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wyn-n-tonic · 2 years ago

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Well Read

Pairing: Teacher Ben (SNL) x f!reader Word Count: 3.0k+ Warnings: Unprotected PiV. Naughty teacher fantasy talk. Breeding kink. Author's Note: The brainrot settled in fast on this one. The gif is just a gif, there are no descriptions of reader.

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Masterlist

Thunder rattles the old windows in the half rotten frames of the classroom. The glass panes barely hanging on as rain leaks through the small openings around the window air conditioning unit you had to buy with your own money.

It’s been three years and barely hanging on, having been run for eight hours or more every day all school year long.

Ben laughed the first cold day when he walked in and heard the heavy hum, even laughed until you turned it off and let him feel for himself that it’s the only airflow in the otherwise gas range oven that is your classroom.

Everybody has already gone home, it’s well passed three and all the kids who aren’t in electives or detention have left to go live their lives.

Not you, though. Your planning hour was spent breaking up a brawl between hormonal teenage boys fighting over… fucking PokeMon cards because it is apparently still the fucking nineties. No planning hour means now you’re here well after work.

Because that’s the rule this year—work stays at work.

The other half of that is that home stays at home but that doesn’t stop Ben from pushing through the door before knocking.

His own backpack is slung over his shoulder, lunchbox in hand, and he asks if you’re almost finished. “Come on, I want to get dinner started.”

“Then go get dinner started.”

Not cold but not warm either. Flat. Voice pressured down from a day of shit just building higher on shit.

“We drove in together, sweetheart,” he reminds you. “Your car’s in the shop.”

“I'll take a Lyft,” you shrug, only glancing back up at him long enough catch the way his face falls. “I'll see you at home, I have a lot of work to catch up on.”

“Hey.” His voice is gentle and you hear the sound of his bags falling on a desktop; hear his footfalls coming closer until his large hand is covering yours. He takes the pen out of your hand and lifts your chin to look up at him with the other. “Let’s call it quits today, it’s been a tough one and I think that you could really use a nice dinner and an even bigger glass of wine.”

“But—“ You gesture to the pile of essays that need to be graded; the blank test template you need to make copies of. There are no more words left in you today, they’re defeated out by the storm and the air conditioner and the bells and the fighting and all the talking back.

Ben smirks. “Mark all of them with an A, give the kids a break because you need a break, sweetheart, let’s go home.”

“That's not fair, Benjamin,” you tell him. “That’s not fair to the kids who put the work in on these essays to give everybody the same score.”

He closes my planning book next and takes my hand. “You know what’s not fair? That you don’t give yourself a break—ever. It’s not fair that I had to put a hard rule down on work stuff being brought into our home the moment we moved in together.”

"Please just let me bring this home today, Benny,” you practically plead. “I’ll finish while you’re making dinner and then I’m all yours, I’ll take a break.”

Eyes hardening, he shakes his head. “No, sweetheart, because your idea of a break isn’t what you actually need. What you need”—he bends down, voice lowered—“is a hot bath, a glass of wine and to get every thought absolutely fucked out of your brain.”

While he lets those words settle into your ears, he takes your hand and examines your nails. “I like this color,” he says, the pad of his rough thumb swiping over the polish. “Brianna’s getting better at this every time and if you don’t think you’re a good teacher because you put yourself first for one night, I want you to think of the very huge impact you have on students like her just by letting her do your nails during study hall.”

Laughing, you tell him you doubt that. “You're her favorite teacher, she said you’re the first one to not make her read dumbass shit she’s not interested in.”

“No, you’re her favorite,” he insists, coming around the desk to start packing up my bag for me. “She told me that you let her paint your nails and listen to music even if it has curse words.” He stops, looks down at you. “I also think she’s trying to set us up… should we let her know we’re getting married?”

“Oh, are we getting married, Benjamin?” You ask him, arms crossed. “People who are getting married usually set a date, we’re just engaged.”

“For now.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

Deep breath. “It will be if you don’t get your ass in the car and let me take you home.”

Wine in hand, you watch him work from the doorway, wondering how long it will take him to notice you there. On nights that he cooks, the routine is always similar; he puts you in the bath with a very large glass of wine and a book and he takes to the kitchen with headphones in his ears and two deep lines of concentration between his eyebrows.

No headphones are in tonight, though. Instead, his audiobook plays loudly from the speaker beside the stove. On the way home, he asked if everything was okay other than the school day getting to you. Even with confirmation that you were fine, he squinted his eyes and tried to study you—to read you.

“Are you going to stand there all night?” He asks, not looking up from the task at hand. “Or are you going to come over here and kiss me?”

Taking the glass from your hand, he takes the final drink and sets it to the side. “We'll refill that later. How do you feel?”

“Better.” And you can finally appreciate the way his pants are hugging him today; the soft slope of his belly slight but visibly accentuated by the way the belt cuts into him. “You haven’t untucked your shirt.”

“Was I supposed to?” He laughs.

“I mean… you’re home but”—palming the thick bulge over the black polyester, you push closer—“I’m glad you didn’t, I haven’t gotten to appreciate how handsome you look today.”

“That’s okay, I’m sure there will be another fan cam tomorrow,” he whispers, fingers brushing along the swell of your cheek. “Do you want to eat and then”—lips drawn tight, he rocks his head back and forth in suggestions—“or do you want to do that and then eat?”

“You,” you tell him, fingers hooked into his waistband to pull him further as you stand up on your tiptoes. “My head hurts and I want you and everything else comes second.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. He switches the burners off with enthusiasm and follows you through to the living room, large hands crawling up the t-shirt that you stole just to land on your bare hips with wide eyes. “Are you not wearing panties?”

“Wanted to make your job easier for you.”

All his soothing words make the days and the nights and everything that is hard better; they make everything that is good great. Three years ago when this idiot wandered into your classroom to introduce himself as your new neighbor, he caught you on a similarly bad day and it annoyed the shit out of you. Especially after he made fun of all your maps.

Now, he’s pulling his sweater over his head and tossing it to the side after throwing you into the never made ocean of sheets and blankets that is your bed. Your shared bed in your shared home.

He starts to pull at the button up, untucking it slowly and struggling with the buttons out of nerves. That bulge of his is already so much larger than when you groped him in the kitchen and the belt buckle is moving with every shallow, belly breath he takes.

“Come here,” you say, pushing yourself up to your knees and moving forward towards him. “Let me help.”

Even when he’s the one in charge, this confident man with his soft brown eyes, he fumbles under nerves like he’s half expecting you to lash out in impatience. It’s what his ex did and you’re not a fan of her for it—or anything else for that matter—but there’s something about the relief of safety that washes over him in these moments that warm you up to the tips of your ears.

You can trust him with your bad days just as much as your good; he can trust you with his insecurities just as much as his confidences.

“You know,” you start, buttons easily coming undone with the work of your fingers. “Sometimes I think about coming into your classroom on your planning period and having you take me right there on your desk.”

“On my desk?” He asks through a smile. “Baby, you know how much trouble we’d get in.”

“Only if we get caught, Mr. Ben,” you whisper against his lips as you push the fabric off his broad shoulders. “Come on, I’ve always had a hot for teacher fantasy.”

“You are feeling better,” he smiles. “Maybe you don’t need me to fuck your brain empty after all.”

He does it to make you beg and, despite knowing this, you fall for it every time—whine for him every time.

A soft push meets your shoulders and he nods back to the pillows in encouragement.

“Don't take your belt off yet,” you beg him as he follows you up on the mattress but he only laughs, says he has to because he’s been aching after you for hours and needs a little relief now.

Hours but you’ve only been home for one, maybe two. “Are you saying this isn't just about making me feel better?”

He shakes his head, lips pursed, and he throws the belt over to the side as well. “You’re ovulating,” he says, “and the only thing I have thought about since I woke up and checked our fertility calendar is how badly I’ve wanted to get you home and put a baby in you.”

Oh god, that explains so much.

Laying back under his guidance, you spread your legs open for him and watch him take you in. Years now and it doesn’t get old; soft brown eyes studying you in silent awe, mouth open with the occasional smirk pulling up a corner of his lips. It’s like he’s reading how you want it from him and you hope he never stops.

Leaning forward between your legs, he takes a deep breath and then spits on your aching center, eyes up towards you as it falls. He doesn’t wait long after that—doesn’t play with his food as he likes to joke.

Everything is on fire already as he lays an open mouthed kiss to your core, soft moans vibrating into you and up through your own throat as you grab for his hair.

He’s a ravenous kind of lover when he wants to be but tonight he seems more focused on taking you apart slowly with the warm press of his tongue between your legs.

Not long and you’re crying for him, actually crying. Softly sobbing his name out as his nose rubs against your clit with his tongue buried deep into your entrance for more than just a taste.

You can feel him smiling with every shuddering breath as you grasp for purchase on the sheets and pleasure floods your brain.

