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hellfire-state-of-mind · 8 months ago

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Clandestine

pairing: Mr. Ben x fem! reader

rating: Mature (things get a lil heated 👀)

word count: 4.5k

summary: Mr. Ben is daddy, Ms. Jenny is mommy and they’re all a happy family at St. Lawrence High School, no crumbs left. But what happens when the cool aunt moves to town?

warnings: i did my best to leave out specific descriptions of reader except that she does have breasts and wear feminine clothing, infidelity, swearing, alcohol consumption, some heavy making out and implied smut, Ben has a daddy kink (as always, please message me if i missed anything)

a/n: my second submission for @beskarandblasters's Taylor Swift writing challenge! this one is based on "illicit affairs" from her album, folklore. being one of my top 3 albums of hers, i was excited for this prompt but i laughed so hard when Kel paired it with Mr. Ben 🤣 i had a ton of fun sprinkling in references (as well as a few extra swiftie ones too, if you look closely). this is also probably the longest fic i've ever written since i started writing years ago but this story really just took on a life of its own. i hope you all enjoy reading as much as i did writing and PS happy birthday, Pedro 😊

Teaching European History to a bunch of 10th graders is definitely not for the faint of heart, but the aftermath of the pandemic on the public education system only made the calling harder for you to ignore.

That’s why it meant so much to you when you discovered your students making fancams and claiming you as the “cool aunt.” You knew it was just their way of connecting with you and if it helped them pay attention in class and actually enjoy learning, what’s the harm? Some of the other teachers didn’t share your sentiment, but you were never one to much care about others’ opinions.

Until you met him.

Mr. Ben.

He and Ms. Jenny were the students’ absolute favorite teachers at the school, earning them the coveted titles of Mommy and Daddy. Their classrooms were both on the other side of the school in the math hall, so you never really saw them except at the monthly after-school faculty meetings. But one morning a piece of mail intended for Mr. Ben had been left in your mailbox in the front office by mistake, so you made the journey into uncharted territory.

Reading the plaques on each door, you almost thought you were in the wrong hallway when his name finally appeared on the last one at the end. It was slightly cracked so you could hear the scratching of chalk as he wrote on the board. Knocking lightly to announce your presence, you waited to hear him acknowledge you before walking in. His classroom was decorated to feel bright and cozy and welcoming, soft music emanating from the area near his desk. And the man standing in front of the chalkboard certainly fit the vibe. Soft but sturdy, carefully styled curls threatening to break free. You immediately understood why he was your students’ beloved and had them in a chokehold. You felt your cheeks heat for a moment when he cleared his throat to catch your attention, having been staring in silence for a bit too long.

“Can I help you with something?” Even his voice was so father.

“Um, yes. Sorry. I think some of your mail ended up in my box on accident.” You approached him, holding out the thin envelope. “It’s right underneath yours so it’s an easy mistake to make if you’re not careful.”

His thick fingers brushed yours as he took it from you, and you tried to steady your breath as you felt their brief warmth radiate up your arm. “Oh, good catch. Thank you.” He turned to place them on his desk and you were prepared for that to be the end of it, but he focused his attention back on you. “You’re new this year, right? I don’t believe we’ve met. I’m Ben.” Extending his hand back out to you, you swallowed hard before taking it and replying with your own name. He repeated it back to you in understanding and you nearly melted at the way it effortlessly rolled off his tongue. The bell indicating the beginning of first period interrupted you before the conversation could continue any further. Bidding him a rushed farewell, you hurried back to the sanctuary of your own classroom across campus.

That was months ago. By the end of the year, the passing gestures became more frequent so that you were thankful for summer break to give yourself some time away from the man who had no idea his foot was always on your neck. Finally, you could breathe.

The weeks passed quickly and now you’re hauling boxes of school supplies across the parking lot. It’s the week before classes start anew and all of the teachers are trickling back in to ready their classrooms. You’ve just deposited the cardboard box on your desk when your phone chimes with a reminder about the faculty meeting in 5 minutes. You grab your lanyard, weighed down with your ID and keys, and head for the library.

When you arrive, everyone has already taken their seats so the only one available is next to him. Mr. Ben. Steeling yourself, you try to appear casual as you take your place. Feeling your movement, Ben looks over at you and flashes a captivating smile that you return without a second thought.

“Welcome back, kid. Have a good summer?” He launches into the usual teacher small talk but it’s not at all uncomfortable.

“I did. And yours?”

“Not bad. Nothing special, really.”

You hum in acknowledgement before Principal Owens steps up to the front, signaling the start of the meeting. In that moment, you come to a realization that you can’t shake. Nudging Ben’s elbow with yours, you lean closer and keep your voice low.

“I haven’t seen Jenny around, is she feeling okay?”

He chuckles before picking up on your sincerity. “Oh, you didn’t hear? She transferred over to St. Augustine.”

Your eyes widen in surprise. “Really? Can’t wait to break that to the students.”

“Yeah, you and me both.” He chuckles a little harder, earning a couple of sideways glances from others around you. You shrink into your seat a little as Ben attempts to cover with a cough.

You try to ignore the flutter in your heart, but you just have to know. “So are the two of you still…?” you trail off, hoping he picks up on your meaning so you don’t have to say it out loud.

“Yeah. Yeah, we’re still together. One less heartbreak for the kids,” he jokes.

“Oh, good. That’s good.”

