#jonathan levy fanfic

[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.

[athenaderiva]

Not Afraid Anymore

Jonathan Levy x OFC

My first smut I’m posting! Jonathan taking Clary’s virginity. MINORS DO NOT INTERACT.

Word count - 1800 ish

It happened after two bottles of wine-mostly drunk by Clary. The soft buzz helped her feel more confident, one hand on Jonathan’s chest and the other on his thigh. Even just having his skin under her fingers was enough for her breathing to become uneven.

She stared up at Jonathan, wetting her lips with her tongue. She couldn’t stop thinking about how gorgeous he was, the dim light illuminating the grey streaks in his dark hair and beard. She sighed, tracing her fingers along Jonathan’s chest. He smiled down at her and pressed his lips to her forehead.

“Do you want to go to bed?” He whispered and she sighed, turning her head to press kisses to his neck and collarbones. “Are you okay?” He asked, pulling her up slightly so she could look him in the eyes. “Honey?”

“I want you to fuck me.” He choked as he insulted, sputtering for breath for a moment before managing to collect himself.

“I thought you weren’t ready?” He mumbled, wrapping his fingers around her jaw. “I need you to be sure before we do anything. And you gotta know you can ask me to stop at anytime and I will.” He rushed out in a single breath, adjusting his glasses. Clary nodded, all but pouncing into his lips and smashing her lips to his. He groaned, the hand on her jaw snaking around to wrap into her hair as the other settled on her waist. No matter how many times they had kissed it felt like butterflies swarmed her stomach. His hand slipped under her t-shirt - one she had stolen from him - and his touch burned her skin, branding her with his fingerprints. He squeezed and her mouth fell open, inviting his tongue into her mouth. He stood up, wrapping his hands under her thighs to keep her attached to him, her hands wandering, tugging on his hair. Her kisses trailed from his mouth to his cheeks as he carried her up the stairs. Her nails dug into his shoulders as he squeezed her thighs and he wondered what it would feel like for them to drag down his back.

“Jonathan.” Clary whined as he got to his room after what felt like an eternity walking down the hallway. He chuckled, shutting the door with his foot and placing her gently on his golden sheets.

“Do you still want this?” His voice was thick with lust and Clary nodded, pulling her shirt off. His eyes widened at the sight of her, climbing onto the bed and hovering over her. “You’re so fucking beautiful. Fuck, I was crazy not to see that you were right there all this time.” He mumbled, and Clary was sure she wasn’t supposed to hear him. He placed his glasses on the bedside table before attaching his lips to her neck, determined to take his time with her. A moan fell from her lips and he swore it was the best find he ever heard. “We need to try to be quiet, sweetheart, okay?” He whispered against her skin and she moved, desperate for him to keep touching her. His hands finally came to cup her breasts, palming them through her bra before he tugged it out of the way, relishing in her quiet whimpers that came with every touch. She watched him through heavy eyes. His lips moved down, attaching to each piece of skin he brushed against. She reached for him, tugging at his shirt and he happily obliged. Her nails traced over his chest and stomach, like she was trying to memorise every inch of him. Clary tugged her lower lip into her mouth in a poor attempt to stay quiet as his lips attached to her nipple. Her fingers weaved into his hair, tugging and he groaned.

“Jonathan, please.” Clary had no idea what she was begging for. She just knew she needed more of him. He chuckled, pressing a gentle kiss to her lips before sitting back on his heels and admiring the plethora of marks he’d left across her skin. “Jona-“ he cut her off quickly, placing his hand over her mouth. Her doe eyes burned into his and he flipped her skirt up. He licked his lips at the sight of her soaked through panties.

“You’re so fucking wet already, sweetheart. Is that all for me?” He asked, his voice lower than Clary had ever heard him and she nodded. He groaned, both hands coming to rest on her hips as he moved further down the bed and pressed his nose right against her core, inhaling. Just the smell of her made him feel like he could cum in his pants like a fucking teenager. She whined, her hips bucking against his face in a silent beg for him to just fucking touch her already. He chuckled, pulling her panties down as slowly as he had patience for before he dove in. He licked at her folds like he was trying to collect all of her slick, one hand moving to press his thumb against her clit. Her cunt clenched around nothing as he worked her up, alternating between long stripes and kitten licks. Clary could swear she saw stars, her thighs shaking around his head. She bit her lip hard to stay quiet, a metallic taste filling her mouth when he sucked her clit. Her hips arched off the bed, his laughter vibrating across her pussy and she slapped a hand over her mouth in time to stifle a moan. “That’s it honey, stay nice and quiet for me. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” His fingers replaced his tongue, two of them disappearing with ease. Clary could see her slick in his beard and she moaned into her hand, grinding down shamelessly against his fingers as a coil tightened inside her stomach. He leaned down in time to kiss her as she came on his fingers, swallowing her moans. The taste of her arousal on his tongue drove her feral, desperate for anything he would give her. Her blood in his mouth had a similar effect but he swallowed it down. “We can stop now, if you want, sweetheart.” He whispered, the smell of sweat and sex heavy in the air. Clary shook her head.

