch.
"Mmm you look so hot," You purr, wanting to reach out to touch him but you're still recovering from that orgasm that left your mind feeling blank.
"You're doing so good," Jonathan tells you and pushes his pants down. Now left in only his boxers, you can see his bulge more clearly. You bite your kiss-swollen lips as you stare at it, feeling such a deep desire to pull his boxers down and suck his cock already.
Jonathan is so hard, he wants to fuck you but he also wants to take his time. He wants to make you feel amazing and then some more. To alleviate the aching boner he has, he rubs himself through his boxers a few times, moaning softly. He keeps touching himself as he looks at you sprawled over his bed like that. His lips still taste like your pussy.
Once you begin to recover from your orgasm, you feel the desire to make Jonathan feel as good as he made you feel. You try to get up on your knees, but Jonathan grabs your shoulder and keeps you down.
"Don't worry about me yet, I'm not done with you," Jonathan tells you with a smile. It's amazing how loving and kind he is while also being dominating, in a caring way. He's not at all rough or degrading, but he clearly has control in that moment. And you like it. Makes your pussy wet with desire all over again. Jonathan genuinely wants to touch you and make you feel good.
Jonathan pushes his boxers down and grabs his cock. You nearly gasp at the sight, the hunger from him ten-folding as you see pre-cum leaking from his darkened tip. He groans and jerks his cock a few times, letting it harden to a point where it's almost impossible to ignore - yet he does. It's almost like he enjoys the waiting, denying himself pleasure until he's rock hard.
Jonathan positions himself on top of you, spreading your legs with his thighs and letting his cock rest on your thigh. He bucks his hips a couple times, smearing pre-cum on your soft skin. He knows he'll have to put a condom on soon, but at least there's nothing to worry about when his dick only touches your leg.
"Oh baby, you have no idea how long I've wanted to do this," Jonathan tells you sensually while caressing your arm and shoulder. He kisses your neck gently, soothing you, helping you recover from your first orgasm. In return, you caress his back lovingly and melt in his embrace. Feeling his cock twitching against your thigh ignites yet another spark within you that you can't ignore. You wanna touch him so bad. Even though Jonathan just ate you out, you feel hesitant and even shy, unsure if you can touch him or not.
"I've wanted you for so long," The confession slips out of your mouth with ease. "Wanted to feel you inside me... to feel your lips on mine."
"Yeah?" He smiles lazily and kisses your breast, eventually biting your hardened nipple lightly, making you squirm.
"Yesss... I've been touching myself and thinking about you... just the thought of you has made me come harder than ever before," You keep confessing your dirty secrets to him.
"That's my girl," Jonathan is ecstatic to hear that. You're boosting his ego, which maybe is exactly what he needs after his previous lovers.
You moan and close your eyes, feeling pleasure from his words. Jonathan is such a good man, such a damn good man and you think he deserves the world. You want to give him the world if it means you'll get to be like this for the rest of your days. If it means he'll keep calling you his girl. What else could you want?
"Can I touch you? Please..." You ask shyly and look him in the eye.
Jonathan nearly groans at your bashful question. He likes that you're so easily flustered and so so sweet. It feels almost loving, despite it being both of your first time together and both of you feeling insanely aroused.
"Yeah, baby," Jonathan can't deny you when you look at him so sweetly. He looks down at his cock and grabs your wrist, pulling it toward him and encouraging you to touch.
You smile and bite your lip, feeling excited to touch him, at long last. Your wrap your fingers around his thick shaft and gasp softly, finally feeling how hard he is. You can't believe this is happening.
Jonathan clenches his jaw and takes a deep, shaky breath as you touch his dick. He's so sensitive because of how turned on he is right now. "Yeah, just like that..." He murmurs and caresses your hair.
His cock twitches against your palm and you hold it a little tighter. A grin spreads on your face as you collect his pre-cum against your palm and then begin to jerk him off. Slowly at first, afraid you'll hurt him.
Jonathan moans and looks down, wanting to watch your hand working on him. Then he bucks his hips against your palm, slowly but surely succumbing to his needs.
Suddenly, he licks his own fingers, getting them wet. Jonathan reaches down to your sensitive pussy and begins to rub your clit. He matches the pace you use to jerk him off, wanting you to feel good as well.
"Oh mmm..." You moan and spread your legs a little, giving him better access. Jonathan's other hand grabs your hair and he leans in to kiss you sloppily. His breathing is heavy now, panting against your lips as you touch each other, learning what you both enjoy, what makes you squirm and moan.
After teasing your clit long enough to get you ready again, Jonathan pushes his digit back into your wanton hole. This time he pushes it a little deeper, as he can feel that you're wet enough for that.
"Ohh fuck!" The moans keep pouring out as you let him touch you. When Jonathan makes you feel good, it makes you move your hand on him a little faster, squeezing slightly around his sensitive tip and around the base, feeling how his cock twitches and throbs under your touch.
"Oh baby, yeah," Jonathan moans and then pushes another finger inside you. He looks at your face when he does that, needing to see your expression, to know that you're feeling pleasure instead of pain. He caresses your face tenderly as he fingers you deep, making sure you'll be warmed up enough for his cock later.
By now, you're seeing stars. His fingers are deep in your cunt and with every move he makes, you can hear how wet you are. If you weren't so turned on, you might've been ashamed of those noises. Not now. You can only focus on your pleasure and the feeling of his fat cock in your hand. You keep bucking your hips and squeezing his erection for his cum.
Jonathan groans and seems to reach a whole new level of arousal. His eyes darken and he bites your shoulder, fucking into your caring hand desperately. More of his pre-cum oozes out, getting your hand dirty but neither of you care. He feels good and he's not hiding the fact.
Meanwhile, his thumb finds your clit and he rubs it while his index and middle finger curl against your spongy g-spot. It's almost overwhelming, how good he's making you feel. So good that when your hips squirm involuntarily, Jonathan uses his leg to pin your leg down and keep you in place.
"Oh fuck Jonathan! I..I think I'll..I'm coming again..." You cry out and bite your lip. This time the pressure in your stomach feels different, like you might squirt. You feel alarmed at the realization and try to sit up to stop him, but Jonathan keeps going.
Almost like he could read your mind, he looks you in the eye and tells you, "don't worry sweetheart. Let me make you feel good, yeah? Come for me, honey... there's nothing to be ashamed of."
That's it.
His words of encouragement is all it takes for your second orgasm to hit you like a tidal wave. Your body clenches up and for a moment, all you can see is white.
Jonathan keeps rubbing your clit hard as you come, your arousal splashing out of you as he fingers your wet hole.
"Yeah," He smiles, feeling a bit cocky as you squirt all over his fingers and bed. He doesn't care, as he can always change the sheets later. Jonathan fingers you gently and watches your pretty face as you come and twitch from the aftershocks of your orgasm.