And you mean it. If he’s happy, you’re happy. But a pit has formed in your stomach and you lose yourself in thought until Principal Owens makes his final announcement.

“There has been yet another surge of fancams created over the summer so as part of the first-day assembly, we will be including a segment on responsible technology usage. Ben, since you ate up the last one, would you mind handling it? After all, it was nom nom delish and had them gagged.” A burst of laughter ripples through the room as Ben runs a hand through his hair, amused.

“Yeah, sure. What could possibly go wrong this time?”

“Thank you. And if it’s not too trouble, I’d like to pair you with our newest target,” Owens gestures to you, conveniently sitting in the same vicinity, “so dubbed the ‘cool aunt.’”

You feel the heat begin to creep up your neck as you realize the implications of the proposal. You look over to see Ben nod and shrug as if to say “why not.” Looking back to the front of the room, you smile and nod in acceptance of the project. Inside, you’re trying not to scream. You don’t notice Ben holding his gaze on your profile for the rest of the meeting.

You retreat to your classroom after you’re all dismissed, willingly losing yourself in paperwork and organizing when there’s an all-too-familiar knock on your door. You look up just as Ben steps over the threshold. And closes the door. And crosses to perch on the edge of your desk, giving you an optimal view of the way his jeans stretch over his sculpted thigh and ass.

“So, how are you feeling about this assembly next week?” He leans forward, propping himself up on one arm. You force yourself to not look at the veins winding and disappearing under his shirt sleeve and maintain eye contact, which isn’t much easier.

“Good. I mean, is it supposed to be scary? What happened last time?” You remember the way everyone reacted when Ben received the assignment.

He smiles and huffs a laugh at the memory. “Let’s just say I was in your shoes now. I was just so confused about the whole concept. But it gave Jenny and I the opportunity to officially come out as a couple, so I guess it wasn’t all bad.”

The pit in your stomach widened at the mention of Jenny again. “Well, I’m glad I’m working with someone so experienced then.” You mentally kick yourself at your choice of words. What the hell is that supposed to mean? You try to recover. “Honestly, I’m a little flattered. It means the kids are engaged.”

Ben doesn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, it is kinda nice that they look up to us like that. Even if it is a little…”

“Unorthodox?”

“Right. It took me forever to figure out what it meant to have rizz and be a skinny legend.” He almost can’t get through his sentence as he’s interrupted by his own wheezing laugh. He fights it off long enough to finish his thought. “But it looks like you’re in your assembly era now, so what do you say we meet up here tomorrow and put this presentation together?”

You quickly agree, both in excitement and eagerness to get him out so you can get ahold of yourself. Satisfied, he rises but stops before he fully walks away. “By the way, I really like that perfume you’re wearing. Vanilla?”

“A-and cherry,” you manage to choke out.

“My favorite.” He smirks before raising his hand in goodbye and exiting the room, closing the door behind him.

The next week is a blur. You meet the next day to organize the presentation, as promised, but one conversation topic leads to another and before you realize what’s happening, Ben is putting his number into your phone. Then you’re giving him yours.

You keep telling yourself you’re just friends, like a mantra, but you can’t help but feel a sense of pride at the way he thinks you don’t notice how he inhales a little deeper when you lean into his personal space, taking in your scent. His favorite.

Even the assembly goes off without a hitch. Naturally, the students are disgruntled yet again at being reminded that fancams of their biases are banned, no matter how much they munch on it. But they seem to pick up on the friendship between their daddy and cool aunt and that’s enough to appease the juvenile masses.

You’re both dreading and looking forward to your free period. When comparing schedules, you and Ben discovered you had the same block open, so you agreed to make that a regular coffee break together. He’s already there when you walk in, bursting into his signature smile as you approach.

He stands and pulls your chair out to sit at the small table. “So, how’s the first day been?”

Accepting the gesture and trying not to read too much into it, you breathe out, “Pretty good. I can already tell that covering the Bubonic Plague is going to be interesting, but we will cross that bridge when we get to it.”

Once more, the two of you fall into an easy conversation when an ill-timed joke has you spilling your coffee. All over Ben’s tie. You immediately jump up, dashing to wet some paper towels. Ben rises to stop you, laughing at your mortification.

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it. Hey,” he grasps your wrists, forcing you to turn and face him.

“I-I think I have a Tide pen in my room, I can go run and get it.”

“No need. I started keeping a spare in my desk years ago. You wouldn’t believe how often I spill coffee on myself.”

With that, you follow him back to his classroom. He closes the door behind you, crossing to his desk to rifle through the drawers, but you hang back. It’s only when he finally pulls out the replacement tie that you allow yourself to breathe and walk over.

Ben holds it up in jest. “See? Problem solved.” You hope he doesn’t hear the way you swallow hard as you watch him skillfully unwind his soiled tie from around his neck with one hand.

However, he struggles to knot the new tie and you speak up, “Need a hand with that?” You don’t know where the confidence came from.

He looks up at you, eyes a couple shades darker. “Would you?”

You round the desk and try to stop your hands from shaking as you reach up towards his chest. Your knuckles brush his soft button-up but before you can grip the decorative length of fabric, you feel Ben’s hands cradling your elbows. You slowly lock eyes with him, and the rest happens too fast for your brain to process.

Ben swiftly maneuvers you against the edge of his desk and leans in close, his nose to your temple, breathing you in. “You wear this just for me?”