“I need you to fuck me, Jonathan.” She whimpered and he smiled, pressing one more kiss to her forehead.

“Turn over.” He murmured. She immediately did what she was told, managing to rest on her shaking legs so that her ass was in the air. She turned her head to the side, watching him as he tugged his jeans and boxers down. He almost moaned in relief as his cock sprang free, almost painfully hard. He licked his hand, wrapping it around his dick. He rubbed the tip against her cunt, spreading her wetness around him before pushing in slowly. Clary’s eyes widened at the stretch and she buried her face in the pillow to muffle herself. He leaned over her as he pushed in inch by inch, allowing her time to adjust to each new intrusion. “Fuck, fuck, you’re so fucking tight.” He hissed, biting her shoulder to muffle his groans. He stilled inside of her, waiting for her to let him know she was okay. It didn’t take long. She whimpered and pushed back against him. He grinned, kissing over the bite mark before he began to move his hips, pulling almost all the way out before pushing back in. Clary knew she’d never felt so full, her fingers and toys feeling nothing like this. She mewled at the feeling as he began to pick up the pace. She looked over her shoulder as he picked his body up. His curls were pointing in every direction and he was watching where their bodies connected with focus that she’d never seen. The burn that came with the stretch to accommodate him was one of the most delicious things she had ever felt. The tip of his dick brushed against something inside her and her eyes rolled back in her head as a loud moan fell from her lips. “Shh, shh, shh, there’s a good girl,” he murmured. Her cunt clenched around him at ‘good girl’ and he snarled, fucking into her harder and pushing her head into the pillows. She bit into the material as his death grip on her hips got tighter, her legs shaking and she was sure that if he wasn’t holding her up she would’ve collapsed. “I know you can cum again for me honey, just one more.” He mumbled, spreading her legs wider and fucking impossibly deeper into her. Each time her cunt spasmed around his cock, they both swore they must be in heaven. “Rub your clit for me,” he begged, his voice cracking and Clary moved to obey faster than she’d ever moved in her life. Her fingertips were too soft after feeling Jonathan’s rough, calloused pads. His hands left her hips. One wrapped into her hair, pulling her up till her body was flush to his. The other covered her mouth as she cried out, his beard scratching against her neck as he sucked on her pulse point. “Cum for me, sweetheart, please.” It was all too much and Clary could’ve sworn she blacked out as she came, squeezing Jonathan’s cock so tight he forgot how to breathe and his thrusts faltered. “Where do you - fuck - want me to cum?” He managed to stammer in between broken gasps.

“Don’t you dare pull out.” Clary mumbled and Jonathan growled, pushing their bodies down against the sheets as he came. She could feel him twitching inside her as he panted for breath, sweat dripping off both of them. He pressed gentle kisses against her skin, the taste of salt dancing on his tongue. He slowly pulled out, sitting back to watch as his spend leaked from her sore cunt. “Jonathan?” She whispered.

“I’m just getting a cloth for you, okay sweetheart? We gotta get clean.” He eased her to lie on her back, kissing her forehead before going to the bathroom. He ran a cloth under the hot tap, making sure the water was warm. Clary was still trying to even out her breathing when he returned, her legs still shaking occasionally as he cleaned her up and then himself. He tossed the cloth back to the bathroom, wrapping his arms around her. “You did so good. How do you feel?” He whispered against her forehead.

“Good. I feel good. I think I met God.” Clary mumbled, her eyes still hazy. “Why the fuck did I wait so long for this?” Jonathan chuckled, his chest reverberating against her.

[mariamariquinha]

Meeting and Greetings - Masterlist

Summary: Two nerds sending the wrong signs to each other.

Part 1

Part 2

COMPLETED.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

At This Hour

Jonathan Levy x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals Masterlist• ao3• want to be tagged? | request info • Kinktober 2024 Masterlist • Day 24: On the counter

Summary: You look after Ava while Jonathan goes out on a date.