You're so distracted by pleasure that your hand moves sloppily on his dick for a moment. Jonathan doesn't mind, as he's more than satisfied by watching you in the post-orgasmic haze. He could get used to the sight of you like this, to the sweet whining when he touches your clit even though he knows you're overstimulated and sensitive.
"How are you feeling, pretty girl?" Jonathan asks you and brushes your face, wanting you to open your eyes and look at him.
As you do, you immediately smile. The sight of Jonathan looking at you with so much care melts your heart.
"So good..." You purr and regain your composure, being able to focus on touching him again. By now, you trace the thick veins on his cock, enjoying how even a gentle touch can make him squirm.
"Yeah? You came so well, looking so gorgeous," Jonathan praises you again, which he seems to enjoy doing. He loves it when he can make you squirm with his words alone.
"It felt amazing," You whisper, still finding it hard to believe what happened but the proof is in the way you're pussy is throbbing and recovering from your second orgasm of the night.
"See? There's absolutely nothing wrong with you," Jonathan tells you more seriously, remembering your words from earlier. "You're perfect the way you are and you deserve to be satisfied properly," Jonathan continues and kisses you. His lips taste like your pussy and the realization leaves you breathless. It's dirty but somehow it turns you on even more.
"Jonathan-"
"Mmhmm?" He looks up at you and tries so hard not to lose control as you caress his dick like that. His hips buck up lazily to meet your hand.
"You're too good for me..."
"No," Jonathan shakes his head and brushes his fingers over your clit lazily, just to make you squirm. "You deserve pleasure, baby. It's the bare minimum a guy could give you."
"Mmm.." You look away, feeling a little bit shy as he keeps on sweet talking.
"Sweetheart," Jonathan continues and feels like he can't hold back for much longer, not when you're touching him like that.
"Yeah?"
"You think you're ready for me?" Jonathan asks gently, patiently. As patiently as a man can when the woman of his dreams is naked in front of him and touching his stone hard dick.
The question causes you to grin with excitement and you nod, "Yeah...I want you in me so bad."
Now it's Jonathan's turn to groan as your words bring out a much more feral side of him, something he's kept hidden for so long.
"Okay," He whispers and kisses you one more time, "let me get a condom."
It's physically difficult to pull himself away from you as he reaches for the nightstand drawer, where he keeps condoms, just in case. Even though it's been a while since he's had company, he's prepared. Jonathan grabs a condom and tears the packaging apart, his hands trembling because he's just that aroused. Then he rolls it onto his dick and gives himself a few strokes.
You can't help but admire the view, watching as he touches himself. Never before has a dick looked better to you. All you can think about now is having him buried deep inside you.
"Come here," You smile and gesture at him to come and get you.
Jonathan doesn't have to be told twice. He climbs on top of you and grabs your thighs, pushing them up slightly. Then he rubs his cock against your wet folds, teasing you a little.
"You ready for me?" He asks softly while rubbing the tip against your swollen clit.
"Please Jonathan" You pout, so needy that it almost drives you crazy. You need his dick inside you almost more than you need air at this point.
"Okay, you've got me," He coos and pushes your legs even further apart. He guides his cock to your entrance and then looks you in the eye as he pushes it in. You're so damn wet that it slides in with ease. Jonathan didn't realize he was holding his breath until he sinks into your warm, wet cunt and he gasps in pure pleasure.
"Fuck, you're so fucking wet," Jonathan grunts and slowly slides in and out of you. His strong thighs tremble with need as he holds himself back, not wanting to pound you just yet. He wants to savour the moment, the feeling of entering you for the first time, the look on your face as you finally have his dick in your sweet pussy.
His thick cock stretches you open so damn nicely, making your walls throb as he forces them further apart. It doesn't hurt, in fact you need even more of him. It's so different from your past experiences. With Jonathan, you're so wet that his thick cock just feels amazing deep inside you and you want more. Wanna feel him against your cervix.
It's hard to hold back. You wrap your legs around his body and begin to buck your hips, fucking yourself on his cock. That's all it takes for Jonathan's restraint to slip. He's not afraid of hurting you when you're fucking yourself onto his cock deeper and harder, so desperate for him. He knows that he can be a bit rougher without hurting you. The sight of you so eager for his cock is one to behold.
"Give it to me! Give your cock to me!" You cry out loudly, lost in pleasure and desire.
Jonathan can't believe his ears. He looks at you in awe as he gives into your demand. With a tight grip on your thighs, he quickens his pace. Jonathan grunts as he feels himself sinking even deeper inside you. He gets a little rough, digging his fingers into your flesh as he thrusts his length inside.
"You like that? Hm? You like having my dick in your sweet cunt huh?" Jonathan asks with a raspy voice, his curls getting messy as he thrusts into you. His tan skin is glistening with a thin layer of sweat, his lips apart as he watches his dick disappear inside you with each thrust. It's better than the damn porn films he's found himself watching lately, which he wasn't proud of.
"Yes! Yes... Yes... I need it, Jonathan!" You mewl pathetically underneath him. He's making you feel so good that you feel angry that you've missed out on this for so long. Now that you know what it feels like to be fucked good, you don't think you can ever get enough of it.
"Oh!" You yelp out as he slips out of your cunt. Jonathan smiles and smacks his cock against your clit, wanting to make you squirm and squeal. He runs it up and down your swollen folds a few times.
"You've been thinking of this haven't you?" He growls and pushes his dick back in hard, only to pull it out again, leaving you empty and throbbing around nothing.
"Mmm yes..." You nod, just wanting him back inside.
Jonathan repeats the action, sinking deep inside and pulling out, making your cunt ache as it has nothing to throb against. When he's fucking you and you're in this aroused state, his action makes your cunt stay open and he repeats it so that your hole doesn't have enough time to relax. It's torturous, but so so good.
After repeating it a few more times, you're squirming and fluttering from being so needy for him to fuck you. Jonathan slaps your clit gently, watching your reaction and then doing it again as he sees a smile on your face.
"Come on, show me how bad you've wanted this," Jonathan tells you. Now that you're this turned on and no longer as shy as earlier, he just wants to encourage you to take pleasure from him.
His words light something inside of you that you didn't know existed. With pleasure, you get up and make Jonathan lie down instead. Once he's comfortable, you climb over him and grab his cock, guiding it to your wet hole. Without hesitation, you sit down on it, letting him spear you open.
"Fuuuck!" You moan deeply and sink down on it as low as you can.
"Oh sweet-" Jonathan gasps and his deep brown eyes roll to the back of his head. He has to take a few breaths to collect himself as you begin to ride him. As your thighs straddle him and you bounce on his thick cock, you can see his abs tensing up. A smile spreads on your face as you keep going, enjoying that you're able to make Jonathan squirm like that.
Jonathan grabs your hips, guiding your movements. His head is spinning from the pleasure he feels, knowing that this is finally happening. He looks down, admiring how your pussy swallows him up so well. It's truly the sweetest sight.