You can’t lie to him. “Yes.”

He travels down to your pulse point where the perfume is applied, ghosting over the delicate skin there. “Good.”

He darts the tip of his tongue over the spot before moving to look you in the eyes once more, his hands journeying experimentally down to your waist. You’re fully trapped now. But you don’t want to escape.

He rests his forehead on yours as your eyes flit down to his mouth and back up. “Ben?”

“That’s not my name.”

You’re taken aback by his response for a moment before he leans in the tiniest bit more so you can feel the tickle of his mustache as he whispers, “What’s my name, baby?”

“Daddy,” you breathe out.

His lips twitch into a smirk before crashing against yours, sealing you to him.

Your escapades go on that way for months, innocently meeting in the teachers’ lounge to make your coffees and carrying them back to his classroom where they’re quickly abandoned. You easily get lost in each other, you perched on his desk as he stands between your thighs. You’ve discovered he likes it when you tangle your fingers in his curls, but you have to be careful not to muss them too much lest anyone catch onto your illicit activities.

You know it’s wrong. He and Jenny are still together, despite the different schools. Your mind is a constant whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. What if she finds out? Does she already know about you? Where do you stand?

But Ben is quick to make you forget your inner turmoil. You’re in your usual seat upon your throne of his desk, your blouse unbuttoned halfway to grant him access to your chest. His lips are latched to your collarbone, one hand cupping a breast and the other holding the knee you draped over his hip. You feel his hardness against your clothed core, knowing it must be painful for him. But you can’t cross that line. Not here.

As if rehearsed, Ben slows his movements to a halt, trailing his tongue back up your neck and jaw before reaching his final destination and molding your lips together. Wordlessly, you peel apart and put yourselves back together. You dare to break the silence.

“Ben?”

He looks back at you with those adorable baby browns that everyone at the school loves. “What’s wrong, baby?”

“Nothing, exactly. I just-” you cut yourself off, taking a deep breath. “At the risk of sounding like a cliché, what about us?”

“I don’t understand,” he says with a furrowed brow.

“I mean. We’ve been doing…this for a while now. And I can’t deny that I’ve grown to love the thrill of sneaking around with you.” You slide off his desk to plant yourself firmly in front of him. “But…you and Jenny...I guess what I’m trying to figure out is-”

“What do we do?”

“Yeah.”

Ben lets out a sigh and adjusts his watch. Noticing the time, he reaches for your arm and the two of you walk to the door. But he puts his hand on the handle before you have the chance to turn it.

“I promise we’ll talk about this. Tonight? I’ll call you?”

You press your lips into a tight smile. “Yeah. Tonight.”

Ben removes his hand and you exit the room. As if on cue, the bell rings to signal the change of classes and you pick up your pace to make it through the sea of students back to your room in time for your next lesson.

He does call. And you do talk. But ultimately you agree not to change anything for now. He needs time to figure out where he and Jenny stand but neither of you can bear to let the other go in the meantime. You try to hide your growing disillusionment at your arrangement, but you can’t tell if you’re truly that good at pretending or if Ben actively ignores it.

It all comes to a head the morning you sleep through your alarm, recovering from your hushed over-the-phone activities the night before, and you forget to wear your perfume. His perfume.

You’ve assumed your position when Ben suddenly recoils.

“Where is it?”

“Where is what?” You wrack your brain trying to interpret the question.

He slowly leans back in, inhaling deeply to make sure he didn’t just miss it. “Vanilla and cherry.”

The realization hits you like a ton of bricks. “Oh, B- Daddy, I’m so sorry.”

He nearly whines in disappointment. “Where is it?”

“I slept through my alarm. I must have been moving so fast this morning that I forgot it.” You twirl your fingers through the curls at the base of his neck. “I’ll wear it tomorrow, I promise.” Ben still doesn’t look at you. You tug a little harder, forcing his attention. “Hey. It was an honest mistake, I-”

“Did I do something wrong?”

The question jars you even more than the first. You want to reassure him but you can’t form the words and your hesitation speaks volumes.

“Baby, why didn’t you say something?” Ben pulls away completely now, leaning up against the chalkboard.

“What could I say, Ben?” You’re emboldened now, matching his stance. “That I’m tired of sneaking around? That I hate being the other woman but I feel this crushing guilt about coming between the two of you?” You pause to think carefully about your next words before just throwing caution to the wind. “That I love you and I want people to know it. Don’t you?”

You can see the hurt bloom in Ben’s eyes. “Kid, I…I don’t know what I want.”

But that hurts worse. “Really?” You reach to fix the few buttons he had managed to undo and walk towards the door but he steps in front of you.

“Hey, hey, don’t- baby, just- just hear me out kid, please, let’s talk-”

“Don’t call me that.” Your voice is tinged with cold.

“Call…call you what?”

“Don’t call me ‘kid.’ Don’t call me ‘baby.’ In fact, don’t call me anything until you figure out what it is you do want.” You swerve past him and yank the door open. “Maybe I’ll still be waiting for you.”

It takes everything in you not to slam the door out of respect for the ongoing classes around you.

You’ve mastered the separation of your personal and professional lives so no one can see through your façade for the rest of the day. But the last bell couldn’t ring soon enough. You pack your bag and leave just as quickly as any of your students and book it out to your car. You know you’re going to get stuck in the after-school traffic but it’s better than waiting it out in your classroom where he could find you. You’ve just unlocked your door when you hear your name. You don’t recognize the voice over the din of cars and school buses, so you search for the owner and immediately regret it.