A/N: Thank you so much @thexsanctuaryx for betaing and being so lovely! <3

Warnings: neighbour!reader, mentions of the reader liking horror films/Terrifier, reader also has a cat, p in v sex, cream pie, fingering, please let me know if I have missed a warning!

Word Count: 2554

Jonathan knows he shouldn’t be doing this. But he just can’t help himself. 

The date had been a bad one, pointless in fact. He should have ducked out after the first ten minutes, no five. 

But he’d stayed and now it was nearly twelve fucking am by the time he got home. He should really go to bed. Get some sleep. 

Instead, he was talking to you, and drinking coffee. Oh, three am him was going to be pissed.

“I’m sorry I kept you so late,” Jonathan pushes his glasses higher. “Please, you got to let me give you some money.”

You shake your head, raising your hand, “Oh, no, no, no, you letting me pinch your netflix and amazon password for the last four months is more than enough.”

He chuckles, fiddling with his mug, “Yeah, but that’s just being neighbourly.” 

You scoff. “It is not, Jonathan.” 

Your friendship had started about seven months ago, when Jonathan had taken in a grand total of eight parcels from fedex on your, and your roommates, behalf in one day.

After collecting them, you’d apologised profusely, and baked him a banana cake. Panicking when you gave it to him that a, you didn’t actually know if he was allergic to anything, and b, that he actually liked bananas. 

Luckily he did.

Your friendship had grown when his car wouldn’t start one morning, and you’d given him a lift to work on your moped and picked him up after. Plus you’d got your friend’s cousin’s, uncle’s ex-colleague to have a look at his car and sort out the problem. 

He’d bought you lunch and looked after your cat if you had to go out of town. You watched his daughter if he had to work late on the days he had her. 

Originally, this hadn’t been his weekend to have Ava, hence why he had a date. A very, very bad date. 

“Come on,” he smiled at you, that horrible brilliantly blinding smile that leaves you weak at the knees, “usually you’re just with her for what, forty five minutes? An hour, this was nearly four.” 

You giggle, “I can’t believe you didn’t just politely leave.”

“I am a man of faults.” 

You laugh harder, “Look, I like Ava, we watched a series of R rated horror films and I made sure she ate her weight in sugar without brushing her teeth.” 

He grins. “I’m sure I would have had a better time with you guys here.”

You shrug, “Well, you can join us next time. We’re going to watch Terrifier.” You tease.

“Ugh,” he shudders, “Don’t tell me you like those kinds of films?” 

You can’t stop from smiling at his dramatic reaction. “What? You don’t?” 

He pulls a face and you giggle.

“They’re fun!”

“They are not.” He takes a sip of his cooling coffee, trying to nurse it as long as he could.

“They are.”

“All blood and guts.” He screws up his face, putting it on a bit for you.

“But the prosthetics! Plus it’s not real.” You say playfully. 

“Freaky.” He shakes his head. “Too much for my old heart.” 

You snort. “Jonathan.”

“What?” He smiles.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“What am I doing?” 

“You just want me to tell you how young you are.” You rest your chin on your hand as you look at him.

He pauses and then nods rapidly, “I do actually, and you have to, it’s the social contract.” 

You giggle, “Well, I’m not.” 

“That's unfair.” He says in mock outrage, making you laugh harder. 

“Fine,” you hold up your hands, “You’re very handsome.” 

He pauses, looking at you for a moment. “I said you had to tell me I was young, not beautiful.” He teases, expecting you to throw a comment back at him immediately. 

But instead, you pause. For a moment, it’s almost funny how you freeze. 

“I…” You swallow, your mouth dry. Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

“It’s okay,” he quickly covers, “I’m just teasing, it’s fine.” 

You smile weakly, your skin burning. You get up quickly, nearly knocking your mug over in the process. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Sorry, I, erm,” you pick up your mug, and then his, “Let me, erm, I’ll put them in the dishwasher.” 

You turn before he even has a chance to say anything, rushing over to the other side of the kitchen, putting the mugs on the counter.

Jonathan stands quickly, calling your name, “Hey, it’s fine, really. Don’t worry,” anxiety cuts into his chest, leaving his ribs bare. He walks behind you, accidentally bumping into you as you turn. 

“Sorry,” he grabs your arm to steady you and himself, his heart thudding so hard in his temples he’s sure he’s going to burst a blood vessel. 

You glance at his eyes nervously, breathing hard. “I…”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” He says softly. He should put his hand down, stop touching your arm. “I was just teasing.” 

You nod, “I know, I… I’m sorry.” Your insides squirm a little, trying to find a way out to escape this awkwardness. 

