#Jonathan (scenes from a marriage) x reader

[nathanbatemanfucker]

Filthy

summary: that’s the thing about illicit affairs, clandestine meetings and longing stares.

pairing: jonathan levy x f!reader

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, car sex, professor kink, glasses kink?, dirty talk, kissing, creampie, longing, love confessions

wc: 1.7k

an: the professor kink went a little crazy in this one so if that’s not your jam, skipperoni! if it is…enjoy <3

oscar characters masterlist | writing masterlist

This shouldn’t be happening. It shouldn’t.

You shouldn’t be in his car, in his lap— in his vicinity at all because it always leads to something like this. Messy and sloppy and hurried, so desperate. The two of you gave up on resisting this a long time ago, but that doesn’t keep your brain from questioning it.

He’s not even divorced yet, can’t even convince himself to sign the papers given everything that Mira had done. You’re his breath of fresh air, the only thing besides his daughter that makes him feel alive these days. But you’re also his closest colleague’s graduate assistant. The reasons that getting caught would end poorly for both of you are not small, hidden, or easy to brush away.

Those reasons don’t change the delicious way his fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs under the skirt you have on. The dip of his tongue into your mouth, licking and searching feverishly. They don’t lessen the arousal sitting in your lower belly. You’re not sure if anything could because when you’re at the center of Jonathan’s attention, it feels like nothing matters beyond the two of you.

You groan into the next kiss, and Jonathan shivers beneath you, some desperate sound of his own echoing into your mouth. Accompanying the intoxicating taste of you is rain on your lips. You’re soaked to the bone, your clothes skintight and a few shades darker from the rain that continues to pour outside of the confines of his car. Every kiss, every touch of his warms you from the inside out.

“We’re committing public indecency,” He murmurs, but he doesn’t stop kissing you, doesn’t stop using his grip on your ass to grind you down against the swell of his clothed cock.

He isn’t wrong but this is the best you could do in a pinch.

Your roommate is another graduate assistant, and though she doesn’t work in your department or Jonathan’s, she’d surely recognize him if you were to bring him over. There’s some unspoken agreement about his place, the house where he lived with Mira. You don’t feel ready to go there yet and thankfully, he isn’t quite ready to let you in. So he picked you up from your apartment complex and drove to the nearest park. Usually, the two of you plan a little better— there’s a long drive a couple hours away, some cozy little Airbnb on the edge of the city with the promise of going unrecognized hanging in the air.

This thing that shouldn’t be happening is practiced, meticulously planned but today is something different. If you weren’t so distracted by the feeling of him against you, you’d ask what has him so riled up. A little voice in your head can guess, but that would just complicate things. Instead, you’d really like to focus on this, that warm feeling he brings, and you hope that his concerns about breaking the law aren’t too intense.

“Do you want to stop?” You ask, breaking the kiss but only to kiss at his neck.

“No, don’t stop, baby. Don’t stop.”

And there is nothing that compares to the sweet sound of Jonathan calling you baby. You've never said no to Jonathan and you don’t plan to start when he begs for you like this.

“Kiss me again.”

Jonathan obliges, grasping the nape of your neck with gentle strength and pulling you forward to kiss you as if he’s trying to consume you.

You use your knees to raise up, sliding your hand between the two of you so that you can palm at his erection through his jeans. He whines into your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip. Both of these things spur you on and your other hand drops from his curls, working with the other to undo his jeans so that you can slip your hand into his boxers.

“You’re so sweet, so soft,” He murmurs as he begins to kiss and bite his way down your neck. You can hear the strain in his voice, how he’s trying his best to keep it steady and show that you aren’t affecting him.

There’s not a world where you have even half the discipline that he does. You are nothing but desperate for him— needy, always prepared to beg and whine until he gives you what you want. But, there’s no harm in trying to make him show how desperate he is for you too.

“Professor, please. I need you.”

“How am I meant to say no to you when you call me that?” He teases the skin of your neck with his teeth and you writhe in his lap, just like he wanted you to.

“You’re never supposed to say no to me, that’s the point, Levy,” You tease, hand tightening around his cock. His hips jump into your touch and you know that if you work just a little harder he’ll be exactly where you want him.

Jonathan’s hand skates up your torso. With your wet shirt, your nipples are practically on display through the fabric and he runs his thumb over one playfully before rolling the peak between his fingers, “And where’s the fun in that? You don’t want to earn it today, sweet girl?”

“No—“ You gasp through short breaths, chest heaving into his touch, “I just want you to give it to me. Please.”

His other hand finds your other breast, his touch more insistent as he pinches your nipple, “Desperate, sweet girl. Tell me what you want, I need to hear it.”

You fix him with that look that you know will get you anything you ask for, “I want your cock, I want you to let me sit on it.”

“You’re so fucking filthy, so needy for me aren’t you?”

“Yes, Jonathan, please.”

And while he thoroughly enjoys the way you call him professor, or Levy, his name rolling off your tongue makes his heart skip like he’s some teenage girl having her first kiss. Any teasing and pretense of having discipline go right out the window. His hands are gentle but sure as he moves yours out of his boxers and lifts you to bare himself to you.

“Are you ready? Can I—“

“Yes, please, fucking yes.”

Jonathan uses one hand to line himself up with your entrance, the other immediately gripping your hip and sliding you down onto the length of his cock. The kiss you two share is hardly that, but messy teeth and tongues that meet as you both moan.

“Ride me,” He says against your mouth. He wants it to sound like a demand but you both know what it is. He’s finally just as desperate as you are— he’s begging.

There’s nothing in you that wants to fight him, there never is, all you want is more and more of him— whatever you can get because despite the passion, the ease of spending time with him, there’s a little voice in the back of your mind that screams this is temporary.

It’s unhealthy to think that each time you and Jonathan fuck it might be the last, but you refuse to take him or any moment spent with him for granted. You place one hand on his shoulder, the other reaching back to find purchase on the dash so that you can bounce on his cock in earnest.

“Fuck, your pussy is so good, it’s made for me,” He groans.

Your eyes are glued to his face, drinking in the sight of him. He rests his head back against the seat rest, mouth ajar. His glasses are propped up on the crown of his head so as not to fog up, and a light goes off in your head. Shifting most of your weight onto your thighs you swipe the glasses from his head, sliding them onto your face.

The sound he makes has you upset that you haven’t thought of this move sooner. His hips snap up into you harder, making you yelp as the tip of his cock presses against the spot deepest inside of you.

He’s breathless as he says, “Oh god, you filthy fucking girl.”

“Do they suit me, professor?” You pant with a smirk.

His eyes go dark, as he gazes at you from under his lashes, “All of this suits you, everything about us together suits you. My name in your mouth, my cock in your pussy, all of it.”

His words make your head spin, and you quickly remove the glasses so that you can kiss him properly, smashing your mouth to his. You roll your hips, taking him as deep as you can before you start to rock, bouncing in his lap once more.

The back and forth between you dissolves into a frantic madness, both of your bodies focused simply on giving and receiving pleasure. His hands find your hips, helping you bounce more quickly and firmly as both of your breaths go shallow and whiny. The pleasure in your lower belly builds, chugging higher and higher each time you come down against him. You’re surrounded by the smell of sex, the sound of it, the heat of it. The windows fog and with each thrust of his hips up against you there’s the sound of skin on skin, of how incredibly wet you are for him.

“Jonathan, I’m—“

“You’re so close aren’t you, baby? Gonna cum for me so I can fill you up nice and deep? So I can make you mine again?”

“M-make me yours,” You repeat his words but your version is a beg, full of desperation.

He shushes you, hand sliding between your slick bodies to find your clit, “Let me help, let me give you what you need.”

Despite the soft gentleness of his fingers against your clit, the shockwaves of pleasure they provide melt away the last of the barriers between you and your orgasm. You melt around him, so warm and tight as you cum with a soft cry. It’s impossible for him to resist, and he joins you, body going stiff as he fills you up.

“I love you,” He whispers unthinkingly in the postcoital haze.

“I love you too,” You whisper back easily, leaning forward to rest against his chest.

Neither of you allow that usual feeling of dread of returning to your lives as they are— of having to deny each other day in and day out— to settle in. Instead, you let the softness in, the love so young and new but no less meaningful. He holds you right, like he’ll never let you go. And for the moment, you let him.

if you’d like to be on my jonathan levy/oscar issac taglist lmk!

jonathan levy taglist: @honeybrowne, @angelfxllcm, @sweetascherrylies, @hotchs-bitch, @jakelcckley, @mrspector, @jitterbugs927, @myorestes, @winwin70 , @ninebluehearts, @whatthefishh, @fanofverymanythings, @marc-spectorr, @toracainz, @rmoonstoner, @roseqzpd, @mccn-bcys, @campingwiththecharmings

[clazaries]

Old Love, New Dream (NSFW)

(JonathanLevy! x f!reader)

Summary: Just when you think you've recovered from a debilitating breakup with Jonathan Levy, all those feelings come rushing back when he walks back into your life again as your best friend's boyfriend. w/c: a whopping 10.1k Warnings: angst, Mira is included in this, NSFW; smut, fingering, p in v, oral (fem rec.), eventual fluff a/n: HELLOOOO! I'm back. Sorry took a small hiatus to finish off college and I really struggled to finish the end of this so apologies if it's shit. I also watched a spanish film called a treves de mi ventana (specifically the third one) which I loved and took inspiration from while I was writing this. Anyway hope you enjoy!!!

Fuck Jonathan Levy.

Fuck him and everything he stands for. Fuck him in the past and fuck him in the future. Fuck him and the way he treated you with love in his heart, with stars in his eyes, and with you at the heart of everything he did. Fuck him for being the best boyfriend, partner and friend that anyone could’ve asked for. Fuck him for promising you that it would last forever, that you would always have him for as long as you live. 

Fuck him, especially on that unassuming Tuesday morning when you woke up to sadness on his face, pain behind his eyes and the truth on his lips. Fuck his ‘I think we should take a break, we need to spend time on ourselves, by ourselves.’ Fuck him for making you think that life’s not fair; because how were you to know that after six years of a strong and stable relationship, especially one that guided you hand-in-hand into adulthood, would be ripped from you in a day. 

Fuck him for making you miss him so, so fucking badly to the point where you struggle to get through your day without thinking about him. The countless number of occasions where you’ve had friends and family members tell you so naively to ‘move on’, or to ‘get over him’, or that ‘you don’t miss him, you miss what you had with him.’ 

And in all honesty, they’re exactly right. You can’t bear to reflect upon what could’ve been, so your only alternative is to miss what you had, and therein lies that problem of why he still subconsciously worms his way back into your mind. Because he’s tied to it, intertwined so deeply that he’s the knot you just can’t unravel. 

It’s not like you think about him purposely, in fact, if you had the will-power to compartmentalise everything associated with him into a box, you would lock it and throw away the key. But he left such an imprint on you that in the quietest moments of thought, his name, his face, his eyes and Jesus, even the memory of his scent appears when you least expect it. What’s worse is that they’re good memories, not the ones that broke your heart, not the ones that should be reminding you of how much of an arsehole he is, but the ones that you look back on with nostalgia. 

It took a long time to come to terms that he’ll never be a part of your life again, to shake hands with the devil and accept that he will always be the one that got away. That’s the part that will never leave you. He is the big gaping wound in your heart that will never heal. 

The best you could do was move away to another state, to start afresh with the hopes of finding someone new that could give you everything he did and more. But it’s proven to be a bigger challenge than you anticipated because your desire to find someone capable enough to fill the hole and let it scar has never been satiated. No one, not even in the three years since your break up with Jonathan Levy, has come close.

You had gone for such a long time thinking that this level of pain and heartbreak was exclusive to you only and that there was no one else in this world who could empathise with you. That was until you met your next door neighbour Mira who was shockingly similar to you in every way; broken from a relationship that ended years ago, desperately searching for something or someone to alleviate years of hopeless longing and the need for fulfilment. She was the therapy you always knew you needed and vice versa. There were many nights spent drinking wine, talking about ex-lovers with the same yearning, indulging in each others’ wishes of how they could relive what you both once had. Surprisingly, divulging each others’ woes became a temporary fix to your problem and soon missing him turned from a daily issue to a weekly issue. Now, he’s a quiet thought just once a month. 

But things started to change one night in Mira’s dining room when she announced something you hadn’t seen coming.

