#scenes from a marriage fanfiction

[spacecowboyhotch]

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

#posting smut at 10 am is my RIGHT #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x fem!reader #jonathan levy x f!reader #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fanfiction #scenes from a marriage #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #not sfw #arson writes randos

[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

#scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy fan fiction #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fic #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #john levy fanfiction #john levy fan fiction #john levy fiction #jonathan levy fiction

[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.

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy x y/n #jonathan levy x female!reader #jonathan levy fluff #jonathan levy angst #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy fanfic #jonathan levy fic #jonathan levy x f!reader #jonathan levy imagine #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #scenes from a marriage #scenes from a marriage imagine #scenes from a marriage fic #oscar isaac

[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.

Orestes

Bathhouse

🎃 Orestes follows you to the bathhouse and admits how intriguing you are to him.

My Dove

📨 Orestes trying to woo his bride

Basil Stitt

Anonymous Sex

🎃 You take a risk and try anonymous sex, but the man you meet is a little… off…

Pizza Delivery

📨 Orestes hears of a Saint that may span the hostility between him and his new bride.

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

Anselm Vogelweide

Delisssious

Your boss is texting you inappropriately “during a meeting” (blurb)

#laurent leclaire x reader #laurent #in secret #jonathan levy fan fiction #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy smut #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #orestes fanfiction #orestes x reader #orestes fanfic #orestes #robin hood king john #king john #basil stitt x you #basil stitt fanfiction #basil stitt x reader #lightningface #richard munoz x reader #richard alonso muñoz x reader #the letter room fanfic #oscar isaac characters

[myfandomlikesandstories]

Moving

Jonathan Levi x gn!reader

Genre: angst, comfort

Summary: Jonathan brings up moving to a smaller house. Eva doesn't like it at all, and for you it hits close to home.

Warnings: references to divorce.

Word count: 932

A/N: this is genuinely just me processing my own trauma. Made a fic of it, have fun!

Jonathan and you were at your apartment, drinking in your kitchen. Eva was with Mira for the weekend, so you decided to talk about the events of a few days past.

It was a regular Tuesday, really. Jonathan invited you over for lunch, an invitation you happily took on, being his best friend and the godparent of his daughter. You've always been close, since you met at college. Your bond was beyond anything - always there for each other, always the first to know and last to leave. The best company.

When Eva was born, Jonathan and Mira decided to make you her godparent, "officiating your third wheeling", as you sometimes joked. It had a seed of truth, since you were practically Eva's third parent. It was a good position to be in, as it made you "the cool one".

So that Tuesday, the three of you sat at the table for lunch, when Jonathan brought up the fact he's been looking at houses. Smaller ones. To move into.

Eva didn't take lightly to that. Once she understood what it meant, leaving her home, she voiced her disagreement by bursting into tears. The little girl was screaming that she doesn't want to leave, and pushed Jonathan away when he tried to hug her. Eventually she ran to her room and slammed the door.

Jonathan was rather shocked, he didn't imagine it would go this way. "She's always so excited when she sleeps away from home, I thought she'd be happy! Obviously we're not going to move right now, it was just an option. I thought she doesn't really like it here anymore either." He told you. "I should go to her."

You put your hand on his shoulder for him to stay. "Give her a moment. I'll go."

A few minutes later, you knocked on her door. She told you to leave, but let you in after some conversation.

Eva let you sit on her bed after her crying died down.

"No one is going anywhere, munchkin. This is your house, and it's staying that way. You're not moving anywhere. It's okay." You told her.

"Bu - but dad said we might live somewhere else! I don't wanna go! I don't wanna go!!!" The little girl pleaded, tears filling her eyes again. She burrowed into you and you held her, petting her hair. "Shhhh... It's not happening. Everything's okay. Everything's okay."

--------------------

Jonathan leaned on the counter, swirling the wine in his glass. "I really don't understand though," he said, "she's not happy there. We both sleep in what used to be my study. The top floor is basically just storage, and she won't go there on her own. It's too big!"

"You're right. It really is too big. But so is this situation." You were a child of divorced parents, and remembered what it was like when one of them moved out.

"It's not actually about the house, Jonathan. It's about the routine, about the familiarity. It's what she knows. And kids are naturally sentimental. They're connected to their things, especially in times of crisis." You commented and took a sip from your own glass.

"Tell me more?" He inquired. "I want to understand."

You sighed. It wasn't the easiest of topics for you. "She wants things as similar to how they were, Jon. She used to have a family until a few months ago."

Jonathan looked offended. "She has a family. We didn't evaporate the second Mira left."

"I didn't mean it like that, I'm sorry." You took a deep breath. "She's five, man. I was her age when my folks spilt. She feels like she doesn't have a family anymore. It doesn't matter matter how many inclusive family dynamics books you read to her, it's still a fucking earthquake. Her world doesn't look like it used to, and it never will."

Jonathan noticed your voice cracking slightly and set his wine down on the counter as he moved closer to you.

"Trust me, there's NOTHING she wants more right now than to have things back how they were. For years after they separated, I still tried to hug both my parents at once. Just grabbed them and smushed them together. Made them absolutely miserable. Eva knows, Jon. She knows she'll never get a family group hug from both her parents, ever again. Imagine that for a child, eh?"

Your throat was already closing when you said: "She wants to stay in that house because the thing she wants most in the world is for Mira to walk back through that door!" You sobbed.

"Hey, hey, it's okay," Jonathan said, taking away your glass and putting his hand on your arm.

"I'm sorry," you chocked out. "Please don't hug me."

"Okay, alright," he said in a calming, quiet voice. "I'm not going to if you don't want to. Could you just look at me please?"

You signed for him to wait while you steadied yourself, and then looked into his eyes.

"I am not your father." He said. "And you're not my kid. You're a fully grown adult, with a say in this situation. You are not five again. What you say matters. I am not your father, and I'm listening to you."

That's what it took for you to dissolve in tears. He opened his arms and you fell into them, sobbing into his shoulder while he rubbed your back.

"It's okay," he reassured. "Crying doesn't make you any lesser. You're okay."

"I love you, Jonathan." You mumbled into him after a few minutes.

He squeezed you harder.

"I love you too."

Just tagging some mutuals, I'm sorry if you're not interested in scenes from a marriage, feel free to ignore:

--------------------

MASTERLIST

@ivystoryweaver @writingforcurrentobsessions2 @romanarose @eyelessfaces @spider-starry @luke-o-lophus @my-secret-shame

#my post #scenes from a marriage #scenes from a marriage fanfic #sfam #sfam fanfic #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #scenes from a marriage angst #Jonathan levi angst #jonathan levi x gn reader #jonathan levi x male reader #jonathan levi x reader #angst #comfort

[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.”

#juice collective #friends of the juice collective #pedro pascal character fanfiction #oscar isaac character fanfiction #mr. ben x reader #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal fandom #jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #smut writing

[h0unds-of-h3ll]

Lover’s exchange

After submitting your final. Jonathan’s more than intrigued as to where the inspiration comes from.

Jonathan Levy x reader smut.

Word count: 8k

Viewers beware you’re in for a scare with the: fluff, smut, rough smut, VERY EXPLICIT, age gap, fingering, blow jobs, eating out, unprotected sex, gagging, anal play, ass eating, overstimulation, coercion, consenting adults, power control, breeding kink, recorded masturbation, explicit language & themes, dark themes, drinking, smoking, rough smut, hair pulling, scratching, Jonathan is not as innocent as he seems, teasing, porn? Porn, teacher x student, somnophilia, implied face sitting, sensory deprivation kinda.

A/n: I literally took the idea of him being a professor and fucking ran full throttle with it. Can be an au! I guess. Head empty just him. Just a disclaimer that I’m not in college and nor have any idea what consists there. I apologize for any misconstrued ideologies! Most is written in the 3rd pov.

“A passionate encounter, one that has never been replicated since. That is what I want you to write about.”

He rolls the sleeves of his cardigan up to his elbows. The few students scattered throughout the small auditorium. He knows they’re not listening, but he continues nonetheless. 

“It can be with a spouse, a stranger, anything really. I’m giving you the freedom to express a feeling only you have felt so incomparable to anyone else.”

The electronic bell he’s grown to despise rattles. His students billow out into the side door, to their next seminar. He plops into the wheely chair with a long elongated sigh. He hopes it came across well, the prompt of their final. A feeling twists in his gut, not even half listening to him. He wants to help them prosper. He’s a lenient professor, one of the most laid back on the board. But there’s only so much he can brush past. Late work that’s a month overdue, students pleading for him to turn an F into a B- is exhausting. He takes his glasses off, hanging his head into his palms. He’s trying desperately to wipe away the misery that's clinging to his features. The soft sounds of shoes patting the ground. The loud chit-chat of the pupils communicating through the corridor. He fails to hear you sneak up on him. 

“Professor?”

His head whips upwards to the chirp of your elegant voice. Your hands tied around your school bag. A gentle smile creasing your cheeks. Hair flowing like a drape of a veil. Easy going on his aging eyes. His brain inputs into hyper drive, admiring you. You’re the only student who cares about their work. Who asked questions, who listened intently to the subject he taught. He’s taken a kindness to you that he has given no one else. Rounding up those fives into one hundred.

Giving you that plus you didn’t need, but makes your transcript look more polished. You never spoke to him about subjects outside of education. But you always came to him to broaden your knowledge to keep your work proficient. You’re smart and charming. Pulchritudinous even. (A word that he came across in your work that means beautiful.) He feels immense guilt. Pushing his blurred gaze to the side of his desk. More suitable for the atmosphere. He shouldn’t think of you in such a way. He can’t help it now matter how hard he tries. 

“Yes? What is it?”

His voice is short and snappy. Cutting the rope that he’s tethered to. He punches himself for how your smile drops to a vacant expression. 

“I was wondering how uhm,”

You pause. Brows knitted on your smooth forehead. You look for the words that aren’t immature in the phrasing. 

“How much vulgar use you would allow.”

There's that sheepish smile again. He chokes on his saliva, blind eyes widening. The long curve of his nose is where he pushes his glasses back. He sees your unmasked beauty, and he’s sputtering. An unknown speech impediment develops as he racks his dumbfound skull for an answer. He loses the suaveness of a preceptor and the eager man he truly is comes to play. 

“I-, as long as it’s a salient contribution to the plot. As much as you’re comfortable with, I suppose.”

He applauds himself for coming off the slightest bit as composed. What do you mean by vulgar? Maybe you wanted to include paraphernalia or explicit language. But what if- you wouldn't, you are too put together to even indulge. But what if? You nod swiftly. Brightness swims in your eyes. 

“Thank you, pedagogue.”