“Don’t be,” he breathes, leaning a fraction closer. “It’s always nice when someone beautiful calls you handsome.”

Your brain glitches, static for a moment, rebooting.  

“Beautiful?” You repeat.

“Beautiful.” His mouth says before he has any say in the matter. “And kind, and funny, and wond-”

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you and kissing him deeply. He groans into your mouth, pressing you back against the counter.

It takes him a moment to catch up with his body, to figure out this is actually real, not some well used fantasy he plays out behind his eyes in the shower. 

You pull lightly at his hair, moaning softly when he licks into your mouth and pushes his legs between yours. He rocks against you, his cock quickly hardening in his trousers as he presses against the seam of your jeans. 

Part of him wants to pull back, to not push things, to not rush. But the much louder voice in his head laments at how long he’s been holding back, how long he’s been thinking of you while touching himself with a lubed hand. 

You gasp as he kisses along your jaw, his beard tickling your skin as he sucks at your pulse point greedily. God, if he could just get you to make that noise one more time.

“Jonathan,” you moan softly, pressing yourself closer to him and pulling on his shoulders, needing to rid the fraction of space between you.

He growls, nipping at your neck and nearly coming on the spot when he hears how needily you call his name. “Can I take these off?” His words are nearly lost with how he sucks on your skin, barely able to move his mouth back more than a centimetre. He pulls at your top, your trousers and you nod hastily. 

His groan at your confirmation makes you shiver. He practically tears your clothing from you, pushing and pulling the material away as if it personally offended him, before he hikes your right leg up around his waist and urges you up onto the counter. 

He sucks your breasts into his mouth greedily, quickly going from one to another, like a child in a toy store unable to choose his favourite. While he presses his thumb to your clit and strokes his fore and middle fingers through your folds. 

He groans deeply at the wetness he finds, rocking against you as he pushes inside. 

You gasp, biting down on your lip to keep yourself vaguely quiet as you cling onto his shoulders with one hand and the counter with the other. 

He strokes gently, pressing rhythmically against your walls as he toys with your clit and you sob, practically clinging onto him for dear life.

Pleasure builds dizzyingly fast in your belly, threatening to pull you down with every stroke. You moan in his ear, lightheaded, just about gathering yourself together to whimper his name. You weren’t prepared for this utter onslaught, for him to be so determined to pull you apart piece by piece. 

Spikes of sensation buzz along your skin, twisting and building. 

“You’re going to make me come,” you sob, shocked at how quickly your body is ready to fall apart. 

“Fuck yes,” he growls, sinking his teeth into your collar bone before he licks up your neck back to your lips. It’s hot and wet and messy, his tongue in your mouth to quiet your sobs  as you pulse and gasp, coming violently around his fingers. 

You shake in his grip, breaking the kiss to bury your face in his shoulder. He works you through it, stroking and pumping until you feel like liquid in his hands. 

“God,” he groans, kissing your forehead and breathing hard. He takes his fingers out of you slowly and shoves them in his mouth, moaning wantonly at the taste. 

When you manage to pull back a fraction to look at him, you can see his glasses have steamed up. You giggle and he grins around his fingers, taking them out with a pop to kiss you. 

You run your hands through his hair, shivering as he presses close once more. 

“Do you?” He starts at the same moment you speak - “Can I?”

He chuckles, nodding for you to go first. 

“Take these off.” You mutter, pulling at his jumper. He moves back a fraction, letting you pull it over his head and snorting when his glasses get caught in the neckline. He whips them off, placing them on the side, his curls wild. 

Jonathan bites his lip as you unbuckle his jeans, helping you by undoing his fly.

“Can I fuck you?” He groans, kissing your cheek and jaw, each glide of his tongue makes your body sing. 

“Please.” 

He growls, barely pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs before he’s taking his heavy cock in hand and pumping himself a few times. 

You take a cheeky look down and bite your lip. 

He grins, “Like what you see?” 

The line would make you giggle in any other situation, but now your mouth is watering. You nod rapidly. 

“Oh,” he chuckles, spitting in his hand, “So that’s what makes you lost for words, I get it.” He smears his saliva over the head of his cock before he presses closer, guiding the tip to your folds. 

“You’re really-” You whine, gasping as he notches at your entrance and just glides inside. Your fingers dig into his shoulders, your body bucking unthinkingly as he pushes deeper. 

He groans deeply, sighing like this is his first drink of water after a long hot day. He slides his hands to your inner thighs, spreading you wider as he eases in.