She’s got a new boyfriend.

~~~~

You sit there, quietly in shock, at her oak dining table directly across from her, listening as she talks of her newly-established relationship as if she had been blessed by all the godly-deities of every power and religion. 

“You have to meet him,” she says with a mouthful of spaghetti bolognese, “he’s just the sweetest guy.” 

A twinge of bitterness and jealousy has your stomach clenching. “Yeah? Where did you meet him?” 

“I’ve always kind’ve known of him, like, I met him last year when I was travelling for work, but recently we’re just really hit it off.” 

“Do you think it’ll turn into something more serious?” 

The lips of your friendly neighbour beam wider, a subtle coy sparkle evident in her eyes. “I would like to think so, I think we’re both in a really good place.”

“That’s great Mira, I’m happy for you.” 

“I was actually thinking about hosting a dinner with the neighbours, like what we used to do years ago, but I might bring him along this time.” 

“Wow, so really serious then. Must be something really special if you’re willing to dig up an old tradition just for him.”

She shrugs her shoulders. “Well you know, I miss those dinners. They were always so much fun. They introduced a lot of new things to us including you, and I feel it would be a good way to introduce him to the street too since they’ll be seeing a lot of him ‘round here in the future.” 

The Maple Avenue dinners were once the highlight of your week, plucked from a suburban neighbourhood’s dream. It was a tradition you inadvertently started when you first moved into the street, a way of getting to know the neighbours around you. Mira, being your next door neighbour was one of the first to receive an invite and was also the one to convince others to join. Surprisingly, the occasion started a chain of events where other neighbours wanted to host their own dinners, play games, chat and share their life over wine. It happened so often that it became a weekly ritual that you all cherished, until organising a roast for ten to fifteen people became too overwhelming, especially for those who had started a family, or who had taken a promotion at work. Having no such responsibilities, you and Mira became the only two to keep the tradition alive.

“I’d like that. Want me to get in touch with the neighbours?” 

“I’ll handle it.”

Two weeks pass and the Friday you have been silently dreading finally arrives. You had been prepared for it up until about an hour ago when you couldn’t remember who drinks white wine and who drinks red, who has an intolerance to dairy and who has an allergy to nuts. 

Spotting Mira’s open window across the way, you decide to lean out your bedroom window, hoping to catch her attention. “Mira!” Within seconds she’s mirroring you, her hair still pinned in curls and her body wrapped in her satin robe. 

“What?” 

“I was going to bring my roasted hazelnut cookies but I can’t remember who has a dairy intolerance and who has a nut allergy.” 

“Don’t you remember? Alan doesn’t have dairy, it could get hairy, and Steph doesn’t have nuts, no buts. You don’t need to worry though, they can’t make it tonight.” 

“See, this is why you’re the better neighbour. Red or white?”

“Go for red. Jonathan drinks red.” 

For a moment, your heart stutters a little in your chest, a small sense of unease tightening your muscles, but you need to remember, it’s just a name. A popular boy’s name. “Jonathan?” 

“Jonathan as in boyfriend Jonathan. As in the-reason-why-we’re-doing-this Jonathan.”

“Oh right,” you nervously laugh, “you’ve always referred to him as ‘the boyfriend’ it made me forget that he actually has a name.” 

“Yeah, well he’ll soon have a face too. Although he said he might be a little late tonight and doesn’t mind missing the starter. He'll be here for the main.” 

“Okay, can’t wait!”

Having food preparations sorted, you take the remaining few hours to present yourself; washing, bathing, moisturising, curling your hair, applying that little extra bit of makeup, and finally choosing an outfit. Despite it only being Mira and a handful of the neighbours who have seen you in worse states, you still feel the need to look presentable in front of a new face, perhaps the result of your mother’s behaviour rubbing off on you when she faced similar situations. ‘Always presentable, always welcoming. First impressions matter.’ 

Her words stay true to this day. It’s what banked you a job, friends amongst the neighbourhood, and impossibly so, Jonathan Levy’s attraction many, many years ago. 

Since the weather had transitioned well into the Spring’s warmth, you settle for a sundress knowing that Mira fully intends to use her beautiful backyard to see off the sunset after dinner. It fits you perfectly, complimented by the sparkling golden necklace that sits squarely between your clavicles; the very same Jonathan had gifted you on your 21st birthday, which to anyone should be reason enough to get rid of it, but just like how you can’t completely get rid of the thought of Jonathan, you can’t get rid of the necklace. At least, not yet. 

You arrive a little earlier than Mira had instructed but with good intentions. You help her set the table, stick the necessary food in the oven and ease her nerves. You’re glad to see her dressed similarly, having put in that little extra glamour on top of her usual appearance to appease her guests and, of course, her boyfriend which you both casually joke about.

Soon, one by one, the neighbours start arriving and quickly settle into their own seats as the first course gets plated out. Only one seat across from you remains empty. 

You’re surprised by how quickly it starts to feel like nothing’s changed at all; being here together conversing over a roast, clinking glasses and laughing over memories and you remind yourself to give thanks to Mira’s new boyfriend for reigniting a fire that burned out long ago. However it seems like you might need to wait your turn with how engrossed the rest of the neighbours are in Mira’s new boyfriend, everyone wants to meet him. His name fails to fall out of conversation with now being the only chance to ask about him before he arrives.

“So how did he ask you out?” Lisa, from number 32, asks, sitting next to her husband Tom. 

“He took me on a date to Rosano’s, very generously paid for my meal, and then we went for a walk along the pier where he surprised me with a bouquet of pink peonies that he had the ice cream vendor keep before the date. He had it all planned out.” 

Everyone around you awes with adoration, their lips pouting and their hands over their chest, almost identical to the way people reacted when you told a similar story to your friends when they asked you how your Jonathan asked you out. Only after you swallow the soft lump of potato do you force yourself to respond in the same way, too caught up in your own memories to give an immediate reaction. 

Pink peonies. Your favourite flower. 

It takes everything in you to ignore the blaring alarm in your head, screaming and fussing over the coincidences. You boil it down to emotions running high and how everything lately has been reminding you of your ex, subconsciously relating everything back to the time you spent with him. Fuck, you didn’t even need to try that hard to link the lentil soup you’re eating back to him. The first meal you had together when you both moved into your new apartment…

The starter course and the conversation concluded when Mira’s boyfriend chapped on the front door. With an understanding nod, you take the plates from Mira’s hands, offering to take them to the kitchen while she answers the door. While there, you can hear through the walls, listening to the cacophony of people greeting one another, sharing names and pleasantries while you stand over the kitchen sink. While the tap runs, you look up to your reflection in the kitchen window, twisting your strands of hair to re-curl that one piece that had fallen flat. First impressions. Better make it a good one. 

You enter the dining room once again with a beaming smile on your face ready to welcome him in, and standing there, by Mira’s side, is the last person you want to see. 

Jonathan. Fucking. Levy. 

It is by chance, or perhaps by fate's cruel hand, that you find yourselves face to face once again in the most unexpected of places. There’s barely enough time to react when your eyes meet from across the room, picked out from a sea of people being none the wiser to the unfortunate predicament you both face. In that moment, amongst the din of the dining room, time almost comes to a stand still and you’re left waiting in the doorway with bated breath, overrun by a wash of emotions as Jonathan’s eyes are confronted with the same feeling. 

Between you and him, Jonathan seems to keep up the pretence better than you do as his smile barely dips, but enough to know that he recognises you, enough to know that he too is filled with the same amount of dread and confusion as you are. And as Mira walks him over to introduce you, he doesn’t let the facade fall. 

She introduces your name to him and without a seconds’ hesitation, he offers his hand. “Hi, I’m Jonathan, nice to meet you.” 

There’s a moment’s delay before you take it, his warmth no stranger to your skin, and with a little wobble to your voice you relay his words back to him. “It’s…it’s nice to meet you too, Jonathan.” 

His eyes stay on you as Mira thankfully takes control of the conversation. Poor, oblivious Mira who is unaware of the fact that your Jonathan has just become her Jonathan…because surnames were never mentioned. “Is the food ready to come out?” 

“Uh, yeah. I can…I can help out if you need.” 

“Perfect! Jonathan, honey, you go sit and get yourself a drink, ‘kay? Dinner won’t be long.” 

You watch agonisingly as Mira peppers his cheek with a kiss and follows you into the kitchen where you finally get a chance to navigate the minefield of unresolved emotions without a roomful of witnesses. 

Mira instantly tends to the roast slowly cooking away in the oven leaving you to stand in the corner, almost not knowing what to do yourself. An explosion has just gone off inside you yet Mira and a roomful of people are expecting you to carry on as normal, as if years and years’ worth of recovery hasn’t just been stripped from you within a single second. Thousands of layers of hurt have been peeled back and left you bare and vulnerable to your biggest fear, and yet Jonathan’s pretence to not know you has forced you to deal with it as if it’s nothing. 

What the fuck are you supposed to do?

“So what do you think?” Mira pulls you from your musing and peers up to you, a proud smile on her face. Her. Mira. It’s all for Mira’s sake, the innocent party in all of this. The realisation hits you like a freight train. If she knew anything about Jonathan being the ex you talked for hours about, it would destroy her. “He’s nice, right?” 

“Lovely,” you gleam back, kickstarting your limbs to dish out the cooked vegetables. “He seems very nice.”

“I knew you’d like him.” 

If only, Mira, if only. 

Not enough time passes before everyone is sat at the dinner table once more, tucking into the delicious food warmly prepared by Mira. You wouldn’t even know, you’ve barely touched it. You can’t find it in you to enjoy the food nor engage in the jovial conversation happening around you because Jonathan Fucking Levy, your ex of six years, is sitting right across from you behaving so casually it makes your stomach churn. 

The little ball of stuffing rolls across your plate, dancing from side to side over and over again. You take the small amount of comfort you can find in the hypnotic motion, stuck in a trance of watching this stuffing ball roll back and forward while Jonathan Fucking Levy drones on about his endeavours. You try to pay him no attention of course, but when everyone else around you is sucked into his conversation narrated by his smooth-like-honey voice that used to whisper sweet nothings in your ear, it’s harder said than done. 

You dip in and out of his story telling every now and then because you can’t stop your curiosity from wondering just how different the last three years have been for him. Apparently he took ‘personal growth’ seriously and you come to realise that it wasn’t just a shoddy excuse to break up. He’s become a reputable academic, striving in the industry and made quite a name for himself which he explains so beautifully, so fluent with expression and elegant with his choice of his words that hooks everyone in which, given his career choice, makes all the more sense. Then, when you throw in his confident manner and the slightly animated way he presents himself when he speaks passionately about something (which, back in the day, used to be you), it accumulates to something you can’t help but admire. You see it in the eyes of your neighbours around you, afraid to blink for fears of missing something spectacular. 

It really makes you wonder how he can act so calm and collected. It’s been three years. Surely there has to be one little atom inside him that's swayed by your being here. There has to be. 

Oh, there definitely is. 

You don’t know it because you refuse to look at him, but every part of Jonathan is burning with anxiety. If you could just spare him one glance you would see that his fingers twitch around the thin stem of the wine glass, that his whole body shakes with his bobbing knee, and that his teeth incessantly chew away at his bottom lip. At least he has the red wine to thank, staining his cheeks with enough colour to conceal how pale he would be otherwise. 

Because he’s terrified. Terrified of not only seeing you, but missing you. Desperately, hopelessly, and unquestionably missing you. He feared he would never see you again to tell you. Yet here you are, sitting an arm’s length away from him, unknowingly tormenting him with the scent of your perfume that consumes every particle of air around him, effortlessly resurrecting memories of how he used to wish that scent would wake him up every morning like it used to. If only he could reach out to feel the buzz of your skin on his, just like it did when you shook his hand, the electricity that flowed through him when your eyes found his. He’s already experiencing withdrawal and he craves for your attention but you won’t look at him anymore. He needs you to look at him again, he needs you to know that he’s been plagued with regret since the moment you split. How can he get you to look at him? 

“So what do you do?” 

His question cuts through the running conversation like a sharp knife, demanding the attention of everyone at the table as they silence and wait for your answer. It takes you a second to realise he’s talking to you and had it been without everyone staring at you, you would’ve ignored him. But you don’t want to come across as rude to the other guests, and you settle for answering coldly. 

“Just corporate work, just a simple nine-to-five-Monday-to-Friday kind of job. It’s nothing special.” 

Mira interjects and you happily give her your attention if it means taking it away from Jonathan. Only, she’s leaning against his shoulder, softly patting his thigh affectionately. “Oh she’s being modest, she’s a finance manager, runs the full finance department with an iron fist, don’t you?”  

“I manage a small team of bookkeepers and accountants, it’s barely a department.”

“Interesting, how did you get into that?” You pan back to Jonathan who’s munching away, glaring at him through the furrow of your eyebrows, almost vehement at his audacity because he already knows how you got in financing. It was him. 

“A friend.” 

“What do you mean?” This bastard. 

“A friend convinced me to do it. I didn’t have the confidence at the time and he motivated me.”

“That was nice of him.” Sarcasm drips with every word. 

You bite back. “Yeah, he was nice. Until he wasn’t. Anyway, that’s a different story for a different time. More wine, anyone?” There’s a few mumbles of agreement, giving you enough of an excuse to rise from the table and make your way to Mira’s pantry in search of a stronger, more bitter tasting wine because God knows you’re going to need it to get through the rest of this dinner. 

Dessert comes and goes at an agonising pace. With the help of wine and the particularly boozy dessert, you become less inhibited, detangling yourself from the thick tension that’s lassoed tight around you and Jonathan. 

Instead, you find solace in Harry, who lives at number 30, sitting next to you, telling you about the struggles of being a single dad to two troublesome toddlers. It’s quite a depressing conversation and not the pick-me-up you were looking for, but anything is better than having to quietly observe the flirting that’s happening across the table. You deceive Harry into thinking that he’s got your full attention but really you’re hyper aware of Mira and Jonathan in your peripheral vision, sharing small, intimate touches, glancing at each other with stars in their eyes, embraced by the bliss of new-found love. 

That used to be you. You haven’t had anything like that since. 

“So…uh…” You have all intentions of continuing the conversation with Harry but you weren’t listening well enough to remember where he left off. “Who’s looking after the kids tonight?” 

“I hired a babysitter. Which reminds me,” he checks the time on his phone. “I said I’d be back by 8 and it’s 7:57. I better go.” To your dismay, your distraction rises from the table, grabs his jacket from the chair, thanks Mira for the meal and bids everyone a good night. Damn. There goes your distraction. 

Everyone around you is locked deep in conversation under the lowlights of Mira’s dining room. All except you. With a heavy sigh, you reach for your wine glass to once again relish the dry, bitter taste of the alcohol as it trickles down your throat. You slouch further and further back against your chair, wallowing in your isolation that no one seems to take notice of. 

But Jonathan does, and to your surprise, you feel something tentatively brush against your leg. At first you thought you had gotten too close to the table leg, but when it starts creeping up the length of your leg underneath your dress, your only option is to consider the man sitting directly across from you. Your eyes burn into the side of his head, ignorant to you while he talks enthusiastically about something you’re not privy to. Not that you want to be, especially when the tip of his shoe caresses the back of your calf, pulling it out from underneath you and hooking your ankle closer to him. He remains unfazed as your foot gently rests atop his underneath the table, tracing small circles over your achilles heel. 

Your heart beats widely inside you, violently disorientating you as much as the twisting in your stomach does. The gesture is so provocative you’re almost sweating in your seat. It’s scandalous, outrageous, and downright inappropriate, but you’ll be damned to hell if you don’t admit to yourself that it feels mildly arousing. 

Only when Mira leaves for the bathroom does he catch a glimpse of you over the tip of his wine glass and old sparks fly as you read the words in his eyes that his mouth can’t say. I miss you. I want you. I need you. 

Shaken, you draw back your leg and pull your eyes from his, feeling completely lost and indecisive about what to do. The hidden touches, the secrecy, it’s all too intimate for you to be opening an old wound that still hasn’t fully healed. You’re not ready for three years of hardship to manifest. 

Yet again Mira comes to the rescue when she returns from the bathroom and ushers all the remaining guests out into the backyard where you sit yourself as far away from Jonathan as possible, but it’s not without the touch of Jonathan’s hand to the small of your back as you all walk out through the glass panel doors, unnoticed by everyone else. There isn’t a doubt in your mind that he saw the momentary shiver that wracked your shoulders the moment his fingers splayed across the bottom of your spine, virtually feeling the heat of your body through the cotton sundress as if it was your own skin. You make a mental note to yourself to never get close to Jonathan for the remainder of the night. 

Once you get outside, you look up to your bedroom window, visible from all areas of Mira’s garden, wishing that you return to the comforts of your own bed, lost in your book and free from this emotional torment. It takes just a glimpse of your window to see everything inside it, something you hadn’t realised was possible until Mira had to awkwardly knock on your door the second week of you moving here and gently warn you to draw your blinds when you were changing. And just as the thought arises…

“Do you remember,” Mira hiccups, perhaps on her sixth glass of wine of the night, “when I had to tell you to close your blinds two weeks after you moved here? I actually thought you were maybe trying to seduce me!” She laughs wholeheartedly, nearly spilling her wine onto Jonathan’s lap. 

A blush blooms on your cheeks. “I didn’t realise you could see in! If I had known I would’ve! Jesus, Mira, way to make me out as a flasher in front of the neighbours.” 

“Listen, if it makes you feel any better, some guys would’ve paid thousands to have seen what I saw every  morning.” 

With a nervous glance of your eyes, you see Jonathan’s glare hard on you. 

“Do I need to contact the HOA and tell them we’ve got a pervert in our neighbourhood?” 

The neighbours laugh but Mira rushes to her defence, unknowingly giving Jonathan that all important detail that he might take advantage of later. “My window is right there! How could I not see you?” 

“Conversation over.” 

Against your wishes, Mira dives into many conversations of a similar nature provoked by Jonathan who annoyingly asks all sorts of questions that involve how you and Mira became friends, forcing her, in her now drunken state, to divulge all the memories you share together, including the many nights you spent talking about ex-lovers. The minute she starts spilling everything, nausea starts to pool inside you and the colour trickles away from your cheeks. Knowing none the wiser, she talks on and on and on about how you bonded over the troubles and hardships of being single, detailing everything about how you would reminisce over ex-lovers and compare them to every shitty cheesy romance film you watched together. And with just a few stories, she single-handedly exposes all of your inner thoughts and feelings towards Jonathan. Right in front of him all for him to hear. 

You silently plead with your eyes, solid in their gaze in the hopes that Mira would catch on and shut up, but she’s seven, no, eight glasses of wine deep that she can’t hold anybody’s gaze let alone yours. 

Jonathan merely sits and listens, amused by everything that is pouring out from Mira’s loud mouth. 

“I mean, it’s hard. And you’ll agree with me on this, that trying to get back into the dating scene as a single woman isn’t an easy experience! You go on dates with guys that bore you to sleep, clicking with absolutely none of them and it just leads to you going home and dreaming about meeting the one guy that sweeps you off your feet. Of course, you’ll know what I mean because you’ve already met him--”

“Mira--” 

She turns to Jonathan to give him context. Knowledge that he already knows himself. “She had this one guy that she dated years ago, the one-that-got-away kind of guy. We used to laugh about him--”

Jonathan’s eyebrows shoot up. “Oh really? How so?”

Fuck. 

“Mira--”

“Just the usual girly stuff, what we would wear at our weddings, thinking about baby names, and talk about owning the perfect house in the suburbs, that kind of stuff.” 

Jonathan turns to you with an emotion you can only only describe as being distressed, possibly on the verge of being disturbed and you don’t blame him. You’re sure that he could see the very same feeling in you through the gaps of your fingers as they hide your face in embarrassment. 

This is possibly your worst nightmare come to life. The entire night had dwindled into absolute ruins and there’s nothing more that you want than to bury yourself into the ground, away from Mira, away from this mortifying feeling, away from Jonathan. You know it’s not her fault, but everything in you is wanting you to blame Mira, to be judge, jury and executioner and lay out all that she is guilty of in front of her. However in reality, you’re projecting. You were the one to tell her about Jonathan. You were the one to feed her all this information believing that not a word of it would ever reach Jonathan’s ears, and when you consider all that has led up to this exact moment, you are just as at fault as she is. 

And you need to make a run from it while you can. 

“I’m…uh, I think I’m going to go home,” you announce, not realising how shaky your voice is until you speak up. Mira’s expression falls with disappointment, coming immediately to a stand and trying her hardest to convince you to stay. But you know nothing could. 

“Do you want us to walk you home?” 

“Mira, I live next door, I’m sure I’ll be fine.” 

She persistently follows you back into the house. “I’ll walk you to the door then.”

“I know where the front door is--” 

“I just want to make sure you get home okay--” 

“Mira, honey, you go sit, I’ll walk her out.” Jonathan’s voice appears from behind you both, reassuring enough that Mira follows his word and returns to the back garden with a mousey ‘okay’. Once gone, Jonathan, stoic as ever, catches you in his stride, escorting you to the door with a hand to the back of your shoulder. 

This time, when you speak, you can’t stop the sniffle as your emotions run high. “If I don’t want Mira walking me out, I sure as shit don’t want you walking me out.” 

He merely looks down to you and sighs, not listening to a single word you say. Within a matter of seconds, you exit through Mira’s front door, ready and willing to slam it in Jonathan’s face but he’s just a pace too quick and is already following you through the front garden. Your body goes into high alert, having no idea what he’s about to do now that for the first time in three years, you have a moment alone together. 

“Jonathan,” you warn. “Go back inside.” 

“Just let me walk you home.” 

“Why?” 

“Why? Because I want an explanation as to what the fuck just happened in there.” 

“You’re not getting one. You don’t deserve one. Go back inside, Jonathan, your girlfriend is waiting on you.” 

“Like hell. Will you just talk to me for one second?!” He reaches out and grabs your arm, swinging you around to face him where your bodies stand inches apart. It’s not in anger nor frustration but in desperation, as if this is the only chance he’ll ever get again to speak to you alone and he’s not willing to let it slip by him so easily. “Is…is what Mira said true? Did you really talk about all those things?” 

You look down to your fingers wringing them out while you wait for the courage to build. “That wasn’t her information to share. But what does it matter anyway, it’s…stupid.”

“It matters to me.” He tilts your chin with the gentlest of touches, his hand lingering close to your neck as he picks up the necklace sitting delicately around your neck, one that he’s all too familiar with. “I miss you.” 

“Don’t…don’t say that to me.” You begin to feel the tethers keeping the remains of your composure snapping, your mouth sinking deeper into a frown the way it always does when you’re about to cry. “You don’t get to say that to me.” 

“Nonetheless, it’s true. And I think you missed me too.” 

You roll your eyes and he immediately scorns you. “No, no, don’t do that. Don’t invalidate it just because I said it. I’m not trying to be smug or patronising, I want to know the truth. Did you miss me?” 

The wobble in your lip becomes uncontrollable. You don’t have the option to lie because he can read every minute feature on your face like it’s laid out for him in words, he would know if you didn’t tell the truth. With a deep breath, you push out the admission. “Every. Fucking. Day.” 

He nods understandably, retracting his hand from your necklace and sinks it deep into his pockets. He looks up to your window before quietly murmuring words suggestive in tone, “then keep your window open tonight.” 

And it takes your breath away.