As your thighs begin to burn from bounding up and down on his length, you have to collect yourself. You sit on his dick fully and grind on it, back and forth. Your clit rubs against his body as you do this, causing you moan uncontrollably. It's so damn sensitive that even the lightest touch makes you twitch and squirm.
"Good girl," Jonathan purrs and watches you, "good. Show me how much you like having me inside your pretty little pussy."
"Mmm you're so big, I can feel you so deep inside me," You moan and reach down to touch your clit. As your legs recover, you begin to ride him harder again while touching yourself. It feels so good that you don't care about the ache in your thighs, you just keep going.
Jonathan can't hold back anymore. It feels too good but the desire to dominate you is too strong. He grabs you tightly and turns you over while still inside of you.
"Oh!" You gasp and hold onto him for support. Jonathan makes sure you're in a good position, on your back, as he starts to fuck into you hard. His face is buried in the crook of your neck as he thrusts into you with desperation.
"You're so beautiful..." Jonathan grunts out sweetly while his cock is pounding into your hole, stretching you wide open.
"Ohh..." You cry out, overwhelmed by pleasure, by finally being fucked the way you've dreamt of for so long, while simultaneously being showered with compliments and praise by the sweetest man ever. Your nails dig into Jonathan's back as you hold onto him for support as he rocks your world.
Jonathan groans as his orgasm creeps closer and closer, causing his thrusts to get sloppier. He grabs your tit and starts kneading it, grunting as he feels your soft body responding so well to his touch.
"Oh Jonathan!" You moan, your senses overwhelmed as he toys with your tits roughly yet carefully. He smiles as your nipples harden under his hard touch, admiring how pretty it looks, how the added stimulation makes you moan even louder.
Jonathan then reaches down to your poor clit that has been through so much already. He laughs as you immediately squirm once his fingers make contact with the swollen bundle of nerves.
"Good girl, wanna make you feel good..." Jonathan murmurs in your eat and begins to circle his fingers over your clit sloppily. It's so sensitive and his touch, combined with his cock stretching your walls, is almost too much.
"Don't stop!" You whine and begin to tense up, knowing you'll come again if he keeps going.
And he does.
Jonathan's gaze darkens as he watches you, his goal being to make you fall apart on his cock. His thrusts become a little harder but he keeps the same pace, keeps rubbing your clit in the same direction and with the same intensity without tiring.
"Come for me, honey...I wanna see you come for me when I'm inside you," Jonathan confesses his desires and he kisses the side of your face, not caring about the fact that you're both sweaty at this point. He just wants you. Only you. Jonathan barely even notices it as a stack of books from his nightstand fall over onto the floor because the bed is shaking so much.
Your body feels all coiled up and ready to spring open. You hold your breath again, toes curling as you taste the orgasm that's just out of reach.
"Yeah, baby... come for me," Jonathan whispers in your ear.
"Oh fuck!" You cry out in response. The coil snaps. A million feelings explode inside of you, nearly knocking you out. Each and every muscle tenses up as the strongest orgasm so far ripples out of you. Jonathan smiles and keeps bucking his hips into yours, fucking you through your orgasm.
"Jonathan!" His name echoes through the bedroom as he keeps going. Your body relaxes but it's left so sensitive that now as Jonathan chases his own orgasm, he has to hug you tightly so that you won't squirm away from him. It feels dangerously good, addictive.
Jonathan grunts as his own orgasm comes closer and closer. His strong arms wrap around you, not caring about how hot it is inside or how sweaty you are. Jonathan just wants to be physically as close as possible to you as he comes.
"Oh honey..." Jonathan gasps as his eyes roll to the back of his head. He slams his hips into yours a few more times before burying himself deep inside. His body topples over yours like a weighted blanket as he comes, his cock twitching deep inside you. The condom being the only barrier keeping his load away from you.
Knowing that he has come too makes you happy. You smile tiredly and trace your fingers on his toned back, drawing patterns.
Jonathan is catching his breath, allowing himself to soften inside you for a moment. He's spent, but he couldn't be happier.
As you cuddle and silence falls over the house, everything feels perfect. Like this is how things are meant to be. Jonathan inside of you, listening to your heartbeat as both of you recover from mind-blowing orgasms.
Jonathan opens his eyes so that he can admire how pretty you look right now, fucked properly and satisfied. He caresses your chest and neck lovingly, unable to keep his hands to himself.
"How are you feeling?" He whispers, even when there's no reason to whisper. It just feels right.
You open your tired eyes and face him. A surge of affection for him fills your heart, making you feel floaty and happy.
"I feel wonderful," You reply just as softly, "what about you?"
Jonathan looks so happy and endearing. It's almost hard to believe that moments ago he fucked you into another dimension.
"I... I'm great," Jonathan confesses and runs his thumb across your lips. "I hope that was good for you."
"Good?" You almost gasp, "Jonathan, that was...that was incredible. I've genuinely never felt better."
"Good," Jonathan feels full of pride. He gives you one more kiss before pulling out, causing you to moan. He sees just how swollen and wet your pussy is, since he fucked you thoroughly. It's a hot sight, knowing that he did that.
"Come on, I'll draw us a bath," Jonathan grabs your hand gently, wanting to take care of you. The last thing he wants is for you to get sore. He bends down to kiss your knuckles. "We can cuddle as much as you want after, okay?"
"Sounds perfect."
The bathroom smells of floral bath oils and Jonathan's signature cologne. A couple candles have been lit on the counter. The water is warm as the tub fits two people, you resting on Jonathan's side, your legs entangled comfortably. Jonathan joined you in the bath after changing the sheets and opening a window, letting in fresh air, so the sounds of the washing machine going in the laundry room adds a calming background noise. It's serene.
"I didn't hurt you, did I?" Jonathan asks gently while kissing the top of your head that rests on his shoulder.
"No," You promise and hug him. The water has rinsed away all the stickiness and sweat, and now your muscles can relax. It feels good.
"I really meant it," Jonathan starts a more serious conversation, "I don't want to ruin our friendship for a one night thing. I care about you. I have for a while."
Just when you thought this man couldn't get any sweeter...
"I care about you too," You confess and lift your head so you can look him in the eye. He looks so soft right now with wet curls and tired eyes. The little freckles on his nose and cheeks stand out in the bathroom lighting.
"I... I wanted to tell you for so long but I didn't know how." You continue.
Jonathan smiles tiredly and caresses your cheek. "Well the cat's out of the bag now," He chuckles, making you smile as well.
"I probably should've taken you out to dinner before this," Jonathan thinks out loud.
You just shake your head, "well we've been friends for a while. I think our hangouts and going out for coffee should count."
Jonathan listens to you and nods, relaxing a little.