Ben raises his hand at a car that stopped to let him pass and jogs across the pavement. You want nothing more than to scream at him but for the sake of keeping up appearances, you smile and let him approach. Your voice betrays your true feelings.

“I told you, Ben, I’m-”

“I know you’re pissed and you have every right to be. But I have something I need to say and I really don’t want you to misunderstand me, so could I please just get through to the end and then you can say your piece?” He sounds out of breath. “Please?”

You simply nod and lean back against your car, waving at passing students.

“Okay. I’ve thought about what you said. And truth be told, I have not been fully honest with you. But I want to change that. I want to talk about this. About us.” He takes a long pause, collecting himself, and you almost think he’s finished before he launches into it again. “Can I come see you tonight? At your place? Or mine, whichever you’re more comfortable with. I’ll cook and we can really talk. Face to face.”

“What about Jenny? She’s not going to wonder where you are?”

“Don’t worry about that. I’m taking care of it.”

You take in his words. It’s not exactly what you hoped when he said he had something to say but you’re also standing in the middle of the high school parking lot. It’s neither the time nor the place to hash out your relationship problems.

“Fine. My place. 7:00. But you’re not staying too late, it’s a school night.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Ben lets himself smirk for a moment before switching back into teacher mode and bids you good afternoon, taking off back towards the school.

It’s 6:57 and you’re starting to curse yourself for agreeing to let Ben come over. But in a way, this is like a first date. Your first meeting outside of campus. And you can’t lie that the prospect of what could come after intrigues you.

7:00 on the dot and your doorbell rings, so you steel your nerves and open the door. Ben looks almost relieved that you actually answered and you step aside to let him in. In one hand, he holds an insulated bag of what you can only assume is ingredients for the dinner he promised to cook and in the other, a small bouquet of your favorite flowers. You accept those with a small smile and lead him into the kitchen. He begins unpacking the bag to start cooking while you dig through drawers to find a pair of scissors.

“Do you want some wine? You didn’t say what you were planning to cook so I pulled out a red and I also have a white already in the fridge,” you offer as you cut the flower stems at an angle and untie the bundle to arrange them in the vase on the coffee table.

“White sounds perfect, thank you,” Ben accepts as he rolls up his sleeves. You pull out the bottle and pour a little into two glasses, handing him one. You go to take a sip before he holds his out to you. “Cheers.” You clink and then drink, resisting the urge to down half the glass in one go.

You stand off to the side most of the time while Ben takes over your kitchen, falling back into your easy conversations without even realizing it. You have to admit you love watching him, the way his hands grip the knife and the vegetables he’s cutting, the sweat glistening on his forehead and the back of his neck from the hot stove.

The rest of the night feels…natural. Effortless. You almost forget why he came over in the first place.

You’re lounging on the couch with him, dishes washed and kitchen cleaned, wine glasses in hand when you finally cut to the chase.

“So what did you want to say to me?”

Ben’s eyes widen slightly and he leans over to rest his glass on the coffee table. “Say what?”

You need him to get to the point before you lose your nerve again. “In the parking lot, you said you wanted to talk. About us. So let’s talk.”

He lets out a nervous sigh and turns to better face you. “Right.”

You hold eye contact, expecting him to say more, but nothing comes. You sit up, putting your glass down next to his, losing your patience. “Ben, if you’re not going to-”

“I love you, too.”

The four words you’ve been waiting for him to say since the first time you kissed. But followed by more silence.

“That’s it?”

Ben opens and closes his mouth, searching for the words, but you cut him off.

“That’s not enough, Ben. The sneaking around, the stolen stares across the room, it was fun but it’s not enough anymore. You’ve made a fool out of me, but more than that you’ve…I’ve ruined myself for you.”

“You…what do you mean?” He leans in, careful not to intrude too far into your personal space.

“What we have is- is different. I’ve never had something like this and I don’t think I ever will again. You’ve shown me things, taught me things that I can’t ever share with anyone else. But this isn’t going anywhere and I’m not sure you even want it to.”

“I do!”

“And Jenny? You can’t have us both, Ben.”

“I told her.” The only sounds in the room are your individual heavy breaths. “We talked and apparently, she’d been feeling pretty distant, too. She was trying to work up the courage to talk me into counseling but when I told her about you…she let me go.” He curls his hand into a fist, stopping himself from reaching out and touching you. “I am yours and only yours. And I don’t care who knows it anymore.”

“Then prove it.” You feel as if your heart is going to burst from how fast it’s racing.

“I will.”

Ben practically launches himself across the couch, yanking you into his arms and smashing his lips to yours, as if pulled by an invisible string. You react immediately, curling your limbs around him, desperate to hold him closer. You gasp for breath when he breaks apart just enough to mumble against your lips. “Where?”

“Down the hall, last door on the left.”

In a flash, you find yourself deposited on your bed, dress crumpled on the floor, fingers flying to undo the buttons on Ben’s dress shirt. You shift your focus to his slacks, his rock-hard bulge ever prominent as you unzip. You move to pull them down his thighs along with his briefs, but he stops you. His shirt now gone, he nudges you to fall backwards onto your pillows and he follows.