~~~~

It’s late. A little past 1am. It’s been all too silent since the last of Mira’s guests left about an hour ago leaving only her and Jonathan next door. 

His last words to you before you separated still echo loudly in your ears but you just can’t figure what he meant. It’s the only thing that’s kept you up this late, and even as you sit on your bed just a few metres from your open window that lets in a cool, calming breeze, you still can’t fathom what he’s intending to do because her window across from you is closed, her curtains drawn and her lights out. 

Is this a joke? Is this Jonathan’s cruel twisted idea of a joke to make you watch as he and Mira settle for the night? Teasing you with something you can’t have? The foundation of that idea had developed a little less than half an hour ago and the more time ticks on, the more bricks are added to it. 

Having enough, you turn your back to your window, taking your duvet and slinging it over your head and around your shoulders, blocking out the world behind you. There’s no point trying to sleep, the embarrassment and the emotional trauma of tonight are still too raw for you to find any peace, so you reach for the half-finished book on your nightstand. 

Fuck Jonathan Levy. Fuck him and everything he stands for. Fuck him in the past and--

Wait, what was that? 

Just then, not even two lines into your book you hear the small creak of a door opening and closing coming from outside. Your eyes dart to your digital clock reading 1:10am. It could be Mark coming in from his backshift. It could be Erin, Alan’s teenage daughter sneaking in from a night out. It could be Rebecca, taking her dog out on a late night walk. All options are plausible and wouldn’t be completely out of the ordinary. But there’s one option that you’re afraid to consider.

What if it’s Jonathan? 

You don’t look to check because you wouldn’t know what you would do if it was him, and so in the meantime, you continue to anxiously sit and listen out for any other clues. 

In time, they come. The rustling of the ivy that weaves in and out of your lattice fencing on the side of your house. The breaths of a man as he scales up the wooden structure to your window. The heaviness of his boots as they thud against your floorboards. The raspiness of his voice as he mutters your name. He’s here. In your room, and yet you still can’t bring yourself to turn around to face him. Your breaths are tremorous as he makes his way closer to you, almost shaking with anticipation of what’s about to happen. 

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t make any rash decisions. For a moment, he pauses by the side of your bed eyeing you up with your duvet slung over your head and decidedly reaches for it, taking a fistful of the sheets and dragging it slowly away from you until you’re exposed to him, still dressed in the sundress you couldn’t bring yourself to take off. The tension locks you in a chokehold, unable to move, unable to speak, waiting for the moment where Jonathan’s hand reaches out to touch you once more but you know it’ll be different this time. No more gentle touches hidden in plain sight, no more casual excuses to lay his hands on you, everything that will happen here on in will be the result of three years of separation and withdrawal. 

The bed dips under his weight and only then do you turn your head to look over your left shoulder. He’s closer than you expected and you see the tufts of his curls hanging over his forehead come into sight, low and looming. His nose comes into contact with your shoulder and even the slightest touch sets you alight. He scales up the curve of your neck to hide deep within the locks of your hair behind your ear and inhales.

“That fucking perfume,” he whispers softly into your hair. “It’s just as perfect as I remember.” 

“Jonathan, we…” you heaved a breath, fighting temptation. “We shouldn’t do this.”

“You have no idea, do you?” He murmurs directly into your ear, his arm coming around to circle your waist and hug you closer to him. “No idea just how much I missed you, how much I regret what I did, and every day I spent not being with you was a reminder of the mistake I made to the point where I thought I would never get to hold you again.” 

He renders you speechless when he scrapes away the strands of your hair and mouths at the curve of your neck, humming into your skin. It’s almost the same as before, soft pillowy lips showering you with unreserved passion, except this time they’re followed by the slight scrape of his beard grown in the years you hadn’t seen him. It makes his kisses more exhilarating, stimulating. While your body screams for more, your morals just can’t shake the guilt of betraying your own friend. 

“But Mira--” 

“Mira knows.” 

You detach yourself from his lips to face him, still half-lidded and unfazed by his admission. You’re almost nauseous with the way your heart drops in your chest. “What do you mean she knows?” 

Despite your surprise, Jonathan simply tilts his head as he assesses your face in the sheen of the streetlight like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again and doesn’t stop his fingers from intertwining with the short baby hairs at the nape of your neck. 

“She had an inkling that there was something going on between us. There was a reason why she brought me up in the conversation earlier in the garden because she knew from the moment she saw the look on your face when you saw me. So I came clean. We decided to be completely honest with each other and we talked for a while.” 

“And?” 

“Well, she knew your thoughts on me…and it was more than I had ever thought to hear.”

Your cheeks flush angrily, wincing at the thought of Mira revealing every confession told with such a lack of restraint. Back then, telling Mira these things felt like securing all of your secrets into a vault, trusting that they would be safe, trusting that they were secure enough that no one besides you would have access to them. In hindsight, you should’ve perceived her as more of a time capsule, planted, hidden for the time being, and when after enough time passes, they are bound to be found by someone else. 

“I know that you hated me for a while - and I did too. I always wondered whether you resented me as much as I did, for a while I thought it wasn’t possible. And while I knew the resentment was one sided, there was a part of me that wished that missing each other wasn’t. I guess I found my answers tonight.” 

“Was Mira mad?” 

“No, darling,” he grazes his chin over the curve of your shoulder, lips inching closer and closer to your own. “She considered you to be too much of a friend to get in the way and cause you any pain, not after all that you had told her. She knew you would’ve done the same for her.” 

“I…I don’t know what to think. It’s all just a mess.” 

You turn your head towards the book in your hands, fingers fiddling with the page, while you try to figure out where your loyalties lie. With your head? With your heart? It’s a wonder how the same body can feel two entirely opposing feelings and yet still wonder which one is the right one. 

“Maybe…” Jonathan whispers, his hand reaching for the book and sliding it from your grasp, “maybe, you don’t need to think at all. Let me do the thinking for you. Let me show you just how much I’ve missed you, because fuck, as much as I love this dress you have on, I’m much more interested in what’s underneath it.” While one hand pulls you tighter against his chest, his other hand comes to slide down your thigh until curls around your knee, bunching the fabric tight in his fist and pulling it higher and higher. You watch with eager eyes, succumbing to Jonathan’s temptation and letting go of all of your inhibitions. Your eyes grow heavy, wanting to relish the feeling of his fingertips tracing the length of your inner thigh as they gently pull your legs apart, but it’s much more satisfying to watch. Jonathan doesn’t need to watch, not when he can taste the supple skin of your neck. 