Your idyllic body pivots walking through the big twin doors. He lets out a heavy heave exit his lungs, one that he didn’t realize he was holding. He leans down, pressing his febrile forehead onto his desk. He’s stupefied by the title. Pedagogue, really? He praised himself for being benevolent and you thought that he was austere? A new, fresh hoard of scholars enter his domain. He groans, wanting to bash his cranium into the wood. He doesn’t know how to feel. But the only thing he can think about while teaching his course is feeding you grapes in a lavish room in Israel. 

~~~

A week and a half later, Jonathan is sprawled out on his couch. A wine glass in hand, shitty cable on demand playing some nonsense. A pair of grey joggers low on his hips, a dark earthy tone sweater on shoulders. All wrapped together with a thin white chain with the Star of David draped on his sternum. He doesn’t really know why he wears it anymore. He doesn’t feel like he treasures his faith, cast from the religion. He doesn’t hold the practice to his heart. Especially not after the occurrences with Mira. The exact reason he sits alone in this big empty house.

Longing for Daughter’s presence. A distant glow of his laptop on the coffee table in front of him, pleading for him to do something, anything. His heart torn from the absent wishes of wanting his life to be different. Filled with artificial happiness. Loneliness puts him in a corner with no escape. He’s grown accustomed to the feeling, throughout his failed marriage, he knows it all too well. Ridden by the pain of it, something unfamiliar takes its place. Something stronger than isolation. Desolation. He’s felt like this for so long that he’d forgotten that there are other emotions. Like jouissance, similar to having a penchant for something. To have it for you. He knows deep down that it’s wrong.

Fuck he knows, he does and it will kill him. Shouldn't think of his student in such a desirous manner. But he can’t stop. Ever since you walked yourself into his class, he hadn’t gotten you out of his head. Daydreams he's living in with you. Different past lives he could’ve had with you. Every waking moment you’ve plagued him. Every off hand hungry exchange with Mira, he imagines you. He can’t get away from you. A deep breath emits from him. He scratches his forehead, lost in the thought of you. His laptop pings with a buzz. It seems that the universe has answered his prayers. He straightens his posture, setting the glass on the table before pulling the computer on his lap.

He adjusts his glasses; the glow glares off the glass spheres. His house is pitch black other than the distant television and the radiance in front of his face. He sets it flat on his lap, rolling up the sleeves of his sweater. He uses the track pad and finds his notifications. You. You’ve sent him something, your email in his inbox. A pdf. Your semester final. You work his schedule like clockwork. It wasn’t due for another week and yet you’ve already finished. He’s already gotten a few messages from other disciples needing the date pushed back, but you’ve completed it. His heart soars, resembling something along the lines of being proud? No, appreciative. He remembers the words you spoke to him the day he gave the prompt. Vulgar.

How lovely you looked that day, but in his opinion you always looked like that. Somehow you looked even better that day. Chipper and gleaming like a morning dew. The cursor hovers over the link. He clicks, opening the document. The black words on a white sheet were gifted to him. Your introduction and citations at the top corner. The title in the middle. Lover’s exchange. He scrolls to the first paragraph, with a heavy heart and high hopes he begins. 

Act I

It’s midnight when they meet. A dark sky with twinkling stars. A lamppost with a spotlight they run through. An older man and a younger woman trailing after him. It’s forbidden among the laws of society because of the taboo. The way they dance through the night to his house. The two disregard the dirty looks. They only existed with each other in their world. They lied to one another, saying that the energy shared is just an exchange. An exchange of passionate encounters.

The feel of his salt and peppered beard on her skin, the marks he gives her after the exchange. In the end, it’s what they both wanted- needed. His prolonged fingers tied around her wrist, tugging. She sees his house. White picket fence almost as much as her tuition. In a diverse neighborhood with economic growth. The older man modeled an image of what an established man should be. Bittersweet. Reminds her of a family of four with a dog. Stability isn’t what this was. Unbridled lust is all it was. They go against the formal casualties of dinner. They run up the stone onto his porch. He fumbles with his keys to unlock his door. He’s nervous, twitching with excitement. He inserts the key, then he’s tugging her again. Into his home. The smell of spring and hominy hits her.

He shrugs off his jacket, tossing it into the distant living room. Turning to throw keys into a bowel. He pivots, his glasses glimmer with the faint light of the dark night. Concealing his dark eyes from her. He smiles, big and toothy. Imperfect teeth rewarded her. He curls a finger under her chin. His other resting on her shoulder. He tilts his head to the side, slotting his lips into hers. Rhythmic and precise. Walking her up into a wall, hands slithering under the jacket and peeling it off. He moves his head back, the coat that dwarfs her in hand. Long feathered lashes fan across his crimson cheeks. He puffs. His hands leave to discard her jacket. Only for one of them to wrap around her wrist to pull. Long strides bound her up his stairs, to the landing. She’s amazed how he didn’t trip and fall face-first into one of the steps.

He’s running up them and she’s trying her hardest to keep up. He barely opens his door before he pushes her inside. There’s no time for delicacies. He’s pulling at a ravenous pace at her clothes, her the same. They scatter like leaves throughout his bedroom. It wasn’t the first time this has happened and sure to be the last. But the way he looks at her is like a groom looking at a bride. Dopey eyed and filled with emotion. His fingers run up her arms, the hair standing up as he goes. The skin is as soft as velvet. She reaches, fingers touching his temples before removing his specs. He hates himself for gazing at her breasts. Watching the flesh, crease and undulate. The color of her nipples easily begins to fight for his favorite. She leans up on her knees, the bed pulling inwards by his thigh. She kisses the space between his brows.

His heart picks up at a speed a horse would gallop, and he begins to question everything. Such a pure girl is with him to do unspeakable things. She’s his first after the split. So why is he starting to develop feelings if all of it is just raw fucking and emotionless? But what if it wasn’t, what if he wanted something a little dangerous? Something he can’t bring up at those shitty dinner parties Mira dragged him to. The conferences among the board asking his marital status, he can’t and he won’t. His dirty secret in the hands of a younger untouched girl. In all honesty how can he not get attached? He remembers reading something years ago. An article about how the chemicals match and sync with the counterparts.

How it’s simply science to get attached. He shakes his head, dark curls painted grey moving on his head. He rids himself of his thoughts. One night a month, he has to make it good. The moon shines through the big window in the middle of the room. He lays her down, peppering kisses on her neck. Finding the places he knows she likes. She was so easy to him, he knew her like the back of his hand. Yet, he always seems to find something that he never knew. There were never fights or grudges between the two. They fuck like they actually like each other. His large hands grope at her sides. Making her squirm in his grasp. His knees pinch at the bottom of her thighs. Her legs wrapped around his long waist. His semi hard erection laid in the crevice between her thigh and mound. Her hands tied in his curls. Twisting and pulling at the follicles. She didn’t have to tell him what felt good, he can tell by the pulls. His nose skims across her skin, tasting and lapping at the saltiness.

Worshipping each inch with the utmost delicacy. He kisses down her sternum. Purposely avoiding her peaks. Down her stomach and there. He parts her thighs, crawling down her body. Wedging his broad shoulders between her thighs. His beard burning caresses into the inside. His curls are a soft contrast. His plush lips press a kiss on the few scars he can find. His hands go to the sides of her hips, under her thighs. He wiggles on his chest to grow closer to her wet heat.

She’s glistening, poor thing. He flattens his tongue from where her entrance is to her clit. Over her slit, not entering her folds. Oh. So he’s going to be a tease tonight. She can’t complain from the whimpers he’s getting from her. The jut of her hips grinding on his face. The soft shake of her thighs on the sides of his face. His hands come back to her cunt. His thick thumbs, coming to either side of her lips. Pulling them apart. He’s enamored, watching her contract then dampen. His breath fans over the expanse and she’s shivering.

Her grip on his hair tightening. His tongue snakes out from behind his lips. His nose brushed along the hood of her clit. He pushes the tip of his tongue onto her bundle of nerves. Kitten licking the bud. It’s so meticulous and thought out for no error that she knows he's planned this for a while now. This encounter was planned to a t with no spontaneity. His tongue pulls back and she whines. But his mouth doesn’t move, he shakes his head to plunge his head into her. He sucks through his teeth, pulling her clit up. The sharp pain makes her yelp, her back arching off his mattress. His chin digging into the lower half of her cunt. The wiry hair of his beard tearing into her sensitive folds. The hair most definitely being soaked with her arousal.

Her stomach churns and hot pleasure pools into her lower back. Her knuckles turning white, she’s only half sure that she’s pulling clumps of curls from his scalp. It’s just so thick and full of hair that she doubts anyone will notice. She’s close, too close. Been waiting for this moment since the last time she had seen him. Those tight khakis and the fucking cardigan she knows that are hiding stretched muscles. Toes curling into his sheets. One of his hands leaves, shifting his body to accommodate. Two fingers enter her rigid hole. She’s moaning high in her throat. Jerking her hips up into his stupidly sculpted face. Trying to leave his face only results in him lapping more feverishly. He just moves with such elegance that she’s hurting. Just from his mouth.

She’s bruised from his teeth never leaving her clit alone. He curls those protracted fingers in her cunt and she’s seeing stars as he pumps them. Her legs are tightening around his head. The thickness, the stretch of it all has her crumbling. Spasming on the coarse hair of his face, he coaxes her through it. Even if his jaw is cramping she doesn’t know, he just continues to drink from her. Spreading her open to devour farther. His fingers leave only to be replaced with his mouth. His tongue intruding her hole. Plugging her up with the muscle. He stays there until it seems she has calmed and she’s not scalping him. He shifts to pull up on his knees. His hands leave soothing circles on her hips.

Her eyes are closed and she almost looks like she’s sleeping but her panting chest he knows she’s in the sky right now. Like an angel, his angel. He lifts her, flipping her on her stomach. He lowers on his stomach. Pushing her legs apart. His fully hardened cock pushed into the mattress. He spreads the globes of her ass. Listening to that keen gasp. His lips part and a string of drool falls on her puckered hole. When his saliva meets the ring, she clenches and he’s groaning. His face meets between her cheeks to lick at the flesh. His nose went into the divot. His beard scraped her. The smell of her heavenly.

The feeling of being suffocated by her has him thrusting into the plush mattress. She fists her hands into the pillow by her head. Enthralled by the foreign feeling of his tongue digging into the forbidden part of her. He moves his face down to lick at her slit to bring it up to the dry hole. His tongue moistions his lips. He huffs before delving in once more. One of his hands is coming to knead her cheek. His thumb slowly pushed into the hole carefully. Drool runs down her face. She’s too tired to even move. The intrusion has her thighs slicked. He feels his cock pulsing when he has her take the first knuckle. He doesn’t care if she cums again, he's just eating to devour. Eating from the purest of fruits. His sac tightens up. A couple of shallow thrusts and he’s done. The stickiness caught between the sheets and his paunchy stomach.

He moans, his mouth leaving her. During his onslaught he didn’t realize that his thumb was fully inside her. His palm pressed flushed to the curvature. He’s amazed at the sight. Saddened when he pulls the digit out of her. He lays on his back by her, on his side of his bed. Skin damp with sweat. Dark skin filled with precipitation. He knows that he just committed a crime. That if someone finds out he’d be in a penitentiary. That he couldn’t go back to whatever the fuck normal was in his life. He couldn’t go back into the comfortable life of not sleeping with his student. So he ponders the question as to why it feels so good if it was such an incriminating thing. He comes to the conclusion that being a saint only lasts so long. And he has to admit that this feeling of being a sinner provides so much more exuberance. 

Interlude I

Jonathan has to take a step away. He can feel his lungs closing in. He’s wheezing, his face buzzing under his glasses as he grows light-headed. Fuck. Why is his mouth so dry? He pushes his laptop to the cushion beside him. Lifting with the crack of gas between his bones. He walks into his kitchen, standing tall to grab a clear glass. He returns to his fridge, pushing the lip into the fridge’s mouth. The dispenser spews cold water. His chest heaves as he can’t breathe. Not now, please, not now.

His head hurts, his temples tingling. His vision waved in and out. He placed the glass on the island. Hastily pulling open drawers. Panic brews in his stomach. A stone dropping his heart to the ground. Fuck, where is it?! He curses himself for never leaving it in the same spot. His ego was too inflated to believe he needed to know where it was. That he didn’t need it to live. His hands blindly pulled junk out, throwing it onto the tile. In the very back of the sinks cabinet he finds it. He pulls the inhaler between his lips. Pushing the top down for ten seconds, inhaling. Keeping it in for fifteen, then exhaling. His frame deflates with the small thing in hand.

He smiles with sharp pearls up at his ceiling. Trying to push the feeling of a hysteric laugh boiling up his throat. Down to his belly. How fucking absurd this was! He almost went into an asthma attack because of some erotica. Reading erotica that you wrote. His eyes fall to the open drawer that pushes into the bone in his hip. He cranes his neck, finding the pack of cigarettes. Now it makes sense. The inhaler and smokes shoved into the back so an eager eye couldn’t easily find them. Even himself. He trades the inhaler for the pack. It hits the back with a thud. He flips the tab open, only finding two white sticks and his lighter shoved into the side. Thank fucking god. Taking one of the cigarettes between his fingers, he slots it onto the top of his ear.

His curls are trying to push it free, so he pushes it down. Throwing the pack that he’d go back to later on the marble. He’s so warm. Almost burning with sweat. His fingers tie around the bottom of his sweater. Lifting it over his head and tugging off the sleeves. He hisses at the cold air hitting his bare skin. His chain hitting his chest. He tosses his sweater onto the island. He takes the cigarette back behind his ear to his parted lips. Grabbing the lighter, he cups the flame; the embers alighting. He shoves the lighter in his pocket. Inhaling for ten seconds, holding it for fifteen, exhaling. The taste and the scent makes him wonder why he’d ever try to stop. Mira and his kid, but now that they’re both gone.

Leaves him with no excuses. He doesn’t have to half step out the door because of the pungent smell. Doesn’t have to hide his habits. His stomach contracts with each breath. His mind slowly easing into standby. He’s thinking about emailing you back. Asking how you came up with this explicit idea. Did you experience it first hand? Did you want to? He smiles, he thinks of himself as more than a willing candidate. He wanted to say that he absolutely seethed the fluids that you explained so beautifully. But he couldn’t. The way you painted the actions wasn’t humanly, it was mystical.

He’s impaired with his way of thinking. He’ll never think of such acts as he used to. The cigarette burns the pads of his fingers. He takes one last breath in before flicking it into the garbage disposal. The flame dies instantly. He sighs out a gust of smoke. Grabbing the glass of now lukewarm water and sitting on his couch. Almost groaning as he spreads out. The tv plays some superhero movie that he’s never seen. One of the Wolverine ones. He watches the claws swipe through what only he can presume is a villain. Taking a swig of the water his chest erupts into shivers. He places it by the wine. Rubbing his palm on his sweats, he attempts to regain his consciousness. With a deep sigh he grabs his computer by his thigh and reads. 

Act II

The call rings on his computer. A loud pinging noise with an incessant buzz fills the room of his study. He nearly jumps out of his skin. He’s going to get caught by her invitation. Soon he accepts. It’s in the middle of the night and Mira is up in his room, his Daughter fast asleep. She was a mess that one, not willing to sleep if he didn’t act out her stories. He was a knight in tonight’s redemption. His heart hurts. Fuck, he’s going to have to be careful. Since Mira came back from her trip, he has been paranoid. He honestly didn’t give a shit about her relations.

He was too invested in talking to his inamorata. Because of Mira’s arrival, he hadn’t gotten to in half a month. Missing their encounters. Yearning for them. It’s driving him insane, losing contact. She smiles up at him through the viewfinder. It’s pitch black and he can only make out her face. The light from her screen is the only one emitting luminosity. She’s under a surface. A blanket? He smiles. How perfect. Such a rellrounded girl hiding like a child. Although, he pouts solemnly, craving to see her beauty forthright. 

“You’re like Batman brooding in his cave.”

He stifles a laugh, biting his lip. Smiling wide he nods. 

“Maybe I am. You can’t debunk it.”

She smirks, eyes lighting up at the playful banter. He’s missed this, missed the poking at each other to receive a reaction. He’s always surrounded by chaos and fighting. Being around her, it seems that such things don’t exist. Their world is a utopia, and he’s happy if it’s only them who survive there. 

“Pretty sure that Batman isn’t a professor.”

He nods. She’s as quick as ever, keeping him on his toes. It’s a battle to make her not quirk a response. There’s always a reply. She’s just so responsive. He licks his lips, throwing in the bait to see her riposte. 

“Pretty sure that Batman’s cock isn’t as big as mine.”