“Jonathan,” you gasp.

“I know, I know, fuck, you’re so tight.” He lightly rocks his hip, sheathing himself in the last few inches. 

You whine, licking into his mouth when he kisses you hungrily. He thrusts experimentally, easing out a fraction before he pushes back in. 

“How do you like it?” He mutters against your lips, his voice strained with the effort of holding himself back. 

“I don’t mind,” you manage to say, your voice barely there. 

He snorts, moving one of your legs to wrap around his waist again as he takes hold of your hips in a firm grip. “Tell me if you want something.” He groans, pulling out and then plunging back in. “Want to make you come again.” 

You nearly shriek, throwing your head back and managing, somehow, to keep your voice muffled as he sets a brutal pace. 

He bucks into you rapidly, shaking the cutlery on the drainer by the sink with every deep thrust. The toaster jumps with every buck of his hips into yours. The sound of your slick echoing as you coat his cock.

“You look so fucking hot when you come,” he groans. “So fucking wet.” He pounds into you, sweat beading in his hairline, the way you grab at him and whine setting his blood ablaze. 

His pubic bone smacks against your clit with every thrust, his cock rolling against your walls and pushing impossibly deeper. 

Something in you wants to break, needs to snap and flood out as he keeps rhythm, your body moving in time with his desperately. 

You bite at his neck, sucking a love bite into his skin and shivering when he tenses and growls. He pulls you back a fraction with one hand on your jaw, his eyes so dark, and licks into your mouth like you hold the secrets of the universe. 

You whimper, so needy for anything he’ll give - and he’ll give you everything. 

Pleasure pulses in your core, makes your pussy flutter and you’re so close you can taste the sweetness on your tongue. 

“Jonathan!”

“You gonna come on my cock? Gonna make a nice creamy mess?” He groans, his balls tightening. “Want to feel you, please.” 

You gasp, sobbing silently as your orgasm is ripped from you. Pleasure explodes along your nerves, wiping out any other thought as he drowns you and revives you in the same instant. 

“Shit.” Jonathan’s hips stutter, his mouth open as your walls squeeze and suck him deeper, milking him for every single drop. He comes with a deep groan, emptying rope after rope of hot, thick cum inside. 

He clings onto you as he finishes, hazy for a moment with the strength of his orgasm. 

You breathe hard, he can feel your heart beating rapidly in your chest. 

Lightly he sucks on your neck, licking the salt from your skin. He kisses your temple. “You okay?”

“I don’t think I’m gonna be able to walk for a week.” You tease, exhausted, and he chuckles.

“I’ll wait on you hand and foot while you recover.” He smiles when you look up at him, stroking your cheek as he kisses you softly, reverently. 

“Honestly, was that alright?” He mutters, a pang of worry settling under his ribs.

You snort, and kiss him deeply, stroking your fingers through his beard. “Fucking amazing.” 

He grins. “Do you want to do it again sometime? Maybe in a bed after I’ve bought you dinner? I’ll even watch that Terrifier film with you.” 

You giggle and nod. “I’d like that.” 

He tries to help you down, but you end up helping him. His jeans have twisted around his calves and he nearly falls to a heap on the floor. 

“My hero,” he mutters as you pull them off and kiss his thigh. “We’re lucky Ava didn’t wake up when we were… can you imagine me falling over is the thing that actually wakes her? She’ll need therapy for years after seeing her dad naked on the kitchen floor with his jeans around his ankles.”

You clap your hand over your mouth to stop your fit of laughter and he grins as he helps you back to your feet.

“I love hearing you laugh.” He lightly touches your cheek. “Do you want to take a shower?” He gives you a cheeky smile. “With me? You can stay over… if you want, I mean. No pressure.” 

You smile and nod. “I’d like a shower. With you. And sleep over.” 

He grins, wrapping his arms around you. 

Thank you for reading!

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[winniethewife]

Could you write something angsty for Jonathan? Perhaps some kind of argument that ends in some hate sex?

No pressure whatsoever but I absolutely love your writing 🩵

Hello Anon! Thank you for your kind words, I hope this little drabble is what you were hoping for! Another Mini Kinktober!

Among the things that didn’t matter

(Jonathan Levy x F!reader)

Warnings: Hate sex, age gap, fighting, public sex, pinv, quick and dirty, unprotected sex, reader doesn’t cum.

Words: 526

She had one question, just the one question. Why? Why the fuck would he straight up ghost her after everything? She found his office and checked to make sure there weren’t any students in sight before opening the door, slamming it shut behind her and locking the door. Jonathan looked up shocked to see her, he knew exactly why she was there. He felt a guilty feeling gnawing at his heart.