His weight on top of you is intoxicating, finally able to feel all of him. The broadness of his shoulders, the contracting muscles in his back, the softness of his tummy pressed to yours. His mouth finds its home in your cleavage, nipping and sucking at the sensitive flesh, the scratch of his patchy beard bordering on overstimulating.

“Ben-”

“That’s not my name.” He looks up at you with a devilish grin and emphasizes his point with a hard grind of his hips into yours. “What’s my name?”

“Daddy!”

His tongue soothes each bite as he finally journeys up your chest to your neck. Taking in a deep breath, he releases it with a sinful groan from deep in his chest.

“You wear this just for me?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

#the hellfire texts #mr ben snl #mr ben x reader #mr ben fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ppcu #pedrostories

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popcornforone · 2 months ago

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Smothered

A Fan Fic based on a Mystey Pedro Pascal character

Day 8 of Pedrotober (prompt Corona)

Masterlist

This is soft but I knew the second I saw Corona as a prompt exactly what I wanted to do. This was the first fic I wrote for Pedrotober too. I love it.

Synopsis:- After a break up,Mrs Flores invites you over for a bbq.

Word count:- 1150

Warnings over & above:- drinking, lack of consent, swearing, over protective parents. Mainly soft but sexual tension.

Yea this is one of the best I’ve done for the month. Thanks @alyssamariag & @norththelemon for the prompt. Kinda want to turn this into a series if I had the time.

Your mum tries to do her best for you, it’s smothering sometimes & today is another showcase of this. She’s asked you to bring your special marinade for a bbq the Flores family are having in their garden to celebrate the end of summer. Your mum has been telling you for the last 6 weeks that her son is now recently divorced & knowing you went through a break up 6 months ago, both parents are trying to fix you up together. But neither of you have made an effort. You’re not ready to date again, & if he’s divorced he’s probably older than you. You don’t need that kind of baggage, you also have no idea if he comes with kids or if he was the reason behind the divorce. After your ex cheated on you with another man you’re not as confident in yourself as you once were.

You arrive before your mother to the Flores’ house & bring in a large box of Corona beers & your madianded chicken to be thrown on the grill. Once you put those items down in the kitchen, Mrs Flores, a woman you only vaguely remember from childhood, runs up to you like you’re her only daughter. She’s in all pink with a perfect silver bob & pink nail varnish. Not a blemish insight.

“Thanks for inviting me” you say as she hugs you.

“Pleasure bonita” she says & then looks at the beer you brought over. “Hmmm corona, how imaginative, anyhow come outside sit sit” she says with sarcasm. You sigh. You remember you mum telling you that she says it how she sees it, you have a very small memory of that happening in the past. You walk into the garden & decide to sit between a couple of ladies in their 50s & 60s, all the husbands around the grill, clicking tongs, making it look like they know what they are doing. You could easily do this much better than them but you don’t want to destroy a man’s ego. A man standing by a grill is not to be distributed. You do have a look around for this mythical son of mrs Flores but he’s not here.

Your mum arrives 10min later, same over the top reaction from Mrs Flores as she welcomes her in, making sarcastic comment about how she only brought salad & how she needs to feed you up & put a bit more meat on your bones. It’s not like you’re skinny, but even so Mrs Flores believes you need to eat more.

Time passed & it was still no closer to the food being ready, but it was starting to smell good & there was still no sign of this man. Clearly this must have been a ploy to get you to this gathering. Mrs Flores has everyone in the palm of her hand talking about her life & her clubs & her high standards & how no one will be good enough for her boy.

“Except this one, we always joked that your princess & my prince would get freaky one day”

Then all eyes turn on you after Mrs Flores comment. You try to not act pissed off & stop the scowl forming on your face. You politely excuse yourself to use the bathroom, but you sneak a corona away & go to the kitchen where no one is in or looking at, you just to get 5 minutes of quiet. You’d much rather do that than say something to the host & upset them. You were not brought up that way.

As you lean against the sink checking your phone & sipping the cool beer, the door to the hall opens. He almost falls into the kitchen as he is also carrying a huge crate of corona. You put your bottle down & steady the box to help him in.

“Woooo” you both say guiding the beer to the counter.

“Thanks” says this smooth masculine voice.

“Don’t mention it” it’s only then that you look at the man. Late 40s, fluffy brunette hair. Brown eyes so big they are like puss in boots from shrek. A shirt that clings to him with a beach pattern but not too loud. Nice smart shorts. A smile that would break a thousands hearts. You didn’t believe in love at first sight until that moment as your heart leaps out of your chest.

“Hi” he says, you don’t reply. Lost in his eyes. Lips parting. Frozen in time. You don’t know he’s having the same reaction. You need to remember to breathe. He notices the beer on the side, grabs it & swigs it. You notice his hand tremble. He’s nervous too.

“Hey that’s mine” you finally say going to grab the beer from him. He pulls is arm away.

“Really?” He gulps again”you sure about that”

“Yes” you say tentatively, a drop of water from the bottle drips onto your skin hissing. Steam coming off your skin, from this sensual introduction. Could the tension be any stronger?

“You want it?” You nod. “Then come claim it” & he all but downs the bottle.

“Hey that’s not fair”

“Life not fair”

“How am I…” you then see a few drops on his lips & you don’t ask for consent. He doesn’t look like he needed to give it either. Your lips lock, a man you had met 3 minutes ago you were making out with in an almost strangers kitchen. The way his tongue felt as it tangled with yours is intoxicating. How that luscious hair felt in your hands was like it was meant to be. Neither of you let go, feverishly enjoying this moment. He could have been anyone’s partner outside but clearly there was a spark between you & you had both felt it.