Ah, yes. He brings out the grotesque themes of their relationship. The meaningless fucking that has blossomed into a desire to see her. Kiss her lips and cheeks. Cradle her head into his chest, wondering if she can hear his heart soar. He needs to remind himself that he can’t mingle with her. Be treated like he's twenty years younger. Maybe his response is ludicrous and she will be turned off from the bluntness. She’s so detached from it all that she doesn’t even blink an eye.

She barks out an electronic laugh before clamping a palm over her mouth, eyes wide. Now he wants to know why his cock is growing at the sight. A fetish he didn’t know he had, most likely. He wonders if her roommate is there. The idea has him hardening instantly. Trying to keep quiet for him, like he is for her. He sees her shift, leaning over the camera to retrieve some earbuds she’s used in his class. Her breasts were hidden under a baggy shirt. He can see the outline however and he’s filled with out righteous lust to find that she’s not wearing a bra. She sits back on her thighs, inputting the wire into her laptop. Two white wires lead into one connected source. 

“So dirty, old man.”

He huffs, crossing his arms over his chest. Forearms broadening. His white tee hugging his muscles. The Star of David necklace wrapped around that thick neck. He quirks up a thick eyebrow on his forehead. Questioning her status. He takes quick notice of the way her eyes flick downwards on her screen. She’s never had a problem with his age before, and now she has something to say about it? He’s taken aback. He remembers her saying something that him being older was alluring. That she values the intellect he holds. He turns it onto her. 

“Should be worried about what this old man is going to do to you, little girl.”

He says, voice dipping an octave lower. His arms uncross and a hand goes to cup himself over his clothed cock. Teasing himself. His hair pushed back carelessly. Not in his pristine style. It’s nice seeing him in such a way. Laid back and careless. Only wanting to talk to the girl he’s interested in. She bets he smells so divine. Like honey and milk. Her thighs seared with ripples of pleasure forming. The domestic life he's letting her glimpse into. It’s been too long since she’s last had him. She hasn’t even looked in any other male presence since him. She needs him to let her release the pent up frustration. But she can’t, not without his help. 

“Such as?”

She pries. Sitting cross-legged on her twin bed. She moves the monitor up her body to her face. His mouth waters. One of her hands plays with the loose shirt she has on. She’s toying with him and he’s not stupid. He knows how the younger woman plays but he bites, anyway. 

“I had this dream about you.”

She tilts her head to the side, hands skimming flat up to her breasts. 

“Oh?”

She whispers and he wettens his lips. The hand that was cupping his length runs up his torso. Under the loose waistband of his sweats. Toying with the ribbon like ties. 

“Yeah, thinkin’ about it a lot, actually. We were in Israel,”

“Israel?”

She asks, shocked. Eyebrows rocketing across her forehead. His hand follows downwards to the expanse of his plush thigh. Close to where he needs, but sweeps the thumb by the side of his sac. He refrains himself from rolling his eyes in the back of his head. 

“Mhm. In Israel, in a mansion.”

“A mansion?”

She questioned again. And there’s that quick thinking he loved. Her lips perk into a smile as she rolls a bud in her fingers. A frown deepens on his face. His fingers scratched at the base of his cock. 

“Yes, now shut up so I can finish.”

He spits out sternly. Not an ounce of jest in his words. Her mouth closes immediately, hips bucking at the tone. Similar to the one he uses at work when a student did something wrong. Fuck, she should do something bad that would make him use it more. He cups his balls, and he’s stretching the elasticity of his joggers. The head of his cock pushing up at the side, begging to be let free. He doesn’t reprimand himself. 

“In Israel in a mansion. I and you, on the silk sheets of a bed. However, I was on my back and you were,”

His lips part as he pants. His hand wraps around the base, holding himself. His head leans back, and he sighs. He builds up suspension with his little groans. He knows that she’s hanging on every single breathy moan. On every word he’s ridding her of. 

“You were dripping on my lips.”

His hips thrust up into his hand. Her eyes widen and she pulls at her nipples. Breathing fastening to where she’s gasping for breath. Oh. Then a thought runs through her pretty head. What if he was sleeping next to his spouse. Dreaming of her while he rests. Shivers run up her spine. 

“I could smell and taste you, your thighs around my head. And pretty girl, fuck-“

As he starts to fist himself, finally jerking himself off at a rapid pace. He’s lost for words, utterly and completely. His thumb traces over his head and he’s almost crying. God, he misses her. Not just her cunt that’s too tight, but the smell of her. The softness and linen smell of her. The taste he can’t have. He lifts his hips up, pushing his sweats down his broad legs. Encompassing her a view, he knows she’ll be appreciative of. She always praises his cock. Always wants to have it in her, near her. He didn’t know if he corrupted her to be such a filthy girl or if she already was. He doesn’t know, but he mumbled praises about how good she looks. 

“I miss you.”

He moans heavily, almost where his scrupulous voice lives. One of her hands travels under her panties. Quickly rubbing short little circles on her clit. Her head hits her wall with a soft thunk. He wants to know why he wants to kiss it, to say that she’s okay. Treat her like a child. The muscles in his thighs draw up and he’s whining. 

“I miss you most. Making me stay in this hell.”

She gripes. He should’ve known she would say something like that. The college was below par, to say the least. The people were insane. People desecrate in the halls, let alone fornicate. She was close to finishing, about a semester off. So she shut her mouth and lived through it. He made it less horrible, worthwhile. But without him there, it hurts more so than she wished to admit. He was her saving grace, and he wasn’t here, so who was going to save her?

As much as she hid the yearning feeling, he knew and felt similar, if not intensified. If he could do it without being expelled from the system of education, he would take her away. Move out of this godforsaken place and start fresh, with her by his side. But the world wasn’t promising. His eyes soften from the cold black coffee to a warm, hot chocolate. Swimming in remorse behind the clouds of glass. His throat tightens up as he yanks languidly at himself. He feels like shit and it was hard to tiptoe around Mira. He wants better for the young girl in front of the screen. She deserves better than him. He swallows the boil down his throat. 

“I’m sorry. I really am, sweetheart. I’ll find a way to make it up to you.”

He sees the way her body grows stiff. The way she usually does when she is close to her orgasm. The calm before her thrashing chaos. His hips buck instantly at the sight. He can feel his cum rolling down his fingers, getting caught in the webs of his fingers. 

“Oh, yeah? How’re you going to do that, old man?”

He sighs, shaking his head. Hiding a smile. She tears him up through and through. Done to the bone. That sharp mouth of hers makes his skin crawl. Every time he lives in fear of her response. He thinks of his answer. How was he going to make it up to her? Before he knows it, he’s babbling. 

“Next weekend, the paperwork will be served. You can ngh-“

A specific tug has him on the verge of flying head first off into his peak. The fantasy of her in his house parading around in one of his sweaters that is no doubt too big for her has him rolling. He pants furiously, in need of his inhaler. 

“Y-you can stay with me until graduation.”

Time freezes as his voice gravels out those precious words. Her heart picks up and the world swirls around her. Such a funny thing, this occurrence. Her huddled under a blanket, laptop sat on a tiny bed that barely fit her. Earbuds tangled, and her voice was barely audible trying to keep quiet to not awaken her roommate. But she’s fingering herself, hand grabbing at her tit. Her shirt rose on her waist. And him. Hiding from his not so secret family. In his den, half curled over, biting his fist as he cums so hard it’s spurting onto his white tee. Her saving grace has offered her salvation. Out of this horrid place. For a limited time. She can’t think straight, but she’s jumping on the promise. 

“Deal.”

His heart grows too big for his chest. His tawny cheeks burned red. He only half thought she would agree. The haven he's going to reside in with her has his cock twitching. A few pearls leaving his tip. He watches her face turn into a masterpiece. Eyes closed, mouth open, fingers curling. Legs parted wide. He tugs off his shirt. Careful to not let his face touch the dampness on the surface. Brown skin with defined lining, tufts of dark hair across makes her cross-eyed. Legs spasming closed and a harsh bite onto her bottom lip to stifle the too obscene whimper. He wipes himself off with his once white shirt, tugging up his sweats. He smiles, a crooked grin. His index points at her half-lidded eyes. Her fingers pulling out as a pool forms under her hips. He pushes an eyebrow on his forehead. Pointing a finger at the screen. In his authoritative panty dropping voice he says. 

“Under one exception: you can’t call me old man unless it’s under adulation.”

Act III

The first night was torture. He didn’t even cum, just toyed with her body into the multiple she’s given him. She’s a rag doll at this point. Her body is limp to where she can’t even lift a finger without her pussy fluttering. After she physically could not give him anymore of the high. With eyes dumb and cunt sore, she laid there.

He kissed her forehead, whispered sweet words, and left. Leaving to grab a washcloth, made sure the water was warm, not hot. Pressed it between her thighs that had dark sores where his beard had been. Carefully swiping up and down to capture the essence of her. He threw it into the hamper beside his bed, opening a drawer to grab a fluffy blanket. The soft material made his palm tickle. He guided her to lift her hips up so she wouldn’t have to lay in a puddle. He didn’t have the heart to make her stand on wobbly legs. If she could stand. By the way, she’s wincing at his touch. He’s not so sure. She turns on her side, reaching up to press a soft kiss to his lips. Whining when he leaves but shortly falling asleep after. Her face to the side of the bed.

Mouth parted, eyebrows pinched as she dreams. He raises the duvet onto her scorching hot skin, tucking the hem under her chin. There’s nothing sexual about it but his heart bursts. He smiles to himself before walking into the bathroom. Shutting the door the quietest he possibly can. He opens the shower door, turning the faucet on. The pellets hit the tile with a heavy splatter. He takes his glasses off; the steam fogging them up, anyway. Putting them by the sink before stepping inside. He closes his eyes, basking in the warmth. The dampness on his skin exudes now being cleansed. He doesn’t know why he feels like it’s necessary, why he’s obligated to bathe after. He just feels the need to. He can’t have her lingering on him; it'll drive him crazy. Even the aftershocks he gets after eating her cunt stay in his beard for weeks after. It’s almost haunting him. Taunting him with her absence. But if he could, he would live between her thighs. The cloth in his hands starts to soak up the grime off his chest. The suds of his soap coats him, making him glimmer with bubbles.

After he’s imagined what he’d do if she was occupying the small rectangle with him, he turns the faucet off. Stopping to grab a towel, dabbing over the falling droplets. Running the fabric over his crevices. He wraps it around his long torso. One hand holds it in place, while the other grabs his glasses. He pushes his wet hair off his forehead, a few straggling curls stay sticken to his face. He looks fucked, to say the least. Streaks of red run down his chest, to his lower stomach. Just a few inches away from his cock. He knows it’s worse on his back. He can feel the welts as he moves. His beard glistens with the water that’s still captured there. He’s enamored by how lean he’s gotten. The muscles in his body are growing taut. He’s astonished since he hasn’t done anything out of his regimen. The only thing he has change was the amount he’s been fucking her. With his now ex spouse out of his house he can do whatever he pleases whenever he wants.

The only thing stopping him is himself, the salt in his hair isn’t just for the looks. His libido is high but his body can’t keep up with him. With one more quick glance he strides out of his bathroom. Seeing the soft inhale and heating her snore does something to him that’s inexplicable. That thing makes his cock harden. A tent forms in the towel and he rolls his eyes. Maybe his body was intact with his drive. His grip on the towel grows. The fucking things this girl makes him do will be the death of him. He walks to the side she’s sleeping on. Cherishing her beauty to mind. A strange idea comes to his head during this viewing. He slips his glasses off his face, precipitation stains the glass. He pauses, thinking momentarily before slotting them onto her face.

In his opinion the thin wired frame with the hazy specs suits her better. They’re awkward with how they’re perched since she’s asleep but he likes the look of it. She shifts and her mouth falls open wider. He’s a bad man, he tells himself as he drops the towel to the floor. His cock in hand, he works himself. His eyes blurry without his prescription, nonetheless he focuses on her face. He runs his thumb over the tip and he’s groaning. He leans forward slightly. Positioning himself over her lips. He rubs the ruddy head over them. Smearing his pre-cum on the bow. He bites his lips, brows furrowed as he pushes in. He’s only sitting in her mouth, unmoving. So much for that shower.

He ruts his hips so half of his length is laid out on her tongue. She’s asleep, he reminds himself. But with the way her lips are curling around him makes him think that he’s wrong. His hand remains wrapped around the hilt. Trying to restrain himself. He pushes small thrusts into her mouth, half in, half out. His other hand pushes her hair from her face. He loses himself and finally pushes his length fully into her mouth, and down the back of her throat. She gags around him and pulls back startled. But surely she’s awake by now. She’s sputtering around him and pulls his sloppy wet self out of her mouth. Her eyes blink dreamily up at him under his glasses, her eyes magnified. He smiles, only one of the sides of his mouth peaking up. 

“Mornin’ pretty girl.”

She looks at him, still disoriented. Her head whips to the window. Dark as ever. 

“It’s not?”

His head tilts downwards as a nod. Agreeing with her. 

“I know. Just go with it, yeah?”

She bows her head. Smiling up at him. He walks over to his side of the bed, laying down by her. He scoots until his chest is pressed against her back. She can feel how hard he is on her ass. His arms wrap around her waist, under her breasts. Hands flat and fingers spread. She pulls a hand up to his hair, scratching her nails lightly on his scalp. Her fingers damp from how saturated his curls are. She wonders if he’s making a wet spot on his bed, similar to hers. He nuzzles his face into her neck, his beard brushing her. He kisses along her shoulder, craning his neck. 

“I honestly don’t know how you can see.”

He snorts a laugh. He can’t really. Without them, he can barely make out distant shapes. 

“With practice makes perfect.”

She scoffs as one of his hands travels down her stomach. Playing with the short hair on her mound. 

“Do you honestly believe that?”

He thought about his answer for a moment. Before nodding into her shoulder. His fingers cupped her thigh to lift it over his hip. 

“Can I kiss you?”

He asks softly, almost a whisper. She grants him his wish. He lays flat on his back, pulling her to his chest. Her legs were on either side of his waist. Her face to his. Noses brushing. 

“Hi.”

She smiles widely. His hands cup the side of her face before kissing her. Long and slow. Full of insecure thoughts and emotions. He still hasn’t come to terms with how he feels about her, but all he knows is that he cares deeply about her well-being. And if he makes her happy, then he’s glad to be of use. He doesn’t want to say he loves her, because the word doesn’t match with how strongly he adores her. What he thought was love with Mira was the complete opposite of his flower. Every breath, every beat of his heart, belongs to her. He’s not a sap, but if it were to ever come to it, he’d die for her. His beard scratches against her face.

He simply lives for her. He feels her fingers in the wefts of his hair, massaging the thickness. He pouts everything he feels about her into the kiss. He hopes that she’ll understand, and the grinding of her hips. His work is being taught. As her tongue touches his, she can taste him. Marlboro cigarettes and coffee that he probably brews himself. The scent floods into her. Cinnamon and lavender, she wonders if that’s from his soap or his cologne. His hands flatten over her back, pushing her down to him. Her breasts are full against his chest. He’s kicked into a part of his brain that’s primal. Eyes locked on her nipples that barely peek out from beneath her. She pulls away, both parties huffing for air. The glasses slipping off her face. 

“How do you do anything with these?”

She pulls herself up on his chest to slide them up the bridge of her nose. He tilts his head to the side, admiring her. She’s just so alluring. The way she holds herself to the divots in her skin. He loves all of it. She lifts an eyebrow, confused. 

“What?”

She asks, and he shakes his head. Wet curls swaying. 

“Nothin’, you just look beguiling.”

She rolls her eyes, scrunching up her nose. She slaps his chest, laughing. He smiles.  

“You think I’m deceptive?”

He blinks cluelessly. Her face snapping into a pout. 

“That’s mean, ya know, calling someone a liar.”

His lips twitch up into a ghost of a smile. He tries to hide it but she’s so adorable when he gets under her skin. 

“Remind me to never compliment you.”

He mumbles, he pokes fun at her, and she groans. Exaggerating an eye roll. 

“Could've said gorgeous or something.” 

He shakes his head. In an instant, she’s on her back, and he’s hovering above her. His cock seated over her core. It quivers by the touch. She’s more stunned at how hard he is. It seems that he’s never soft. 

“Those don’t suit you, little cherub.”

His nose nudges into her jaw as he kisses her neck. Sucking the marks he wanted for the past half year so she can’t hide it. What spurs him on is the thought that when the questions arise as to how she got them. She can’t say the older professor who fucks her until she can’t walk. He wonders what her answer will be. He kisses down her neck. 

“I enjoy beguiling. Bewitching even.”

He kisses her collarbone, nipping. Before licking the skin. 

“Body and soul.”

He grins when she hits him on his shoulder. 

“What a fraud! Stealing from Austen.”

He sighs, laying his head between her breasts. He wraps his arms around her. She massages his back. His breath fanning on her chest. 

“I can’t win, can I?”

He sighs, kissing the side of her tit. 

“Afraid not, poet.”