“Hey…Uh…” He started but she held her hand up. He slowly stood up and approaches her cautiously.

“Let me talk, then I’ll get out of your life. I felt sorry for you, with your divorce, with everything you have going on. You made me feel so welcome here, a freshly graduated student hardly ever makes professor but you were so kind to me. To turn around and not answer my calls or texts for weeks after our date, it’s just fucking rude. I just…I thought we were…I don’t know maybe I’m just young and naïve and delusional but I-” she was interrupted by his lips on hers and his arms around her, she immediately pulls away. “What the absolute fuck?!” She shouts.

“Sorry I just…Ugh it’s uh…I should have…god you’re hot when you’re mad.” He tried to form words but ultimately gave up.

“Are you fucking serious? I come here to fucking tell you it’s over and you can’t keep it in your pants for long enough for me to break up with you?” She was livid, but the sight of the older man’s arousal bringing back memories from that night... She didn’t know what she was doing, but suddenly her lips met his again, she couldn’t keep her hands off of him as she angrily started to rip at his clothes, pulling up her skirt as he bent her over the desk, his hard length pressed into her, all their senses filled with each other as he railed her over his desk.

“You’re so fucking pretty like this, you’re pissed at me I know but god you look like Aphrodite, so beautiful but filled with rage” he started babbling as he fucked into her relentlessly. She let out a low growl.

“Shut the fuck up you twit, just fuck me so I can get the hell out of here!” She hissed as she clutches the desk. She didn’t need to be compared to deities, she just needed to cum. He didn’t even respond to her insult she instead he just got to work, thrusting into her, breathing heavily as he pulled her, sliding into her again and again. She felt the pleasure winding up in her abdomen, he felt his own climax approaching as he fucked into her. He lets out a groan as he painted her insides with his spend. She felt all of the buildup fade away as he pulled out. She blinks twice. Did he really just…She turns around and slaps him across the face.

“Fuck you Levy. You won’t be hearing form me.” She was seething. He held his face where she had just slapped him and watched as she walked away, out of his office. Out of his life.

~

masterlist

Tags: @silvernight-m @boredzillenial @queerponcho

[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.

Collared

�� One escape attempt is all it takes for King John to put you on a tighter leash… Literally.

Jack Jackson

Dirty Talk & More

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

Richard Muñoz

Vouyerism

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

Nathan Bateman

Data

Your boss Nathan needs your body “for science”

Cecil Dennis

Threesome Drabble

Drinking with Cecil

🦇 Cecil isn’t gonna let a little whiskey dick stop him from making a point

Outcome-3

Seduction Drabble

Kane

[clazaries]

Anyone want to fire in some requests for a quick fic?? Im bored and need to get back in writing!!!

Moon knight boys

Miguel O’Hara

Jonathan levy

Leto Atreides

Santiago pope Garcia

Blue jones

Nathan Bateman

Poe Dameron

Please and thank you ☺️☺️☺️☺️

[frogs-and-oscar-brainrot]

Guys, where do you find good fanfics? ;-;

I can't find any for a while. Maybe I can't search... Maybe it's because ai is popular now? (not that I don't use it, but I definitely suck at writing human interactions)

Please feed me with Oscar Isaac things ;-; I'm almost over a terrible internship for my university degree and I feel drained from my whole life essence

[l8rs-gat0rs]

We need more Jonathan Levy smut as well as more Duke Leto smut. I've been saying this for months🙄

[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

[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.

Masterlist here. Summer Drabbles here.

[athenaderiva]

Pathological People Pleaser / Cinnamon Girl

Jonathan Levy x OFC

Word count: 900ish

Flufffffffff

Ava’s sick.

Less than an hour later, Clary was knocking on Jonathan’s door, a brown bag in her hand. He opened it and stared at her in shock. She smiled, pushing past him before he could say anything.

“What are you doing here?” He whispered as he caught up to her in the kitchen. She hummed as she unpacked onto the counter. Cough medicine, soup ingredients, honey and tea, disney movies on DVD, fairy lights, a first edition of Ava’s favourite book. “You came here to help look after her?”

“I’ve always loved her, Jonathan. And I know you’re stressed. Let me help you out, I’ve got a few days off work anyway.” She said with a shrug, smiling at him so sweetly he could’ve sworn she was sent from Shamayim. Her hand came to rest on his arm and the clock stopped ticking, everything around him came to a standstill.