"Perhaps I can take you out for dinner as my girlfriend?" Jonathan asks boldly, not wanting to waste time. Sure, it's sudden but you're both adults and... he is sure about you.
"Sounds like a deal," You answer and then squeal out of pure excitement, leaning in to kiss him. Jonathan holds onto the back of your head and kisses you back, overjoyed at the moment. His other hand rests on your hip underwater.
His girlfriend.
You can't believe your luck. Jonathan is yours and you're his. At long last.
"I'm so happy," You whisper and nearly get emotional. For a long time, it felt like men like him didn't even exist. Yet here he is. Holding you so tenderly.
"I know, me too..." Jonathan shares your contentment. There's no place he'd rather be. It feels like life is giving him a second chance.
Once you finish the bath, Jonathan gives you one of his shirts to wear for the night since you didn't pack any pajamas, as staying the night wasn't part of the original plan for the night. He has a spare toothbrush for you, so you can get ready for bed properly with him.
It feels incredible to get in bed. It's already 3AM, as time just flew by when you were in-between the sheets. Right now, the bed smells clean and feels so soft against your tired bodies. Jonathan snuggles up against you and takes a deep breath.
"I hope you remember what page you were on in your book," You tell him as you see the books you knocked over.
Jonathan just laughs and holds you tighter, "I'm sure I'll find the page again. It was worth knocking over."
As you begin to fall asleep against him, Jonathan keeps touching you, rubbing your back and ensuring you won't be sore tomorrow morning. He falls asleep thinking about what breakfast he should make for you, preferably as a surprise in bed.
--
A/N: The Jonathan brain rot is real. I really hope you enjoyed this 🧡
Summary: Your neighbor, Jonathan, is such a grump. When he comes over to complain about your party noise though, you realize he might not be such a jerk after all. (no smut, misunderstandings, single dad, ~3k)
-----
“Jonathan, sorry, do you have a second?”
You’ve been watching out your front window, waiting to see your neighbor, Jonathan Levy, come home from work.
He has a thermos in one hand and books in the other, his messenger bag slung cross-body over his shoulder. Somehow, he manages to not drop anything and look at his watch, but he looks stressed as always.
“I don’t, actually. I have to go pick up my daughter from her mom’s house. She’s supposed to drop her off, but you know how it goes,” he smiles apologetically.
You don’t know actually. Never having been divorced and not having children.
He walks from his car toward the house without another word.
Wow.
What an asshole.
You’d rented the little house next to his last month and no, you hadn’t expected a welcome wagon, but his daughter had introduced herself before Jonathan had. She’s in the fourth grade, completely precious, and a lot more outgoing than her father.
He’s a grumpy professor-type, rumpled dress shirts, and cardigans with leather patches at the elbows.
He seems serious by nature, or maybe he’d been different before his divorce.
Ava said something about shared custody, but living mostly with her dad because her mom travels for work.
You’d smelled something off about the way Ava explained it. You could tell she didn’t quite buy the excuses her mom gave her. That could be why Jonathan always looks so sour.
Although, he’s all smiles for Ava. He holds her hand on the way to the car in the morning. You can hear her chattering on and on in their backyard sometimes and Jonathan’s fully engaged, laughing and agreeing.
A good dad and an unfriendly neighbor.
You settle for writing him a letter and taping it to his front door.
Dear Jonathan,
Was hoping to chat with you about this weekend. I’m having a party on Saturday. Might go late, but we’ll try to be quiet. You’re invited, of course, but adults only (tell Ava sorry for me).
You leave your number, and try to consider the matter settled.
Lying in bed later, your phone dings with a message from an unknown number.
Unknown: Hey, it’s Jonathan from next door. I read your note. No problem about the party, just not too loud please.
“Yeah,” you say out loud to yourself, “I said we’d be quiet in my note, jerk.”
You: Hi Jonathan. We’ll move it inside when it gets dark. Everyone knows not to block your driveway. It’s a going away party for my friend. Feel free to stop by for a drink or food. We’re getting Mexican and there’ll be plenty!
Jonathan doesn’t text back. Not that you’re keeping a mental list or anything, but it’s the sixth time he’s been rude.
*****
Your group of friends is small, only really about five close people. When you’d offered to host, you hadn’t known that the going-away-guy would invite everyone from his old job, a ton of his friends, and his family.
Your little house wasn’t meant to hold this many people.
Luckily, he’d ordered the food himself, and almost everyone who came brought drinks or something to share.
Still, it’s overwhelming. None of them are leaving.
You have a full garbage bag in each hand, toting them to the side of the house where the cans are, and you feel like you finally have a second to breathe by yourself. You toss them in and lean against your house in the darkness.
A shadow crosses the lawn next door. You recognize Jonathan.
He has on sweatpants and t-shirt, a zip-up sweater. His curly hair is a mess and surprise surprise, he has a frown on. He stops a respectful distance away.
You feel a ball of nerves in your gut.
“Jonathan, I’m sorry. Way more people showed up than I thought,” you say, trying to preempt his complaints.
“You’re going to have to shut it down,” he says. “It sounds like a frat house.”
“A frat house? Oh, because we’re doing keg stands on my front lawn? Is it the wet t-shirt contest?”
Jonathan’s face looks confused for a second, before he registers your sarcasm.
“I’d love to shut it down,” you admit, “but it’s a party for my friend and I can’t really kick him and everyone he knows out. He’s moving to Vancouver tomorrow.”
“Then he should get some sleep tonight,” Jonathan says in a very dad voice that makes you smile.
For a second, maybe it’s the light reflecting off his glasses, but you swear his eyes soften. It’s hard to tell, though, with that big beard blocking most of his facial expressions.
“How about this?” Jonathan says, not sounding as stiff as he had at first. “Why don’t you find party-boy and tell him your neighbor threatened to call the cops and the party’s over?”
“Oh my God, are you going to call the cops on me?” you ask, a little terrified.
“Fuck no,” Jonathan says, “but your friend doesn’t know that.”
You laugh at that. It’s a good plan. It’s going on hour 6 of this party. As much as you hate to admit it, it’s a little out of control.
“I’m going to visit him next year, so it isn’t like I won’t see him ever again… and it is almost midnight,” you say. “Usually I’m asleep with a book over my face by now.”
“Me too,” Jonathan smiles. He glances toward the backyard as the song changes. “What are you reading?”
You hesitate. Not because you’re embarrassed, but there’s no way someone as highbrow as Jonathan won’t look down on it.
“The first ‘Dune’ book by Frank Herbert,” you say. “Never got around to reading it when I was in school.”
“That’s a big one, kudos,” Jonathan says, surprising you with his genuine interest. “That’s pretty heavy for bedtime. Literally, if it’s on your face, and figuratively. Ethics and politics, quandaries about the future.”
“That’s really what science fiction is about,” you say. “The creativity is the draw. It’s really cool, sure, but it’s more to make you think. No matter how advanced we think we are, if we don’t make better choices, none of it really makes us a better race of people than we are now.”