He leans up, his forearms on either side of her head. She pulls her legs up and over his hips. 

“If I’m a poet, then you shall be my muse.”

She nods, agreeing.”

“So it shall.”

The end of her sentence turns into a breathy whine as he enters her. The ruddy head splitting her open. His length is halfway before he moves out, then pushes more. His face pushed into the side of her neck, continuing to mark her, then soothe her wounds. She’s crying, loud yelps and pleas for him to fuck her. To use her. He rolls his hips subtly, long languid strokes. Never pushing into that spot deep inside her. He doesn’t need to with the way she’s contracting around him. Her cunt gulped him up with the loudest squelch. The hair around the base of him scratches along her folds. 

“So noisy, neighbors are going to hear.”

She cries louder, and he smirks. Slotting himself fully into her, all the way down his shaft. His balls up against her ass, her legs crushing him. And then he moves. His hips lifting back, the only thing in her pussy the tip. He rams his hips back into her. Pushing her up the bed. She yelps, clawing at the bruises on his back. It was hot and electric, bounding the two. Emitting a currency shared. Pulling and taking. He lifts himself on his hands, flat by her head. Pulling his knees under her thighs. He pulls her ankle to his shoulder. Holding it between his shoulder and neck.

His hair hides his eyes, but she’s sure that they’re wild with lust. His hand wraps around the bones in her ankle. He thrusts deeper and shallow into her. He can feel her walls convulse around him, signaling that she’s close. The cacophony of the clap and shared moans has him nearing, too. His mouth was hot and soaking on her ankle. When she cums, her already abused cunt pushes his cock out. He stills, sitting back on his calves, waiting for a reaction. He lets her leg fall. He watches her cum pour onto the blanket and between her thighs. She pushes a hand to his abdomen, telling him to wait. Her pussy fluttered. 

“You want me to stop?”

He asks, running the crown of his cock over her folds. 

“No.”

She whimpers, and he growls. His glasses on her face a-skewed. 

“What do you want, pretty girl?”

“For you to cum.”

He pistons his hips into her in one fluid thrust. Buried himself in and out of her rapidly. He bends her leg to her chest. He kisses her as he floods her pussy. His lips leave as he pants for air. He mouths at her jaw, his eyes closed. He fixes the position of his glasses on her nose. Letting your leg to fall to his side. He doesn’t pull out; he lets the fluids sit in her. Marinating in her womb. He lays his feverish forehead on hers. Breathing her in, basking in the feeling of her. Afraid that if he moves, he won’t have her anymore. So he stays, cock inside her. Body collapsed like a weighted blanket on her. She plays with the hair at the nape of his neck. As he kisses the bruises on her neck. He knows he is a sick man, hoping that her reproductive system takes. 

Interlude II

Jonathan takes his glasses from his eyes. Staring blankly at the last sentence. Trying to wrap his head around. What exactly did he just fucking read? There’s an italic at the end at the bottom. His stomach churns and twists disturbingly. There’s no way you didn’t write this about him. Most of it was unnervingly accurate, things he hadn’t told a single soul about. But you did. You knew everything. Was he really that easy to read? Before he can even recoup, his fingers are typing in a three digits of one hundred. In the suggestions, he writes:

“Meet me at the coffee place on Broadway at ten am. I’d like to discuss your afflatus.”

And with that, he shuts the brim of his computer. His head tilted to the ceiling. Dreaming of what he was going to talk to you about in the morning. 

The end?

#jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy x reader #Jonathan levy x reader smut #Jonathan levy x reader fluff #Jonathan levy x reader angst #Jonathan levy x you #Jonathan levy x y/n #oscar issac x reader #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac x reader angst #oscar isaac x reader fluff #oscar isaac x reader smut

[romanarose]

Hannukah Prompt List

Hi! I wanted to create a little prompt list for Hanukkah fics to offer a religious alternative to Christmas or non-religious prompts for this season.

This can be for any fandom, but I'm mostly Oscar Isaac/Pedro Pascal and Oscar has played several Jewish characters, so I wanted to promote this aspect.

This is open for everyone, regardless of Jewishness. If you'd like to contribute to the visibility of Jewishness in characters like Moon Knight or write a Jewish reader to make your Jewish readers feel seen, I encourage it!

If you have questions about anything, feel free to come into my DM's or my asks.

Some are religious, some are nonreligious but secularly Jewish.

***************

Ugly Hanukkah Sweaters

Lighting Hanukkah Candles

Making Latkes

Trying to find Hanukkah decorations amongst a slew of Christmas decorations. (This is hard lol)

Adam Sandler's Chanukkah song

Holiday Armidillo from Friends (RIP Matthew Perry)

Lemony Snickett's "The Latke Who Couldn't Stop Screaming"

Trying to find seasonal things that aren't Christmas items, like snowflake decorations.

Telling the story of Hanukkah to a child

Getting jelly donuts

Seeing snow for the first time

Asking questions about Hanukkah or Jewish traditions.

Refusing to do a non-Jewish religious activity that makes someone uncomfortable.

Being snowed in and unable to attend services/family event

Please do not write Jewish characters doing Christian things if you aren't Jewish. Many Jews do things like attend Christmas services with family, sing Christmas songs, have a Christmas tree ETC, but those are very personal and individual choices. I'm not going to tell anyone what's wrong and what's right for any one person or family, but they are choices for Jew's to make, not non-Jews.

Also, please if you write Jewish blorbo and non jewish reader, please say so. If I'm reading a Hanukkah themed fic and Steven Grant is answering readers questions about Hanukah, it's going to take me out of the scene unless I know ahead of time the reader is non-jewish. Don't just assume your reader isn't jewish. Likewise, if your reader is Jewish, please label it Jewish!reader.

Will be adding more as I think of it, so feel free to comment or reblog with ideas!

If you use an idea, you totally don’t have to tag me but if you I’ll reblog it, wether it’s a fandom I read for not!

#hannukah #hanukah #hanukkah #there's a lot of spellings of hannukah #hanukah special #hannukah special #jumblr #jewish #moon knight #jewish marc spector #scenes from a marriage #the sign in sidney brustein's window #prompt list #holiday prompt list #hanukkah special #chanukah #Hanukkah prompt list #writing prompts #writing prompt #fanfiction prompts #hanukkah fanfiction #jewish characters

[jakelcckley]

It does make them 10000x hotter. Damn.

(gifs are not mine, post is inspired from this tiktok)

#lord have murthy #oscar isaac #oscar isaac hernandez estrada #jonathan levy #scenes from a marriage #jessica chastain #moon knight #steven grant #marc spector #jake lockley #mcu #marvel cinematic universe #marvels moon knight #santiago garcia #santiago pope garcia #rydal keener #poe dameron #steven grant smut #marc spector fanfiction #jake lockley x you #steven grant x reader #jake lockley smut #marc spector imagines #moon knight theory #moon knight spoilers #moon knight fanfiction #oscarisaacedit #oscar isaac x reader #oscar isaac x you #jakelcckley

[mariamariquinha]

Chilean, Camembert (Jonathan Levy x f!reader) - one shot

Summary: He was pathetic. Hot, but pathetic.

Word count: 8.1k 

Warnings: Mentions about divorce, bad words, a few academic terms, alcohol (it's wine), p in v sex, rough sex, a little bit of angst, Jonathan is quite toxic but for the optimists he is trying, oral sex (female receiving) and... Yeah, guess that's it.

Author’s Note: I finished writing this and thought 'I should be taking care of two long fanfics I'm writing here', but this shit had been in my head for MONTHS and, just like Dave's, I had to write it just now because that's when I felt fit. It's my way. I love writing for characters that almost no one gives a shit about.

Enjoy!

(If there are any grammar mistakes, I'm sorry, but I'm lazy, tired and needed to post it).

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Join my taglist! Don’t forget to reblog, comment and like! As always, I would love to know what you’re all thinking! ❤

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He still had her scent on his neck and chest and face. It was an obvious realization, but one he didn't make until he was standing in front of that restaurant looking at your seated figure, one hand supporting your visibly tired face. He was late. Very late. And in a way, Jonathan could make an excuse over the phone and feel bad about it, but he still went there because he thought he could just be honest.

But her fucking scent was there. Probing, making explicit what had happened.

He stood motionless beside the car, coat tight between his fingers and a lump in his throat. You had asked the waiter for the bill, for the only glass of wine you must have sipped all night because you weren't a big fan of the drink. He knew that, but not because he asked - you said. You always said everything and did everything. You were the one who also asked him out for the first time, who kissed him for the first time, who led the whole exchange between you two. And the two of you weren't in a relationship, it hadn't even gone beyond an expected kiss after the third date, because you were patient and understood the moment he was going through. Still, Jonathan knew it was the last straw. 

With more of that bitter feeling, he also saw you picking up your things and heading towards the exit. His cell phone vibrated at the same time you put yours to your ear, trying to talk to him for the fifth or sixth time. Jonathan didn't answer.

It was like a slap in the face, the way you lost the polite smile you'd given the hostess when you walked out the door and saw him there, in front of you, a street away. Your face wore a frown, a colder, more rational look, as you measured him from head to toe with a reticent step in that direction. It felt like you were figuring out where he'd been, what every detail of him meant; it scared him a little.

“Are you-” 

There, after a few firmer, closer steps, Jonathan instinctively dodged your proximity, raising his hand just high enough for you to understand his reaction. Then, with a breeze, you became aware of the sweet aroma, the strange perfume that had an owner. From cold and rational, your eyes turned sad. You blinked a few times, swallowed hard. He kept that hand up and you stared at it, as if a wave of brutal realization had coursed through you. Jonathan was left to watch the scene in silence, relishing that bad feeling of having hurt you.

“I-”

“Nn-nn,” You interrupted, closing your eyes for a second and raising a single finger to stop him. He obliged. And then you opened them again, wet from tears you were holding back, looking right at him in a moment of braveness - one he could admire if it wasn’t for the circumstances. “Don't take it away from me. Don’t take… You don't have the right to reject me twice.” 

There wasn’t a single part of him that felt strong enough to fight it, to say he could make it better, that Mira was a person from his past, that she hurted him enough for him to leave. But he couldn’t. He… couldn’t do it. 

You recovered with a sigh and avoided looking at him as much as possible.

“I’ll go home. Forget my number, I don’t wanna be your friend, yada, yada, yada. You know, the usual.” 

“We could talk about it.”

“We could? We could, Jonathan?” 

Jonathan shut his mouth again. 

“Just… Leave me alone, okay? For good.” 

He didn't react when he saw you walking, steps slow as you kicked off your heels and walked the rest of the way to your car in bare feet. You looked back, just to watch the traffic on the street, and in that movement the two of you exchanged glances. You cried. Far from him, with distance, like stubborn tears that insisted on coming out. Tears Mira hadn't cried for him.

And he let it be. 

------------------------------

The problem was in the details. He had the same gray hairs, the messily organized curls, the sweaters, the briefcase and the glasses, as if the last two years hadn't passed him by. There was Christmas, New Years, holidays; the same. You didn't hear if he was really divorced, if he was still with Mira, what Ava's custody rules were. Like before everything, you had fragments of him. That was a problem because these fragments made you fall in love before. 

You had a boyfriend after him, a real one, who didn't have problems with an ex. His name was Charles. Honestly speaking, maybe Charles would have been a comfortable blanket and a hot cup of tea during a rainstorm, which is what you had with Jonathan. And he was good. Indeed, a nice guy. He made you forget Jonathan, put a stone on what had happened and move on with your life. 

But you were far away from that mess geographically and emotionally when it happened. In London, more precisely, participating in an important research group for your academic career, and Charles happened at that time. It was an incredible six months. When you came back, he just said that it wouldn't be ideal to maintain a long-distance relationship, and you broke up. You had a good opportunity in Boston as a substitute teacher, a place on the Anthropological research team at Suffolk University and you stayed there without missing Charles much.

A year and a few months later, a friend from Columbia said they were putting together a new research team on Ancient Latin American communities, which was your area of ​​expertise, and he had a good letter of recommendation if you were interested. Rahul was a very good friend. And that, precisely, took you to that exact moment.

First, you discovered that you were a very young person in relation to the other members of the group, who must have been at least 50 years old. At 27, you were an exception who would need to prove yourself a lot. Then, during a campus tour, someone asked you where you came from (which meant where you studied) and when you said you graduated from a public university, Rahul commented that it was better to say you were from Yale until they found out it was a lie.

“It's better to be called a liar than poor around here.”

And then you arrived at the moment that, curiously enough, was the least worst of the day: finding Jonathan leaving the library, with his head lowered and eyes focused on a book. There was a possibility that you would go unnoticed, that you could process the discovery that he was in Columbia calmly, but it was at that moment that you also discovered that Rahul knew Jonathan well enough to make a point of 'introducing' you.

Among other qualities, he was always polite and cordial enough with anyone, no matter who they were. So when Jonathan looked up with a friendly smile, ready for a simple handshake and saw you, he retracted his hand a little, because damn, he really didn't even wait for Rahul to say your name before doing so. 

“Good to see you, Professor Levy,” You said, professional as ever, searching for his hand for a normal handshake. No explosions, no butterflies in your stomach. It was just Jonathan. 

“Do you… know each other?” Rahul asked, obnoxious by the interaction and pointing between you two. 

“Professor Levy was my mentor when I was working on my doctorate,” You explained. “He helped me to get that scholarship.” 

“Oh. Small world, eh?” 

He didn’t say a thing for a long moment, even after you smiled at Rahul and nodded, going along with his comment to throw the ball to Jonathan. Nothing. He frowned, lips pulled in thin line, and then, just then, when you cleared your throat and averted your gaze, that he blinked a few times, finally engaging. 

“... I thought you were in Boston.”

Wow. It sounded like another rejection, from the tone of his voice and the way he watched your face. You felt your neck burning, your cheeks tickling in embarrassment. Good for you, Rahul did all the explanation, gaining Jonathan’s interest really fast and really naturally. From time to time, while your friend would come and go to extend that story more than necessary, you could see him giving you glances from time to time, as if to make sure you were still there.

By the time that whole lecture ended, full of an adventure you didn’t really live in real life, Jonathan turned to you. 

“I hope we can have the opportunity to catch up now that you're here,” He said with a small smile, head tilted to the side. “You’re living nearby?”

“She-”

“I didn’t find a place yet,” You interrupted Rahul before he could say anything stupid. “And I don’t want to interrupt your work hours, professor. It’s Columbia, I would be really naive to think you’re not busy.” 

“I could always find time to talk with an old friend,” You both smiled falsely, clearly with different intentions. You wanted that conversation to end, Jonathan wanted to pretend something. 

“Sure thing,” With a sigh, you raised your eyebrows and looked back at the library doors, pointing at it. “Can we go now?” 

Finally - finally - Rahul noticed that you wanted to leave, opening his mouth like a dead fish before nodding, all the while smiling exaggeratedly. 

“Yep. Library. Library! Sure, we should-” He pointed at the doors as well, already pushing you to keep walking. “See ya later, Levy?”

“Mm-hm.” Jonathan nodded, another glance in your direction. “Good to see you again.”

“Same.”

Which wasn’t true, but you couldn’t tell exactly what you felt at the idea of coming back to that… interaction. He seemed nonchalant, a little taken aback but relaxed enough or mature enough to not make it a big deal, which was good. Fine. Cool. Of course you didn’t feel anything, whatever happened in the past was in the past. If you looked back and saw him doing the same (and had that feeling on the pit of your stomach), you both were just shocked by the surprise. 

Right?

------------------------------

The mirror of the bathroom was fogged when you left the shower, making you clean it a little to avert your blurry reflection. Beside the mirror, big enough to see more than just your face, you saw a pair of boxers and a dirty shaver. Rahul wasn't the best of the hosts. You really would need to find that apartment soon. 

For some reason, this made you instantly think of Jonathan, which consequently made you frown. No. No, no Jonathan. You shouldn't-

“You two fucked, right?” 

Rahul didn’t even wait for you to enter the bedroom, throwing himself on your bed and looking at you suspiciously.

“Rahul…”

“Na-ah, don’t come with that shit. It’s a ‘yes’ or ‘no’ question.”

You sighed, scratching the back of your neck and sitting beside him, feeling his body adjust on the mattress to be side by side. That made you think, think, think… 

“Remember that guy I was seeing before flying to London?” 

“Yep. The one with the ex and-" He stopped himself. "Shit."

"Mm-hm."

"He never sold himself as an asshole."

"I don't think he is a natural asshole," You pointed out, even if you already explained that to Rahul way before that conversation, before he could even guess who was the guy from two years ago. The reaction was the same: he tsked, shaking his head in disbelief, saying you were stupid for thinking like that, that you were 'too good with everyone'. 

"He may be quite a catch, honey, but he's still an asshole. A jerk, at least."