Crash!

The bottle he had been holding slipped from his grip smashing across the tiled floor.

“Shit” you both screech & you both start to pick up the glass, before mrs Flores bounces in.

“What the hell is…Ahhh darling” another over the top reaction. Once the glass is out of his hand she hugs him like everyone else before taking her flip flop off & she starts to hit him. “You are late, your always late my prince & now you smash bottles & not join our guests”

“Prince?” You ask confused

“Yes” mrs Flores says “this is my son, the teacher, the divorcee” you suddenly see the resemblance & are shocked you hadn’t noticed it. You stick your hand out & finally tell him your name, even thought you had been making out seconds ago. He looks you up & down once more & smirks.

“Hi im Ben! Most people know me as Mr Ben, deputy head at the high school 5 blocks away”

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exquisiteserotonin · 9 months ago

Text

Ternion

Word count: 3.3K

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ternion

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

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

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

“Hey Ben, what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

You gripped the steering wheel before announcing your decision.

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

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

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

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

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

Passable. You thought to yourself.

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

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

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

“Um…hello to you, too,” he greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were the chances?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Taste her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, tell me what she tastes like.”

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

“Like heaven.”

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

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait,” Professor Levy called out.

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

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

“Get on your knees and crawl.”

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

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crowandmousewritingco · 20 days ago

Text

🇹🇭🇪 🇲🇺🇸🇪🇺🇲 🇫🇪🇮🇱🇩🇹🇷🇮🇵

Paring: Mr. Ben x trans!reader

Words: 1.8k

Rating: R to P

Author: Mod Crow

Author's Note: This was originally a Kinktober prompt, but I couldn't get it finish it in time. Soooo instead, I present to you what I'm going to try to post all of my unfinished Kinktober fics, and I'm going to call them the "Post Nut November" fics. I'm aware the gif isn't Mr. Ben (let's use our imaginations gurlies) but there aren't many good gifs of that man out there. Besides, we know Mr. Ben wears glasses thanks to one of the sexy fancams that one of those students made.

Summary: What was supposed to be a normal field trip with your daughter’s class turns out to be anything but that. You end up talking to your daughter’s teacher -Mr. Ben- while on the bus ride to the museum. Once at the museum Mr. Ben drags you off to an “Employees Only’ area, and one thing leads to another.

Warnings: Language, sexual content (obviously lol), you do have a daughter in this (Dahlia), pet names (sir and puppy) MDNI 18+

When you had agreed to help your daughter -Dahlia’s- ninth grade history class with their Smithsonian trips, you had been expecting the constant screaming of kids and constantly telling them to stay close and to not touch anything. You even came prepared with your little travel first-aid kit (you could never be too prepared when it comes to kids.) What you didn’t take into account was their teacher. You thought you knew what you were agreeing to, but as the bus made its way to D.C. the two of you had a chance to get to know each other. What you didn’t plan was the thing the two of you were currently doing.

Slapping one hand over your mouth, attempts to muffle the unholy hymns of pleasure that want to leave through your kiss plumped lips. Looking down to Mr. Ben -or Ben as he kept insisting you call him- your eyes instantly finding his, the welcoming warm chocolate eyes replaced with pupils blown wide with want and need.

Gripping Ben’s hair tighter, you threw your head back as your hips took on a mind of their own. As you stood there, in some side hallway that extended past an ‘Employee Only’ sign, you could feel the coil in the pit of your stomach growing tighter and tighter. Your once rhythmic grinding soon becomes feverish, the silence you had tried so hard to preserve now filled with the wet sounds of Ben’s handwork and the soft pants as you need the edge.

“F-Fuck…Ben. I-I’m gonna…ahhh…I’m gonna cum. Please don’t stop.” Your voice came out as a pleading whine, and that seemed to spur him on. Without warning you felt the knot in your stomach snap, your legs -or rather leg- held Ben closer to you, as you came, a silent scream had your face in this contorted look of pleasure and surprise. Your grinding slowed as your high raked through your body, till you were nothing more than a shaky mess.

Feeling Ben pull away, you gasp slightly, the cool air of the museum hitting your sensitive cock. Swallowing dryly, you watch as Ben gives your cock one final long slow lick, the action earning him a few breathless whimpers. Standing up right you study him, the way his messy hair laid on top of his head, the way his facial hair comes in patchy and is colored almost as if with salt and pepper, but one of the many things you liked about Ben was his aquiline nose, and the way it was constantly bumping your cock while he was paying attention to your entrance.

With your brain still foggy from the orgasm, you turn to face the wall, hands bracing yourself for what was about to happen. Looking over your shoulder, you put on your best puppy face, “Mr. Ben sir,” You bite your lip, pressing your ass to the noticeable tent in his khakis. This time you were the one rewarded with beautiful sounds. Though they weren’t whimpers. They were the next best thing, groans and growl like sounds. “I need help with something. Do you think you can help me?” As the question fell from your lips you slowly grinded against him.

Feeling Ben grab your hips harshly caused a gasp to escape your lips, before pressing himself to you harder. Feeling him let go of you with one hand, you go to look to see what he has planned. The sound of a zipper giving it away. It didn’t take long before you felt the head of Ben’s cock rubbing your own before sliding his length to your needy hole.