Then he takes his mouth away, face shining with your slick as your eyes meet with some kind of electric charge between you as your chests rise and fall in time with one another.

“I feel like I should probably take your temperature,” he says finally, large hands held out as if he’s weighing his options. “Make sure your cute body is the right environment for implantation right now but—“

He goes on but you’ve tuned that out, focused in on the deep wells his fingers make as they curve over in a half closed fist. Everything about him is so gentle, including those hands and the way they hold you—the way you know they’d hold your baby.

“You're not a science teacher,” you finally say. “So save the lesson and let me make you a dad.”

It was one of the first things he ever told you—maybe the second or the third date—when you talked about your dreams and does life now look like what you wanted when you were younger. He’d said his biggest dream was to be a dad. Maybe you shouldn’t have fallen in love with him on those words alone but there was something about him that just made sense and fit perfectly into all your big dreams and big plans too.

You could see a future with this man—a family and years of happiness in those soft brown eyes.

Pants off now, he fists himself as he crawls back onto the bed. You just had sex two nights ago and, yet, somehow you feel like you haven’t been full for him in weeks. The thunder hasn’t stopped either and it’s amplifying how intense it all feels with him right now but, then, it always does when he talks about the big, life altering things he wants with you.

Slowly, he pushes in, grip on your hips tightening with every aching inch he gives to you until he’s fully seated. Those hands run up the expanse or your body beneath your shirt as he gathers the fabric and gently pulls it over your head as you lift up towards him. Only then, after a quick look down your body to the place you’re both connected, does he lay himself down on you.

Face still shiny with what you’ve given him already, he smiles into the small, closed lipped kiss he presses into you.

“Your mustache is soaked,” you tell him when he pulls back, trying to ignore the pulsing inside of you.

Those lines of concentration back between his eyebrows, he nods and starts to pull out of you before pushing back in with a groan. “And this needy little pussy is why.”

“Is pussy an appropriate word for a highly educated English teacher to be using?” You ask, goading him into coming back down and pressing that tongue of his into your mouth this time. “Such profanities are unbecoming of such a man—“

“Your cunt,” he interrupts you, one hand coming up to rest around your throat, “is so wet that I can feel it pulling me deeper and all I’m doing is just sitting here, looking at you and trying not to bust early.”

“It's okay if you do," you shrug. “You've already given me an orgasm.”

But he shakes his head and leans back down, tells you to open your mouth and spits there too before pushing his tongue flat down on yours. It catches you off guard just enough that his first real thrust is even more of a surprise and that grip he holds on your throat moves to cradles the back of your head.

The sounds in the bedroom are lewd and only covered by the sound of the rain and thunder that continue to shake the walls of your home.

He’s not rushing, though. Not trying to run through you like just another task. The care he takes with and the concentration he places into you are the reasons you find yourself over the edge in such achingly efficient time. But that doesn’t mean he follows you over and calls it a night.

No, he takes his time until you’re nothing but jelly in his hold. Eyes glazed over, curls wrapped around your fingers and begging for breath and God and him with every thrust that feels like it goes deeper and deeper.

“Are you going to make fun of me if I tell you I love you?” You ask against his lips as his concentration and pace both start to falter. “Because ovulating or not, you would’ve still fucked me like this just for having a bad day and I-I—oh fuck—” Your muscles are seizing up beneath the surface of your skin and it pushes a moan straight into his greedy mouth.

“I would never make fun of you,” he breathes out heavily. “I would fuck you like this even if we couldn’t have kids; I will fuck you like this on every good day or bad day you have for the rest of your life if that’s what you want.”

Languid and slow, the way his tongue moves against yours is confusing your interpretation of his rhythm between your legs even as it picks up again. Every nerve in your body is screaming for him, alive and on fire beneath him and around him with his soft kisses and hard thrusts.

A deep sigh of relief finally leaves his lips as he swells inside of you and warmth rushes through you and out around him to start pooling and cooling beneath your bare body.

Being finished doesn’t mean he leaves though. He stays inside of you, twitching and thrusting occasionally as he continues kissing you with his hands hooked around your shoulders and every ounce of his body weight pressing down into you.

This man treats you with an intimacy you never knew could exist. Not for you, at least. He is hungry and in love and both insatiable for and always satisfied with you. He reads you like he wrote you; knowledge of your body and your brain and your heart encoded so deeply into him and you know—you feel it deep down in the pit of your being—that this will only grow as you do and your family does.

"Did that help get all the thoughts out of your head, sweetheart?” He asks, laying his forehead against yours.

A few deep breaths is all the confirmation he needs until, finally, you say, “I think I forgot to turn off the air conditioner.”

#lol what to tag this as?#teacher ben my beloved #teacher ben (snl)#mr. ben (snl)#teacher ben x reader #teacher ben x you #teacher ben fanfiction #mr. ben x reader #mr. ben x you #lmao wtf #snl #saturday night live #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character #o writes

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wannab-urs · 1 year ago

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Mr. Ben (SNL) Masterlist

Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You Have Me In a Chokehold - smut | AO3

Type: one shot Word Count: 2.5k Summary: You’re a teacher at Mr. Ben’s school and you’re sitting in the “No More Fancams” assembly freaking out because he just showed your fancam on screen… Do you think he knows it was you? Tags: no ages implied (all legal obvi), hair pulling, sir kink, very mild degrading language, fingering, unprotected PiV (don’t be silly, wrap your willy) (also y’all are teachers, you should know better), rough-ish sex but no one gets hurt, Mr. Ben is girthy (Big Ben ;) ), brief mention of the picture of dorian gray, which deserves its own warning if you’ve ever tried to teach that book to teenagers, extreme cringe in the first half. Gets weirdly fluffy at the end so if that kills your vibe just stop reading after the uhhhh climax of the story (if you catch my drift). Sorry we support aftercare in this house

#Mr. Ben #Mr. Ben (SNL)#Mr. Ben fanfiction #Mr. Ben (SNL) fanfiction #Mr. Ben x you #Mr. Ben x Reader #Mr. Ben (SNL) x reader #Mr. Ben (SNL) x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal character fanfiction #ppcu fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #mr. ben masterlist #nav #mr. ben fics #mr. ben (snl) fics

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timbit-robin-art · 6 months ago

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It’s fantastin’ time.

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peepawispunk · 1 month ago

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Reader returns to her alma mater ready to put her new teaching degree to use. It's remarkable how much has stayed the same at her old school, right down to her old teacher, Mr Ben. She thought distance and time would have killed that old crush she'd had on Mr Ben, but she's about to find out just how wrong she was when she gets volunteered to chaperone a month long Europe school trip with him.

Tags/warnings: Romcom logic, age gap (reader is late 20s, Ben mid-late 30s), former student/teacher dynamic, but no romance until student is late 20s, flirting, only one bed, only one room, forced proximity, no use of y/n, dancing, drinking, we only do happy endings here

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10

#pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #mr ben snl #Mr Ben x Reader #Mr Ben x You #Teacher Ben SNL

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mellowsaturns · 2 years ago

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it’s cuffing season

MR. BEN (PEDRO PASCAL SNL CHARACTER) X TEACHER!READER

summary: your students won’t stop teasing you about a certain handsome teacher

warnings: fluff, teasing, hidden feelings, potential workplace romance, fem!reader

a/n: this is just for shits and giggles lol. teacher!pedro is doing something to my brain

part two

—

You were too busy to even notice at first. But when the hushed whispers and giggles started to become louder and louder, you finally snapped out of the trance you were in while grading your student’s papers and looked up.

And of course, the ever bashfully handsome teacher that everyone somehow had a crush on was leaning against your door, watching you.

You sighed before making your way over, not missing the childish noise your students were making. “Get back to work,” you scolded.

You raised a brow at him. “Is there something you need?”

“My students are in Geography right now, and had some time to kill.”

It seemed like he always had time to kill because he was always making these visits to your classroom.

“Don’t you have something better to do than distract my students?” you teased.

“I actually came to ask you something,” he said with a gentle smile on his face.

“Oh? And what is that?”

“What do you want for lunch today?”

It has become sort of a routine by now—the unspoken habit of buying each other lunch a few times a week.

Because that’s what good colleagues do, right? Buy lunches for each other. And for him, it also seemed to include hanging around in your classroom, and making sure to always wait up for you to finish organizing for tomorrow’s lessons before leaving the school together even though you knew it takes up an extra hour of his time.

Or not, because your students once again wouldn’t stop pestering and teasing you after he left your doors today.

“You should stop coming to my classroom so often,” you said in the staff lunch room. “My students are taking it the wrong way.”

Aftering taking a bite out of the burrito, he asked with his cheeks full, “What do you mean?”

You couldn’t help but giggle at his adorableness.

“Well, my students are ‘shipping’ us now,” you replied. When he looked at you in confusion, you explained it to him. “They are basically putting us together and saying some… stuff that’s not appropriate work wise.”

“Oh, really?” he said, face and voice smug.