"Mm…" You hummed, shrugging a little. 

"And since he's the guy from before, you two didn't go to the finals then, right?"

"No, we didn't," For some reason, that made you scoff. "Why? Trying to push your luck?"

"... He's still hot."

That made you laugh - for the first time since the topic flowed between you two. A relief, at best, since Rahul just reserved this type of behavior with you, being so shy when the topic was his love life. 

You had the impression that Jonathan wouldn't be just something to make jokes about. 

------------------------------

Rahul lived close to the campus, close enough to walk everyday to work. You just noticed it was a great privilege when you moved from his apartment not even two weeks later, because suddenly what seemed like 'just a few blocks' turned into a bunch of whining from you. 

The price of your new place was quite high because, damn, it was New York, so you did what you were doing in Boston: particular classes. All of this brought a routine for you. In the morning, gym, then work. Then lunch. Then work again. Then avert Jonathan every chance you got. Then go to Mr. Hastings house (where he has this weird nerdy son called Dylan) and give the young boy History and Sociology lessons. Then, finally, go back home, shower, scroll through your phone during dinner and avert that notification from Facebook suggesting that you should be friends with Jonathan because he was a mutual friend with Rahul. And at least half of the Researching Department. 

It started to bother you. Jonathan wasn't chasing, not like in a stalker way, but the comfort idea that Columbia was a big university (big enough to make him less of a problem) started to fade and you knew that, if it really started to poke, like a petulant child, like Dylan Hastings, you should think of a better way of dealing with the situation. Given the circumstances, it seemed like those two years, from Europe to Charles, were all a big run from the fact that you're still hurt from what happened. 

Jonathan didn't move a finger to get closer or force a conversation. Still, you knew that if you hesitated for even half a second, he would be there with his air of intelligence, strong aroma of coffee and a masculine lotion that he certainly used on his beard or on the days he decided to make his hair tidier. You noticed, there was no way not to. He walked more confidently than when all this happened, but Jonathan was never smug or showy, so it was just like he walked around without sulking. That was new to you. When you two met, he certainly didn’t show anything but remorse and a small sense of… comfort? Of fucking trying? 

By the end of your second month at Columbia, Jonathan was just someone to look away from. Nothing else.

“I don't know if you'll find what you're looking for there.”

You turned abruptly to the side, seeing him standing in the middle of that corridor, both hands on his pockets and a small smile on his face. It wasn’t suffocating, the way he stood there in a safe distance with his shoulders relaxed and that New Balance dad’s shoes, but with two high shelves of books surrounding you, you just felt a little out of breath. 

“It says British Literature,” You pointed at the entry of that corridor, where you saw the sign clearly stating which section the library was in.

“I didn't know this would be in your search grid.”

“And you’re right,” A nod, then your eyes went back to the books. “What I'm looking for isn’t for me.”

“Oh.”

“It’s for Dylan.”

“Dylan.”

“Dylan Hastings.”

He went quiet for a moment, but you didn’t give in to the curious desire to see what the expression on his face was.

“... Private classes, then?” Was what Jonathan asked after a beat, to which you nodded again. “For you to leave Boston and come here, I imagined that the offer at the Research Department would be more tempting.” 

Indiscriminately, his comment made you a little annoyed, but you tried not to let it show. He wasn't usually mean, it's just that maybe you always had the wrong dose of sarcasm and even indiscretion. Whether it was his intention or not, you seemed to try a little too hard not to be rude.

“You really seem bothered that I came here.”

“To the library?”

“To Columbia.”

You sensed him taking a small step closer, which made you retrieve in your spot. Jonathan sighed.

“I’m not.” 

“Mm.”

“You deserve to be here. With your background and such.”

“I know.”

“Can you please look at me?” 

It was your turn to sigh, defeated by a simple task of being polite even when you didn’t have any obligation to do so. When you gave in, turning your eyes to the man, you saw that he was serious, but not angry, as if just waiting to test what should be his side in the conversation. 

He didn’t say anything for a moment or two, measuring your face while brushing his fingers on his bearded chin. 

“... We can talk about what happened. I know this-”

“We can’t,” Not a question, not a small broken voice of sadness. You said it with an almost expressionless tone, arms crossed over your chest. Jonathan was surprised by the sudden interruption, blinking a few times. 

Again, silence. And when he didn’t give any indication to fill it, to say something, you turned your eyes and body back to the shelf, arms dropping to your sides again. 

“You always wanted to teach here,” He said surprisingly, this time not even needing to ask you to look at him. You did it right away, snapping your head in his direction. 

Took you some seconds to understand what he meant. 

“I honestly didn't expect you to think I don't want to talk about this because I don't want to talk to you.” 

Harsh, of course, but enough to keep him away. The sarcasm, the venom dripping from your voice, it should be more than a reason for Jonathan to put himself on his place, to be away from you, to just fucking forget it. He was doing just fine for two whole months, no one needed that drama again. 

With that, he left, and you cursed yourself with closed eyes for feeling bad about it too. 

------------------------------

“You know that's not the answer.”

“I would know if you told me.”

“If I told you, you would still not know and we would still be here.” 

Dylan narrowed his sharp blue eyes at you, pursing his lips before looking back at the copy of Not Much Ado About Nothing. 

“When I'm older, I'm going to pay people to give me answers.”

You looked around, seeing a Renoir on the left wall and a solid wood china cabinet right next to it.

“I'm sure you will.”

------------------------------

You thought about it a lot and knew that if you were thinking, it was because you had to decide what to do, which could include… nothing. You could let the matter drop, make Jonathan forget everything and just carry on as if nothing had happened, which seemed prudent. Maybe 'doing nothing', maybe continuing to live and work your dream would be ideal. You loved being an ordinary person, who did ordinary things and didn't live within the limits of drama; you loved peace. But the problem was that, to 'do nothing', it was also necessary to do something, take a step, make a decision, and these were actions, even if they were silent withdrawals. 

The research fund had increased circumstantially that semester. Your articles were doing very well and, at that time, you could hope, even from a distance, for a chance at leadership in your own line of research. Like good nerdy academics, the Department didn’t throw celebration parties, but directed the money towards purchasing new printers, updating books in the library and investing in publications in the university magazine or field research trips. They commented that it could frustrate you, being young and not being able to have coworkers with whom you would drink in questionable bars, but you always smiled and replied that it was okay, that you had already booked the clubs and drunk Uber rides for a past time. 

And for some reason, this moment of good news, of positive points, made you stop there, with a cup of coffee in your hand and right in front of Jonathan's office.

He had to double-check that it was you who was standing there after you entered, closing his mouth before he could use the condescending tone of a teacher toward a student, lowering his expectations of meeting a desperate oil heir from his Dostoevsky classes for… you. And what would be you, standing there with an unreadable expression? 

“... Good morning?” He asked, unsure, adjusting his glasses on the bridge of his nose. 

“Yeah, well, yes. Good morning.” You said. “I’m not gonna do a lot of small talk, that’s probably not the right place to do so, I just…” 

Jonathan was blinking at you as if you had a second head, confused by your appearance and probably by your rambling. 

“I want to apologize for how I treated you the other day. At the library,” You words had a small effect on him, almost imperceptible. “It wasn't my right to act so harshly even if I disagreed with you.”

“I still think you were polite. I don't remember anyone telling me to fuck off in such a controlled manner.”

“Jonathan…” You scolded him with a sigh, averting your gaze from him with a head shake. 

“No, please, I’m being serious. I deserved it.” 

“That’s not the point,” You pressed. “It is, probably, but what I’m trying to say is that we could… put a rock on the whole situation and move on. We’re both adults, we can do that.” 

He stared at you for another long moment, licking his lips and considering something inside his head. Then, calmly, he nodded, gesturing to the chair in front of his desk. With small steps, you sat there, eyeing the papers splayed all over and then the way he leaned against his own chair, relaxed. 

“How was your search for the book in the British Literature session?” Jonathan asked casually, even grinning at the mention of your trip to the library. 

“Good. I spent a lot of time looking for the damn book and then discovered that Dylan had an exclusive copy,” You rolled your eyes at the memory, crossing your legs to get comfortable. “But it was worth it. It's been a while since I read Not Much Ado About Nothing.”

“Oh, Shakespeare.”

“Mm-hm.”

“I thought you always found him quite boring.”

“I still do,” The comment made him smile more openly. 

All of that calm atmosphere brought some sort of comfort, but you were still sitting on the edge of the chair, circling the elephant in the room while sipping on your coffee. After a moment, when he just sighed and clearly left the ball in your room, you stared at your pants for a moment, thinking of a better way to start the topic. 

“I won't ask what happened that night,” You started, having quite bitter flashes of the restaurant, the stares, even the pity from the waiter. 

“You should.”

“Maybe, but I still prefer not to. What happened in your life isn’t my problem.” 

He nodded. You knew that because when you raised your head, he was observing you quietly. 

“I'm not with her anymore.” 

It was strange that, for Jonathan, this was the most convenient thing to say, as if he had to give you an explanation of that, specifically. You took in the information with tight lips, brushing your fingertips on the coffee cup in your lap.

“... Mm.”

“But I shouldn't have been with her at that time,” He confessed. “I still loved her or thought I did, I don't know. There was just a lot going on at once and so we… That was the last time. With her.”

Again, you took the information, letting it flow in your insides. In fact, you were right to listen to any argument from him in the past. If he told you that back then, that night, the story would be more than something to forget.

“Why are you telling me this now?”

“Because it may not seem like it, but two years can give someone a lot of maturity,” A pause. “And you were always very firm in knowing what you wanted to deal with and what you didn't. When you decided you didn't want to hear about my shit, I realized that I didn't care about you as much as I should have. This was something you didn't deserve and I know that if you still have your reluctance towards me, I shouldn't force it.” 

It didn't seem rehearsed, but thought out - there was a difference. It was thought of as a class he was teaching, as a subject he was aware of and just said, in an automatic, reflected thought. You used to have mixed feelings when he spoke to you like that before, and this time you realized it was no different. He wasn't patronizing you, but he wasn't being completely emotional either, which could be slightly incoherent for someone who was speaking his mind. You accepted anyway, because before you didn't have something very solid, not enough for such expectations, and this time the relationship was even less close.

“... Makes sense,” You all but nodded, taking another sip on your coffee. “Quite relieved that you gave it some thought.”

“I did. I care about that now.” 

Whatever he meant, whatever his ‘care’ should mean at the moment, you waved off with rationality. Jonathan just didn’t want to feel even more bad about what happened, if he had hurt you - a young, naive woman. It could do things to him, a father, who wouldn’t want his daughter to face what you might've faced. Like fixing his early mistakes to have a word on the future, if necessary. 

“Better late than never, right?”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“No?”

“Nn-nn. I didn’t come here expecting you to put the same meaning on it as me.”

“And what was your meaning?”

The question made you squirm in your seat, just a little, just enough to notice that he knew you would react somehow. Still, you played it cool: shrugged, looked around. 

“You were the hot professor coming off a messy divorce, Jonathan,” You said with a scoff. “That's basically the ideal guy recipe for any frustrated girl.”

“I never thought you were frustrated.”

“But you saw something,” With raised eyebrows, you said it for sure, a truth he would try to hide with kind words and a sense of regret. “You loved Mira and I never asked you to stop doing that. And you remember, don't you? When we kissed for the first time? I told you that you should only keep going if you were sure and you did it. You still smiled and said you wanted to do it the right way, take me to dinner and be a gentleman. The impression I got was that you needed more time to fuck your ex one last time and make sure we weren't going to work out.” 

It came out so naturally, tho, like you just organized all of the thoughts and insecurities and expectations you always had when it happened, that Jonathan just stared at you without a reaction, as if it was all new to him. Maybe it was. You labored such a huge crush on him back in the day, he was always more smart, more charming, more polite, more pretty - no one could even come close to what you created of him. And when he came to that restaurant smelling like a woman, smelling like Mira, you knew that Jonathan, the sexy professor with kind smiles and a toe curling kiss, was just a pathetic immature projection of a good man for you, one that you could invest in. 

He just considered it as if he were giving something a bain-marie, calmly melting it so that it was right, warm but not hot. You stared back at him, expressionless and calm. 

“This sounds more like frustration,” His voice came out, low and ashamed. 

“Wouldn’t you say.”

Jonathan nodded, looking around his desk as if he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“... I'm only here because I knew what I was getting myself into. My naivety was to trust that you, at that moment, could lead to a fruitful relationship. It was the wrong time and yeah, okay, it happens. Everyone has one of these.” 

“You still didn't want to talk to me about it.”

“Because the first thing you said when you saw me here was that I should be in Boston, like I was a fucking plague.” 

“I didn’t say that.”

“But implied. You looked like you just saw a ghost.”

“I was surprised.”

“... Really?” You sighed, brows raised in disbelief. He rolled his eyes at the teasing, but complied anyway. 

“Shocked.” 

“Yeah, that makes more sense.” 

“Still.”

“Mm.”

“You’re just as pretty as you were two years ago,” The sudden comment made you stop mid-sip, staring blankly at him at the admission. 

“I know,” You said casually, taking a full sip then and seeing him smile. 

“One of these days we can have a coffee together. You still haven't told me what it was like in London,” He changed the subject subtly. 

“I can tell you what it was like right now.”

“Can you.”

“It was nice.”

“Cold.”

“So cold,” You nodded. “Lots of smart people.”

“I could have guessed.”

“And good pubs with good beers.”

“Mm.”

“Simple like that.”

“I'm sure you have more details that you won't remember now.”

“Is it like a test? I have to study and say what satisfies you?”

“You're not my student anymore, I wouldn't do that. If it can make you say yes, though…”

“Oh no, it would make me say a huge no.”

“So tell me what would change your mind. I can work something out.” 

He wasn't serious, was he? You literally said he was toxic towards you and there he was, inviting you to coffee as if none of the conversation had happened. This made you shake your head negatively with an incredulous smile, looking around once again as if the answer was there, among the bookshelves and other things in his office.

“Well, if I remember correctly, you owe me a bottle of wine,” You said with nonchalance, getting up from your seat and groaning a little in the process. “Chilean. Camembert.”

He didn't respond to that either, perhaps because he knew it wasn't an invitation, but the opposite: a reminder that despite your willingness to set the record straight, it didn't mean you wanted to be friends. Because defining and being friends were different things and you were always very diligent in implying things in a confusing way. That wasn't in your words, nor in your tone; it was in the way you stood up and dismissed any chance that he might use the time as an opening for charm, a chance for reconciliation that probably had to do with your connections at Columbia and the effects that circumstance might have on his position. 

You went there to reaffirm that and only that. That you wouldn't be an obstacle, that he shouldn't be an obstacle, and that you had a bottle of Chilean wine from two years ago that hadn't been paid for from the right person.

Because the least he could have done when he showed up on a date he invited you to with another woman's perfume, smelling like another woman's sex, was pay for the damn bottle of wine.

------------------------------

The bottle of wine appeared on your desk in a discreet brown package, with no indication of its contents. There was no note, or anything written, just the glass, the label and the drink itself. You didn't smile at that. If anything, you took the bottle to a dinner you had at Rahul's house later that day, and when he asked, you just said you couldn't drink it all alone at home.

None of your friends drank alcohol that night. The empty bottle was in Rahul's recycling bin the next morning.

------------------------------

The truth, raw and honest, was that Jonathan was a visibly pathetic but attractive man. It was notable, whether in classes or at conferences, that even though he hid himself in department store-looking clothes, with a very disheveled look, Jonathan caught the attention of students, colleagues and people in general. This look probably only increased others' interest in him.

He walked with the confidence of any university professor in that age group, hiding in the personality of a father, an academic, who aroused curiosity, which whether or not it was a full plate for women with daddy issues or a sense of salvation.