His brows raise and lower. “That’s very true. I read those in college. I had this period of time where I tried to catch up on all the pop culture I’d missed when I was a kid. ‘Dune,’ ‘Star Wars,’ ‘Star Trek,’ ‘Indiana Jones,’ all of the stuff my parents said were a waste of time and morally useless.”
“Tough way to grow up,” you say.
“You have no idea. Sci-fi and fantasy are a lot easier to understand than Schopenhauer,” Jonathan says with a half-smile. “Anyway, I’ll let you go break the bad news to the crowd inside.”
Just then, the music turns up a little louder and a cheer goes up from your backyard. You wince.
This conversation with Jonathan is the highlight of the night. He’s surprisingly easy to talk to. It’s a shame he’s never wanted to before.
“You’re right. It kind of does sound like a college party,” you say.
“Is it?” Jonathan asks.
“A college party? No, I’m not that young, but thank you,” you laugh.
“Just checking. I didn’t come by to say ‘hi’ because I didn’t want to run into any of my students there. I’m a professor at Tufts,” he says.
“Wow. What do you teach?”
“Philosophy.”
“And you’re giving me shit for reading ‘Dune’ before bed because it’ll make me think too much?”
Jonathan laughs. It’s full-throated and loud enough to cut through the music. It makes something inside of you spark and catch fire.
“So I guess all you do for a living is think about moral quandaries,” you say.
He shrugs. “Sort of. I’m more an ‘examining life’ kind of professor.”
“Have you seen ‘Dead Poets Society?’”
Jonathan shakes his head.
“If you live in New England, teach young people about life, and wear cardigans like yours, you need to see that movie. It’s super sad,” you say. “I cry every time.”
“I’ll put it on the list,” he says with a smile.
You hear a glass bottle break in your backyard and rub your forehead with your hand.
“Okay, well, I’m going to go bust up a party like I’m a real adult,” you say, taking a breath for courage. “Here I go.”
You fold your arms and tap your fingertips on yourself.
Jonathan looks skeptical. “You’re off to a great start.”
“I’m really going this time.”
“I see that.” He grins, folding his own arms.
He adjusts his glasses and tilts his head at you a little, like he’s thinking.
Then, he walks off into your backyard.
Even from here, he has a great professor voice.
“Hey, everyone, I’m Jonathan Levy, I live next door. I’m sorry, but rules are rules and neighborhood quiet hours kicked in two hours ago,” he yells. The music turns down, then off. “Sorry again, but my daughter needs her sleep. I’d appreciate it if you all could call it a night.”
It works. The party winds down, as if Jonathan’s calm, and dare you say friendly, demeanor makes everyone realize things had started to get out of hand.
Your friend makes everyone help clean up on their way out, and apologizes profusely to you and Jonathan. You tell him you’ll see him in Canada next summer, when you’d planned to visit. Just like that, problem solved.
Jonathan lingers, watching the last of the guests leave. You get the feeling he’s looking out for you, not wanting to leave you alone while the drunk people get into their ride shares and taxis.
He closes the front door behind the last guest and then puts his hand back on the doorknob like he hadn’t meant to stay on this side of your door. It seems like he forgot to leave. He gives you an unconvincing smile, as if he’s about to say goodnight.
Before you can stop yourself, you say something, anything, to make him stay longer. “Do you want some food to take home?”
“Sure,” he says, surprising you.
He follows you to the kitchen, looking around. He pushes up his glasses.
“What?” you ask as he scrutinizes a little too hard.
“Nothing,” he smiles, “I saw this house when it went on the market and it was pretty bland. It’s nice now. Lived in.”
“Which is a polite way of saying it’s a damn mess,” you say, unoffended.
The mess makes you feel like the space is really yours. You have a habit of collecting little things that catch your eye.
“You should see my house. Ava’s drawings are the wallpaper. Not enough cabinets for all the snacks and there are balls everywhere.”
You blurt a laugh out and Jonathan shakes his head.
He motions with his hand awkwardly to the floor and makes a kicking motion. “Soccer balls. Ava wants to try out this year.”
"Oh good. I thought you meant you had naked dudes around all the time,” you say sarcastically. “Usually that’s a vibe I can pick up.”
Jonathan picks up a half-full bottle of wine and pours some in a red plastic cup. He passes it to you and pours another for himself.
He touches the rim of his cup to yours, dark eyes holding your gaze for a moment.
“I date women, but not really much at all since my divorce a few years ago,” he says, sipping the wine. “Ava had a really difficult time at first. It was a whole thing we had to go back to court for.”
“Ava adores you. When she first introduced herself, the second thing she said after ‘hi, I’m Ava,’ was literally, ‘I have the best dad. He teaches me things.’”
Jonathan laughs quietly, pushing up his glasses. He’s obviously ridiculously happy, and a little embarrassed. “I remember that day. She went running up to you before I could stop her.”
You take a drink of wine. “I’m glad you didn’t stop her, but you just stood by your front door watching instead of walking over.”
He screws up his face. A grimace if you ever saw one.
“I know.” He sighs at himself. “I get so in my head about things. I liked that Ava decided to be brave and say hello. I didn’t want to interrupt it. And honestly,” he half-shrugs, “you’re really…”
“What?” You lean toward him, the last part of his sentence all mumbled and low.
“You’re,” he runs a hand through his hair, “you’re pretty.”
For a second, you wait for the second part. Pretty… what? Pretty friendly? Pretty neighborly?
Then you realize. Jonathan’s calling you pretty. Period. Full stop.
Your heart stutters.
This guy isn’t grumpy. He’s broken. Afraid to take a chance.
What you’d thought was rudeness was, well, yes it was rudeness. But it was also Jonathan taking weeks to work up the courage to talk to you.
You see it now. How his lack of eye contact wasn’t that he didn’t want to, it was that he couldn’t. How his texts or short conversations weren’t because he hated talking to you, he just didn’t know what to say.
You can’t fault him for his missteps. It isn’t like you have a perfect dating record either.
“I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me,” you say slowly.
“That’s a fucking crime, excuse my language,” he says, setting aside his cup. He rests his lower back against the counter, bracing his hands behind him. “Would you want to go out with me? This weekend? Or, whenever?”
His question kind of loses steam. He smiles, but it seems more like he’s wincing at how awkward he’d sounded at the end.
“I’d love to,” you say with a confident smile.
“Oh. Okay. Good.” He sounds surprised. He pushes up his glasses, more relaxed already. “I won’t say anything to Ava, for obvious reasons.”
“I won’t either,” you reassure him.
“She has dance on Saturday afternoons. Sometimes I stay and watch, but maybe we could meet for lunch? I know dates are usually dinner, but, I-“ he shrugs.