It’s almost agonising how slow his pace is, how he stalls every couple of seconds to trace circles on your skin and devilishly chuckles when you whimper. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed though, talking about our life’s plan without me.” 

Just as his fingers feel the outer rim of your underwear, you tilt your head back to lean against his shoulder with a sinful sigh. Opening your legs just that little bit wider tells Joanthan everything he needs to know. It’s been years. Years since he’s had you like this, so he has every reason not to take it slowly and fuck you like a man starved of your touch, but there’s something in him, perhaps the little devil on his shoulder, that persuades him to take it slowly, to exploit the part of you that has missed him and prove to you that the years spent apart, however painful, was worth the wait. 

“Tell me,” he urges, “tell me what you had imagined.” 

Call you ignorant but you’re not quite in the talking mood. However, you feel he won’t do a single thing to you unless you do as he asks. “That…that we’d get married in the small church near the vineyard where we grew up. I imagined a quiet house in the suburbs, just us two, at least for a while.” 

“Hm, what kind of house?” 

“One that wasn’t too big that we’d feel far apart, and not too small that we would get in each other’s way. One with a garage and a garden where our dog could run around.” 

“Good,” he praises into your ear. A single digit slips beneath your underwear which instantly gets a feel of your warm, wettening cunt, and you grow impatient.  “What else?” 

“After a while, we…shit…we’d have our own kids. A boy and a girl. I’d hope they’d have your eyes.” 

After doing a few rounds of your entrance, the tip of his finger rests upon your clit, barely moving. Your hips start moving fluidly, all of their own volition but he eases his touch. Instead he gives a gentle tap tap tap, urging you to continue before you can get any more.

The hand that keeps you stable around your middle eventually slithers up to wrap around your neck squeezing with a dizzying pressure. 

“Keep going…” 

“We’d take an early retirement so that we could grow old together. Taking vacations to places we’d never been to before, being the same couple we were when we were younger.” 

“Oh yeah? I love the sound of that. Just as much as I love the sound of those moans you make. Keep singing little siren.” The moan that leaves your lips the minute he nibbles on your lobe is unrecognisable. You haven’t been seduced like this in years and every atom of you is buzzing with anxiety and in your physical form, you can’t sit still. It takes the weight and pressure of Jonathan’s thighs resting either side of your hips to keep you anchored. 

His fingers make quick work of building you up, conjuring that deep, guttural feeling of pleasure and desire to stir within you. Even after years, he still knows you so well, still knows what makes you tick and what makes you scream. There isn’t an inch of your neck that Jonathan’s lips haven’t touched; sucking, licking, biting until you’re coloured with bruises. 

“Seems like you have it all planned out, darling. But why don’t I tell you how I imagined tonight would go?” 

“Please.” 

Just as his words flow from his mouth, two fingers slide easily into you and curl into that spot makes your body restless and your lungs heaving. “Just as I did, I’d find you here, confess that there wasn’t a day that went by where I didn’t think of you, tell you how I yearned to have the sweet taste of you on my tongue again and the tight squeeze of that cunt around my cock. I’d seduce you every way I knew I could and I’d want you to want it. I’d want you to tell me that you want it and once I knew I had you again, I’d get on my knees, lift up that dress of yours and taste you. Get you nice and wet, ready to take me.”

“Fuck, Jonathan--” 

“After years, I thought my patience would get the better of me if I ever had this chance again, but seeing you here like this,” his fingers pick up the pace, drilling into you and filling the room with sacrilegious sounds. “I think I might want to take my time, let each minute that passes reflect what I have been thinking about every day we were apart.” 

“Please,” you whisper, growing evermore impatient. It all sounds too good. The more he speaks his feelings into words the more you want it. To have the feeling of him touch you everywhere, to feel him inside you, snug and shaped by him and bringing you to the precipice of losing your mind the way only he could. “I need you, Jonathan, need you now.” 

His lips come to your cheek, shaped by a smile of satisfaction. “You will, darling. Soon. I just want to savour this right now.” 

His fingers slip from your cunt, trailing all that he’s gathered up the length of your slit to come crashing down onto your clit. While he circles and swirls his fingers, you twist your head to lock eyes with him and even in the cover of darkness, you can still make out the fire that’s burning within him leaving no doubt that he truly wants to ravish you just as he has described. But it isn’t a roaring fire, it’s a slow burning candle, flickering away to slowly dissolve all of what’s left of his patience. 

Like instinct, your lips clash together hungrily not sparing a second before your tongues and welding together and tasting the remnants of the red wine you both had earlier. Inexplicably, it tastes sweeter on his palate. 

The fingers that curl around your neck tense as if they’re fighting to keep you stable, surging to keep your restlessness at bay and all of this is making you wonder ‘why not just get on with it?’.

You decide to hasten the pace, raising your hips closer to his fingers with the tips of your toes, feeling his cock grind against the small of your back where it should be grinding against your cunt. Though that may be how you truly feel, you make do with his fingers toying with you with his palm flat against your pubic bone to keep you close, once again making you twitch with anticipation and hum with desire. You’re close, so close that with just another lap of his fingers would make you explode. 

Holy shit. You’re going to cum. You’re to cum on Jonathan Fucking Levy’s fingers.

“Don’t you think we should maybe close your blinds?” He taunts, suddenly halting all of his movements. “Surely you wouldn’t want the neighbours to see how easily you fall apart for me.”

Jesus. Where did this side of Jonathan come from? 

“Um…y-yeah. Close them.” God, it’s starting to take effect on you. When was the last time a man made you stumble over your own words like that? 

With a gentle kiss to your cheek, he rises from the bed to leave you attempting to find relief from the friction of your thighs, chasing what you were seconds from having. 

When you begin to wonder what takes him so long, you turn to face him staring out of the window, his silhouette blocking the light of the streetlamp that normally floods in through the glass. The fingers that were toying with your cunt seconds ago twitch by his side rubbing together the remnants of your slick, so sensual that it has you biting your bottom lip. Before he closes the curtain he takes those fingers and puts them in his mouth as if he’s just swiped the whipped cream from atop a pudding he’s forbidden to have. But sometimes that’s what makes it all the sweeter. 

“Jonathan?” you whisper to pull him from his reverie, your patience waning. 

“Coming,” he says gently. “Just taking it all in. You, me…” he snaps the curtains closed and plunges you both into darkness, “your taste on my tongue.” 

Slowly and somewhat menacingly he turns around and his shoulders are hunched, his fists are clenched, his breathing is audibly racing. The tone instantly changes when he comes to stand over you, his fingers tilting your chin up to look at him directly. It hooks you in immediately, suddenly feeling the compulsion to do whatever he wants, to go wherever he guides you. 

Jonathan’s voice slithers through the air like a snake through the wreaths, worming its way into the valley of your ears so clear and precise. “I know I said I was going to take this slowly and I whole-heartedly intend to follow through with that. But just so you know, I don’t think I can be gentle. Can you allow me that?” 

“Yes, Jonathan, yes.” 

“Good.” 

It amazes you how one short syllable completely changes the aura of the room, how easily Jonathan commands control of the situation because all of a sudden, the gentle traces of his fingertips circling your chin changes to a clawed hand around your neck, drawing you into an all-consuming kiss that’s more powerful than before. Without missing a single beat, he forces you onto your back and hovers over you, caging you in and anchoring his weight down onto your pelvis. It should feel claustrophobic and intrusive, but instead it feels like a sanctuary; warm, safe, secure.

Where it feels like he belongs.

Shivers race up your spine and throw your hands into motion as they cling onto his shirt, luring him even closer until the beat of his heart is pounding against yours. Not only that, but you can feel his hips thrusting into yours, grinding his contained cock against your heat and it elicits a moan from both of you. With a sudden rush of adrenaline, he races to undo his belt, pulling himself free and you almost squeal with the anticipation of knowing how well he can undo you with one swift thrust. But like Jonathan promised, he isn’t going to rush this. He slowly peels off your underwear until you are well and truly exposed.

Not without a few pumps of his fist, he lines himself up and anchors you down, teasing your entrance with the head of his leaking cock, giving you a taster of what’s to come. 

“You drive me fucking insane,” he grumbles into your mouth. “Always have, always will.” 

“Please stop talking.”

“Or what, huh?” he chuckles. He takes the head of his cock and batters it against your swollen clit. Deliberately, you guess, to render you speechless. And it works, the snide quip hot on your lips quickly loses all conviction and you’re back to moans and whimpers. “‘S what I thought. You and I both know how much we want this. How much we’ve missed this.”

This time you take the chance to bite back before he robs you of it. “Well get on with it, then.” 

Now driven, he snags your bottom lip with his teeth dragging it out until it’s released with a pop. “Fine.”

Giving you a final taste of his lips, he comes to a stand taking your legs with him with a mighty pull until your hips lie just over the precipice of the bed. He hugs your legs to his chest, his cock lining up with your exposed cunt perfectly and with powerful thrust, he sinks deep into you. All of the air punches out of your lungs in a single beat and you claw at the bed sheets while you fight for your breath back. You’re momentarily debilitated while you acclimate to his size, filling you so effortlessly. Despite being slightly uncomfortable, it’s a welcome intrusion and you’re thankful that he gives you a minute.

“Fuck, you’re so tight. Holy fuck.”

Not a moment later, he pulls his hips back, completely withdrawing and just when you think you’ve got your breath back he charges into you again, snapping his hips against your ass and sending aftershocks up the length of your body. It’s a motion he repeats over and over again, giving you that pleasurable feeling of being so full of him as he grinds into you all to be taken away within a moment leaving utterly empty. You have just enough awareness to listen out for the staccato notes of his hips slapping against yours followed by your sheepish sobs. 

It’s insatiable. He never changes pace and the power of his thrusts never falters. He certainly doesn’t allude to breaking his promise of rushing things and frustratingly so, continues his slow rampage, finding pleasure in that little sweet spot where the swollen ridge of his cock drags from your cunt. It’s enough to get you going, but not enough to finish you off. 

“I need more,” you beg between breaths. “Please.” 

Jonathan doesn’t respond, and instead waits until the cheeks of your ass are red raw from his poundings (which feels like a lifetime) and only then, does he take a new approach. Your legs swing apart, forced wide open by his greedy hands and you’re left to watch with bated breath as he drops to his knees and devours you.

“Fuck, Jonathan!”

“Mm, that’s right, baby, say my name.” 

“Jonath--fuck!” His mouth completely consumes every inch of your cunt, lavishing the taste of you with his tongue from deep within you to the tip of your clit. Amongst the buzzes of his hum, the soft scrape of his beard, and the crescent-moon marks pressing into your waist, your back arches as desire slowly morphs into a desperate pain, needing to give his hot mouth more access to your cunt if it was at all possible. And just when you think you are ready to give in, he steals the moment from you. With two fingers, he slots them easily into you and starts working your pussy at a torturous pace. 

“Look how soaked you are.” His lips brush against your clit as he speaks, a depraved grunt rolling from the back of his throat. 

“I’m gonna cum.” 

“Do it. I want it. I wanna taste you. I want you.” 

Your heart grows, a small smile appearing on your lips. The warmth of affection stills you momentarily to appreciate how you have your old love back, the man you could never really get over, that all those years of waiting and wanting are over. You don’t know what it was about the sudden softness and love-drunkenness that washed through you, but God, he was stunning. Everything about him was annoyingly perfect. Stupidly, annoyingly perfect. Yet, here he was, lavishing you as if you were an elixir of life.

Your fingers itch to race through his locks to pull him closer, tempted to never let him go. Through his dark lashes, his lust-heavy eyes find yours as if he knew what you were insinuating.

“Don’t worry, baby, I’m never leaving. Let go for me.” 

You didn’t need to be told again. With the final swipe of his tongue across your clit, you internal combust, your entire body folding into itself with Jonathan trapped between your thighs. 

----

You and Jonathan spent the night catching up on all the years you spent apart, sharing orgasm after orgasm until you were completely and utterly spent. Despite only having just a few hours of sleep, you awoke early in the morning, just in time to see the sun rise over the peak of your neighbours’ houses. All is calm in the street aside from the few birds tweeting in Mira’s tree and Jonathan’s steady breathing beside you. The tranquil, blissful few moments of consciousness fills you with a sense of rejuvenation from all that has happened within the last 24 hours. If it hadn’t been for Mira’s approval beforehand, you would be drowning in guilt. You make a mental reminder to talk to her and apologise later. 

You roll over on your side of the bed to find Jonathan sleeping peacefully beside you, his hand tucked under his chin like it always did when he was deep in slumber and you quirk a smile when you realise that nothing’s changed. With a delicate finger, you sweep away the curl resting against his forehead, careful not to wake him but yet he still stirs, readjusting himself subconsciously. Though not fully awake, he reaches out for you as if it was instinct and little do you know, it is. Every morning since you split, Jonathan had always reached out for you to find nothing but empty cold space on the other side of his bed and it was a sad reality he couldn’t quite accept. But now, when his fingertips feel the warmth of your skin against his, he doesn’t hesitate to lure you into his embrace to relish the lingering scent of your perfume, the slow beating of your heart, the little content hum singing from your throat. You’re here. You’re real. And he’s certain to never lose you again.

In his drowsy state, he puckers his lips in a timid kiss to the surface of your forehead. 

“Love you,” he quietly murmurs. 

With a breathy laugh, you return his kiss, whispering the same words against his bare chest directly over his heart. 

I love you too, Jonathan Fucking Levy. 

[eyelessfaces]

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑: 𝐃𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐖𝐎

𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

jonathan levy x reader

𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐤: bath/shower

warnings: age gap, vaginal fingering, oral (f receiving)

word count: 0.5k

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

Dating someone older than you had its pros and cons. 

Cons were your family’s non required opinions about your relationship, the deafening silence after you had told your friends that your new boyfriend was in his forties when they had yet been so excited for you to tell them more about him.

The pros were getting to learn about life’s hardships more easily, since your boyfriend had already gone through them and saw the end of the tunnel, and could then guide you through it.