The two of you have always been closer to each other than to the other teachers in this school—flirty even, but if your noisy students kept on talking, other staff members might catch on and take it the wrong way.

“This is serious!”

He hummed. “Well, if it makes you feel any better, my students call me ‘Daddy’ and you ‘Mommy.’ Much worse than that shipping thing you explained to me.”

You paused for a while. “Are they seriously saying that? Oh my God…” you trailed off, embarrassed.

“Yeah, I don’t get it either. But it’s a good thing. I think,” he said with a laugh.

You let out a groan before putting your head down onto the table. Despite the potential disaster of rumours to come, you couldn’t help but to wonder, would it be that bad? Being with him? You mentally cursed yourself for thinking that.

“Well, should we?” he asked.

You snapped your head up. “Should we what?”

“Become a Daddy and Mommy.”

You snorted at his insinuation. “You are insufferable.”

He gives you a sheepish smile but you don’t miss the little glimmer of hope in his eyes that also matched yours. You lifted your left hand up. “Hate to break it to you but I’m old fashioned. Ring first,” you teased, “then we can talk.”

He smiled at you, face full of adoration. That wouldn’t be a problem at all, he thought to himself.

#pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x y/n #mr ben x reader #professor ben x reader #pedro pascal snl x reader #teacher ben x reader #mr ben

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miguel-owhora · 9 months ago

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hgng... thinking about ben reilly who's such a loser and looks so pathetic and dumb next to you :((( but fuck if you're not so sweet to him, slowly riding his cock and peppering kisses along his face, wiping away the tears from his eyes because you just feel so good! and you treat him so right :((

or just you pinning his legs to his chest and slowly fucking him, each thrust deep and sensual, making him tremble and slowly break apart until he's helplessly squirting from his cock

#mr. o'whora's works !#kinda #ben reilly x male reader #ben reilly x reader #ben reilly x you #ben reilly x y/n #ben reilly #scarlet spider x male reader #scarlet spider #atsv x reader

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birtsby · 1 year ago

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close call

#I imagine he piled right out of the x-wing and straight into Finn’s arms #you know the song ease my mind by mr ben platt #bc yeah #finnpoe #stormpilot #star wars #my art

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 years ago

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What the Hell Are Fancams?

Pairing: Teacher Ben (SNL) x f!reader

Word Count: 2500+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.

Notes: Absolutely felt called out during the SNL sketch with Teacher Ben but I knew I had to write a little something for him. I'm pulling from my own experience as an ASL interpreter in the school system (glad I finally can incorporate it!). Thanks to @vanemando15 for her help in this and for being a beta!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

Main Masterlist

Teacher Ben Masterlist

What the Hell Are Fancams? PART 2

New year, new school, new student. Such is the life of an American Sign Language interpreter when you work in schools.

My last student moved out of the district so I was assigned a different one. This student's interpreter wanted to go back to work with the little ones and while I loved my time with them, it was time to swap grades.

My student is amazing and comes from a rare family, in that she is the only member that is Deaf but everyone in her life learned ASL from the moment she failed her hearing test. In most families it's the complete opposite, causing significant language delays and isolation. It never fails to blow my mind how many people won't learn a language for their child, especially when they'd both be starting from the beginning.

This student, Chelsea, I had worked with from her time in pre-k to 5th grade. It was great already having an established repertoire with a student and we easily fell back into our normal chatter, her filling me in on anything I missed for the few years I was back in Pre-K.

So how's this school? I ask, as she's been here 2 years already.

Not bad. Teachers are mostly ok. Too much homework though.

That's usually the case with high school. Any favorite classes?

I like acting class, but my favorite teacher is Mr. Ben. He teaches marine biology. She gives me a look I can't discern at this.

Oh?

Yeah you know, like about the whales you like and other ocean stuff.

You're in marine bio 2 and you're calling it ocean stuff? Sounds like a great ocean stuff teacher.

She rolls her eyes at me. You know what I mean. Plus he's…

He's..what?

She smirks her mischievous smile that I know can only mean trouble. Nothing. Don't worry about it.

Chelsea-

Oh look we're at math class.

Saved by the bell, indeed.

After math was lunch, followed by marine biology. Since it was the first day, I decided to eat quickly and get to the next class a little early so I can start on my "who I am and where I and my student need to be placed" speel. Although he may not need it since Chelsea was in his class before. Still, you never know what a previous interpreter did.

I knock softly on the door and male voice tells me to come in. I push the door open and see that the teacher has his back to me, bent over his desk grabbing something. His very broad back.

"Uh hi. I'm the interpreter for your Deaf student for next period and I'm here to answer any questions-"

He turns around and I forget what I'm saying. Bright, brown eyes focus on mine, brown hair that looks so soft with greys starting to creep in, matching the patchy facial hair he has. His nose? Don't get me started on the thoughts I'm having about that nose. He's wearing a blue plaid shirt tucked into black pants, and a tie with tropical fish on it.

A faint pink dusts his cheeks when he looks at me. "H-hi. I'm Ben Morales. The kids call me Mr. Ben."

He holds out his hand and I shake it, willing my nerves to not come through it. God he's hot. I wonder if this is what Chelsea was talking about. In fact, I'm sure it is.

I launch into my speel, albeit a little faster than I normally would, but Ben just nods along and does whatever I ask of him.

"Do you have any questions?" I ask.

"Um… not right now. You're a little different than the last interpreter." He coughs and takes a sip from his water bottle.

"Ah yeah we all do things a little different. Is there anything that worked well for the student and you that I can accommodate?"

He chokes on his water, coughing violently. I move quickly, thumping him on the back but his face keeps getting redder.

"You-" He coughs "-want to go on-" He coughs more "- a date?"

It's my turn to have my cheeks heat up. "I- what? No I said accommodate… are you ok?"

He nods, muttering something like "Oh shit" under his breath as he turns away from me, his coughs dying down. But before we can talk more, the bell rings and students start moving about the halls.

"Well let me know if there's anything I can do to date you, Mr. Ben. ACCOMMODATE! Accommodate you!"

Fuck. Me.

A tap on my shoulder and I turn to see Chelsea, lips upturned in that mischievous smirk.

I see you've met Mr. Ben.

I have. He's…nice.

Yeah, nice. Is that why your face is all sweaty and warm?

What?

She laughs and takes her seat, eyes flicking between me and Mr. Ben as the bell rings and he starts his lecture.

—----

I find myself making it to that class a few minutes before the bell rings just to have a moment to talk to him. When I can talk, that is. I've never met someone who makes me trip over my words as much as he does. But soon, we settle into a routine, after bonding over our mutual love of orca whales. A couple weeks in, I bought him a brightly colored tie with orcas swimming on it. The smile he had could be seen from space.

Chelsea can't seem to wipe the smirk from her face whenever she sees us talking.

He likes you. Chelsea signs, giving me a wink.

Focus on your test, Chelsea.

It's hard to when you guys are up there yelling your love for each other. You should ask him out.

This has nothing to do with your classwork. And this is highly inappropriate.

She scoffs. You've known me forever.

Yes but you're not an adult.

I'll be 16 soon. And I'm not an idiot. Everyone knows you guys like each other.

What do you mean "everyone"?

She gestures around the room. Everyone. It's in the fancams too.

The..what?

F-A-N-C-A-M-S. She repeats the sign.

Thanks but I have no clue what that is.

She laughs and Mr. Ben walks over.

"Everything ok? Any questions?" He's talking directly to Chelsea and not addressing me, which is exactly what I told him to do on day one.

"No, I'm good Mr. Ben. I was just telling my interpreter about fancams." I voice for her, trying to keep my cool.

His face goes blank. "The what?"

She laughs. "You don't know?"

Before he can answer the bell rings and we head off to next period.

At the end of the day, Chelsea takes my phone and pulls up one of these fancams and wow. It's basically a Mashup of hidden video and photos taken of Mr. Ben that have been heavily edited and music added, making him look hot. How is this appro-

Oh shit I'm in this one. Apparently Chelsea is not the only one to try and push us together.

Shit.

The next day, I make it to his class early as usual. He walks from around his desk to lean sit in front of it.

"Hey Mr. Ben."

"How many times do I have to tell you to call me Ben?"

I smile. "Sorry. Habit."

"Hey…so what was that fancam business from yesterday?"

Oh.

"I uh.."

"Please tell me. These kids all talk about them and I have no clue what they are."

"I don't-"

"Please?"

Oh God his eyes are all big and brown and just like a damn puppy.

I sigh, shaking my head when I realize that was audible and I'm staring too long into his eyes. I could get lost in those eyes.

I pull my phone out and walk over to him, leaning my butt against the desk next to him.

"Ok, so please remember that I was shown these and am in no way affiliated with the creation of the fancams."

He chuckles, leaning in closer to me. He smells good, like fresh parchment and aftershave.

"Are you ok?" He asks me.

"What? Oh yeah. Uh the fan cams."