Yes, then, he was fucking attractive.

You were never alone in the same place, at least not after the conversation in his office. What you had of Jonathan were these little pieces, fragments of his figure walking around campus and hallways, almost always distracted by something or just determined to get somewhere. He wasn't stupid, nor foolish, because he was aware that that effect made him gain some admirers, but maybe that was enough for you to hold on to these brief moments of Jonathan in your daily life.

He always looked back, in these halls and around campus. Briefly, just like you, with a succinct exchange of glances and a polite nod. Sometimes he would say 'good morning' to you and Rahul, or whoever was with him, and he would always look at you again when no one else was paying attention to him. Little by little, this made you feel that tingling again, the anxious heat of being under the watchful eye of someone for whom you had, even if unconsciously, a growing attraction.

One time he went to the research room because he knew one of your colleagues and, in the middle of a healthy discussion about a research method you were applying, he touched your forearm to get your attention, accompanied by a nod of the head and a 'do you remember when we did this?'.Afterwards, one of the Human Sciences professors invited you to follow a Socratic debate in the class and Jonathan was there, watching you so intently that he hardly turned his face to follow the next person speaking, and soon you started talking looking at him.

He didn't approach, as you suggested, but remained in your orbit.

Rahul was along with you when a peculiar interaction took place. The two were mentioning a new methodology for computing grades in the university system and you casually made notes on the subject. Jonathan turned to you and listened to each word with a look that wandered between your mouth, your gesturing hands and your eyes, which always had a roll, a squint or a widening. When he spoke again, you found yourself noticing his serene expression, the fingers that touched the beard just below his lips and how he scratched the right side of his neck every now and then, perhaps because the beard was growing in that area.

It was clear that Rahul had something to say as soon as you dispersed.

“I get it now.”

“Mm?”

“You and Jonathan,” He said with a calm tone, watching you go from confusion to shyness in a second. “This isn’t a judgment.”

“I know.”

“Because it's natural to have unconscious sexual tension between you.” 

You looked at him with raised eyebrows, stopping in your tracks to gather what he just said. 

“... Sexual tension?” 

He scoffed, rolling his eyes at your lack of realization. 

“Let's be honest, in these two years, despite what happened, you never imagined what it would be like with him?”

Rahul should have never opened his mouth to talk about this, because suddenly this hypothetical situation turned into a plague. In the shower, on a boring day, when the Facebook request caught your attention: you caught a glimpse of Jonathan. It wasn't that graphic and you didn't have hot dreams about it, but you knew what it felt like to be touched by him, what the weight and feel of his hands was like, his kiss, and sometimes you found yourself thinking about it.

When you saw him in person, walking around the university, you noticed how he ran his fingers through his hair, how the movement of his legs gave glimpses of the shape of his thighs, how his t-shirts and blouses sometimes missed a detail about his chest and stomach. This got worse when you started having some casual encounters with other guys. You went out with a bartender and when it was all over you realized that he looked a lot like Jonathan and that you spent the whole time in an imaginative world thinking it was him.

Damn, you thought. You couldn't keep your word for even a second.

------------------------------

When the inevitable happened, the two of you were alone - thank God. It was like a perfect, clichéd scenario: late at night, you were alone in the research room and he showed up looking for someone who wasn't you.

“I thought you were already home,” He said, looking around before landing his eyes at you, who were standing on the small ladder to return a folder to the filing cabinet.

It was a bad day to wear a skirt. You were sure that your tension at being attracted again, added to the lack of cloth on your legs, made you even more aware of the shiver you felt when you went down the steps and saw him close.

“I wanted to finish an article. I can think better when I'm alone, you know.”

“I know.”

The two of you looked at each other for a few moments and there it was, the tension palpable, the heat rising in your stomach and leaving you a little disconcerted. He got it. He took a step closer and it made you blink, looking away at the desk.

“Everyone left an hour ago, I think. If you're looking for Mr. Jones, he won't be back until Monday,” You said, fidgeting with the papers splayed out on the desk, trying to tidy it all into their respective places. 

His body was there, next to you, almost touching your arm but not quite. You knew he was very close by the heat and the scent, not having the courage to turn your face to see him.

“Is that so?” Jonathan asked, voice low. 

“Mm-hm.”

“Okay.” 

You organized the last stack of papers, took a breath and turned to him in time to see him measure the curvature of your ass against the skirt, as it was slightly inclined. He didn't hide it. In fact, he didn't even hide his observations as he glanced up at the discreet opening of the two buttons on your blouse before stopping at your face. 

His kiss was the same as the one you remembered, but this one had more certainty and heat. When your mouths met, sharing a wet kiss, Jonathan didn't hesitate to grab both of your ass cheeks, grunting when he felt them and squeezing them firmly. A chair was dragged as you let his tongue invade your mouth and soon you felt the edge of the table pressing you, which you understood immediately.

It was fast, almost desperate. You grabbed his hair when you heard the clasp on his belt come undone and you almost broke his glasses when you felt him roughly lift the fabric of your skirt. He didn't even care and you didn't apologize. Jonathan didn't prepare you either because he didn't need to - you were ridiculously wet. It was a firm penetration, which made you gasp against his mouth, without waiting, and soon the two of you were a mess of kisses and moans and whimpers with each aggressive thrust. 

The table creaked with the force of his hips and, fortunately, it resisted when Jonathan lifted one of your legs to go even deeper, even firmer. You moaned softly, restrainedly, and felt a bite at the junction of your neck and shoulder when he heard you moan his name. Jonathan was big, well endowed. You would feel all that the next day, but at that moment none of it mattered. It was a meeting of unresolved frustrations and aggressive, improvised, urgent sex.

He came inside after making you cum twice; he was hugging you when he did it. You were both panting, his face pressing against your neck as you held his head and hips, staring at the ceiling as you tried to regain your decency. 

You organized yourself in silence, without saying a word. Your panties were sticking, his spent dripping out of your pussy, but if he noticed, he didn't comment. The table hadn't been disorganized, at least, and you had to pull up the sleeves of your shirt with how hot you were feeling. 

“Sorry about it,” You were the first to say something, seeing him eyeing the crooked leg of the glasses carefully.

“It was already like this before, don't worry.”

“... Okay.”

You didn't know what to do with yourself, nor did he. For a moment, you just ran your hands over your skirt, then your mouth, then your hair, unsure whether you should say something or just let him go.

“Are you finished with your work?” Jonathan asked then, making you shake your head. 

“I’m done.”

“I’ll take you home then.”

------------------------------

You didn't tell Rahul, but you suspected he knew something as soon as you met on Monday. He didn't say anything, didn't even hint, and you were sure that if he really wanted to know, you would tell him. What you imagined, of course, was that maybe it was just a one-time, unexpected and certainly necessary thing that wouldn't happen again. And that you haven't stopped thinking about it.

God, you wished you could forget, but it was Jonathan and it happened. So, best case scenario, you've moved on, gotten back into the routine.

All the energy this began to drain from you, all this… vivid memory of the sighs of pleasure he let out in your ear, the mark he left on your neck and the grunts he made that night, that you wanted so much before and suddenly happened in an unusual way, you took it out on things in your life. Gym, morning runs, a little yoga, an extra half hour in Dylan's classes to watch him practice fencing, another extracurricular activity that Mr. Hastings made him do. Distractions, in fact, because you didn't want to poke at whatever that intense moment with Jonathan would trigger, even if it was poking you again.

“I get the impression you're trying to avoid me.”

He found you in the middle of an Architecture student exhibition on campus, scaring you while looking at a 3D project of a hospital or something like that. You glared at him, saw that he was focused on the students' table, and when you looked around, no one was paying attention to the two of you.

“I’m not.” Pfft. Of course. “What gave you that impression?

“After what happened, it's natural for you to avoid me if the sex was bad or if I was an asshole or if, I don't know, any other reason people avoid people after something like that.” 

“I don't know if you really want to know my answer.”

“I do. Tell me.”

You stared at him for a moment, then sighed when he showed no intention to run away from the topic. 

“It wasn't supposed to happen.”

“So you regret it.”

“No, not regret, I just… Does this sound even remotely healthy to you? The two of us suddenly fucking inside a room at this university?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time it ever happened here.”

“I’m serious, Jonathan.”

“Well, I am too. People here are traditional, not puritan. And we are both single people who are evidently attracted to each other,” He reasoned, that same stance of having two hands inside his pants pockets and a neutral expression on his face. 

You considered it with silence, then turned back to the project you weren’t even paying attention to begin with, working more as a way to move on from the topic. 

“The first time you really wanted to take me to dinner,” You mumbled. 

“The difference is that the first time I didn't know what I wanted. I know now.”

“And that do you want now?”

Jonathan approached discreetly, arm lightly touching yours as he also pretended to look at the architectural work in front of you.

“I want to fuck you without rushing.” 

------------------------------

Because that was it, just fucking. That's how things went, without the anxiety of seeing him every day, without the passionate hallucinations of what it would be like to have a 'relationship' with him. Jonathan went to your apartment most of the time because of Ava, but in the weeks she spent with Mira, you fucked all over his house: sofa, bed, bathroom, kitchen.

Mira wasn't an issue either because you didn't talk about it. You only asked once and demanded honesty, at least in this regard, and he said that the divorce had been consummated shortly after you went to London. You only knew about the times he spent with Ava because, after a while, the times he came to you were seasonal enough to form a pattern.

He asked about Europe again, with a more curious and attentive look. You said it was cool, actually, and surprising. When you mentioned Charles, he didn't react or make any comment on the matter.

“I heard you're going to try out for a substitute job after spring break.” 

You were leaning against the headboard of his bed when you heard him ask. Jonathan had come out of the bathroom after discarding the condom and was sitting next to you when he appeared with this curiosity.

“From Rahul?”

“Mm-hm.”

That made you shrug. 

“It’s not much.”

“It’s something.”

“Yeah,” You nodded, fidgeting with the sheet covering your legs. “But it's still not much. I will be paid per class and Columbia is very traditional in having consistent professors.”

He didn't answer that, which gave you comfort and relief. You didn't want to talk about work there, at that moment, where any objective had to do with everything except Columbia, except the rich students or the next semester's curriculum.

“Are you going to have to give up Dylan?” That was what he asked, starting to place gentle kisses on your shoulder, up to your neck. You gave him space, hand holding the back of his hair, buring your fingers into his messy curls. 

“Perhaps…” He bit your earlobe, making you sigh. “Why are we talking about it?”

“Mr. Hastings said a lot of nice things about you at that fundraiser.”

“The one you didn't want to go to?”

“Mm-hm…” Jonathan pulled the sheets away from your body, sliding between your now open legs and pressing more kisses on your belly, going lower to give some attention to your thighs. “Did you talk about this? About you leaving Dylan?”

“Vaguely,” You adjusted yourself, already expecting him to go just a little more bold with that closeness of his. 

“He looked quite upset.”

“Jealous?”

It was the first time that someone reached this criterion, which was trivial. You were even smiling when you said that. Well, Jonathan didn't smile. He stuck his head between your legs, made you cum with his mouth and nibbled on your lip as he penetrated your pussy with a long but deep movement.

Of all the meetings, that one was the most full of passion and desire. You left his house completely sweaty and sore. Two days later, when you met again, Jonathan invited you to dinner. You looked at him with an amused expression, not understanding where that was coming from.

“I was a scoundrel, that's all. I want to be able to have the right to be jealous of you without being a complete asshole.” 

That made you smile. Really smile. 

“You know you're going to need more than dinner for this, right?”

“What I know is that I can start with a bottle of wine,” He smirked. “Chilean, Camembert, yeah?” 

#jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fanfiction #oscar isaac #scenes from a marriage #female reader #reader insert #jonathan levy x you

[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

#scenes from a marriage #oscar isaac #jonathan levy #x reader #jonathan x reader #angst #angst to fluff #fluff #fanfiction #fan fiction #reader insert #self insert #oscar isaac fic #oscar isaac fanfiction #oscar isaac #oscar isaac x reader #taylor swift #Spotify #evermore #tolerate it

[spacecowboyhotch]

Kinktober Day 24: Home

summary; but today it’s sweet.

kink: outdoor & tender sex (and exhibitionism kinda)

pairing: fem!reader x jonathan levy

contents: 18+/NSFW/MINORS DNI, food mention, unprotected sex, creampies, fluff

an: jonathan being a soft little hoe as always. he’s baby, the last epi doesn’t exist.

word count: 507

kinktober masterlist | misc. masterlist

Jonathan’s house has an incredible privacy fence. There’s no way to see into his backyard unless you scale said fence or if you’re in it, a rare occasion for anyone who isn’t the two of you or Ava. It comes in handy at times like this. You’d gotten home from defending your thesis with great news of passing and Jonathan had invited you over celebratory picnic.

And while the food and dessert he prepared for you was delicious, the gesture wholeheartedly appreciated, nothing is better than the way he’s nestled in between your legs with his mouth on yours right now.

“Jonathan,” You gasp into his mouth, fingers tangled into his messy curls.

“So proud of you, sweet girl. Can I show you?” He murmurs between kisses, starting a path down your jaw and neck.

As soon as you say yes, he works fast, getting your underwear down to your ankles and pushing up your skirt before his hands fall to his own pants and boxers.

The heavy make out session has you extremely wet, and when Jonathan works himself free, he slides in to the hilt with no protest from you or your body. Both of you moan, deep and filthy, the sound echoing through the other’s mouths. Sex with Jonathan has its shades, it can be rough and frantic, deliberate and controlled.

But today— it’s sweet.

Syrupy slow thrusts, tender caresses of skin, he takes you in a way that feels like worship. Every brush of his skin against yours, every thrust, the feel of his mouth, all are like soothing water quenching your thirst. Your hands are still in his hair, running through the curls, keeping his mouth desperately close to yours.

Jonathan looks down at you, taking in your soft, hazy beauty and realizes there’s not a day he wants to go without you. He’s been here before and gotten his heart crushed, but he knows you, truly knows you and sees nothing but love reflected in your eyes.

He kisses you hungrily before pulling away, “Stay here. Just stay. Be with me and Ava always.”

“Yes,” You breathe with no hesitation, legs tightening around his waist as you rise to the precipice of your orgasm.

His release hits him all at once, no steady build for him to warn you of and he captures your lips once more, continuing to move his hips, wanting you to fall over the edge with him. He’d stay between your legs forever, fucking himself into you until his entire body buzzed with overstimulation, if it meant you were able to cum.

Your body takes it easy on him, and with just a few more deep thrusts, you join him, white-hot pleasure singing through every thread of your makeup.

There are no words, not yet, and so the both of you hold the other close, letting your hands roam and say all the words you’re too fucked out to say.

Suspended in the quiet of Jonathan’s backyard, wrapped in his arms, this feels like home.

oscar taglist: @greg-montgomery, @lesbianhotch, @laurensprentiss, @hotchs-bitch, @honeybrowne, @multiverse-mxdness, @fanofverymanythings, @marc-spectorr, @toracainz, @rmoonstoner, @roseqzpd, @mccn-bcys, @my-rosegold-soul

#jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy x fem!reader #jonathan levy blurb #jonathan levy fanfiction #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #scenes from a marriage #arson writes randos #not sfw #arson’s kinktober

[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

#scenes from a marriage #jonathan levy #jonathan levy x reader #jonathan levy fanfiction #jonathan levy x you #jonathan levy fan fiction #jonathan levy smut #jonathan levy fic #scenes from a marriage fanfiction #john levy fanfiction #john levy fan fiction #john levy fiction #jonathan levy fiction

[sweetly-yours-and-mine]

Summary: Sipping from the other's drink

Pairing: Jonathan Levy x Reader

Warnings: author makes certain claims about academia that may or may not be true and are entirely biased because of her own experience with it (and a huge thanks to @pennyserenade for reading this over for me)

Word Count: 2.3k

Jonathan’s brought you to a summer mixer at the Department Head’s family home, designed to maintain connections through the faculty during the slow months of the summer as well as create new ones with the incoming graduate students to the department. 

A newly-minted associate professor for the fall term, Jonathan at least doesn’t have to worry about students of his own. 

Really, he’s only here for the drinks. 