But most of all, the ultimate con was Jonathan’s experience with sex.

Jonathan had been a broken man that you had to fix and put the pieces back together, and though it could seem like a favor that cannot be repaid to others, Jonathan paid you back well. Really well.

Sure, he may not have the stamina the men your age have, multiple rounds sometimes weren’t an option for him, but he could work your orgasm with his mouth and fingers way faster than anyone you had ever slept with before.

So when he drops to his knees in the middle of taking a shower together to eat you out, your reasonable reaction should be to tell him to stop being stupid and to be careful about his knees, but it flies out the window the moment you start to think about how his tongue is going to feel.

You let him maneuver your leg over his shoulder, your hand resting against the shower wall, your back resting against the one behind you; the position isn't the most comfortable, but you know it won't necessarily last long.

Your head drops back with a loud thunk when you feel the first contact of his tongue against your folds, the pain of the impact on your head quickly vanishing when Jonathan starts licking at you and dizziness takes over your senses.

Where he was usually delicate and slow, there he was eager and vigorous, determined to watch you fall apart above him. 

His hand is gripping your thigh over his shoulder, kneading it so vigorously as he eats you out that you’re sure there’s going to be his handprint bruised there once he’s done.

His other hand is pumping two fingers inside you, so intensely that you can hear the embarrassing squelch of your juices over the sound of the water falling over Jonathan’s back.

And there you could feel all the experience he had; his movements so calculated and effective, all his movements so coordinated to make you feel overwhelmed by sensations, but the good kind of overwhelmed; his flattened tongue lapping at your folds and then his lips closing to suckle at your clit, his fingers thrusting and hitting the spongy spot inside of you, and the feeling of his prickly beard against the inside of your thighs burning in a pleasant way.

You don’t even have the time to tell him when your orgasm is about to hit, too drunk and overwhelmed by everything he’s offering you, and you have to brace yourself against the wall when your knees go weak and start shaking.

He stands up once you recover, pulling you into a kiss allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue.

“I’m not done with you” he declares as he scoops up a trail of shampoo falling over your forehead. “But we’ll do that in bed, my knees can’t handle that.”

—

as always please reblog and tell me your thoughts it helps a lot!!

scenes from a marriage taglist: @missmarmaladeth @anightshift @whatthefishh @campingwiththecharmings @my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction @mintgreen24 @dameronshandholder @jakecockley @cocodiem @pedropascalsidechick @spxctorsslxt @stvnnie

+ @flightlessangelwings

[xspiderxx]

nsfw. miguel o'hara

Have you seen Scenes from marriage? Because I can't stop thinking about Miguel having the same dynamic with his ex girlfriend/wife. Like you ending things, having an ugly break up, screaming at each other, crying...

But at the end of the day, somehow, you always go back to each other.

“you look so gorgeous right now” Miguel moans into your ear, rocking his hips against yours “ah, sí” groans, biting your earlobe.

“fuck...” you whimper, pulling him deeper into you with your legs around him “I lov-” you bite your lips, not finishing the sentence, but you can feel Miguel's lips curving into a smirk against your neck.

You were supposed to just pickup some stuff you left at his apartment after your break up, so you're not sure how you ended up fucking desperately on the living room carpet.

Your walls squeeze around him as you reach your high. He grips your hips, keeping you still, and with a last thrust, a loud and deep moan escapes from his lips, filling you up with his hot semen.

“we're not doing this again” you sigh with him still inside you.

He nods, but both of you know that it's a lie.

[blue-sadie]

The Married One

Jonathan Levy x TA Reader

Series Masterlist

Prt 5 of the Different Versions Series

Summary: waking up in a classroom being taught by... marc?

Warning: ta = Teachers Assistant, classroom sex

Yn/3rd person pov

I woke up to someone tapping my shoulder making me grogily raise my head rubbing my eyes harshly before opening them the blurring of colors slowly coming into focus.

"Who know my class didn't only bore students but my ta as well" my eyes moved to the man talking it was a slightly older marc with a few gray hairs, a beard and wore glasses "am I that boring" he asked teasingly as he leaned onto his arms that was settled on the edge of my desk.

"Hmm" I hummed not really hearing him the sleep fogging up my mind "I said" he paused his voice turning into a whisper "am I boring to you" my face blushed as he leaned a bit closer to me his breath fanning over my face "Mr levy" I felt relieved as a student called out to him making him stand and turn away.

"Yes ms wilson" he asked walking over to her desk, I looked over the class the board was covered in information and diagrams of the brain before they drifted back to the man he chuckled from something the student said, his curls swayed as he threw his hear back.

I was lost in thought but was abruptly brought back into reality as the loud bell echoed through the room "ok class remember the assignment is due next week thursday no extensions" he clapped his hands together as he spoke to gain the attention of the class.

The students packed up their things in a rush to get out only a few taking it slow as they spoke to their friends "you look beautiful ms yn" my eyes snapped to the students as I heard one call out from the crowd making a few of the other students laughed "that'd enough Jaden" Mr levy snapped loudly making the boys shut up.

The classroom immediately became quiet as the students left and Mr levy walked to the door and closed it "thank you" I murmured putting my hands into my lap as my eyes stared down at my small desk "he's a fucking asshole" he swore as he made his way to his desk sitting down with a sigh.

I nervously tapped my thigh as we fell into silence I looked around biting my cheek I didn't know what to do, leaning my head back against my chair "still bored" I straightened up as he spoke my eyes meeting his as he looked at me over the lense of his glasses a few pieces of his hair falling into his face.

"I don't know what to do" I murmured turning my chair to him, his eyes moved up and down my body I could see him bite his lip before sighing "we have no more classes for a few hours so please go to the office and print these" he said grabbing a few papers and holding them out for me to take.

I quickly rose from my seat and took them from him "don't be too long in the office I'll need to over a few of those before class" he mumbled as he typed away on his laptop I nodded my head not sure if he'll see it or not, I quickly made my way out the door looking for any directions or something to lead me to the office.

"Hey yn wait up" I turned around as someone called my name to see a man running towards me, he looked a little older then me with blonde hair that fell into his face as he ran "heading to the office" he asked panting as he slowed down beside me "yes" I murmured he nodded his head acknowledging my answer "i-i'll walk with you" he muttered breathlessly and started to walk with me.

I followed a little bit behind him as he lead me to the office "oh what's this" he asked taking the papers out my hands before I could protest his eyes scanning over them as he rambled on "I can't before you actually like that man as a person" he laughed making me narrow my eyes at him "Mr levy" I asked confused on what he ment "yea that man is a complete asshole do you hear him and his wife are divorcing" he muttered looking at me ever few seconds but not my face my breasts.

I didn't feel comfortable around this man, I wrapped my arms around my stomach nervously "he's probably perving on you every chance he gets" he growled 'kinda like you you sick fuck' I rolled my eyes and was relieved when I saw the office sign "I think I'm ok from here thanks" I murmured taking the papers back from him before walking slightly faster to disappear into the room.

I went to the printer placing the paper inside and pressed print "you know if I was your boyfriend I would never let you leave home" I tensed as I felt his breath on my neck "please leave me alone" I said shakely making him chuckle and place his hands on my hips stopping me from moving.

"I think it's what you want deep down to stay home to be looked after" his words made me cringe away from him as he leaned over to whisper in my ear "it's not" I stated "I think your ly-" he dwindled as he heard the door open "I suggest you back the fuck away from my ta Jenkins" I felt relieved as I heard levy's voice "jonathan levy why can't you just leave us alone I'm not hurting her so what's the problem" the man removed his hands from my waist as he turned to jonathan.

"Yn get to my classroom now" mr levy muttered looking over jenkins shoulder to me I nodded and left without a word, I wondered around the hallway intill I found my way back to his class the uneasy feeling somewhat subsiding as I closed the door I slumped over to the desk sitting on the edge of it as I waited.

It was only a few minutes before he returned, my eyes wondered over looking for any injury or something else the only indication of something happening was the reddening of his knuckles "what happened" I asked going to him as he shut the door "he won't bother you anymore" he growled as he pushed past me to get to his desk.

I fumbled with my hands as I walked back towards him "thank you" I whispered "you've saved me more then once today" I stopped infront of him nervously intertwining my hands "is there anyway I could repay you" I asked making him bite his lip and groan leaning his head back "don't fucking do this" he growled adjusting himself on the table.

"But what if I want to" I whispered stepping closer to him, he stared at me with danger and hunger in his eyes his labored breaths made his chest heave as he grabbed me to pull me close turning us around so I was pressed up against the desk "fuck I wanted this for some long" he muttered before pressing his lips against mine.

I moaned into his mouth as he ran his hands up and down my thigh slowly inching its way up my skirt "I fucking need you, begging for my cock" he grunted moving my panties aside sticking two of his fingers inside, "fuck mr levy" I whined my knees buckling making him push me more onto the table "fuck say my name baby just like that" he muttered curling his fingers making me see stars.

"Please mr levy" I moaned but whined out as he pulled his fingers out, he slowly brought his glistening fingers to his mouth licking them to get all of my juices while maintaining eye contact with me "sweeter then I thought" he growled and forced me to lay down on the desk my eyes followed his hands movement as he undid his belt and zipper and as his hand slowly slid into his boxers fetching out his cock.

His eyes became half lidded and full of lust as he slowly pumped his cock a few times before pressing it against my entrance, "beg me for it" he muttered sliding the tip up and down my slit "beg me to fuck you" he growled I whined loudly squirming on the desk "please, please fuck me please" I whined he chuckled darkly and slowly pushed in.

I moaned out as he leaned onto his arms pressing his dick further inside me "your so fucking tight for a little slut" his words made me whine and shake underneath him "my little slut" he said bringing his lips to mine, our lips molded together as he started moving in and out of me "fuck" he groaned against my lips.

He moved his lips to my neck sucking harshly at my skin as he thrusted "m-mr levy" I moaned out throwing my head back against the wood "please" my shook as I moaned I felt myself clench around him as I neared my climax and so was he, his groans and grunts fueling my desire "fuck fuck fuck" I cried out as I cam around him and soon after he did too filling me up with his seed, the panting of my breathe made me tired and my eyes fluttering.

"Good thing I can use you whenever I want because you are my little slut"

[melodygatesauthor]

Choking in Silence

Jonathan Levy X gn!Reader

Blurb 21 for Melody's 2023 Ficversary Celebration

NSFW below the cut

“Yeah, I’ll b-be there,” professor Levy rasped to the dean, his cock buried halfway down your throat.

He’d told you to stop when she walked into his office, but you couldn’t help yourself. How were you meant to resist when you were trapped between both his legs and the back of the desk with the scent of his musk surrounding you and not do something about it. You’d tried for a moment, but it’s like his leaking tip was staring at you, begging to feel your lips around it once more, and you couldn’t stop salivating at the thought.

“Wonderful, I tried to get Sandy to participate but…”

Her voice trailed into the back of your mind while you silently, and very slowly sucked and lapped along his length. You felt his legs shaking on either side of your shoulders, a signature reaction of his as he got closer to climax.

You felt his hand on the back of your head and a tug forward, plunging his throbbing cock deep in your esophagus while he pumped every drop of cum he had into your body. You could hear him huffing deeply through his nostrils, doing well to keep himself from moaning loudly.

He let out a loud sigh, “sorry,” he mumbled. You heard him fumbling around and grabbing some tissues to blow his nose. “Thought I might have to sneeze.”

Even if the dean seemed to believe his lie, you knew professor Levy would have some choice words for you later…

Melody's 2023 Ficversary Masterlist

[exquisiteserotonin]

Ternion

Word count: 3.3K

Pairing: Young Mr. Ben SNL(as a TA, Grad Assistant)xFemale ReaderxProfessor Jonathan Levy Scenes From a Marriage

Rating: E! For explicit (18+ only, MDNI)

Warnings: Threesome, Power Imbalance, Brat Taming, Oral Sex (F! Receiving), somewhat degrading actions

Summary: Your friend and fellow graduate assistant Ben asks you to come over to his place for help with another task that your overbearing advising professor, Jonathan Levy, has dumped on the both of you.

A/N: I don’t typically subscribe to the whole professor student thing, but this was begging to be written and I hope this means I am out of my funk and my damn season of writer’s block is over. I hope you enjoy and as always reblog, comment, engage! I would love to hear from you!

And to my sluts thank you as always for giving me your magic! @magpiepillsjunior @magpiepills @youandmeand5bucks @legendary-pink-dot @pink-whiskey-woman @redhotkitchen @arcanefox207 @for-a-longlongtime

Ternion

Ternion: a group of three, a triad; a section of a paper of book containing three double leaves or twelve pages

Your eyes were beginning to glaze over as you stared at your laptop screen. It was another long afternoon of compiling participant demographics and data from your advising professor’s study in your closet of an office. You closed your laptop a little harder than you should have as you began to pack up for the day. The parking lot behind your building was nearly empty, most students having left for the day. As you drove home, you had visions of cozying up on the couch with your blanket, drinking an adult beverage, and binge watching your favorite tv show.

You were only a few miles from your house, when the infotainment screen in your car flashed with a familiar contact: Ben, your office mate and fellow graduate assistant. Deliberation coursed through the pads of your fingertips and against your better judgment you answered.

“Hey Ben, what’s up?”

“Hey,” his voice echoed with a hesitancy, “Professor Levy asked me a for a favor and I—“

“Are you serious, Ben?” You groaned in exasperation. “This is such bullshit. ”

“I know, I know—I hate to ask but would you come over and help me out?”

Say no. Say no. Say no, your brain said on repeat. Desperation wafted from his hushed voice in a way that immediately unlocked your kindness. You just knew he was pouting, running his hands through his chocolate brown hair while somehow making his already big eyes even bigger, like glassy orbs of whiskey on ice: against your silent protests that he NOT be so easy to say yes to. But aside from that he was also the kind of colleague who’d help you out in a pinch…and too damn attractive for his own good. It certainly made having him as your office mate interesting and frustrating at times.