I scroll through and pull one up, handing him my phone as it plays. His face becomes redder as it plays on.

"I uh..who…who made these?"

"I'm not sure. Chelsea said a bunch of the students did-"

"There's more than one??"

"Y-yeah. Look." I swipe through a few more until it settles on the one that puts us together. I try to swipe past it but he catches sight of it before I can.

"What was that one?"

"Oh nothing. It's nothing."

"But it had my face-"

"Just another fancam."

"And yours."

"Kids these days. They will make any-anything."

"I can't see it?"

"Uh nah you don't want to-"

"Oh I think I need to see it."

He's not pressuring me at all, more like flirting, but…that's not possible. There's no way he holds the same crush for me as I do for him, right?

My boldness coming from some tucked away insanity, I reach over and swipe the video back up, letting him watch it in its entirety.

"The kids…want us to go on a date?"

"Apparently so. C-crazy, right?" I swallow hard, hoping he can't hear the way my heart is pounding though my chest, his scent filling my head and making it very hard to focus.

"I don't think it's crazy."

RIIIIING!

That fucking bell ruins everything.

At the staff meeting the next morning, they ask for chaperones to the homecoming dance. Teachers groan but a few hands automatically go up, volunteering their evening. I raise mine too, Chelsea already telling me she had been asked to go by the person she'd been crushing on since last school year. They had spent the entire summer learning as much ASL as they could in order to talk to her, which was too touching for words and I know it meant the world to Chelsea. I won't have to follow her around but I'll be there in case of emergencies.

To my surprise, Ben raises his hand shortly after watching me raise mine. The admin takes down names and the meeting concludes, Ben catching up with me as I start to head out to homeroom.

"You're volunteering too?" He asks.

"Yeah. Chelsea is already going and while she doesn't necessarily need me, she asked me to come in case she does. I think she's nervous."

"That kid learned asl for her, right?"

I nod. "Yeah. She's super excited although she'll deny it."

"Sounds like her."

"Mmmhmm."

We walk together for a hall or two.

"I gotta go this way to homeroom."

"Oh. Right. Um, see you soon?"

"Yup. See you!"

—----

When I make it to his class at my usual time, I can see he's nervous about something, his eyes extra wide and small beads of sweat accumulating at his hairline.

"HI, Ben."

"H-hi."

Silence as I unpack, but then he's standing near me and all I smell is him.

"Can I ask you something?" He asks.

"Yeah of course."

"I…uh did.. um… would you-"

A student pops their head in, asking for clarification on the homework and he shakes his head, turning to help them.

—----

Homecoming arrives and I pick out a simple dress to wear. Not quite prom dress but definitely nicer than school attire. I head into the dance and get my assigned area and head there, milling about as people and students start to file in. Music blares as the dance starts andI feel a tap on my shoulder. Turning, Ben is standing there, a navy built suit, dark button up shirt and - the whale tie I had given him shortly after we met. His mouth is agape as he takes me in.

"You…you look…"

"Is that the tie I got you?

He picks up the end and looks at it. "Yeah. I thought it would go good with my outfit."

"Brings out your eyes."

"What?'

"What?"

Just then the music stops and switches to a slow dance, the DJ insisting that teachers should join in on this flashback. "True" by Spandau Ballet starts to play and a few staff members laugh and pull each other to the dance floor.

"D-doyouwanttodance?" Ben speaks so quickly that I can't understand him.

"What?"

He sighs, gathering up…courage?

"Do you want to dance?"

Oh.

"With…you?"

"Yes. But you don't have to if you don't want to-"

"No! I want to!" Shit, was that too enthusiastic?

He smiles, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants before offering me his hand. I take it, the warmth from his hand spreading into mine. He guides me to the dance floor and spins me to him, his hand hesitating over my hip. Gently, I place my hand over his and guide it to my hip, encouraging him to grip me with his fingers.

His eyes find mine as he leads, neither of us saying anything, just staring into each other's eyes. My stomach is in my chest and I swear he can feel my heart pumping out of my chest. He's wearing cologne tonight, but underneath it I can smell that familiar smell of him that makes me forget words. A minute passes before he leans in and speaks in my ear.

"You know we're going to be in another fancam because of this, right?"

I laugh. "You're probably right. But it's worth it."

He pulls back and looks at me again, his brown eyes sparkling as he stares deep into my eyes. The song ends but Ben doesn't drop my hand or my hip.

"Will you come with me for a second?" He asks.

"Of course."

Removing his hand from my hip, he winds his fingers through mine and pulls me through the crowd of students and out of the side door, turning down the hallway and moving away from the cafeteria doors.

"Ben, what-"

He spins me around and pulls me tight to his body. His eyes flicker between mine and I can feel the nervous tension bubble between us threatening to pop.

And then it does.

His hands come up and cup my face, bringing his lips to mine as he places the softest kiss to my lips. He pulls back and I follow him, unwilling to let him go.

"Was that ok? I should have asked before-"

I grip the tie around his neck and pull him to me, deepening the kiss. His lips are warm and inviting, better than anything I could imagine. His hands are gentle, one sliding around to the back of my head and the other settling on my hip, pulling me in closer. A slight moan from him goes straight through me and I can feel myself getting warm.

The doors bang open and we fly apart, laughing nervously when the students that had come through the doors disappear down the hall to the bathroom without even spotting us.

"Dinner?"

"Are you asking me on a date, Ben?"

He pushes his body back against mine, having felt my tug on his belt.

"I am." His voice is somehow deeper and it goes straight between my thighs.

"I'd love to."

He kisses me again and starts to put away, but I grip his tie tighter and pull him back down. His eyebrows scrunch together in a question.

"Let's go check if your classroom is empty."

The question drops, lips hitching up in a knowing smile as he slides his fingers between mine, pulling me down the hall to his room.

—----

What the Hell Are Fancams? Part 2>>

General Taglist:

@frankie-catfish-morales @chaoticgeminate @janebby @astoryisaloveaffair @balekanemohafe @greeneyedblondie44 @hoeforthefictional @marvelousmermaid @hauntedmama @giuliarogers-blog @icanbeyourjedi @diaryofkali @sunnshineeexoxo @livingmydreams13 @adventures-of-a-noodle @sara-alonso @theewokingdead @punkerthanpascal @giggly-otter @f0rever15elf @phandoz @dirtytissuebox @gallowsjoker @lovesbiggerthanpride @sarahmilesbendrix @booksarekindaneat @mrsudontknowme @swol-bear @charlispersonallyhell @xoxabs88xox @amneris21 @gooddaykate @alindeluce @avengers-fixation @paintballkid711 @harriedandharassed @ladykatakuri @marrianena @practicalghost @withakindheartx @batdarkladyvampir @justanotherkpopstanlol @mermaidxatxheart @alexxavicry @ichigodjarin @justreblogginfics

#teacher ben #mr ben #snl #saturday night live #pedro pascal snl #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character ff #pedro pascal character fanfiction

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luckyshinyhunter · 5 months ago

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💔Pretty hilarious how the Daily Wire made a anti-woke show only to have it backfire on their faces, suprisingly this scene and the fanart of them are 100 times better than the actual show! 💔

#mr birchum #richard birchum #elliot karponzi #birchum x karponzi #Fuck you daily wire and Ben sharpio!#queer #Karponchum #mr karponzi #I never saw and never will see this garbage fire!#Karchum #toxic old man yaoi #toxic yaoi #Seen the fan art and it's good!

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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

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The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)

Title: The Professor Fandom: RPF: Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU Rating: Explicit Characters & Pairings: Pedro Pascal (professor of Latin American Studies) x Reader (bedraggled PhD candidate) Word Count: ~2000 Summary: As if that SNL skit wasn't going to launch a thousand smut fics... As always, lovingly beta-read by @bs-fangirl. Additional notes below the cut.

Notes: This is my first "real person fic," may God have mercy on my soul. Additionally, my Spanish is virtually non-existent; I've relied heavily on Google Translate and asking my coworkers questions on the sly, my apologies for any errors! As we all know, this is not a story about actual human Pedro Pascal, but the fictionalized version which lives rent free in our heads. And as proper fan girl culture dictates, we keep this shit locked down. But just in case:

This note is for actual human Pedro Pascal and Pedro Pascal only. I don't know why you would click "Read More" on a post clearly labeled "Pedro Pascal, Hot for teacher AU" but if you have, I beg of you LOOK AWAY, SIR. LOOK AWAY. If you choose to proceed, I will not be responsible for any trauma you may suffer as a result. Thank you.

For everyone else, I give you:

The Professor

Professor Pedro Pascal was the head of the Latin American Studies department at your small college. You had never been in his classes as an undergrad–Latin American Fiction and Poetry, and a special seminar on the Magical Realism of Isabel Allende–but it was well known around campus that his family had fled Pinochet when he was a child, which granted him unsurprising street cred among your communist-leaning circle of friends. He had been appointed the interim director of the campus’s Literary Center–after his predecessor was ousted for exposing himself in a virtual meeting.