Academics’ pockets, though they don’t usually run deep, are quite generous when it comes to their alcohol, perhaps a sort of defence mechanism when it comes to dealing with the stress of their way of life. 

Everyone, however, seems to be at ease. It’s a late afternoon sort of function in order to encourage them to drink as much as they would like without feeling guilty about it, and loosened from the heavy burden of tweeds and thick wools, the faculty are clad instead in linen, cool and airy. 

Tongues are loose, smiles are quick to be given. People have forgotten the relentless competition they’re usually in when it comes to funding, to office space, to good class slots. 

All in all, he thinks that today has been a good day to introduce you to the people he’s going to passive aggressively work with for the rest of his life. 

He gazes across the room and finds the blue of your shirt, sticking out like a sore thumb in a sea of neutrals and whites. You’re talking to one of the faculty spouses, nodding your head and laughing. There’s a glass of pink lemonade in your hands, your hair falls around you as if you’re holding a secret within your chest. 

Jonathan yearns for you to be by your side again, to smell the perfume he bought for your six-month anniversary, the one you always spray into the crook of your neck because that’s always where he likes to press his face whenever he’s deep in thought. 

As if on cue, the conversation dies down and you drift back to his side. 

He marvels at how easily you’ve managed to fit yourself into this new crowd, how you laugh as the department fart tells you some lame joke that he’s probably told millions of others before you. You brush it off with grace and ease, I’ll talk to you soon, alright? 

It had taken him almost five years before he’d mastered that skill. The gentle brush off that made the other feel like you were doing them a favour. 

He loves you, that much he knows for sure. 

After the storm cloud of Mira and the past twenty years of his life had passed, he’d met you. As simple as that, as if the universe was only waiting for him before they let him hold onto the rest of his life like a delicate crystal glass. 

“Hi,” you come up close to him and Jonathan can smell your perfume and the strawberries on your breath. He wonders if he’ll be able to taste your drink if he kisses you long enough. 

He also wonders, as an addendum, how quickly he would lose his position if he did that. Despite all the shouting the university did about being progressive and open-minded, the tenured faculty members were still dreadfully hard-headed, old-fashioned. 

Jonathan supposes that he was too. Maybe he still is, simply by nature of his daily proximity to him on the same floor of the social sciences building, crumbling at the seams since the last of its renovations in the seventies. 

“Hi,” he wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you in close to him. There’s a glass of whiskey in his other hand that he doesn’t care much for anymore now that you’re here. He kisses the side of your head, brushes away some of your hair from your temple, “Enjoying yourself?” 

You giggle, it rings out like a fairybell. You lean up close to him and murmur in his ear, “You work with some very strange people.” 

He can’t help but laugh at that, turning his head to meet your sparkling eyes. “Yeah, I suppose I do.” 

“Very strange,” you muse again, looking out across the room. “And I thought you were the strange one.” 

That hits him in a funny way he wasn’t planning on it doing. He remembers once in high school his cross country running coach said she’d stepped, wearing thick-soled hiking shoes, on a pebble the wrong way and ended up having to go to physio for six months. 

He supposes he feels a little like that pulled muscle. 

He hums, tries to push down the blow you’d struck at him without realising it. 

“Strange?” 

“Mmhm,” your fingers drift around his waist and rest on top of his tummy, the one Ava had pointed out the other day in passing. “Strange, yeah. You got the whole, mysterious, hot, brooding professor thing going for you.” 

“And that’s strange to you?” 

You shrug. Jonathan feels the heat of your gaze against his face and he doesn’t feel like turning to meet it. Instead, he favours the sharp burn of whiskey. He ended up with a glass in his hand because some snot-nose had offered to pour him a drink and he’d been too much of a pushover and too concerned about what other people thought of him to say he preferred a red wine. 

You’re never like that. 

You were never like him; either because that’s who you were at your core, or because you’d manage to escape the way academia chipped away at one’s soul, until there was an empty, arthritis-ridden husk of a person by the time they reached tenure. 

Opposites did attract, he supposes. 

You were different from him. You weren’t afraid to drink the pink lemonade that had been left out for the few kids running around in the back garden, you weren’t afraid to call him weird if that’s what you thought of him. 

Jonathan wonders why it took you so long to say it to him. 

He’s about to try and pry the answer out of you when someone else approaches the two of you together. A newly-tenured professor whom Jonathan never really did get along with, particularly when he was working his post-doctorate and the guy had picked up an obnoxious habit of hanging around the kitchen coffee-maker and smacking his gum as loud as he could. 

There couldn’t have been anyone worse that could have showed up at the time. 

“Jonathan!” 

Something inside him curls into himself at the thought, and as if you could feel it, your arm wraps around him a little tighter. 

The man’s trying to make some small talk, the bare bones of it before he surely starts to boast of himself and his students and the latest hotshot fund he got because of his new tenure. 

“Hi,” you smile at him sweetly and make a green little sprout of something bad shoot up inside his stomach, a bitter taste lingering at the back of his throat. You introduce yourself as Jonathan’s partner and are just about to move to go away when he speaks up again, cutting you short. 

“I liked Mina more, Levy,” he grins and shows off his teeth like a predator. Against the off-white of his linen suit, they look even whiter, standing out like a sign against his tanned skin. “Shame you two had to end it the way you did.” 

Jonathan tries to remind himself that he doesn’t know how things ended with Mira. That it’s just another poke at him and his life to get a rise out of him. 

You smile at the guy again, there’s a sharper edge to it. His prickly rose. “Well, if you’ll excuse us.” 

Then you’re guiding him away from the stuffy room and towards a bench against the side of the house. There’s a full view of the backyard, the sloping apple tree and whispering aspens all around, the toddlers playing tag in shrill shrieks. 

He sits down with a low exhale, you follow beside him, slouching and shucking off your shoes. “Christ,” you mutter under your breath. 

It’s probably the most genuine thing he’s heard all afternoon and he can’t help the laugh that escapes him. “Yeah, sorry.” 

“You deal with that everyday?” It sounds like you’re pitying him. He wonders if that’s ever what Mira thought of him whenever he took her to these events. If she ever raised her eyebrows in surprise at each precise way you had to deal with everyone in the department. 

He swallows back his thoughts and nods, “More or less.” 

“Jonathan,” you shift and face him again. Still, he can’t bear to look at you anymore. Strange and Mira have started to float around his head like a crib mobile. “I…and you…” the rest of your words are lost to your breath as you turn around again, swearing quietly before reaching for his drink and taking a sip. 

He likes how your lips were on the same place where his was.  

The alcohol burns your throat and you grimace at him, “I didn’t know you liked whiskey.” 

“I don’t.” 

“Huh,” you seemed to have heard something stitched and laced into his words that he hadn’t noticed he’d put there in the first place. 

You weren’t much of a drinker. Yet another thing that Jonathan noticed when he started dating you. At New Years’ you had some champagne, small sips whenever you clinked glasses with the people around you before you’d pass your flute onto him to finish. 

Now that he thinks about it, that may have been your first sip of whiskey ever. 

Quite early on, once he’d taken you out on your fifth date and it was shaping out to be something serious like a marble statue carving, Jonathan had cracked open his ribs and showed you the bleeding insides of him. 

You’d taken some steps together quickly, probably too quickly if it meant that he doesn’t know now if you’ve ever had spirits before. 

That had been another thing he’d noticed when he’d started dating again, seriously and for real this time. Twenty years with a person leads to a tremendous collection of trivial information that he’s not sure he’ll ever fully be rid of again. 

It was strange to sit across from someone at dinner and not know how they took their coffee, what side of the bed they liked to sleep on, what order they unloaded the dishwasher and if they had a dishwasher anyways because the renting market is growing out of control. 

“Did you like it?” he asks suddenly, hoping to catch onto a trivial fact of yours, like collecting baseball cards or butterflies with a net. 

“Hm? Oh,” you look down at the whiskey glass and shake your head, handing it back to him. “Not really my thing.” 

Something still nags at him. Maybe it was a mistake bringing you here. You’re the only sober one out of all the guests. Even the host himself is growing rosy and red. It didn’t really look good to see that all your partner’s coworkers were borderline alcoholics, that they dealt with a tremendous amount of repressed trauma and stress and didn’t seek any help for it because of the size of their egos. 

Right then and there he vows to do better for you. He throws the rest of his drink out onto the garden, sets the glass down on the wooden bench with a heavy thud of well made crystal. 

“Do you really think me strange?” he asks you suddenly. Finally, after a long while, he meets your eye. 

“I…well,” you shrug and take in a slow breath. “Yeah, in certain ways. I think I do.” 

“I see.” 

Your words imbed themselves into his skin like shrapnel. 

“But…I don’t have a PhD, I can’t really…” you let out a breath and look out at the garden and the children playing. “Besides, I haven’t been divorced…I haven’t been in your shoes.” 

“I trust your opinion of me.” 

“It’s not that I think you’re strange necessarily,” you gesture back to the house and the rattle of chatter that keeps growing louder with each drink getting poured. “I…this is all very new to me. And I’m trying to understand what it’s like for you.” 

Jonathan starts to smile, “And how’s that going?” 

“Not very well,” you laugh and run your thumb against the rim of your glass. “I just drank whiskey for the first time.” 

He starts to laugh as well, and wrapping his arm around you, he pulls you into the side of his body. His other hand comes and takes your lemonade from your hands, sipping from it as well. 

It tastes like his childhood and hot summer evenings spent with his mother and his aunt, listening to gossip he shouldn’t have been listening to as their nimble fingers worked away with their knitting needles. 

“Do you wanna go home now?” 

“You still need to show face,” you muse quietly, tracing the outer seam of his pants with your finger. “They’re probably already starting to wonder where you’ve gone off to, and it’s going to hurt their frail little egos.” 

He barks out a laugh, and kisses the crown of your head, “God, I love you.” 

“I do too,” he hears the smile in your voice and it goes straight into his chest, wraps a couple pieces of his heart together and puts them back into place. “Don’t worry about me, I’ll entertain myself.” 

Jonathan kisses you this time, properly, the way he wanted to. Your fingers run through his beard and trace his jawline all the way around his ears and back down. 

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

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[boredzillenial]

A Simple Arrangement

Warnings: f!reader, established relationship, Somnophilia, fingering (vaginal and anal), brief mention of needing to use the bathroom (idk if this should be a warning but it’s in there), oral (m!receiving), praise, use of sex toy, use of condom, vaginal sex, multiple orgasms for f!reader

Word count: 1325

You and Jonathan had been seeing each other for a few months now and had come to an understanding. You both were recovering from brutal divorces and just trying to find physical comfort, too mentally and emotionally exhausted to date again. You’d even gone so far to give each other keys so coming over late at night was less of a hassle. You both could come and go, get what you need from each other, and lock the door behind yourselves as you leave.

This wasn’t the first night you woke up to him grinding against you. His hand snaked around your hip and between your legs as his beard scratched softly against your shoulder. His lips found purchase on your neck as he worked his fingers through your folds. You wrapped your arm around his head to pull him in as you took a deep breath, barely waking from the depths of sleep. He took this as encouragement as he locked your leg between his and pushed the other away to open you wider to his touch. His teeth dragged against your shoulder eliciting a groan from you and began to work his fingers around your clit. “F-fuck.” You sighed as you turned onto your back and the fog of sleep slowly began to thin.

His mouth moved from your shoulder to your chest as he took your nipple. Swirling his tongue around the hardness there as you arched. “Jonathan.” You groan and writhe, his legs locked and around yours as he dipped his fingers into your folds. His finger sunk in and curved deliciously as you gasped. He worked his fingers slowly, drawing out and rubbing your slickness up over your clit then sinking back down into you. “Fuck Jonatha-“ he cut you off as his lips covered yours, driving his tongue and fingers in time with one another. He swallowed your groans and whimpers as he pushed you further, moving his thumb over your clit and pumping his fingers deeper.

He slowly released your leg from his and pulled away. You bit your lip and whimpered sleepily at the lack of touch. “Shh I’m right here.” He chuckled and repositioned himself between your legs, pushing them apart and sinking his fingers back into you soaking core. You groan and arch at the feeling of his fingers filling you. His thumb finding your clit again and working into you. You heard him spit, feeling it hit your lips and glide between the cleft of your ass. You open your eyes and see a smirk play across his face in the bit of light that highlighted him in your darkened bedroom. “Relax.” He cooed as he rubbed his other thumb across your tight ring of muscle and pushed in slowly. You couldn’t help the sounds coming from you as he put both his hands to work.

In just a few strokes you were panting and grabbing the sheets. “Good girl, cum for me.” He said softly as his fingers continued to work. You looked down as the pressure in your belly built. Gods the look on his face could send you over the edge alone, his curls falling across his face and lips parted from the effort of working both your entrances. Your orgasm crashed over you as his fingers kept their pace. “Good girl, keep going.” You spasmed and clenched around him. His thumbs continued as you fell from your peak and the overstimulation sent you twitching.

“T-too much-“ you whimper.

“Alright.” He grinned, pulling out of your slowly. You felt him get off the bed and watched as he walked over into the bathroom to wash his hands, the light and darkness painting his back and ass.

You felt a different kind of pressure low in your belly from your full bladder and sat up, following that exquisite ass to the bathroom and squinting against the brightness in the bathroom as you enter. “Gotta pee.” You say softly as you sit down on the toilet. The mixture of the lingering drowsiness and your orgasm causing you to close your eyes as you relaxed for a moment. You felt the warmth of his hand run around your throat and tilt your head up. You thought for a brief moment he was going to tilt your head up to kiss you but you opened your eyes to see his cock leaking precum and red infront of you a breath before he pushed the tip against your lips.

He let out a soft groan as your lips opened and tongue worked around his sensitive tip. You moved your hands to hold his hips as he began rolling them. Your tongue slid against the underside just the way he liked as he pushed himself deeper. Another groan echoed in the bathroom as he bucked a final time, a bit too deep causing you to gag. “Don’t make me wait.” He said in a low tone as he pulled out of your mouth and walked back to bed. You wiped the tear from your eye from the gag, finishing up your business as quickly as your tired mind and body could.

As you made your way back to the bed you found him kneeling, condom and your vibrator in hand. He tilted his head, his cock bobbing as he did so. You grinned and got infront of him, arching your ass up and grabbing a pillow as he handed you your vibrator. “You better cum on my cock.” He teased as he tore the wrapper and pulled the condom over himself. You chuckled and adjusted the toy against your clit. The low buzzing filling the room as you sigh at the sensation and arched a bit further.

It sent short lighting strikes through your nerves as you ached to be filled. “Hurry u-“ you began to chastise as he sunk into you in one stroke. You buried your face in the pillow to stifle your moan as his hips began to roll, that ache changing from being too hollow to being too full.

His hands gripped into the tender flesh of your hips as he quickened his pace. The sensation of his cock and the vibrations on your clit sent you over the edge in a few hard strokes. “That’s it Attagirl.” He nearly growled under his quickened breath.

You keep the toy where it was, ratcheting up your second orgasm after a few moment as his thrusts turned brutal. The sound of skin on skin filling your dark bedroom.

“Fuck, again already? I can’t keep this up if you clench like that.” He groaned, his thrusts turning uneven.

“S-sorry.” You stammer as as you come down from your high, body relaxed but cunt still pulsing around him.

“Don’t be sorry, needed this.” He groaned as grip tightened, pulling your hips back as he continued. The slight adjustment has you seeing stars as he hit deeper inside you, a whimper escaping your lips. “Give me one more, just.one.more.” He urged, punctuating the last three words with his devastating thrusts.

As you felt yourself crashing down, completely coming undone you heard him groan as he fell with you. Despite the condom you could still feel every pulse as his thrusts came to a halt.

You felt him double over to press his forehead against your back, his breath fanning across your skin sent a shiver through you. “Rough night?” You huffed with a smile.

“Rough month…” he sighed as he sat back up, removing himself slowly. “…mind if I, stay over?” You could hear the hesitation in his voice.

You sit up and turn to him with a small smirk. “Sure, you’re making breakfast though.” You giggle as you smack his ass, almost in a good game kind of way to try and lighten the mood. This earned you not only the reciprocal smirk you were looking for, but also a much longer night that you were expecting.