You gripped the steering wheel before announcing your decision.

“Well, I was legitimately on my way home,” you replied with a deliberately loud sigh. “But yeah, sure.”

It was a bitch move, you knew, but you needed your displeasure to be known. A small part of you felt bad about being so vocal with your frustration. It wasn’t Ben’s fault, but he needed to know the inconvenience of it all. You would not be at your professor’s beck and call. Especially on a goddamn Friday night.

“Just give me some time to head over,” you huffed and added, “I can’t be over there in a snap like Professor Levy would want.

“Hey now,” Ben spoke in a firm whisper that somehow still held a hint of kindness despite your bite, “don’t shoot the messenger.”

You turned the car around and headed to Ben’s house. You found parking on the street and walked up the stairs to the door of his small Brownstone. You pushed the doorbell and found yourself brushing your hands through your waves and cautiously smelling yourself.

Passable. You thought to yourself.

Then he answered the door, emerging in a snug navy blue v-neck and loose gray sweatpants slung low on his narrow hips. A hint of skin teased you between the hem of his shirt and the elastic of his pants. They held onto his hips for dear life with nothing but the insurance of a haphazardly tied drawstring. You nearly whimpered at the sight of him.

What a fucking tease. Get a hold yourself, woman.

You breezed through his door without a word, trying to quell your craving and channel it to the frustration you felt with your advising professor. This was his fault anyway.

“Um…hello to you, too,” he greeted.

Your hands were placed firmly on your hips when you turned back to face him. One of his brows was cocked at you, already waiting for another snarky response. You couldn’t help but pout back at him. He knew you too well.

“Just like him to not give you a weekend off,” you huffed.

“You don‘t even know what I‘m going to ask you,” his voice was low and sterner than you had ever heard before. “I‘m starting to think you like a little fight.“

The way his eyes bore into you was so deep, it was nearly a glare. He held his chin up in the slightest way, arrogant enough that it demanded your attention to his strong neck. It wasn’t long before you felt tiny sparks of electricity traveling over every inch of skin of your body. It didn’t help that he stood with his hips pushed forward in the most arrogant and un-Ben-like way.

“Wow, if only you could give a little bit of that attitude back to Professor Levy,” you said with some bite and unconstrained breathiness.

Conveying the facade of confidence was important. Especially in situations like this.

Ben stepped forward, his shirt and sweatpants clinging against his body in exactly the right way.

“You’re only proving me right,” he purred, now only inches from you.

Do not moan. Do not moan. Do not moan.

“Just give her what we know she needs, Ben,” you heard a polished voice command from the shadows of another room.

A different kind of heat crept over your face and neck after hearing the familiar voice.

What were the chances?

You looked towards the shadows to see Professor Levy swaggering towards you. He pushed forward a few steps, placing his hands in his trousers pockets before leaning against the wall to watch you. His eyes were low and piercing and he licked his lips that rested beneath his salt and pepper beard.

“Of course he’s here,” it came out as the repressed moan you were fighting against.

Professor Levy nodded towards Ben in acknowledgment of some kind of unspoken agreement. Faster than you could think or speak, Ben pulled your body tightly against his, grinding against you as he pressed his lips to yours in a hungry and greedy kiss.

You didn’t expect for Ben’s lips to feel as soft as they did. They were even softer when he parted yours with a firm lick of his tongue. The heat rose within you as his large hands wrapped around your waist, finding your skin beneath your shirt as he pressed your bodies even closer together. With every move he demanded you feel every twitch of his cock for you.

“W—wait!” You gasped, pushing him from you.

Your eyes moved from Ben to Professor Levy, a strange mix of unbridled desire and anxiousness stirring in the lowest part of your stomach. Ben’s thick fingers managed to keep a possessive grip on your hips that you didn’t brush away, despite the way your brain was spinning in want of answers.

“What the fuck are you doing?” You demanded of both of them.

The two men shared another knowing look that stoked the flame of your frustration. Professor Levy raised an eyebrow before removing his glasses and wiping them on a cloth he pulled from his shirt pocket. You couldn’t help but keep your eyes on him as he strutted towards you, his fingers weaving through the gunmetal ringlets of his hair. You rolled your eyes with disdain for his insufferable ways of working, but found yourself burning from your center with intrigue at what those fingers might be able to work on you.

“Always with the snark,” your professor directed the words towards Ben who responded with a shrug and a smirk.

“You will not talk about me like I’m not in the room,” you paused, turning to him and holding your eyes directly to his, “Jonathan.”

He one more large stride forward until he, too, was inches from you.

“I think you mean professor,” he commanded, continuing to advance on you until you backed into Ben.

A moan escaped you as Ben stood like a wall behind you. With your chest heaving up and down, Professor Levy brushed a strand of hair from your face with his long, lithe fingers. Yet they didn‘t stop there. The heat continued to rise from the three of you as the professor‘s hand journeyed down the curve of your body until they met Ben‘s at your hip. They shared a look of longing before turning that desire towards you. And in the strangest turn of events, the professor’s lips were on yours with his tongue paying adoration to your pouty lower lip.

Unable to contain the desire that trembled within, you let out a long, loud whimper as Professor Levy gently trapped your lower lip with his teeth. You already thought the feeling of Ben’s throbbing cock at your lower back was enough to drive you mad, but somehow you knew you were going to be pushed to your limit the moment Professor Levy took your hand to his pants until he pushed your palm to feel him twitch with desire for you.

The part of your brain that held your common sense screamed at you, demanding you not give him the satisfaction. But every other part of it, along with every part of your body, beckoned you to give in. The feeling of Ben’s massive hand moving to the front of your waist was followed by his thick fingers inching towards the front of your jeans. You couldn’t help but pant as you felt his hot breath brush the back of your neck.

“You can’t tell me that this isn’t better than the fight you put up,” Ben’s voice came to your ear in a low growl.

He wasn’t wrong. But ever true to yourself, you bit your lip and replied with a little extra spice, “I think that remains to be seen.”

Your words made Ben snap his hips forward against you with a gravelly moan. Within Professor Levy’s mahogany eyes you could see from his heavy-lidded stare the desire the two men held for each other while searching for their reason to include you.

Professor Levy lifted your chin with a push of two strong fingers, silently ordering you to look squarely into his bespectacled eyes before he spoke, “You definitely need to be taught a lesson.”

You found yourself following him to Ben’s large leather couch, with Ben close behind you, his fingers intertwined in yours. Professor Levy took his place first like a king warming his throne. He smirked as he taunted you by unbuttoning his shirt. He manipulated each button with skillful fingers until he slipped it off and let it fall to the living room floor. He spread his legs wide as he sat, smoothing his hands over the soft fabric of pants that covered his strong thighs.

Ben nibbled playfully at your neck and then your ear with desperate and needy breaths. His warm hands slowly slid beneath your shirt, moving upwards until he massaged your breasts with paws massive enough that they made them feel small. Before you could even think your shirt was gone followed by your bra.

Professor Levy beckoned you to him as he rubbed his thighs, “Come sit here…now.”

This time, you submitted without a fight, feeling the way your skin nearly melted into his as you let your back rest against his chest. His beard tickled the skin of your ear as he licked at the bottom of it. His supple fingertips reached under your arms until they found the altar of your nipples. You rolled back against him as he tortuously began to caress, flick, and pinch them even slower and more skillfully than he had with the buttons of his shirt.

“Ben,” your professor called to your colleague, friend…inevitable lover, “come here.”

You dragged your nails along the waist of his low slung sweatpants while he lifted his shirt over his head. You kept your fingers just above his waistband while he leaned over the couch towards you and your professor. It was mesmerizing to watch how these two beautiful men looked at each other with such intimacy and longing as you lay between them. Your professor took a hand from your nipples and brought it possessively to the back of Ben’s neck, pulling his face to his before licking his bottom lip and pressing onto his mouth for a slow, sensuous kiss.

“Fuck.”

There were no other words you had that could possibly convey the carnal state of desire you had fallen into. Hungrily, you pulled at the drawstrings of Ben’s sweatpants before reaching your hand to the waistband. In a lightning fast move, your professor pulled it away, squeezing your fingers between his.

“Tsk, tsk, not without my express permission,” Professor Levy scolded in a low, buttery whisper.

Slowly, Ben positioned himself at your legs, his hands caressing your waist until he began rubbing your professor’s thighs with you. Professor Levy grabbed Ben’s hand and squeezed it before lowering his eyes to him.

He spoke with unwavering confidence coating every word as he gave Ben a command that sent shivers spiraling outward from your wet center.

“Taste her.”

The wanton darkness that overcame Ben’s eyes and the smirk that curled the corner of his upper lip coaxed your heart and your pussy to throb even more than you anticipated. Your professor’s demand spurred Ben to pull off your jeans and underwear even faster than you could put any thoughts together. You sat naked between the two men in so many more ways than you’d imagined you ever would be. Through your dizzying thoughts, Ben placed a firm grip on your legs pressing them a part.

Any words you thought you could form in your head only came out in quick, pulsing gasps. An unbridled heat spread all over your body as you felt Ben’s broad fingers handle your outer lips until they began to line themselves up at your slit.

“Jonathan, she’s so fucking wet,” his voice was hushed and his breath was so hot against your pussy.

Professor Levy’s response came out in a guttural moan that met your body by way of hands continuing to work on your nipples. The theme of surprise continued as your professor and Ben played off one another in ways that only happened when two people knew each other beyond words. Ben’s nose pressed into your mound as he licked a slow, deep stripe up your center.

“Oh my god,” You cried, finding your professor’s hand with a desperate grasp as Ben began working on your pussy with slow, luxurious and hungry swirls until he moved into a varied and unexpected pace that had you shaking, writhing, and bucking against his every move. Each time his tongue worked on you, he pushed you to the very edge of ecstasy over and over and over again.

He moved his worship to your clit and pressed his face and tongue deeper into you, eliciting a cry from you that filled the room, “Jesus, Ben, fuck oh my—Professor!!”

You pressed one hand through Ben’s waves and gripped Professor Levy’s thigh while riding your high.

“Ben, tell me what she tastes like.”

He lifted his face from your center, lips and chin dripping with your spend.

“Like heaven.”

Ben looked up at you, his eyes glassy with passion and also shining with the gleam of a man hungry for more. The sight of him caused you to whimper. You had never studied his face this way before even though you shared a small space together almost daily. The broad bridge of his nose sloped downward and he breathed you in with a playful smirk before adorning your outer lips with a delicate kiss. You thread your fingers through the disheveled locks of his hair, smiling back at him until your lips opened once more as he teased you with more caresses of his fingers.

“He’s good isn’t he?” Professor Levy growled into your ear.

Your brain was spinning, your body shaking in anticipation of what was to come next. Professor Levy reached an arm over your body, maneuvering his hand towards your neck and without missing a beat, Ben pressed his mouth onto you again sucking at your lips before he dipped his tongue into you again. He continued to venerate every fold with abandon, moaning with each taste he had of you like it were the best meal he’d ever had. You didn’t think it could get any better, especially with the pressure of your professor’s hand at your neck matching the intensity of each manipulation of Ben’s tongue.

And then…

One…two of his broad fingers reached into you, curling into your tight wet pussy while his tongue paid particular devotion to your clit.

“Ah, oh my god, fuck!” You came crying, writhing, and losing any more words the tighter your professor’s grip became.

Ben’s voice vibrated against you with a low, carnal laugh as you felt the slick sensation spill from your center onto the leather beneath you. He then pressed his hands lightly at your lower belly, causing you to shudder with even more aftershocks from your orgasm. You worked through catching your breath and looked down at him. The face he greeted you with as you caressed his wavy locks was that of a bold and satisfied man who knew he could do that to you again.

Ben rose up from the floor and leaned forward until his face was close to yours. You relaxed and leaned your head back against your professor’s as he eased his hold at your neck. In an unexpected moment of tenderness, Professor Levy threaded his fingers between yours.

Ben’s eyes shined as he looked toward you and then your professor. The simultaneously tender and sensual intimacy they shared was amplified in this quiet moment. It felt so private that you were almost embarrassed by having witnessed it.

“Wanna have a taste?” Ben asked as he pressed his thumb still damp from you to Professor Levy’s bottom lip.

Your professor took it, sucking at the tip savoring the taste of you on Ben’s skin. Heavy-lidded with lust, Professor Levy let go of Ben’s thumb and then licked his lips.

“Mmm, sweet,” he murmured with a seductive and low rumble coming from the back of his throat.

Ben stood up and lifted his chin with a proud smirk. He walked to what you assumed was his bedroom and then turned around to lean against the doorway. The way he leaned his elbow above him and his other hand resting at his hip demanded you pay attention to his defined torso. The waistband of his sweatpants sat so low that your eyes had no choice but to travel down the peppering of brown hair that led to the thick treasure you were becoming so desperate for.

A light squeeze of your thighs by your professor was your signal to stand. He walked around you and used his eyes to study every curve of your body. A light touch of his fingers beneath your chin had you breathing hard again as his gaze now demanded that you give him your own. The breath from his mouth danced upon your lips. Yet instead of taking you in for a kiss, he turned from you with his hands in his pockets. You stood naked before both men watching you, waiting for you, bodies reaching for you from a doorway to a room and to a deed that you could never really come back from.

And the decision was clear. There was no way in hell you could turn back now.

You stepped forward. The old, hardwood floors creaked beneath your feet.

“Wait,” Professor Levy called out.

You closed your eyes with a sharp intake of breath and you stopped as he had demanded. Your breath quivered as you waited for what they had in store for you.

He shared another look with Ben, his eyes lowering and the brown of them becoming devilish and dark.

“Get on your knees and crawl.”

[female-hysterics]

So I know there's been a lot of talk about pussydrunk characters, but can I suggest a twist with a guy who's obsessed with your mouth?

Obviously I'm on a big kick for some perv!Professor Levy, so now I can't stop thinking about Jonathan who just occasionally reaches over and sticks his fingers in your mouth. Sometimes he tells you to suck, sometimes he gags you other times he'll pull your jaw open just to see you drool. He loves tucking you up under his desk at home (or at work on a weekend/late at night when no one's around) and having you warm him with your mouth until your jaw is too achey to keep going.