Giving into instinct, you reach out and grab his hand with yours. You give it a reassuring squeeze. “Lunch is perfect. I’m really looking forward to it.”
Jonathan’s grip is solid and comforting. He gives you a real smile and lets your hand drop. He picks up the garbage bin and sweeps some empty cups into it. You pack up the leftovers, setting some aside for Jonathan and Ava.
He starts humming. So quietly you almost can’t hear it. It’s a little off-key, but not enough that you can’t recognize it as “How Deep is Your Love” by the Bee Gees. The song’s practically ancient, but hearing Jonathan humming it is sweet.
You’re sure he doesn’t realize he’s doing it so you don’t point it out or join in. You just enjoy the soundtrack.
*****
“Look! Look!” You hear Ava’s voice as she barrels across her lawn toward your house. She has on shorts and an oversized t-shirt. Her hair’s up in a neat ponytail.
“Hey, Ava,” you smile. “What’s up?”
“Dad got me a new ball. It’s purple.” She drops a soccer ball onto the patch of lawn in front of the house and kicks it. It perfectly hits the tire of Jonathan’s sedan.
You flinch, laughing. “Ava, sweetie, that’s great aim, but your dad might not want you to use his car as a goal.”
She runs after the ball, dribbling it with medium success.
You hear the front door of her house. Jonathan gives you a wave and walks down the steps. You meet him halfway.
“How many does that make?” you ask him jokingly.
He shrugs. “I thought soccer balls were soccer balls, but Ava needs one for grass and one for indoors. Different sizes. I don’t know. I just smile and tap my credit card. We, uh, still on for tomorrow?”
You nod. “I’ll meet you at the cafe at eleven.”
Jonathan can’t hide his grin.
You’ve been texting for a few days. Just little things, but a steady stream of communication. And yesterday the two of you had stood in Jonathan’s driveway talking for 45 minutes.
“Can I ask you something?” You wait for him to nod before you continue. “If I hadn’t had that party, and you hadn’t come over to complain, would you ever have really talked to me? Ever asked me out?”
Jonathan sighs and tucks his hands in his pockets. “Not in time.”
You turn to face him. “What do you mean?”
He smiles sadly, his eyes crinkled behind his glasses. “Someone would’ve asked you on a date before me. Would’ve seen how amazing you are, and I’d just be your neighbor with the daughter you really like. I’d have watched you with someone else and wondered what could’ve been.”
He gestures to his house.
“Looking out that window at you, like a complete creep,” he says.
You laugh with him, glad he can make a joke, even after such an honest confession.
“So, you’re saying you’ve already been looking at me?” You elbow him lightly.
“Ah, well,” his eyes and eyebrows shoot skyward before he dramatically looks at his watch, “look at the time. Ava, let’s get inside. You have to finish your homework.”
Still laughing, you try to look outraged and fail completely.
You watch Jonathan and Ava go inside.
Truthfully, you’d looked at Jonathan too; mostly to wonder why a guy like that had such a bad attitude. It wasn’t his attitude, though, it was his emotions that were in his way.
You head back inside and leave the windows facing Jonathan’s house open. You connect your phone to your speaker and turn it up extra loud.
You only count to five before your phone notification dings.
Jonathan: Music’s pretty loud. Don’t make me come over there.
You: I dare you to.
-----
follow-up: Duke Jonathan
Jonathan Levy Masterlist :: main masterlist :: Join My Fic Taglist
15 minutes
ao3 • jonathan levy x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.9k
summary: you haven’t had sex in weeks , months even , if you care to count . is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days ?
LATEST: july 18 , 2026
bedridden
ao3 • leto atreides x f!reader | short | explicit | smut , angst | wc : 2.3k
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
//
“ don’t freak out , ok ?”
ao3 • x f!reader | drabble | mature | angst | wc : 319
cabin pressure
ao3 • x f!reader | multi-chapter | explicit | fluff , humour , smut | wc : 7.2k
summary:
“ it’s a surprise ,” you pull an innocent smile , batting your eyelashes .
“ you’ll see tomorrow .”
“ why tomor— ” poe flashes that boyish grin . “ what did you do ?”
morning view
ao3 • x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.6k
summary: it was your fault , really — for lingering just a bit longer than you usually would that morning .
to have and to hold
ao3 • x gn!reader | short | mature | angst | wc : 1.4k
summary: his hand , keeping you whole in his protective hold on you .
stars by the pocketful
ao3 • x f!oc | short | teen & up | fluff | wc : 9.4k
summary: life day has always been a bittersweet affair for poe dameron , this delicate balance between the sweet and the bitter . this is the bitter part for him on life day on d’qar that year ; but the sweet part though — her .
//
confection | confession | concession
ao3 • jake x f!reader | multi-short | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 7.0k
summary: you have all but forgotten about the note . you watch his eyes scan the words , his voice in your head enunciates each syllable : suck them like it’s my cunt .
“ are you there , moriarty ?”
ao3 • steven x gn!reader | drabble | explicit | smut | wc : 295
“ steven , please stop ”
ao3 • steven x gn!reader | drabble | teen & up | angst | wc : 200
best laid plans
ao3 • marc x gn!reader | short | mature | fluff , humour | wc : 1.7k
summary: there isn’t a proper plan in place just yet on how marc would like to broach the subject about steven and jake to you .
the hanky panky trilogy
ao3 • moon knight system x f!reader | multi-short | explicit | smut | wc : 3.1k
summary: the moon boys like you in all your different ways — all cute .
//
15 minutes
ao3 • jonathan levy x f!reader | short | explicit | smut | wc : 1.9k
summary: you haven’t had sex in weeks , months even , if you care to count . is it any wonder that you’re so easily turned on these days ?
bedridden
ao3 • leto atreides x f!reader | short | explicit | smut , angst | wc : 2.3k
summary: his eyes peel open , heavy-lidded as they rake down the salacious dip along your spine — oh , what a lovely sight to wake up to .
assessment [ 3 ] [ 4 ]
ao3 • michael perry x f!reader | multi-chapter | teen & up | fluff | wc : 7.7k
summary: you realise that the only valid reason he’d been hanging about this deliberately — it can only mean one thing : they were all assessments to see how you fared at adams elementary .
a/n: and how i became obsessed with that silver streak on his head .
//
“ can you look at me now ?”
ao3 • drabble | mature | implied sex | wc : 430
grounded
ao3 • multi-chapter | teen & up | angst , fluff | wc : 5.7k
summary: bee-bee was the only reason that kept poe and rey together . now that he’s gone —
lost // found series
1 / bright stars
ao3 • modern au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 17.1k
summary: “ it’s something i’ve believed in for a while now , even before we — you know , got together ,” he said . “ that i’ll be — we’ll only be the best versions of ourselves when we’re together ; and — any other times we’re not , we’ll just be lesser versions of ourselves .”