“I think you’re an angel.” He mumbled in a daze. He shook his head to snap his thoughts away and cleared his throat. “Thank you. She’s really not herself, keeps crying and she’s barely sleeping. I think she has a fever.” Clary nodded, moving around his kitchen as though it was her own. She worked quickly, making a cup of green tea with a more than generous amount of honey in it and cooking up a small bowl of chicken soup.

“Upstairs?” Jonathan shook his head, taking the cup and holding Clary’s hand. He led her through to the living room to where Ava was curled up under a blanket, the TV playing some sitcom in the background. “Hey there babygirl.” Clary said, sitting down at the edge of the sofa with the bowl of soup. “D’you think you can try to eat a little bit of this for me?” She asked, letting go of Jonathan to touch Ava’s cheek. She was warm, but not burning up. Jonathan smiled as Ava perked up a little, sitting up enough to take the bowl.

“Clary?” She mumbled and Clary smiled, brushing the hair out of Ava’s face.

“Yeah, I’m here, honey. I brought you some of your old favourite films! D’you think you can watch one?” Clary asked, her voice softer than Jonathan had ever heard it. Ava nodded, coughing slightly with the movement. Jonathan walked back to the kitchen to pick up the films, running his hand through his hair. Clary helped Ava sit the rest of the way up so she could eat the soup, holding the cup of tea for her so she wouldn’t have to reach for it. Jonathan stared at them for a moment before coming to put one of the films on, his heart pounding at the sight of Clary taking care of Ava as if she was her own daughter. He pushed his glasses back into place before sitting down with them, throwing his arm around Clary’s shoulders without thinking as the movie started. Ava was entranced by the screen, as if it was the first time she had seen the film. Jonathan was watching Clary instead. His eyes followed every small movement of her hands, the way she helped Ava drink the tea, the way she brushed the hair out of Ava’s eyes, the way she adjusted the blanket to keep her warm.

“You’re so good with her,” he whispered as Ava fell asleep with her head in Clary’s lap.

“She’s a good kid, makes it easy to want to look after her.” She replied with a shrug. “Plus I know you can’t always take time off and might appreciate the help.”

“She loves you, you know?” He murmured, taking his glasses off and turning the TV down so it wouldn’t wake her up. Clary smiled at that, tucking her hair behind her ear.

“She’s very sweet.” Jonathan smiled, leaning forward and kissing Clary’s cheek. “What’s that for?”

“Being so amazing.”

Three days passed like that. Ava got better quickly with Clary looking after her. Mira visited for an hour but left quickly when she saw Jonathan with his arm around Clary, despite Ava begging her to stay to watch a film with her. So Clary watched three of her favourites, singing the songs with her to help lull her to sleep.

And now Clary had the same damn illness.

Jonathan didn’t let her go home. All but begged her to stay so he could help her, since she only got sick because of how much she cared about his daughter. Clary still hadn’t quite figured out how to say no to him, so she had temporarily moved into his bed. Ava was eager to help, bringing her a cup of tea every couple of hours and reading a book to her.

Jonathan tried to make her some soup and nearly burned the kitchen down, resulting in Clary laughing to the point she had a coughing fit. He looked affronted but she knew he wasn’t upset from the way he held her that night, her head on his chest and his arms around her as she tried to catch her breath just from walking down the hall.

No matter how much he wanted to, Clary wouldn’t let him kiss her. Not until she was better. And when the moment came that she didn’t have a fever, Jonathan lavished her with kisses, whenever her got the chance - much to Ava’s embarrassment. As much as she pretended to be disgusted, she was happy for her dad. Before Clary had become a permanent fixture in their lives, she had never seen her dad so happy.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

Masterlist • ao3 • want to be tagged? • Requests Info • ko-fi •

• At This Hour • 🍑 • Jonathan Levy x afab!Reader • Rating: 18+ pals • One Shot • Summary: You look after Ava while Jonathan goes out on a date.

[my-secret-shame-but-fanfiction]

SKDJGHAIOSIDJGO ABSOLUTELY MIND BLOWING!!!!!!!!!

The Putz and The Perv [professor!Jonathan Levy x Fem!Reader]

Summary: Showing off your anatomy in the anatomy lecture hall. 

Word Count: 8.2k 

Rating: Explicit 18+

Warnings: Exhibitionism, age gap, infidelity, drinking warm Jack Daniels like a true college gurl, taking the Lord’s name in vain, 1[one] singular use of the word “cunt”, whoops now there are two cunts. Okay now there’s three. Penis in hand, penis in mouth, penis in love?? Your immersive experience may be hindered if you speak yiddish and or have a cashew allergy.