As the Center’s Graduate Assistant Director, it meant although he wasn’t technically your boss, you were suddenly spending an annoying amount of time working around the throngs of freshman girls who flocked to his office hours. You couldn’t really blame them. He was, if not an outright heartthrob, a reasonably good-looking college professor. A strong face, with a short, rugged beard, a striking Roman nose, and deep brown eyes with the most charming crow's feet. He had a lean physique, with a hint of softness at the belly, just this side of a “dad bod.”

His modest good looks combined with a cheerful disposition and a penchant for quoting the love poetry of Pablo Neruda were like catnip for liberal arts majors. And although you were a card-carrying bra-burning feminist, you weren’t entirely immune.

“Professor,” his office door was open, but you knocked on the frame.

Pedro looked up from the stack of resumes you had been sent to review before the selection panel for a new director.

“Coffee?”

“Mi angelita,” he sighed, rising from his desk to graciously accept the warm cup from your hands. “What time is the first candidate arriving?”

“Noon,” you said. “You, me, Dr. Monroe, the Provost, and Assistant Dean are sitting on the interview panel.”

Pedro looked at his watch.

“Shit,” he sighed. “I have Intro to Creative Writing at 9:30.”

“I’ll set up the conference room,” you said as he shoved his papers into his messenger bag, slinging it over his shoulder, still carrying the open mug as he raced down the stairs.

“Thank you, Angel. Thank you!”

It was a six month process to find a new director. Six months of staring across the conference table, chewing on the end of your pen, pretending not to be affected by the way he leaned in when you spoke and stroked his thumb across his lower lip in concentration. Or the obscene way he spread his legs in a comfortable chair while speaking with candidates in front of a panel of students.

And having to do it all over again when your first choice–a student favorite–declined the position, to stay in New Jersey of all things. You knew Pedro was relieved to have reached a conclusion; he didn’t care for the administrative duties or politics. He wanted to teach, to be with his students. You admired that about him, he appreciated your organizational skills (and the fact that when you made coffee it counted as a meal.) You worked well together, but now that was coming to an end.

It was past 9pm and you had already closed up the Literary Center for the night, but Pedro was still in his office, reviewing students’ papers.

“I’m done for the night, Professor,” you said. “Is there anything I can do to help you get out of here?”

“That depends,” he said, with a wry smile that had you convinced he was only half-kidding. “How’s your Spanish?”

“Hmm,” you said, stepping into the light of the desk lamp. “¿Dónde está la biblioteca? ¿Como estas? Bien, gracias. ¡Qué lluvia! And that’s all I’ve got.”

Pedro chuckled. “I’ve heard worse.”

“That and un tequila, por favor.”

“Tequila,” Pedro repeated, intrigued. He reached into the bottom drawer of his desk, pulling out a bottle of Patron. “That I can help you with.”

Your mouth fell open in surprise.

“Professor,” you deadpanned. “I don’t know if you knew this, but alcohol is not permitted in academic buildings.”

"Lucky for me," he said, picking up the bottle. "I have tenure."

You laughed and Pedro laughed; you offered to run downstairs to retrieve a pair of glasses and a salt shaker from the kitchen while he finished grading papers in record speed.

“I worry about these kids,” Pedro said, three shots deep. “I do! The moment they hear something the least bit troubling, they refuse to engage with the material. Our world exists in shades of gray. They want things to be ideologically pure, when what they need is to learn to discern. To question. To decide!”

“I understand what you’re saying, Professor,” you said.

“Pedro, please,” he interrupted you. “Pedro.”

“Pedro,” you repeated. “I agree, but there’s no reason we need to elevate and spotlight the same tired canon of bigots, abusers, and dead white men year after year when there is so much more out there.”

Pedro downed another shot and pointed an accusing finger at you.

“Look who’s talking,” he said. “Your PhD is in Shakespeare Studies!”

“I know,” you laughed, pouring yourself another glass. “I know, I’m a terrible person.”

“You are not,” he said, suddenly serious. “You have an incredible mind and the most beautiful way of looking at the world.”

You felt languid and relaxed and warm. You liked the way Pedro looked at you. There was something undeniably romantic about getting drunk in the richly furnished office, with its leather armchairs and oak bookshelves, debating the merits of Nietzsche and bell hooks.

“Okay,” you broke the silence. “Okay, here’s a fun fact you can pass along to your successor. There are 3 prints signed by Allen Ginsberg in this building, and you can see them all from this desk.”

“There’s the one on the wall,” Pedro said, pointing to the framed portrait hanging above the bookshelf.

“Yes,” you said, rising from your chair and moving to the other side of the desk. “And there in the hallway, on the right, that's an excerpt from "Howl" they set in the printshop downstairs.”

You perched on the arm of his chair to get closer to his eye-level, pointing through the open door. You slipped, nearly falling into his lap and he placed a hand on your back to steady you. He smelled amazing, like old leather and warm spices.

“And there, in the stairwell, you can just make out the top of his head on that linotype,” you explained. “Do you see it?”

“I do.”

When you turned your head, Pedro was looking at you. Perhaps it was the tequila, but you were almost certain he was staring at your lips, his eyes heavily lidded, smiling lazily.

“You look tired,” you warned. You should have gotten up to leave, but you didn’t want to. You didn’t want this warm, lovely feeling to ever end.

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“Kissing you,” he said.

You were almost surprised; you had spent so much time trying to convince yourself that your semester-long flirtation was a one-sided puppy crush. You had been so busy with your research and recruiting and planning, you had forgotten somewhere along the way that you were a stone cold fox with tits and ass for days and enough sex appeal to blow the top off Mount St. Helens.

“You can,” you said, turning your body toward him. “I don’t mind.”

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fine then,” you turned to stand.

Pedro seized you by the waist, pulling you back into his lap and into a long, slow kiss. His lips were surprisingly soft and his mouth tasted like salt and lime as his tongue brushed into yours with careful, confident strokes.

“That was nice,” your eyes fluttered open as Pedro finally pulled away. “You’re a good kisser.”

“You, too,” Pedro said. “Again?”

You tilted your chin, touching the point on your neck, just below your ear. As Pedro leaned in, working the beginnings of a hickey into your neck, you guided his hands from your waist to your breasts. You pressed against him, moving to straddle his thigh.

“More?” Pedro asked.

“Yes,” you panted. You braced yourself on the back of the chair, one hand on either side of his head, grinding against his leg, feeling hot and wet as he kneaded your breasts with reverent appreciation.

“Mi amor,” he breathed.

“Pedro,” you held his face, nipping at his bottom lip.

“Dime, lo qué quieres.”

“Fuck.” His accent went straight to your cunt. You ran one hand up his thigh, groping at the crotch of his chinos.

Pedro let out an obscene moan and hoisted you up onto his desk. He slid his hands up your thighs, fingers slipping into your panties. He ran his fingertips through your folds, tracing circles around the swollen nub of your clit with an absolute shit-eating grin.

“Qué lluvia.”

You howled with laughter. “I know that one! I know that one!”

“A huevo.”

Pedro rose from his chair, bunching your dress up around your waist. You pulled his shirt free from the waistband of his pants, running your hands up the warm skin of his back.

“Want you,” you sighed. “Want you inside me.”

“Whatever you want, Angelita.”

Pedro pulled your underwear down to your ankles, pausing to retrieve a condom from the wallet in his back pocket, like an over-eager undergrad, pulling down his pants to roll it on. He pressed the head of his cock against your clit. You grabbed him by the ass, wrapping your legs around him to guide him into you.

Pedro flicked his hips into you with short, quick strokes, sending jolts of energy through your core.

“More,” you pleaded breathlessly. “Deeper.”

Pedro lifted your ankles onto his shoulders, pressing into you long and slow until you could feel him bumping against your cervix. You gasped, reaching behind you, scrambling for leverage, knocking the computer monitor off the desk.

“Oh no!” You turned, trying to catch it before it crashed to the floor.

“It’s okay!” Pedro said, taking your face in his hands to guide your gaze back to his eyes. “It’s a shitty computer. It’s fine.”

You moaned, letting your head fall back, grabbing for his chest with one hand as he fucked you.

“So soft,” he moaned against your ear. “So fucking good for me, Angel.”

“Give me your hand,” you said, guiding his fingers back to your clit. “Up and down, right there. Oh God.”

You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.

“I’m close,” he warned.

“Not yet,” you pleaded. “Just a little more.”

You could feel your own climax building inside you. You just needed a little more to push you over the edge.

“Oh God!”

Pedro came inside you with a gasp as your inner walls clenched around him. He slowly withdrew, supporting your legs, and easing you onto your back, scattering papers and pens onto the floor. He kissed your neck and your breasts as his hands explored the curves of your body.

You woke the next morning on the couch in Pedro’s office. You were lying on top of him; your head on his chest. He had his arms around you, your head was pounding as you squinted into the daylight.

“We got fucked up last night?” you said.