2 / reckless
ao3 • modern au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 27.7k
summary: poe — mr dameron , he has an ability to kindle the softest light in her with that laugh of his , brighten the darkest enclaves in the depths of her soul , and bring a kind of warmth and comfort that she’d never known into the coldest and harshest parts of her body .
3 / sound of silence ( • • • ━ ━ ━ • • • )
ao3 • wwii au | multi-chapter | mature | angst | wc : 11.3k
summary: muted conversations that resonated through the acres of green pastures in the countryside ; a kind of silence that spoke volumes in the middle of the night , as the lights went on and off to a private rhythm only the both of them knew about .
4 / staying human
ao3 • post-apocalypse au | multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 13.6k
summary: she can’t remember when was the last time someone touched her — either voluntarily as a sign of affection , or just methodically doing what poe is doing now . the frenzy ended so long ago , and nobody is around anymore , nobody alive .
5 / rhyme and reason
ao3 • multi-chapter | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 25.5k
summary: the “big reveal” story that the preceding stories in the series are actually just dreams poe had — surprise! (?) each story is fragmented as dreams are , bits and pieces weaved into different settings/stories with a similarity in context you can’t quite put your finger on .
6 / burn , burn , burn
ao3 • au | explicit | angst , smut | wc : 12.6k
summary: these are chapters in correlation to each story from this collection , told from poe’s perspective before we get into the different storylines in earnest .
//
taglist : @mysticalmoonb3ams @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction 💛
not sure if this is still a thing but if you’re interested to get updates on my upcoming fics , let me know :)
Jonathan Levy x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 24: On the counter
Summary: You look after Ava while Jonathan goes out on a date.
A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and being so lovely! <3
Warnings: neighbour!reader, mentions of the reader liking horror films/Terrifier, reader also has a cat, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, please let me know if I have missed a warning!
Word Count: 2554
Jonathan knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But he just can’t help himself.
The date had been a bad one, pointless in fact. He should have ducked out after the first ten minutes, no five.
But he’d stayed and now it was nearly twelve fucking am by the time he got home. He should really go to bed. Get some sleep.
Instead, he was talking to you, and drinking coffee. Oh, three am him was going to be pissed.
“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” Jonathan pushes his glasses higher. “Please, you got to let me give you some money.”
You shake your head, raising your hand, “Oh, no, no, no, you letting me pinch your netflix and amazon password for the last four months is more than enough.”
He chuckles, fiddling with his mug, “Yeah, but that’s just being neighbourly.”
You scoff. “It is not, Jonathan.”
Your friendship had started about seven months ago, when Jonathan had taken in a grand total of eight parcels from fedex on your, and your roommates, behalf in one day.
After collecting them, you’d apologised profusely, and baked him a banana cake. Panicking when you gave it to him that a, you didn’t actually know if he was allergic to anything, and b, that he actually liked bananas.
Luckily he did.
Your friendship had grown when his car wouldn’t start one morning, and you’d given him a lift to work on your moped and picked him up after. Plus you’d got your friend’s cousin’s, uncle’s ex-colleague to have a look at his car and sort out the problem.
He’d bought you lunch and looked after your cat if you had to go out of town. You watched his daughter if he had to work late on the days he had her.
Originally, this hadn’t been his weekend to have Ava, hence why he had a date. A very, very bad date.
“Come on,” he smiled at you, that horrible brilliantly blinding smile that leaves you weak at the knees, “usually you’re just with her for what, forty five minutes? An hour, this was nearly four.”
You giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t just politely leave.”
“I am a man of faults.”
You laugh harder, “Look, I like Ava, we watched a series of R rated horror films and I made sure she ate her weight in sugar without brushing her teeth.”
He grins. “I’m sure I would have had a better time with you guys here.”
You shrug, “Well, you can join us next time. We’re going to watch Terrifier.” You tease.
“Ugh,” he shudders, “Don’t tell me you like those kinds of films?”
You can’t stop from smiling at his dramatic reaction. “What? You don’t?”
He pulls a face and you giggle.
“They’re fun!”
“They are not.” He takes a sip of his cooling coffee, trying to nurse it as long as he could.
“They are.”
“All blood and guts.” He screws up his face, putting it on a bit for you.
“But the prosthetics! Plus it’s not real.” You say playfully.
“Freaky.” He shakes his head. “Too much for my old heart.”
You snort. “Jonathan.”
“What?” He smiles.
“I know what you’re doing.”
“What am I doing?”
“You just want me to tell you how young you are.” You rest your chin on your hand as you look at him.
He pauses and then nods rapidly, “I do actually, and you have to, it’s the social contract.”
You giggle, “Well, I’m not.”
“That's unfair.” He says in mock outrage, making you laugh harder.
“Fine,” you hold up your hands, “You’re very handsome.”
He pauses, looking at you for a moment. “I said you had to tell me I was young, not beautiful.” He teases, expecting you to throw a comment back at him immediately.
But instead, you pause. For a moment, it’s almost funny how you freeze.
“I…” You swallow, your mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.
“It’s okay,” he quickly covers, “I’m just teasing, it’s fine.”
You smile weakly, your skin burning. You get up quickly, nearly knocking your mug over in the process. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Sorry, I, erm,” you pick up your mug, and then his, “Let me, erm, I’ll put them in the dishwasher.”
You turn before he even has a chance to say anything, rushing over to the other side of the kitchen, putting the mugs on the counter.
Jonathan stands quickly, calling your name, “Hey, it’s fine, really. Don’t worry,” anxiety cuts into his chest, leaving his ribs bare. He walks behind you, accidentally bumping into you as you turn.
“Sorry,” he grabs your arm to steady you and himself, his heart thudding so hard in his temples he’s sure he’s going to burst a blood vessel.
You glance at his eyes nervously, breathing hard. “I…”
“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He says softly. He should put his hand down, stop touching your arm. “I was just teasing.”
You nod, “I know, I… I’m sorry.” Your insides squirm a little, trying to find a way out to escape this awkwardness.
“Don’t be,” he breathes, leaning a fraction closer. “It’s always nice when someone beautiful calls you handsome.”
Your brain glitches, static for a moment, rebooting.
“Beautiful?” You repeat.
“Beautiful.” His mouth says before he has any say in the matter. “And kind, and funny, and wond-”
You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him deeply. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back against the counter.
It takes him a moment to catch up with his body, to figure out this is actually real, not some well used fantasy he plays out behind his eyes in the shower.
You pull lightly at his hair, moaning softly when he licks into your mouth and pushes his legs between yours. He rocks against you, his cock quickly hardening in his trousers as he presses against the seam of your jeans.
Part of him wants to pull back, to not push things, to not rush. But the much louder voice in his head laments at how long he’s been holding back, how long he’s been thinking of you while touching himself with a lubed hand.
You gasp as he kisses along your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks at your pulse point greedily. God, if he could just get you to make that noise one more time.