~~~~~~~~~~

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[thepaperpanda]

A Quiet Moment || Jonathan Levy x fem!Reader

Summary: when Jonathan returns from work, you and he share some quiet and sweet moments

Warnings: none

Word count: 1659

Author: Fenrir & Cass

Loneliness became more like solitude as time passed.

Your life had been filled with loneliness for as long as you could remember. Because there were so many exams and subjects that were so boring that it was sometimes easier to fall asleep on your books than learn from them, being a history student didn't help me have a rich social life. Your entire life changed when you met Jonathan, the philosophy professor. Those lectures were so captivating that you were surprised at how quickly time passed.

Your friendship blossomed into something more; a genuine, serious relationship bloomed like a flower.

When you heard the lock on your door screech with the spare key, you were overjoyed. You dropped your pen, dashed downstairs, and jumped into the arms of a man as soon as he removed his coat.

"Hello there," Jonathan softly greeted you, wrapping his arm around your petite waist. It was actually nice to return to a place where he could relax and be greeted with some affection. Maybe the whole thing wasn't smart or acceptable, but this was where he felt good. This was exactly what he needed to do to feel completely satisfied. He kissed your temple after putting the bag down, keeping you close. "Are you still awake? I was certain I'd find you in bed."

"I've been studying for a history exam and have decided not to sleep until you get home. Are you hungry and thirsty? I made zucchini lasagne."

"I told you not to sit or wait for me for too long. You should rest before the exam," he reminded you as he led you into the kitchen. "Would you like to eat with me?"

"Wash your hands and get comfortable. I'll heat everything!" You joyfully exclaimed. "Tea? Or beer?"

"I'll just go get some water. You appear to be in a good mood today. Did something happen while I was away? Is there any good news?" Jonathan washed his hands while watching you rush around the kitchen. He grabbed the glass and filled it with water before sitting down at the table, pushing glasses up.

"I got an A in European history," you said with a smile. "I didn't get the highest possible score, but that's irrelevant." You quickly served the lasagne and grabbed your portion to join him at the table.

"I'm glad to hear it, and I must add 'I told you so,' because the day before you were freaking out about European history," Jonathan chuckled, remembering how scared you were despite the fact that there was no reason for it. "Is there anything else I should know?"

"Your ex-wife called you. A few times, actually. She left a message for you."

Jonathan came to a halt with his food, staring at you.

He nodded, sighing deeply. "I hope she was pleasant. Did she explain why she called again?"

"No, these are 'your things,' and she 'will not be speaking with a third wheel about your private matters,' yeah?" You informed him simply.

He frowned again, adjusting his glasses. "Did she call you that, or did you interpret what she said?"

"I quoted her," you said, your tone a little sad. "I mean, I don't pay attention to her bragging, as you suggested, but it's annoying."

"I know it is," he nodded, reaching for your hand and gently pulling it closer to kiss your knuckles. "I promise I'll talk to her so she doesn't call here and remember, you're not the third wheel for me."

"Are you certain... I sometimes feel ridiculous for falling in love with you..."

"How come?"

"You're the professor, a promising man. And me? Just another dull student."

Jonathan sighed and pushed his chair back. "Please come here," he said quietly, grabbing your hand with the one he was still holding.

You took an offended position on his lap, instinctively putting a strand of your hair behind his ear. "You know what I'm like. I'm a little overwhelmed."

"I know, but I've also told you numerous times that there's no reason for you to," wrapping his arms around your waist, he reminded you. "Do you think I'd be here if you were just a boring student?"

With a shrug and tilt of your head, you replied, "I don't think so, Jonathan."

"So, why are you saying all of this?" He asked you again, and when he didn't get an answer, he kissed your shoulder. "You are more than a student. You are much more to me than that. I've told you this before, Y/N. I adore you."

You laughed as you wrapped your arms around his neck. "You know I love you, baby, and I fell hard for you," you assured, resting your forehead against his and rubbing your nose against his.

His hand pressed against your nape, keeping you close. "You are a safe haven for me. There is no other place where I feel more at ease. I had a difficult day, but it improved when I returned home to you."

"Do you really mean it, love?" You inquired, nuzzling the back of his neck.

"Of course I'm serious. Why would I deceive you?"

"I never stated that you lied to me."

"Because you ask such a question, it means you don't believe me or doubt my words," he concluded with raised eyebrows.

"I just don't feel like I'm enough."

"You are more than sufficient. I wouldn't be here if you weren't sufficient," Jonathan kissed your cheek and nodded. "Now. Let's eat and then go to bed."

You pressed your lips to his cheek before returning to your seat to finish your meal.

Jonathan eventually began to eat as well. He was always a fan of your cooking. He helped you clean up after the meal and then accompanied you to your bedroom. He smiled as he saw the state of the bed.

Your laptop, books, and notebooks were all turned on, but the most intriguing thing was that his pillow was among them. "Someone missed me."

You began to remove your belongings from the bed in an attempt to conceal your blush. "You know how much I enjoy having you here with me, so I like to have your scent linger on me whenever I'm alone."

He picked up one of the books and handed it to you, laughing "Prepare the bed while I go take a shower. We can then cuddle. Does that sound right?"

You responded with a nod of eagerness.

He kissed you quickly and then went into the bathroom.

You made the bed, changed into fitted shorts and an oversized t-shirt, climbed aboard, and waited for your man to join you.

Jonathan finally joined you in bed after a half-hour wait. He sat on the bed and placed his glasses on the nightstand before falling asleep. "Come here."

Your head was instantly placed to his chest, where you placed a few tiny kisses. "Hi."

"Hello there," he hummed, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you closer. "Would you like me to spoon you? I know you enjoy it."

You simply nodded. "But not yet, because I'll fall asleep right away."

"Is that a bad thing? You require rest, especially after such intensive study."

"Let me store as much as I can with you."

"You cuddly, little Y/N," Jonathan chuckled as he squeezed you tight. "I was just thinking about something."

"About?"

"One weekend, we can just pack our belongings and go somewhere for three days. We can even bring Ava along, if Mira would let me. I'm sure you like her," he explained his concept. "The entire weekend, away from it all."

You rolled to your back and nodded with heart eyes. "When?! I want to! Ava is a wonderful girl!"

"I'm not sure yet. We'll need to plan it, as well as find a nice hotel and some interesting places to visit, make a hotel reservation," Jonathan shook his head.

You simply nodded. "I'll look into it tomorrow."

Jonathan laughed, nodding his head. "So eager. I am not going to stop you."

"You're too cute."

"Me? You're the cute one here."

"Thanks," you replied. "Do you think your wife will let Ava with us? She doesn't like me."

"It shouldn't be a problem, in my opinion. When I take her on my weekend trip, she will have nothing to say," Jonathan kissed your head while shrugging. "But don't be concerned, pretty little head. Mira and I will deal with it."

"That woman is beyond my comprehension. She was the first to pursue a younger man."

"Believe it or not, I don't understand her either, but I'm used to it."

"Jonathan?"

He hummed in response.

"What do you think, maybe one day we could consider... If we'll be together long enough... Having a... I feel silly."

"Say it."

"A baby. I mean a baby."

Jonathan rolled onto his side, drawing you in closer.

"Y/N. You don't have to ask me about this," he said quietly, moving a strand of hair behind your ear. "I told you openly that I still wanted a baby and agreed to wait until you were ready."

You simply nodded. "Seeing your little girl makes me want to have a baby, but I'm not sure I'd be a good mother, having a child is a huge responsibility. And the last thing I want to do is disappoint you."

"I saw you with Ava, and from what I saw, I know you'll be a great mom," he said, cuddling you. "You won't be alone in this."

A deep sigh escaped your lips as you nestled in his arms.

"I adore you and am confident that you will excel," Jonathan held you close and whispered.

You closed your eyes and listened to his heartbeat, which made you feel more at ease than before.

"Now. Just relax and don't think about it. You require it." Then he turned to his nightstand and switched off the lamp.

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