Authors Note: Heh, anatomy, get it? I think I’m clever. Validate me and I’ll love you forever. Also don’t you ever, don’t you dare, don’t you even wish to dream to think to send me requests for shit. Because this is what happens. This is from the Scenes From A Marriage universe, but can be read as a standalone thot piece. 

You’re a pervert. You’re fucking disgusting. You tell yourself that it’s harmless, this thing you’re doing, but really, the only people who would agree with you on that are other perverts. 

You should have dropped this class weeks ago. It doesn’t even line up with your major anymore. You’re still undecided- flitting around the disciplines, last semester it was Art History, this semester it’s Psychology. So you took a somewhat safe bet with Anatomy, thinking it’d be a nice, neutral choice while you figure out what it is that you really want to do. This shit isn’t safe, or nice, or fucking neutral. It’s nuclear, and you’re making it worse every fucking class period. Look, anyone can teach you anatomy. There isn’t a specific skill to the memorization of the origins and insertions of each muscle. You just have to sit down and memorize them. Any teacher would do. And, fuck, it is just so inappropriate of you to be doing what you’re doing. You should leave the poor man alone. 

But, god, why- why is he so sexy? Without trying to be? How powerful is his magnetism that his outfit of loose corduroy trousers and Costco Dad sneakers does nothing to mitigate your attraction? It’s objectively fucking horrible. But there’s something hot about it too, like, the fact that he doesn’t care how fucking hot he is. Or, more like, he’s treating his hotness with great responsibility. Not flaunting it or accentuating it with tailored looks, but putting on the first outfit he grabbed at a goodwill in an attempt to bring gravitas to the thing that he’s teaching. He’s going to have to find much baggier clothes for that to work on you. Like a monk’s robe, maybe. No, no, not a monk’s robe. Now that’s opening up a whole new can of worms, of vows of celibacy, forbidden attraction, and, yeah let’s not go there-

Also, yes, okay, you see the ring. Of course you see the ring, you fucking pervert. Because of fucking course he’s married. He’s married and probably very happy and fulfilled. In any case, he definitely doesn’t need you sitting in the front row of his lecture hall with your short skirt, flashing him your lack of panties. Pervert.

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[clazaries]

Hey!

First post on this blog woo!!!

Call me Claz, I'm 25 and I've decided that since I'm deeeeeep into my recent obsession with Oscar Isaac that it justifies me making a blog and posting related stuff since my main blog is entirely different. So yes this is a side blog of mine but I will be using it to post stuff that i've written too!

I plan to write for;

Moon Knight boys

Nathan Bateman

Santiago "Pope" Garcia

Miguel O'Hara

Jonathan Levy

Poe Dameron

Duke Leto Atreides

And maaaybe a few others when I watch the films oops

Enjoy :)

[l8rs-gat0rs]

Hey everyone!

I just wanted to post this before I started posting any fics.

I used to write fics on here in middle school but PHEW ε-(´・｀) ﾌ they were rough LMAO.

Anyways, I'm older now and I genuinely love writing and my writing has improved a lot, but I'll be honest, I'm not half as some of the writers I've read. Y'ALL BE WRITING MASTERPIECES I SWEAR. 😭Speaking of being older though, I feel like wattpad has mostly minors writing and reading fan fiction on there, so i've decided to migrate to tumblr (and eventually Tumblr & ao3 once I figure out how to use ao3 efficiently 🥲)

But yeah! Enough about me, here's some info about my writing :)

I usually write fics based on my current hyper fixation(s), and I only write when I feel like writing because otherwise the quality of the fics aren't really good.

My current hyper fixation is very obviously, Oscar Isaac LMAO. So I will be writing fics abt his characters mostly, I might sprinkle in other characters once-in-a-while, but for the most part, it's gonna be one of his characters x female reader.

The characters I will write for the most as of now are:

~Poe Dameron

~Duke Leto

~jonathan levy

~marc spector

~Steven grant

Oh right, the most important thing.

THIS IS AN 18+ BLOG.

I do write smut (sadly, most of the time lol) , so if you are a minor, please do not interact.

I might be migrating some of my fics from wattpad (only if I think they're good enough)

I will eventually open requests up as well

Annnd yeah, that's pretty much it! :D

I'm currently working on a sliiightly angsty but very romantic Duke Leto fic that I will be posting soon 😁

A masterlist will be made once I start posting fics.

Happy reading!

🥰