Perv!Jonathan isn't a total monster though. After he fucks your throat and watches you swallow his entire load, it's falling asleep to jaw and neck massages on the couch with your head in his lap while he talks about how he's gonna wake you up from his nap with his face between your legs (cause let's be honest, the professor gets pussydrunk too 😈).

Listen....I love pervy takes on these characters and I absolutely LOVE this twist 🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵🥵

Thank you for blessing me inbox, my friend 😩👌

Jonathan reaching over to you while you’re talking about your day and slides his fingers into your mouth, his dark eyes heavy-lidded as he stares with intense focus on the way you automatically close your mouth around his fingers, and he calls you his good girl when you begin to suck. 

He will gag you with his fingers or hold your jaw open while he’s fucking you. His gaze never leaving your face as you scream with pleasure around his fingers.

Jonathan would ABSOLUTELY have you under his desk to warm him. At home you have a plush pillow underneath his desk and a soft blanket incase you get cold and at his work he would let you kneel on his jacket. He keeps himself pressed deep into you mouth, reaching down occasionally to pet through your hair or stroke over your cheek, before gripping your hair and moving your mouth up and down his cock with a small hiss.

He’s very much into throat fucking and will make you swallow every single drop that he spills on your tongue. Afterwards he would clean you up and give you soothing massages over your jaw, neck, and shoulders. He will pepper your face in sweet kisses as he massages you, completely besotted, and he would totally whisper filth in your ears with pure adoration and love. 

You only whimper and sink further into his grasp and letting him tilt your head to reach all the sore spots. You do drift off with his warm body pressed against you and his gentle hands working your muscles, but you are eventually woken up by him tonguefucking you frantically. He’s groaning against your slick flesh, eating you out without care over how messy he’s being, and he has your thighs pinned open on the couch so he has full access to your dripping pussy. His eyes are squeezed tightly shut as if he’s trying to memorize your taste and his fingers bite into your soft thighs hard enough to leave bruises. You yank on his hair and sob out his name as he pulls orgasm after orgasm from you, him murmuring muffled words of encouragement against your cunt with each one, and he finally takes mercy on you when you barely have enough energy to whimper his name.

He trails kisses up your body and nearly rips his pants open trying to get his cock out, and then he’s thrusting into you. He has one hand braced on the arm of the sofa, his other his busy sliding his fingers into your mouth with a gruff order to “suck”, and he’s plowing into you with deep hard thrusts that make your eyes roll back. He’s panting like an animal above you, wild eyes darting between your mouth and where he’s sinking inside you, and it’s not long before spills inside you with an almost pained sound. You suckle at his fingers weakly as he gasps for breath and he stays inside you until he gets hard again.

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Summary: B reading and A watching with their chin on B's shoulder

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: boring dialogue?, probably me self-inserting in the self-insert i wrote

Word Count: 944

When you enter the bedroom, Jonathan can tell immediately that you've been crying. There are tear tracks on your face, and your breath, usually his anchor during his asthma attacks and like the flow of the river, comes in short little tides of gasps. You're trying to calm down but he doesn't think it's working. 

Letting his book fall face-open on his chest, "What's happened, baby?" He’s chewing away at some Nicorette gum, absent-mindedly, the repetitive motion keeping his mind just faintly occupied enough so he can focus on what he’s reading. 

He has a sneaking suspicion about what it was but he doesn't want to belittle you and assume things. 

"Nothin'," you give him a weak smile, your eyes tired and glistening. Your voice breaks, "I was just watching a movie." 

"Oh?" He shifts up on the bed, resting against the headboard. With his age, he's been forced to put pillows behind his back now, otherwise he'll wake up in the morning with a knot and he won't be able to get out of bed without your help. "Which one?" 

You hesitate before looking down at the ground and murmuring, "It's a Wonderful Life." 

Jonathan's not surprised. You loved that one, no matter how cheesy. You'd showed him photos of your college dorm and there was a big movie poster tacked up on the wall across from your bed. 

For your birthday, he'd bought you the colourized CD and now like tradition, you watch it when the holidays roll around. 

And like tradition you break down into tears at the end of it. 

To my big brother George, the richest man in town. 

"It's summer, honey, what are you doing watching a Christmas movie?" 

You shrug, coming over to join him on the bed. You click into his side like a magnet. "Wanted to watch it again."

“Did you enjoy it?” 

“Mmhm.” 

He shifts and moves down again, his book sliding just that way to the left of his body. “Well, that’s all that matters then.” 

Cuddling closer, so that he feels your breath against the sensitive skin of his neck, as it starts to regain its normal music, “What’re you reading?” 

“Oh,” he holds up the cover for you to see. It’s a beaten-down, yellow, almost identical to the colour The Man in the Yellow Hat wore in the Curious George books, though that’s about where the similarities end. “The Life You Can Save. Peter Singer.” 

“What’s it about?” Your hand follows down the trail of his chest, starting from his shirt collar, and rests on his lower tummy. 

You were unlike anyone he’d ever dated after his divorce. You’d been shaped and moulded by your past like him. Craving touch and running away when it was given to you. 

You’d been hurt. A guy you hadn’t named yet but talked about sometimes, just enough so Jonathan would be able to tell just what kind of accommodation you were asking of him. 

The first time Jonathan kissed you, you didn’t even give him a chance to say good night before you were gone, the lock turning sounding like the door of a coffin closing. 

Though that had been three years ago. 

Now, you tuck your head into his neck and touch his tummy. Sometimes, you get a little scandalous and run your hands up his inner thighs. 

But always in private, always alone, sharing your solitude with Jonathan. 

“The morality of people knowing about poverty and doing nothing to stop it,” he says, flipping through the pages with his thumb at the edge of the book, before he closes it and hands it over to you. 

You take it with a frown, and for a few moments, you go quiet as you read the back of it. “Is this for one of your classes?” 

Jonathan’s just glad that you’re not thinking about the movie anymore, even if you claimed to enjoy it, he doesn’t like seeing you unnecessarily cry; another little of those funny knacks leftover from Mira, like when you stay the night at someone else’s and they tour the house, teaching you how to handle every temperamental doorknob and tap. 

“Yeah, Intro to Ethics.” 

“I didn’t know they had you teaching junior-level courses again.” 

You place the book back on his chest, replace your hand where it rightfully belongs. 

He shrugs, “I taught it a couple times during my postdoc…just trying to refresh my mind. Update the content a bit.” 

With a little sigh, “I wish I had professors like you when I was in college.”

“Yeah,” he laughs. He cups the back of your head with his hand, “I do too.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your reading.” 

He shakes his head, “It’s alright.” 

But Jonathan hears what you wanted to say and picks up his book, flipping back to where he was. On cue, you place your head on his shoulder and tilt up. 

Since Ava moved away to college, Jonathan’s got a lot more time on his hands. He’s finally gotten around to building you that window seat you always wanted, finishing up shows that he’s been meaning to watch for years now. Reading, writing, sleeping, eating. 

He goes on long walks with you these days, pumping fresh, clean air into his lungs and making his attacks infrequent and far between. He hasn’t touched a cigarette or a lighter in months now. 

It’s almost strange the amount of time he gets to spend on himself and you now. Maybe it’s a brief taste of what retirement is going to be like.

Thanks for reading, if you liked it, please consider leaving some feedback! I don't usually respond, but I obsess and re-read reblogs and comments constantly.

Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.

[darkuselesssomebody]

𝕜𝕚𝕟𝕜𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 𝕕𝕒𝕪 𝟚𝟘 - dark!jonathan levy x fem!reader

complete masterlist | kinktober 2023 masterlist

kink || recording/blackmail

taglist || @silversprings-mp3

fandom || scenes from a marriage

a/n || sorry. i don't have much else to say <3.

➵ warnings for specific content before the divider

➵ i never watched scenes from a marriage but jonathan levy is so fit so if he's ooc excuse me

➵ not proofread

➵ comment/message if you'd like to be added to the taglist

warnings || smut/dark (dddne)

➵ professor/student dynamic

➵ unprotected sex

➵ spanking

➵ blackmail, duh

➵ degradation (use of whore)

she knew it was stupid, and wrong.

she knew she had worked her ass off fr a full ride scholarship to this university, and she can't do anything to jeopardize that.

so of course, she had agreed to the lust-filled eyes of her professor - his wandering hands, his dirty mouth.

she'd let him grope her body, tear away at her leggings. she'd let him smack her ass, bite her neck. she'd let him cum in her mouth, and then inside her.

but she hadn't let him do that one thing.

she's in his office again today, and she was trying to cut the relationship off.

"we can't... do this anymore." she'd tried to argue, "you're just divorced, and you're my professor! you know how much trouble we could get into?"

he's not looking at her, hand over his mouth, a stern, contemplative look on his face. she bites her lip, as he spends more and more time not responding.

"can you say something?" she mumbles, and his chair finally turns to fully face her. he leans forward over his desk, hands clasped by his chin.

"no." his voice is cold, and she furrows a brow.

"what do you mean?"

"no. this-" he gestures between the two of them, "is not stopping." she blinks in confusion.

"you can't just-"

"i can, and i will." his voice isn't changing in inflection. it's not angry, it's commanding.

he needed the control. his whole life was spiraling out of control, and he wasn't letting his favorite student slip out of his fingers as well. a chill runs down her spine.

"i'm gonna... leave." she whispers, slowly getting up, and his eyes trail over her figure.

"sit back down." he orders, and she hesitates.

"n-no, i should-" he finally sighs solemnly.

"i didn't want to do this." he murmurs calmly, hand going to his phone to look through his gallery. he puts on a video, and doesn't even have to show her the contents - all she has to do is listen.

her moans are high-pitched and more needy than she remembers, and his own are gruff and controlled. he's calling her a whore - his whore - and she's preening at the name. her face flushes, cheeks warming as she listens.

she hadn't let him record the experience.

"what the fuck?" she whimpers, and he turns it off.

"insurance." he finally gets up, standing in front of her. she doesn't look at him, feeling her pulse quicken - not in excitement, or intrigue - but fear, and shock. he gently places his finger to her hot skin, and her breath hitches, "why would we stop when you need me so goddamn much?" he whispers, as though he was trying to be understanding. she shakes her head, feeling oncoming tears.

"no, i don't-"

"don't lie..." he says, so softly. he plays the role of the kind, patient professor perfectly, until he has her on her knees, "will you be my good girl now?" he murmurs, nosing at her earlobe, inhaling her scent deeply.

she shudders, cringing in disgust, but paradoxically feeling her core pulse in need. his grip tightens just slightly on her chin: he wants an answer.

"yes." she mumbles quietly, and he sighs in satisfaction. he presses a sweet kiss to her cheek, before grabbing at her scalp and pushing her to her knees, his other hand going down to undo his slacks. she gulps, staring up at his imposing figure, as he taps his now exposed cock on her lips.

"open up, sweetheart." he orders, and she slowly sticks her tongue out. she's upset she can't even fight back. what could she do? the sounds of her moans and his degradation in the video echo in her mind, as he fucks into her mouth, slowly, with his teeth gritted, "oh, yeah - fuck, yeah..." he moans, moving his hips a little faster. his hand has her hair bunched into a ponytail, moving her like a doll for him. because that's all she was. his whore.

he's getting closer, and he wants to cum inside her again. he pulls out of her mouth, helping her to her feet, before bending her over the desk and kicking open her legs. his hand runs over her ass, pulling down her tight jeans, and squeezing harshly at the flesh of her thighs. one hand pumps his cock, and the other explores her folds, flicking over her clit and making her jolt and whimper. she's trying not to moan - how cute, he thinks.

he delivers a small slap to her ass.

"moan, whore." he murmurs casually, as though he's asking about the weather. she bites her lip to moan, and he sighs, annoyance finally starting to show. he pulls her up such that her back was flush by his chest, holding her up by putting an arm around her tits. he wants to lave his tongue over her neck, leaving marks behind with his teeth. he wants her to struggle to explain them to her friends.

he adjusts to slip his cock inside her, and she finally moans loudly - high-pitched, shocked and pleasure-filled - and he smiles softly, letting her adjust.

he wasn't a monster, after all.

he pulls out till just his tip is still inside after letting her get used to him, before slamming back inside, wanting to hear her scream. she knows she can't - they're in his office for god's sake! - and she hand to bite down on her hand to muffle her noises. seeing it enrages him; he pulls her hand out of her mouth. he moves harder - thrusting harder inside her.

he needs her to moan, he needs to hear how good he makes her feel.

it works, and a flurry of moans and whimpers tumble out of her lips. she's gonna cum, and she's trying to stave it of, but it's not working.

"st-stop, i'm gonna-"

"cum?" he finishes her sentence for her, and bites her neck, grinning against her skin, "do it, whore." he murmurs, but he uses the word lovingly, this time. "cum for me."

she does it. for him, or not, it doesn't matter. she cums so hard, she's worried she'll pass out, and he groans into her hair as her walls clench around him, finishing not so long after, as well. he pulls out, admiring the view. she looks so pretty like this - this is what she should always look like.

he looks over at his phone, and she follows his gaze. it's recording - and she's shocked she'd not noticed it again. he pauses the recording, putting it in his pocket, and she looks at him in a strange mix of pleading, confusion, and horror. she swallows softly.

"why did you need another one?" she finally whispers, and he grins, eyes crinkling - a kind smile on his face.

"the last one was insurance. this one's entertainment."

[clazaries]

Key ✨ - Fluff 🌧️ - Angst 🌶️ - Spicy/Smut (NSFW) 💀 - Dark

Moon Knight

Just a Neighbour Thing ✨ Summary: Your neighbour Marc Spector is a pain in your ass. Until he saves your life.

Karma in the Form of Justice 💀 Summary: Don't get on the wrong side about Egyptian matters when it comes to Steven and if he teaches you something, you better remember it.