“I think I can actually help you with that. The real question is,” Feeling his clothed chest press into your back, his hushed tone causing goosebumps to erupt over your skin, “Do you think you can stay quiet? I’d hate for us to get found.” Feeling heat spreads across your face and your brain begins to swim, all you can do is nod.

“Tsk tsk tsk, you were using your words earlier. What happened to that pretty voice of yours now?” Trying to process the question just presented to you, you push yourself off the wall slightly. Looking over your shoulder, a quizzical look on your face, you saw Ben’s. A smirk, one that spelled trouble for you. Before you had a chance to ask him anything, you felt him bury himself in you in one fluid snap of the hips. The action causes your jaw to go lax as a silent scream is forced out of your body.

As Ben continued to fuck you up against the wall, he was quick to wrap his warm lithe fingers around your neck. As a sound behinds to bubble from your chest, Ben squeezes just hard enough that it causes you to hiccup in the middle of your exhale. The smirk on Ben’s face growing more playfully, but you could still see his lust blown pupils. Loosening the squeeze just enough to feel the blood come flooding back to your brain, causing your brain to grow foggy and spacey. And unbeknownst to you, that feeling of your head floating and the rhythm and speed of Ben’s hips snapping into you, was enough to topple you over the edge.

“Oh you look so pretty cumming on my cock like that.” You feel the hand around your neck slide up your face just enough for his fingers to set over your lips. Without even needing to be told, you opened your mouth. Feeling his fingers slip into your mouth, you couldn’t help but run your tongue over Ben’s fingers. “Fuck…I’m gonna cum. Where do you want me to cum puppy?” You could feel Ben losing his rhythm, but the speed never changed once.

“Mouth.” The word being distorted by his fingers. It was obvious that Ben liked your idea based on the way his cock twitched inside of you. Pulling out, you can’t help but let the soft whimper leave you, at the emptiness. Your sorrow was short lived because in what felt like a blink of an eye, you felt Ben turn you to face him and then gently persuade you to your knees with a gentle push.

On your knees you look up to Ben as he strokes himself. Opening your mouth, you allow your tongue to lull out of your mouth; the simple action causing Ben to groan. As you close your eyes you feel Ben grab a handful of your hair before guiding his cock into your mouth. Moaning at the taste of yourself on him you reached and gently cupped his balls, taking him further into your mouth. Bobbing your head you can feel Ben twitch against your tongue, the feeling spurring you to relax your throat and swallow around him.

“F-Fuck, puppy I-I’m going to-” Ben’s words being cut off by a growl like groan vibrating his entire chest. You felt him grip a handful of your hair and hold you in place while he came -quite literally- down your throat. Squeezing your eyes shut, you focused on remaining relaxed so as to not start gagging around Ben. As Ben pulled out you couldn’t stop the one single gag that escaped. With his cock out of your mouth, you took sharp ragged breaths in. Tucking his cock back into his boxers, he makes quick work of fixing his pants. Squatting in front of you, Ben tucks a few strands of sweat slicked hair from your forehead. “You okay? I-I wasn’t too rough was I? I didn’t hurt you did I?” You could hear the worry lacing Ben’s words. Shaking your head, you reach up and plant a hand on his chest.

“You didn’t hurt me. I would have stopped if you did.” Your voice hoarse from its rough treatment. Your words helped soothe him only a bit. “I’ll be fine. Honest. All I need is some water and maybe a cough drop or two.” You nudged him playfully, earning a soft chuckle from the older man.

“Okay, I’ll believe you.” Standing up, Ben offered you a hand and you happily took it. Standing up, you felt Ben pull you into his chest almost instantly. The feeling of the tug causing you to gasp softly. “We should do this again, though let me take you to dinner first.” His words finished with a soft chuckle.

“Mr. Ben, are you asking one of your student’s parents on a date?” You playfully joke. You wiggle from his grasp so that you can redress your lower half.

“I most certainly am.” You can hear the playfully tone in his voice. “So what do you say? Is it a date?” Looking over at him, you can see a faint blush spread across his tanned face. Buttoning your pants, you reach up to his face. Holding his heated face in your hands, staring into his dark chocolate colored eyes through his black framed glasses, you smile softly.

“It’s a date.” Pulling his face to yours you press your lips to his gently. The kiss short lived at the sound of voices growing louder just before the door swung open.

“What did Margaret need for Koch’s Deep Time exhib-” The woman's voice stopping as soon as she looked at the two of you. “Excuse me, what are you doing back here? This is a restricted area.” The taller of the two women reaching for the microphone clipped to her folded collar.

“I told you that this wasn’t the way to the bathroom love.” Ben nudges you. For a moment you’re confused, but then it clicks.

“O-Oh! I told you I wasn’t any good at reading these maps babe.” You grab Ben’s hand and gently pull him along. You look at the two women. “Sorry about this, it was my mistake.” Walking past the two of them you push open the doors and step back into the loud main gallery of the museum. The voices substantially louder than they were only moments ago.

Looking around, you search for your daughter and her class among the swarms of people. When your eyes landed on the assistant teacher and the class, you sighed softly. With Ben’s hand still in yours, you snake the two of you between bodies. Once closer to the group you gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go of his hand.

“Dad, where were you? And why is Mr. Ben's face all red? AND why is staring over here at us?” You look down at your daughter before looking over to Mr. Ben who, in fact, is staring at you.