“Yup.”

“It was nice."

"It was," Pedro agreed, kissing the top of your head as you blinked sleep from your eyes.

"What time is it?”

You grabbed his forearm, turning it so you could look at the face of his watch.

“Oh shit,” you gasped. “I have Freshman Seminar in half an hour.”

“I already missed my morning classes,” Pedro moaned, letting his head fall back against the armrest.

“Do you want to explain to Dr. Monroe why I can’t teach her class?” you said, rising from the couch and searching the office floor for your underpants.

“No,” Pedro said. “She scares me.”

You pulled your underwear back on, finding your bag, you used the satin scarf tied around the handle to cover the love-bites blooming on your throat and chest. You dabbed concealer under your eyes and added a fresh coat of red lipstick.

“Would you like to have lunch together? Not at the Caf. Somewhere nice, like a date.” Pedro asked, sitting up. He looked endearingly child-like with his bedhead and giant brown eyes.

You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.

“Can we do that?” you asked.

“I don’t see why not,” he said. “You were never my student and after this week we won’t even work together any more.”

“Oh,” you nodded. “Yeah, that sounds nice.”

“I’ll pack things up here and meet you after class.”

You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

#rpf: pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #hot for teacher AU #mr. ben has us in a chokehold #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal x you

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demigoddessqueens · 2 years ago

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secret admirer

A/N — Can’t believe I’m writing for a one-time sketch character but it’s a Pedro character and 🤣😆 I just adored him

Summary: Mr. Ben receives an unlikely gift from a…secret admirer?

Tagging @loveforfandomsstuff

Pairing - Mr Ben x new teacher!reader

Valentine’s Day was always hectic at the school. Students clamoring to pass out their gifts and cards, teasing, and the overflowing heaps of discarded candy wrappers.

But it brought a smile to Ben’s face seeing the students enjoy themselves. Reminded him of back when he was young and in love….

Amidst all the chaos, Ben noticed his phone vibrating in his pocket. Fishing out, he saw a message from a number he didn’t recognize yet along with its following musical fancam attachment.

Happy Valentine’s Day!!

Here’s to hopefully talking to you soon

Adoringly,

Your secret admirer

At that, Ben quickly alerted his students about the imposing message.

“Class, what did I say since our last assembly about these…fancams? Who sent this?”

“Not me!” “Who, Mr. Ben??” “Mr Ben has a secret admirer?!?” “Who’s the lucky one??”

As you were rushing by to handle your next class of students, you heard the commotion coming from Mr. Ben’s home room along with a quick glance of his blushing face.

You tried your best to hide the growing smile on your heated cheeks as you walked on. Given that this was your first year as a teacher here, you were quickly smitten with such a man.

He was a kind man, a good listener and always made you laugh in the teacher’s lounge, and sat by you at the assemblies. Granted, you wanted to take things a bit further, and maybe this was the spark you needed.

#my writing #pedro pascal #snl #mr ben #Mr Ben x reader #pedropascaledit #nbc snl #Mr Ben x you #saturday night live #fanfic #writeblr #Mr Ben x y/n #can be read as crack or au 🤣#Valentine’s Day fic #pedro pascal x reader #teacher Ben #teacher Ben x reader

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trulybetty · 11 months ago

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11 x dream - mr. ben (snl) x reader

prompt: dream pairing: ben x reader word count: 357 notes: fluff and betty's dated english degree pulling apart poetry to strong arm into this drabble summary: just a little stolen moment

A/N: this is new territory, writing for Ben - we can thank @wildemaven and her stunning moodboard, and @gnpwdrnwhiskey's tags that spurred this. Happy Wednesday all and Happy Valentine's if you celebrate! 💕

x. masterlist

The college hallways were congested with students, and you weaved in and out of their clusters to reach the end of the hall in the limited time you had before your next lessons started. Your bright pink loafers set the pace, on theme for the day at hand, Valentine's Day, for your planned little escape from routine.

Slipping quietly into his office, you found him buried in a mountain of papers, his focus a testament to his dedication. “Guess who?” you whispered, covering his eyes with your hands.

Startled, Ben paused, a smile soon spread across his face as he recognized your touch. “Could it be the art thief here to steal my heart again?” he joked in reference to the department you worked in, turning to pull you into a warm embrace.

“I thought I'd already stolen it for good,” you retorted playfully, presenting him with a handmade Valentine.

He laughed as he took in the crude valentine made from recycled textbook pages and a post-it note, “Quite imaginative,” his fingers ran over the looped cursive of your handwriting and his smile turned soft as he recognized the lines from one of his favourite poems.

What could there be more purely bright In Truth’s day-star?

“You are the brightness that dreams only pale in comparison to,” he kissed your hand he'd taken in his. “But I'm afraid I have nothing for you here. It's home.”

“Well,” you remarked as you turned his office chair to face you, leaning over and placing your hands on either side of him, resting them on the padded armrests. “I think there's a way for you to make up for that,” you assured him, leaning in for a soft kiss that spoke volumes.

The kiss deepened, a silent conversation of love and longing, before you both reluctantly pulled away, mindful of the time.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” Ben sighed, his hands lingering at your waist.

“We will have all the time in the world soon enough,” you whispered back, squeezing his hand. “Now, let's steal a few more moments before we have to face the world again.”

#x29 valentines #mr. ben (snl)#mr. ben (snl) fanfiction #mr. ben (snl) fanfic #mr. ben (snl) x you #mr. ben (snl) x reader #mr. ben (snl) x gn!reader #mr. ben (snl) x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfic #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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tyanis · 2 years ago

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The Resident Evil 2 Survival Guide being weirdly mean to characters.

I've excluded Annette from this batch because she's already been pummeled with plenty of name calling by this guide. So let's see how the other characters fair!

Marvin. They're referring to Marvin.

How dare Ben not want to give violent birth to a horrific mutant!

...ok, this one gets a pass.

I... I don't think Ada has been injured or anything at this point? So, uhm... her brain is just dying, I guess.

Ugh, so lame of Marvin to do that.

I will not stand for this Sherry slander!

...because I am gonna go to bed!

#Sherry is the best. Fuck you Survival Guide!#resident evil 2 survival guide #resident evil #resident evil 2 #leon s kennedy #claire redfield #ada wong #sherry birkin #ben bertolucci #mr. x #william birkin #leon kennedy #Re2 #resident evil funny #resident evil memes #Resident evil Survival Guide

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pettyprocrastination · 2 years ago

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thinking about how our librarian gal probably has to wear clear retainers for her piercings because yknow..working with kids means dealing with parents complaints and dress code yadda yadda yadda which means the first time you and Benjamin go out on a date or bump into eachother outside of work you have your real piercings in and he almost has a heart attack because you look so hot

#mr ben x reader #mr ben tag #public libraries are becoming accepting of tats and peircings but schools? not so much. so you'll most likely be wearing clear ones during-#-the school week #but its enough that benjamin sees it and goes !!!!! and cant stop thinking about you

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peepawispunk · 7 days ago

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An Inch Away (From More Than Just Friends) - Chapter 1

You start your new job at your old high school, finding some familiar faces in your first week.

Pairings: You/Mr Ben Rating: Teen, later chapters will be Explicit.

Warnings/tags: Romcom logic, age gap (reader is late 20s, Ben mid-late 30s), former student/teacher dynamic, but no romance until student is late 20s, flirting

Series masterlist AO3 Main masterlist Word count: 4.1K

Today was the first day of your new job.

Just being here was bringing a rush of memories back as you walked through the halls of your old school. The smell, the lighting, the atmosphere - it was all just as you had remembered. It was surreal to be back here as an adult, a weird mix of familiarity and belonging, alongside the strange role reversal of returning here as a teacher. You hoped you could be as good a teacher as Mr Ben, your old history teacher.

You hadn’t seen Mr Ben in years, not since you graduated high school and moved out of state to attend college. Now, you were returning to your alma mater as a teacher in his department. He had been your inspiration to become a teacher; you’d seen and felt just how much a good teacher could make a difference to a student’s life, and you’d decided that you wanted to be a part of that change, to help students who needed it. Now, by some odd turn of fate, of all the schools you’d applied to, you’d landed a job here.

You wondered if he remembered you, and how he would feel about you returning here as a teacher. Would he give you that same look of warmth and pride, like he used to when you achieved something? Or was that an act he put on to encourage his students to work their hardest?

You wondered if it was going to be strange working as colleagues now, in the history department together. Sure, Mr Ben wasn’t the head of the department, but he obviously held seniority over you. You wondered if he even knew his old colleague had been replaced, wondered if you were maybe replacing a friend of his.

The teacher you were replacing, Mr Grant, had left suddenly for some kind of job offer in London; you weren’t quite sure. You’d been offered his old job on a twelve-month contract, a trial period of sorts with the possibility of something more permanent if all went well.