Santiago 'Pope' Garcia

The Thin Line Between Victory and Survival 🌶️ Summary: Having been newly promoted, your first mission with Delta Force goes wrong and you have to deal with the consequences of going against Santiago's orders

Jonathan Levy

Old Love, New Dream ✨ 🌧️ 🌶️ Summary: Just when you think you've recovered from a debilitating breakup with Jonathan Levy, all those feelings come rushing back when he walks back into your life again as your best friend's boyfriend.

Yet to come... Miguel O'Hara Nathan Bateman Poe Dameron Leto Atreides Blue Jones

Requests are open!

[winniethewife]

I made you my temple, my mural, my sky (Johnathan Levy x reader)

Warnings: Implied Age gap, angst ending in fluff.

Words: 738

They were fighting again. She was tired of the fighting. It felt unfair, he had so much more experience, He having been married and divorced, this being her first serious relationship. He wasn’t even sure why they were fighting, what started the fight, was he just used to fighting? Is this what he thought love looked like? She gave up and left the room in tears. He takes a moment, has a cigarette break before going to join her in the other room.

“I sit and watch you, I notice everything you do or don't do, I feel like I’m analyzing your every move, waiting for some inevitable betrayal.” He says softly as he leans on the doorway. She’s looking out the window as she sits on the couch, her chin in her hands.

“I don’t know what you’re looking for…You're so much older and wiser and I…I don’t know what I’m doing…” She looks over at him, she can see the tears in his eyes. She feels guilty, maybe the fights are pointless, maybe she’s just missing something. She lets out a soft sigh and moves over so he can come sit with her. He doesn’t move. He runs his hand over his beard and tilts his head to the side.

“If it's all in my head tell me now, That, I’m looking for something that isn’t happening. Tell me I've got it wrong somehow.” He says, the slightest bit of fight still in his voice, but most of it was heartbreak and assumptions. She runs her hand along her arm and shakes her head slightly.

“You can’t be more wrong Jon. I don’t think I could leave, even If I wanted to. Every day I wait by the door like I'm just a kid, for you to come home. Everything I do, I do it for you, I feel like my every waking hour is in dedication to you.” She looks up at the celling. “But none of it is enough is it?”

“Honey I…god I’m an idiot.” He half laughs, half sighs in exasperation. “You do some much for me and I act like it’s nothing. You lay the table with the fancy shit, polish plates until they gleam and glisten, Take care of Ava, you do everything… While you were out building other worlds, where was I?” He shakes his head before walking over sitting down next to her, leaning over, putting his head in his hands. She puts a hand on his shoulder and softly squeezes him.

“Jonathan, you know I love you. I don’t want to leave you. I don’t want to be begging for footnotes in the story of your life. I just…I feel like I’m taking up too much space or time.” She says softly. He sits up and looks at her. A soft sad simile on his face.

“How can you stand to be around me? I’m always assuming the worst about us, like I expect it all to go up in flames at any time. As if everything is just a time bomb, I just assume it will go to shit…” He leans back resting his head on her shoulder, She instinctively nuzzles into his mess of curls finding comfort in his scent.

“You’ve spent a long time thinking everything was okay and wonderful and great to have the worst happen. I don’t blame you for thinking that way.” She says as they curl up together on the couch.

“I always thought you assume I'm fine, when I’m so obviously not.” He grumbles softly. She rubs circles in his back as she holds him close

“What would you do if I told you that, I think the same way? That I’m just…damaged goods to you.” She asks. He takes her hand in his.

“My love, if you’re damaged goods then, I am far beyond repair.” He chuckles softly. She takes his chin in her hand and turns his head to look into his dark eyes with a loving look on her face.

“Just a couple of broken toys no one wants to play with…” She leans into kiss him, her soft lips against his as he scoffs slightly at her remarks.

“Likely story.” He mutters against her lips.

“Would you rather I try to fix you? Believe me, I could do it…I think…I know how.” She moves her kisses from his lips down his neck….

“That…Just might work.”

~

Series Masterlist

[oscarisaacsspit]

he put his whole dilfussy into this

[boredzillenial]

Laurent Leclaire

Sweet Relief

Laurent finds you during a difficult time of the month, he wants to help you feel better.

Jonathan Levy

A Simple Arrangement

Jonathan wakes you in the night to meet his needs with your agreement

King John

Exhibitionism

🎃 King John upholds his scandalous reputation and takes what he wants.

Jack Jackson

Dirty Talk & More

🎃 You come home to find a stranger by your pool.

Richard Muñoz

Vouyerism

🎃 Richard knew better than this, but he just can’t help himself.

Nathan Bateman

Data

Your boss Nathan needs your body “for science”

Poe Dameron

Sir’s Suprise

📨 Poe is off on a mission but has just the thing to fill his pet’s needs

Cecil Dennis

Threesome Drabble

Outcome-3

Seduction Drabble

[melodygatesauthor]

Jonathan Levy - Random Horny Thot #1 - The Girl in the Front Row

NSFW

He'd spent night after night jerking off to your videos online. He watched you, pretty legs spread wide with a vibrator plunged deep in your wet little pussy. He'd fantasized about feeling your walls contracting around his girth, squeezing his cock while you cum over and over again. He knew he could do better than that silly piece of plastic, he knew he could do better for you.

When the new semester starts, and he looks up to see his new class, he nearly drops the coffee mug in his hand. There you are, sitting with your eyes down staring at your notebook and writing your notes. Jonathan gulps, mouth slack open and breathing heavily. Is he having an asthma attack? No...no he's okay...

Professor Levy knows he has to have you, and when all the other students leave, he tells you to stay behind. When you look at him with those big, curious eyes he feels his arousal building instantly. You're so pretty, and his cock aches with a need to be buried deep inside of you. He takes off his glasses and puts them on his desk.

He says your stage name, the one only fans of your work would know about, and then watches the panic wash over your face. You start stammering, unable to get out a coherent thought, and he can see it in your expression so he stands, putting a caring hand on your shoulder.

"Hey, you don't have to worry honey, I'm not going to tell anyone," he trails his hand up the side of your neck and he brushes his thumb against your cheek.

"Professor I-"

"Sh," he puts a finger on your lips, "you've given me so much, let me return the favor hm?"

Within seconds he's got you bent over his desk, door locked, cock buried to the hilt in your warm little cunt. He shudders feeling it grabbing onto him like it doesn't want to let go. He rubs the globes of your ass with both hands, grabbing them and spreading your cheeks so he can watch.

"Oh god, look at you. Thought about this a lot but-oh-fuck-never thought I'd actually feel you sweetheart. So tight..."

You're like putty in his hands, whining and moaning over the desk, holding on so hard your knuckles ache. He grabs your waist, gripping roughly, leaving divots in your skin.

His slow rolling motions get more uneven as he gets closer to losing himself. It's wrong, fucking a student, especially one two decades younger than he is, but he can't help himself, and you feel so fucking good.

In fact, you feel so good that he's embarrassed at how quickly he's spilling his hot seed inside of you, filling you so full you're making a mess of his classroom floor. He's not going to let you go unsatisfied though, not a fucking chance.

He doesn't even care that he's going to have to wash his own cum out of his beard before his next lecture, he's on his knees behind you, lapping at your hungry clit with fervor. You're gasping, breathing heavily while he slurps and eats everything out of you.

He makes good on his promise, giving you one of the same mind-numbing orgasms that you'd given him time and time again with your films in the privacy of his home office. You were such a mess when he was finished that your makeup was running down your face and your stockings were ruined.

"Keep this up honey," he leans in, beard brushing against your ear, "and I'm sure you'll do just fine in my class."

Any of my blurbs can be used as inspo for a fic. Please tag me for credit. Thank you!

Random Blurbs Masterlist

[god-complex-12]

Elysian Feelings

— Paring; Jonathan Levy x male reader. Fandom; Scenes From a Marriage

Quote; “Well, they say the way to someone’s heart is through the stomach.” “You reached the heart before even getting close to the stomach.”

Description; Jonathan has a fat crush on his neighbor. He sees his neighbor baking and next thing he knows, he’s sharing brownies and his feelings. Disclaimer; Fluff. Confession. Teasing. Reader is shirtless. Jonathan kind of (not in a creepy way) watches the reader from a window.

Word Count: 1.3k

Scenes From a Marriage Masterlist, Oscar Isaac Masterlist

A/N: Wow, I said I had writer's block, now I’m posting two fics in one day.

Jonathan walked into his kitchen, searching for a quick snack. It was around 9 at night and he had just put Ava to bed. Jonathan was in a white T-shirt with pajama pants. He flicked on the light in his kitchen and pushed his glasses up with the back of his hand. Jonathan looked around and grabbed a banana. He placed it on a cutting board and grabbed a knife. He cut it in half — the peeling still on.

Jonathan grabbed the half he wanted and peeled it, throwing the peel in the trash. He took a bite of it and went back to the knife and put it in the sink. The bearded man glanced out the window for a split second. He had to do a double take. His and his neighbor’s kitchen windows were parallel to each other. He lifted one of the blinds and peered out — curious because he saw his neighbor’s light on.

There his neighbor stood. He was shirtless, but in a black apron that hugged his muscular waist nicely. He chewed slowly as he took in the sight. After Mira left, and this guy moved in, he started to become almost overbearingly infatuated with the man. The sight of Y/N shirtless baking wasn’t new to him. He found that Y/N baked a lot, especially shirtless.

Jonathan shrugged and continued to eat his banana. He began cleaning up the kitchen in the process. When he finished that half of the banana, he began washing the dishes. Occasionally he would let his impulsive thoughts win and glance up at his hot neighbor. He thought of what Y/N was baking and couldn’t help but feel the urge to want to try it. He glanced up again and was a little confused when he saw Y/N was gone.

Jonathan stopped washing the dishes, his hands sinking into the soapy water as he leaned in more, trying to figure out where he went. After a few seconds of looking, he heard a knock at his door. He leaned back and glanced in the direction.

“Be right there!” He called out to the person. He panicked a bit at the sudden visitor. He tried to shake his hands dry, and then wiped them on a towel. He then began walking to the front door. He opened it and his eyes widened.

There stood his neighbor with a plate full of saran wrapped brownies. Y/N smiled sheepishly. “Sorry, to bother you. I baked some brownies and I can’t really eat them all, and I know you have a daughter, so I thought I’d give you guys a treat.”

Jonathan’s eyes trailed down to the brownies and to Y/N’s body. He still had an apron on, but he was also still shirtless. Jonathan felt his ears heat up and he tensed up. He swallowed a lump in his throat and looked up at Y/N. “Uh, wow. That’s- uh, that’s really sweet of you.” He smiled, trying to cover up how flustered he was.

Jonathan stepped to the side to let Y/N walk in. Y/N thanked him and entered the home. He looked around and smiled. “Very nice place.” He complimented.

Jonathan gave a polite nod. “Thank you.” He led Y/N to the kitchen.

Y/N placed the baked goods on the counter and smiled at Jonathan. Jonathan returned it, feeling a bit nervous. “They look amazing.” He praised.

“Do you want one? I made them for you and your daughter so you are welcome to them.” He gestured to the plate.

Jonathan nodded and grabbed one. His hand shook slightly, the sight and thought of Y/N was a little overwhelming at the moment. He watched Y/N grab one too. Y/N raised it up a bit like a cheer and Jonathan returned the action. Jonathan held eye contact as he took a bite. His eyes widened as he bit into the thin layer and into the gooey insides. He let out a small moan — which caused his face to heat up in embarrassment.

Y/N chuckled and covered his mouth. “That good, huh?”

Jonathan chuckled along with him. “These are the best brownies I’ve ever had.”

“I’m glad.”

For a moment, they share a silence. They stare at each other, there’s something hiding behind their gaze that neither of them are willing to admit. Y/N didn’t know what he was feeling until this moment. Up until now, all he knew was that his neighbor was clouding his thoughts and that he wanted any excuse to talk to him — that’s why he brought him brownies. The realization hit him in the moment. His eyes widened a fraction as he realized that what he was feeling wasn’t just some hyper-fixation, it was a crush.

Jonathan was the first to break the moment, he looked away with an awkward cough. Y/N looked to the side. He felt his heart quicken and his breath grow a little heavy. His eyes searched around the kitchen for a distraction. It landed on the half cut still peeled banana.

He remembered something his mother taught him in that moment and used it to diffuse the awkwardness. “You know, banana peels are really good for roses.” He looked back at Jonathan.

“Really?” He asked, he couldn’t care less though, his mind was hazed over with a feeling of an unsatisfied want.

“Yeah, the potassium is really good. You could preserve the peel in water and apply it to the roses.”

“I never believed bananas actually had potassium. Potassium is a very reactive element, especially to water.” He said with a shrug, grateful for the distraction from the moment they just shared.

“Bananas decay, so it makes the potassium less reactive.” He said, gripping the counter edge he was leaning on.

Jonathan chuckled. “So you're a nerd and a chef?” He teased with a smirk.

Y/N chuckled nervously. “Yeah, I guess so.” He muttered. Their eyes met again with that same gaze with the unspoken intent. After a second, Y/N spoke up. “I guess it’s kind of weird for your neighbor to come to your house at night shirtless with a plate of brownies.” He joked.

“No, not at all!” Jonathan said with a laugh. “I’m grateful actually.”

“The brownies or me?” Y/N said teasingly. He then caught himself and got a little embarrassed. He looked down and shuffled a bit “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” He awkwardly chuckled. “I don’t know what came over me.”

Jonathan smiled, he couldn’t help but find it all more endearing. “No, it’s fine.” He assured him with a sweet smile. “I’m lucky to have you.”

“As a neighbor or..” Y/N trailed off as he waited for an answer.

Jonathan felt a rush of confidence surge through his body. He caved into his impulsive thoughts like he did before. “To love you.” He said, boldly.

Y/N was sent into utter shock. His eyes remained the same though. He didn’t look shocked, but he was. He fell completely silent as he stared at Jonathan. His heart racing and his mouth agape. He could feel his heart pound aggressively in his chest, begging him to say something. “Well, they say the way to someone’s heart is through the stomach.” He said quietly as his face turned red.

“You reached the heart before even getting close to the stomach.”