“Jonathan,” you moan softly, pressing yourself closer to him and pulling on his shoulders, needing to rid the fraction of space between you.
He growls, nipping at your neck and nearly coming on the spot when he hears how needily you call his name. “Can I take these off?” His words are nearly lost with how he sucks on your skin, barely able to move his mouth back more than a centimetre. He pulls at your top, your trousers and you nod hastily.
His groan at your confirmation makes you shiver. He practically tears your clothing from you, pushing and pulling the material away as if it personally offended him, before he hikes your right leg up around his waist and urges you up onto the counter.
He sucks your breasts into his mouth greedily, quickly going from one to another, like a child in a toy store unable to choose his favourite. While he presses his thumb to your clit and strokes his fore and middle fingers through your folds.
He groans deeply at the wetness he finds, rocking against you as he pushes inside.
You gasp, biting down on your lip to keep yourself vaguely quiet as you cling onto his shoulders with one hand and the counter with the other.
He strokes gently, pressing rhythmically against your walls as he toys with your clit and you sob, practically clinging onto him for dear life.
Pleasure builds dizzyingly fast in your belly, threatening to pull you down with every stroke. You moan in his ear, lightheaded, just about gathering yourself together to whimper his name. You weren’t prepared for this utter onslaught, for him to be so determined to pull you apart piece by piece.
Spikes of sensation buzz along your skin, twisting and building.
“You’re going to make me come,” you sob, shocked at how quickly your body is ready to fall apart.
“Fuck yes,” he growls, sinking his teeth into your collar bone before he licks up your neck back to your lips. It’s hot and wet and messy, his tongue in your mouth to quiet your sobs as you pulse and gasp, coming violently around his fingers.
You shake in his grip, breaking the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder. He works you through it, stroking and pumping until you feel like liquid in his hands.
“God,” he groans, kissing your forehead and breathing hard. He takes his fingers out of you slowly and shoves them in his mouth, moaning wantonly at the taste.
When you manage to pull back a fraction to look at him, you can see his glasses have steamed up. You giggle and he grins around his fingers, taking them out with a pop to kiss you.
You run your hands through his hair, shivering as he presses close once more.
“Do you?” He starts at the same moment you speak - “Can I?”
He chuckles, nodding for you to go first.
“Take these off.” You mutter, pulling at his jumper. He moves back a fraction, letting you pull it over his head and snorting when his glasses get caught in the neckline. He whips them off, placing them on the side, his curls wild.
Jonathan bites his lip as you unbuckle his jeans, helping you by undoing his fly.
“Can I fuck you?” He groans, kissing your cheek and jaw, each glide of his tongue makes your body sing.
“Please.”
He growls, barely pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs before he’s taking his heavy cock in hand and pumping himself a few times.
You take a cheeky look down and bite your lip.
He grins, “Like what you see?”
The line would make you giggle in any other situation, but now your mouth is watering. You nod rapidly.
“Oh,” he chuckles, spitting in his hand, “So that’s what makes you lost for words, I get it.” He smears his saliva over the head of his cock before he presses closer, guiding the tip to your folds.
“You’re really-” You whine, gasping as he notches at your entrance and just glides inside. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body bucking unthinkingly as he pushes deeper.
He groans deeply, sighing like this is his first drink of water after a long hot day. He slides his hands to your inner thighs, spreading you wider as he eases in.
“Jonathan,” you gasp.
“I know, I know, fuck, you’re so tight.” He lightly rocks his hip, sheathing himself in the last few inches.
You whine, licking into his mouth when he kisses you hungrily. He thrusts experimentally, easing out a fraction before he pushes back in.
“How do you like it?” He mutters against your lips, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back.
“I don’t mind,” you manage to say, your voice barely there.
He snorts, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist again as he takes hold of your hips in a firm grip. “Tell me if you want something.” He groans, pulling out and then plunging back in. “Want to make you come again.”
You nearly shriek, throwing your head back and managing, somehow, to keep your voice muffled as he sets a brutal pace.
He bucks into you rapidly, shaking the cutlery on the drainer by the sink with every deep thrust. The toaster jumps with every buck of his hips into yours. The sound of your slick echoing as you coat his cock.
“You look so fucking hot when you come,” he groans. “So fucking wet.” He pounds into you, sweat beading in his hairline, the way you grab at him and whine setting his blood ablaze.
His pubic bone smacks against your clit with every thrust, his cock rolling against your walls and pushing impossibly deeper.
Something in you wants to break, needs to snap and flood out as he keeps rhythm, your body moving in time with his desperately.
You bite at his neck, sucking a love bite into his skin and shivering when he tenses and growls. He pulls you back a fraction with one hand on your jaw, his eyes so dark, and licks into your mouth like you hold the secrets of the universe.
You whimper, so needy for anything he’ll give - and he’ll give you everything.
Pleasure pulses in your core, makes your pussy flutter and you’re so close you can taste the sweetness on your tongue.
“Jonathan!”
“You gonna come on my cock? Gonna make a nice creamy mess?” He groans, his balls tightening. “Want to feel you, please.”
You gasp, sobbing silently as your orgasm is ripped from you. Pleasure explodes along your nerves, wiping out any other thought as he drowns you and revives you in the same instant.
“Shit.” Jonathan’s hips stutter, his mouth open as your walls squeeze and suck him deeper, milking him for every single drop. He comes with a deep groan, emptying rope after rope of hot, thick cum inside.
He clings onto you as he finishes, hazy for a moment with the strength of his orgasm.
You breathe hard, he can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest.
Lightly he sucks on your neck, licking the salt from your skin. He kisses your temple. “You okay?”
“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week.” You tease, exhausted, and he chuckles.
“I’ll wait on you hand and foot while you recover.” He smiles when you look up at him, stroking your cheek as he kisses you softly, reverently.
“Honestly, was that alright?” He mutters, a pang of worry settling under his ribs.
You snort, and kiss him deeply, stroking your fingers through his beard. “Fucking amazing.”
He grins. “Do you want to do it again sometime? Maybe in a bed after I’ve bought you dinner? I’ll even watch that Terrifier film with you.”
You giggle and nod. “I’d like that.”
He tries to help you down, but you end up helping him. His jeans have twisted around his calves and he nearly falls to a heap on the floor.
“My hero,” he mutters as you pull them off and kiss his thigh. “We’re lucky Ava didn’t wake up when we were… can you imagine me falling over is the thing that actually wakes her? She’ll need therapy for years after seeing her dad naked on the kitchen floor with his jeans around his ankles.”
You clap your hand over your mouth to stop your fit of laughter and he grins as he helps you back to your feet.
“I love hearing you laugh.” He lightly touches your cheek. “Do you want to take a shower?” He gives you a cheeky smile. “With me? You can stay over… if you want, I mean. No pressure.”
You smile and nod. “I’d like a shower. With you. And sleep over.”