The Principal of the high school was new to you, having replaced the Principal you’d known, who had retired a few years back. He’d hired you practically on the spot last week and wished you luck, telling you to present to the main office at the start of the week for your orientation. Your start date was a week before the school year began, and the week would be full of lesson planning and staff meetings.

You finally arrived at the office, ready for your first day of work. Your outfit was a practical one of black slacks, a short-sleeved blouse, and simple ballet flats on your feet. You’d gone shopping for a whole new ‘professional’ wardrobe, and you hoped you’d nailed it. You needed to make a good impression if you wanted to keep this job after your trial period.

A blonde receptionist you didn’t recognize was at the front desk, and she gave you a friendly look as you approached.

“Hi! Are you our new history teacher?” She greeted, setting her mug down on the desk to give you her full attention.

“Hi, yes, that’s me!” You said, the tone of your voice betraying your excitement as well as your nerves. You introduced yourself, showing her your ID so she could confirm your identity.

“We’re glad to have you here! I’m Lienna Williams.” She said, handing you back your ID and rummaging around in her top drawer, finding a set of keys. “Okay, these are your keys. The black one opens the back door near the staff parking lot, and the blue one opens your classroom. The staff room and supply closets have coded entries, you can find the codes in your welcome pack. If you use the black key after hours, you need to remember to lock the door behind you.”

She handed you the keys and a manilla folder, which you assumed was your welcome pack.

“Thanks.” You took the offered items with a smile, tucking the keys in your pocket and the welcome folder under your arm. “Where should I head now? Are there any staff meetings or anything today? Principal Lesten didn’t tell me much aside from ‘arrive on Monday morning’.” You said wryly.

“Of course he didn’t.” She sighed conspiratorially. “Usually the first day of the year is spent getting your office ready, catching up with your department, and getting a start on lesson planning. I can show you to your classroom if you’d like? You’ll be right opposite Mr Morales.”

“Mr Ben? If his classroom is still the same as it used to be, I can find my way just fine, but thank you.” Not only were you working in his department, but your classroom was opposite his too? You had a bad feeling that your teenage crush was going to come rushing back to you.

“Oh, you know Ben?” The receptionist asked, her eyebrows raising minutely.

“Oh, sort of, I used to be a student here.” You explained, waving a hand dismissively, hoping she hadn’t got the wrong idea about your familiarity with Mr Ben.

“Oh, well then you’ll know your way around just fine. He’s in the same place he’s always been. If you need help with anything, just give me a shout. My phone extension is on the list in your pack.”

“Thank you! For everything.” You smiled, “I’ll get out of your hair now.”

“Not at all! You’re welcome. See you around.” She smiled, wishing you luck on your first day as you left to find your new office. -

Your feet lead you to your new classroom effortlessly, still knowing this place like the back of your hand. Your classroom was furthest away from the hub of the school; far from the main office, the staff room, and the staff parking lot, and you were glad you’d chosen more practical footwear than heels, considering the walking you’d have to do each day.

The hallway outside Mr Ben’s classroom always had a line of students waiting during his office hours. Young guys and girls in equal measure, looking for time, input and attention from their favorite teacher.

You remembered it fondly - you had lined up just the same as them in your high school days, waiting for a chance to speak with Mr Ben one-on-one. He had this way of making you feel seen and important, like your opinion mattered. Back in those days you would have done anything to please him, to get his approval and proud smile as he gave you positive feedback on your school work.

It was both strange and thrilling to return as a teacher here. Familiar, yet completely different.

You set your bag down next to the door to pull your keys out of your pocket, already thinking about how you could personalize the classroom space and make it your own.

You heard footsteps coming up the hall as you finally got the door open, and you turned your head to see the familiar form of Mr Ben walking towards you. He did a double-take as he spotted you. He was dressed much more informally than you, in jeans and a faded old t-shirt. He was usually always in slacks and a button-down when you were a student, so you assumed this was his “prep week” attire. A stack of textbooks was under one arm and a coffee held in his other hand. A pencil was tucked up behind his ear, and you smiled softly. Some things really didn’t ever change. The smile lines on his face were new, though. As was the smattering of greys in his facial hair. It suited him.

“No. Fucking. Way!” He grinned, hastening towards you to greet you properly. “You’re our new teacher?!”

You nodded, flushing as the memories of your teenage infatuation surfaced. He still looked damn good. Maybe even better than you remembered. He was aging like a fine wine, small patches of grey showing in his hair and his neatly trimmed beard.

“I am.” You answered, pushing the door open and picking your bag up. “It feels weird being back here as a teacher, but I’m so excited to be teaching now.” You set your bag on your desk, Mr Ben following you inside the classroom.

“I’m so excited for you! Is this your first year teaching?” He asked, setting his coffee and the textbooks down on a student desk nearby, leaning back against it to talk to you. He leaned back on his hands, and you noted there was still no sign of a wedding ring on his fingers. You couldn’t believe nobody had snatched him up. Even when you were seventeen, you knew he was a catch.

“Yeah, it will be. I finally finished my degree last year and I’ve been looking for work since. I took a gap year before I started college, and then I did my master's. So I guess I’m getting a bit of a later start than some.”

“God, now I feel old.” Ben sighed jokingly. “It feels like you were a student here only yesterday.”

“It does! But it’s been, oh god. How many years ago was it… Seven years.”

“Holy shit.” Ben whistled lowly. “Now I feel really ancient.”

“Me too. I’m twenty-six now, and I’ve heard it’s all downhill after twenty-five.” You joked.

“Pssht. That’s not old. Come talk to me when you’re approaching forty. Youths.” Ben scoffed, though his face betrayed his amusement.

“Even forty isn’t really old.” You said, copying his tone of exaggeration. “Some people say life begins then.”

Ben laughed, shaking his head. “I’ll let you know, I guess. Seriously though, it’s glad to see you back here. I knew you could do it. And I wouldn’t worry about having a later start, you’ve got more life experience now than you would have a few years ago. Makes it easier to deal with students, believe me.”

You felt a rush of warmth at his praise, your lips pulling up in a smile. You’d forgotten just how freely he gave it. You sensed there was a story there, with what he’d said about dealing with students.

“Thank you. I’m really looking forward to working together. Your class was my favorite, you know.”

“Really?” His eyes crinkled at the edges as he smiled softly. “That’s very kind of you. I’m looking forward to it, too. If you’re half as good of a teacher as you were a student, you’re going to be a great one.”

“Thank you. That means a lot.” You felt your cheeks warming. “Hey, so what did you mean about needing life experience to deal with the students? It seems like there’s a story there.”

Ben groaned. “Have you heard of TikTok?”

You sent him an incredulous look. “You mean the social media platform everybody used during covid? Yeah, I’ve heard of it. Why?”

“Have you heard of fancams?”

“Oh my god. Please don’t tell me they-”

“Yeah. They make fancams of teachers.”

“Jesus. Which teachers?”

“Me, Jenny, lunch lady Paulina.”

“Oh my god.” You laugh, “You’re kidding me right now.”

“I wish. They even do ‘shipping’ ones. They think Jenny and I are dating.”

“But... Ms Jenny is a lesbian?” Unless you'd missed a revelation in the years you were gone.

“She is. Apparently, these new kids haven’t figured it out.” Ben shrugged.

“Well, my home ec class did help her make her wedding decorations, so it wasn’t exactly a secret back then.” You laughed, shaking your head.

“It’s not a secret now, but these kids get an idea in their head and they really run with it.” Ben shook his head. “We tried an assembly last year to ban the fancams but it didn’t make a huge difference. They still make them, they’re just more secretive about it now.” He sighed.

“Oh, man. I’m going to hope they don’t take an interest in me.”

“You’re the youngest teacher here now. If anything, you’ll be their new favorite.” Ben said sympathetically.

“Well, maybe it’ll give you and Ms Jenny some peace at least.” You laughed.

“You know we’re colleagues now, right?” He gestured to the classroom around them, as if to demonstrate.

“Yeah, of course?” You said, tilting your head.

“Means you can just call Jenny by her first name. And you can just call me Ben.” He adjusted the clasp of his watch; an action you’d seen him do a thousand times in class, though you’d never paid such close attention to his fingers as he did it before.

“Ben and Jenny should be an easy enough transition. At least I didn’t call you both Sir and Ma’am...” You laughed, “Mr Armstrong always made us call him ‘Sir’.”

Ben’s eyes widened, and he licked his lips. “Yeah, uh. Some teachers are real weird about that.”

“Don’t I know it.” You rolled your eyes.

“Anyway, I’ll let you get settled in. I’m in the classroom just opposite if you need anything.” Ben gestured to his room across the hall.

“I remember.” You smiled gently. “Thank you.”

“Right, right.” Ben gathered his stuff, heading to the door. Standing in the doorway, he turned to add, “If I don’t see you again today, I’ll catch you at the staff meeting tomorrow.”

You nodded in agreement, giving him a small wave as he left. “See you later.”

You get to work decorating your classroom, putting up posters with information and artwork about ancient history, with a specific focus on Greece, Rome and Egypt - your favorite areas of study. Every so often your eyes flit across to Ben’s classroom, catching his movement through the open door, and you have to mentally shake yourself to focus on your own classroom and stop looking at him like a weirdo.

Somehow, you’d gained and held his respect all through high school. It wouldn’t do to lose it now. -

The next day found you in the staff room, waiting for the faculty meeting while you tried to make a coffee. You'd arrived early, hoping to make a good impression, hanging your bag over the back of your chair. You weren’t sure what you needed to bring with you, so your preliminary lesson plans sat tucked into your bag, along with a notepad and pen in case you needed to take notes. You weren’t going to take any of that out yet though, just in case. You wanted to see what the other teachers did first; the last thing you wanted to do was seem like a brown noser.

The other teachers started to filter in one by one, sitting at the small, round tables scattered around the room, while you continued your silent struggle with the coffee machine. You’d never used one like this before, and you were about to throw in the towel and have some of the terrible instant blend from the tin on the counter.

“Come on.” You muttered under your breath, pressing the start button on the machine again.

Nothing.

You let out a frustrated huff, drained of your fight. You weren’t going to suffer the embarrassment of failing to work a coffee machine in front of all your new colleagues. Instant coffee it would have to be.

You grabbed your mug from under the spout on the machine, setting it on the counter.

“Do you need help?” A familiar voice asked.

You felt your face heat as you turned to look at Ben.

“Please. I will owe you forever.” You begged.

The corners of his mouth turned upwards in barely restrained amusement, and he held his hand out for your mug, and you placed it in his hand.

“Don’t worry, this machine stumped all of us when we first got it. There’s a trick to it.” He explained, setting the cup back under the spout and showing you which buttons to press.

“God, I haven’t seen so much complicated button mashing since Xbox cheat codes.” You muttered, shaking your head. “Thank you. I was about five seconds away from drinking the instant roast.”

Ben pulled a face. “Ugh, no. That stuff is worse than hospital coffee.” He handed you your mug, now full of coffee, and slipped his own mug under the machine. “I go through so much coffee in a day, I refuse to drink the bad stuff.”

“That’s actually a really good point. I always make sure I have my favorite creamers at home. I’ll need to buy some for work, too.”

“Yeah, they don’t spring on the good creamer here. We’re lucky enough that they buy the good pods.”

You nodded in agreement. “I really didn’t expect to find good coffee here.” You stirred some half and half into your cup, adding a little sugar.

“You’ve come along at the right time, we got this instead of staff bonuses last year.”

“Oof. Instead of bonuses?” That sounded more in line with what you’d expect from public school budget allocation.

Ben shrugged. “Welcome to the glamorous life.” He finished fixing up his coffee and headed back to your table with you. “Mind if I join you?”

“Not at all.” You said, “It’ll be good to have a familiar face.”

“You’re gonna do just fine.” Ben reassured you, sitting in the chair next to yours. “And if you miss anything, the real important stuff goes out in a memo later on today.”

“Oh, that’s good to know.” You breathed a sigh of relief. “I was going to take notes so I didn’t forget anything.”

Ben gave you an amused yet sympathetic look. “Your dedication is admirable, but you can relax. You don’t want to go burning yourself out before the kids even arrive.”

He had a point, you conceded.

“Okay, you’re right. I’m overthinking this.”

“Just a little.” He said, not unkindly.

You were joined a few minutes later by Jenny, who pulled up a chair next to Ben.

“No fucking way.” She said, immediately recognising you.

“That’s what I said!” Ben exclaimed. “It’s her first year, and she’s been lumped in with the likes of us.”

“Well you lucked out,” Jenny shot you a playful wink. “We’re the best.”

You were prevented from any more catching up, when the principal arrived and called the meeting to order.

Ben was right, there would have been no point in taking notes in this meeting, there was so much ground to cover across all the departments, and none of the meeting had been particularly relevant to you or your department.

Until the annual Europe history trip came up, that is.

“As you all know, we’ve lost our history teacher, Mr Grant, and gained a new teacher.” The principal introduced you to the room then, and you stood up, giving the room a shy wave and a smile, before taking your seat again. “We need a volunteer from the history department to accompany this year’s Europe trip. Would you be willing to chaperone?” He’d directed this last part at you specifically, putting you on the spot.

“Oh, uh. Sure?”

“Wonderful. Ben is in charge of all the logistics, so he’ll fill you in on the particulars.”

You nodded in acknowledgement, and the meeting moved on to other topics.

“Wow, he really put you on the spot there. I’m sorry.” Ben apologised, grimacing.

“Yeah I think I was just voluntold.” You whispered back. “I’ve always wanted to go to Europe, though. How much is this gonna cost me?”

“Oh, teachers don’t have to pay, honey.” Jenny interjected. “The cost of chaperoning is split up between the students’ trip prices. When you do this trip every year, there’s no way they could expect any of us to pay our own way.”

You breathed a sigh of relief. You had a little bit of money in savings, but your student loans were hanging over your head. “That’s good to know.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll fill you in on everything when we’re done here, if you have time?”

“Sounds good.” You said, your tummy buzzing with excitement now. You’d missed out on the Europe trip when you were a student here, not having the money or the means to attend. This would be kind of like a do-over opportunity, a chance to learn on site about some of your favourite times and places in history, and it wouldn’t even leave you out of pocket.

Plus, the company was looking pretty damn appealing too.

When the meeting was over, you and Ben remained at the table, saying goodbye to Jenny as she left to continue her lesson prep. Jenny didn’t go on the trips anymore since she and her wife had adopted, she’d explained. A month was too long to leave her wife alone with the little ones.

“So, looks like you’re my planning buddy.” Ben said. “You want another coffee?” He asked, standing up with his mug in hand.

“Oh, yes please.” You went to stand and join him, and he waved you off.

“I’ve got it.” He said, picking your mug up. “Half and half, two sugars?”

“How did you know that?”

He tapped his nose slyly. “I’m observant.”

He returned to the table shortly with the coffees, placing yours in front of you as he sat back down.

“So, I’ll get you an itinerary when I’m at my desk again, but it’s a thirty day trip. Our other chaperones are from the modern history department, Paul and Cheryl Jones. They’re a little on the older side, and not so much with the technology. Steven and I usually planned the trips together, but Steven did most of the booking for this one before he left. A parting gift, I guess.”

“That was nice of him.”

“Let’s see how well we think of him once we get there. His idea of luxury accommodation is a hotel room with toiletries included. He really tries to keep the costs down for the kids.”

“That’s actually really cool. When I was a student here I missed out on the trip ‘cause we couldn’t afford it. Not that a few hundred dollars would have made a huge difference to us, but every bit counts.”

Ben looked a little bit stricken. “I’m so sorry you had to miss out. I had no idea that was why you didn’t come on the trip. I figured you were scared of flying or something.”

“I mean, I am scared of flying, too. But it was mostly a money thing. But hey, I’m getting to go now, and I’m getting paid to go. I see this as an absolute win.”

“So optimistic.” He complimented, sipped at his coffee.

“Only til I’m on the plane.” You said wryly, almost making him inhale the hot liquid.

“Can’t take any valium on a school trip, either.” Ben said, once he’d recovered.

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s a liability thing.” He said apologetically.

“Well, fuck. Can I at least have a drink?”

Ben grimaced.

“Please tell me you’re messing with me?!”

“Yeah, I’m just messing with you. You can’t get plastered but you can have one or two drinks to take the edge off.”

“Better than nothing I guess.” You lamented.

“There’s that optimism!” He cheered, earning himself a dirty look, at which he held up his hands in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m just teasing, honey. You’ll be fine.”

“I’ll figure something out. So… tell me more about this trip. Where are we going this year?”

Ben hummed in thought, absentmindedly smoothing his moustache with his thumb and index finger.

“We land in England, spend a few days in London, then hop on the Eurostar to Paris. We spend a few days there, then we head to Amsterdam and Belgium…” Ben paused in thought for a moment. “Then I think it’s Germany and Prague for a few days, then Vienna, Rome, and Italy. We fly back home from Italy.” He listed off the destinations on his fingers as he went.

“Wow, all that in thirty days?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty jam packed. We have a day or two of downtime, but most days we’re travelling or visiting landmarks.”

“And on this trip, are we doing much in the way of book work with the kids?”

“God no.” Ben laughed. “We’re busy enough. We take a ‘passive learning’ approach on these kinds of trips. They still learn a bunch, and nobody burns out.”

“Ok, good. I was dreading the logistics of bookwork fitting into my suitcase.”

Ben shook his head. “Could you imagine? No thanks. If you’re finished we can head back to our rooms and I can grab that itinerary for you?”

“Sounds good.” You said, grabbing both of your mugs and taking them to the sink to wash them, setting them in the rack to dry.

“Ready?” Ben asked when you turned back around.

You nodded, gathering your things and following him.

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