“I ran off to the bathroom and bumped into your teacher while going in.” Hearing the museum’s tour guide speak up you nudge your daughter -Dahlia- as a way to say ‘pay attention’. Your eyes slipping back to Ben, the words said earlier echoing in your head. “It’s a date”

credit: @inklore

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musings-of-a-rose · 2 years ago

Text

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:

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#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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ktwritesstuff · 2 years ago

Text

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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heartbreakgrill · 2 years ago

Text

dancing queen; pedro pascal.

a/n: i’m a whore, that’s all i can say. no warnings. set during snl.

"alright, people!" liz clapped her hands together, reigning the attention of the noisy theatre.

i pushed my glasses up my nose and shuffled through the scripts on my lap. i brought out the first one, stuck underneath a thick packet with information about next week's show.

liz moved down the stage, to her director's chair alongside the cameras in front. "i wanna run through the intro once more. and probably the la scene. then, i'm gonna let you off early tonight. you've all been fantastic this week. and we've a late night tomorrow. sound good?"

she was replied with a loud cheer from the cast and crew, filling up the stage and pit areas. everyone got into their places and the lights began to dim. i uncapped my highlighter, chewing on the end of it.

"and, action!"

the intro music of the show began playing. darrell hammond started reading the cast members off, ending with the musical guest, and our host;

"pedro pascal!"

my eyes followed the words on the script before me, but i lifted my gaze when his name was announced. the door behind the band opened, and he bounced out onto the stage.

the cast and crew clapped, and he responded like it was an actual audience- waving both his hands towards the audience. a giant grin overwhelmed his face, deepening the attractively placed wrinkles in his cheeks.

i pulled the highlighter from my mouth, lips parted slightly in admiration. he was really good looking.

"stop drooling."

i jumped in my seat, a light gasp sucked up in my chest, as heidi slid into the seat beside me. she chuckled lightly at my surprise.

"i'm not drooling," i rolled my eyes, hugging the thick binder to my chest. i set it back on my lap and reached down at to my feet for my bottle. "i was staring off into space."

"yeah, and i'm a martian," she scoffed.

i flickered my hand in her direction, and took a sip from my water bottle. "don't be ashamed. he's daddy."

i choked on the water streaming down my throat, face burning red as pedro stuttered across his words and stopped. liz sighed, "quiet in the audience, please."

i continued spluttering into my elbow, and heidi covered her mouth, laughing quietly as possible. pedro looked to the director and awaited his moment to continue his monologue. liz sighed again, turning slightly in her chair, "are you okay, y/n?"

pedro crossed his hands in front of him and followed her gaze my way. i know he couldn't see me because the lights were dimmed, but i blushed a bit. he looked concerned.

"fine, thanks!" i spoke, hoarsely. "sorry."

liz shook her head, "no worries."

pedro brushed a hand across his cheek. "i know my monologue is funny, but please don't die on my account."

the crew shared a laugh, before liz directed him to, "please, continue."

heidi patted my back gently. "he is soooo daddy."

"stop saying daddy and go get ready," i pulled my back away, dodging her touch.

she snorted before leaving me alone. i pressed my cold hands to my cheeks, hoping it would calm down the redness.

pedro, eventually, finished his monologue. i clapped, fervently, with the rest of the cast and crew. liz called out to everyone, again, and decided to release us for the evening.

i shoved all of my papers into my binder, clipped the highlighter onto the front, and pushed up off of my chair. heidi was on the stage, chatting with keenan, and i b-lined towards them.

my ears zoned in on their conversation, but my brain tuned them out, as i settled beside either of them. keenan interrupted himself, "hey, girlfriend."

i smiled up at him, "hi, keen. great job tonight."

he grinned at me. "its easy to do well when the sketches are so funny."

"aw, shucks!" i waved him off, smiling sweetly at the compliment. "no, seriously, though. must be something in the water this week. everyone's killing it."

heidi peered over my shoulder, a knowing smirk crossing her face, "i think it's partly pedro."

i turned my head and matched her gaze, "he is pretty funny." heidi shoved my shoulder lightly and my head snapped back around. "what?"

she licked her bottom lip, eyebrows flicking up at me. "you know what."

keenan looked between us with confusion, "i dont. what?"

"our sweet little y/n here," she wrapped an arm around my shoulders, "has the hots for mr. pascal."

keenan snickered, "well, duh. that's pretty obvious."

my face heated up. i clutched the binder tighter to me chest, as if i could disappear into its folds. "what!? what do you mean its obvious?"

keenan rose a brow at me, "uh- it’s obvious, honey. colin and i were making fun of you earlier when you were giving him his script. your face was so red.”

i banged my head against the binder, my chest fluttering. “oh, my god. that’s so embarrassing. do you think he noticed?”

heidi and keenan were laughing loudly at my flustering. keenan cleared his throat, but was still snickering slightly. “oh, i think he noticed. and i think he was into it.”

heidi gasped, excited at the idea, “yes! i saw him staring at her earlier, when she backstage helping liz with something. he was standing beside me on stage and we were talking about something, but he just trailed off!”

i lowered the binder and blew a raspberry through my lips. “you’re insane, heidi. that didn’t happen.”

keenan’s jaw dropped. “you know what this means?”

“what?” heidi leaned into him, bracing a hand in the air. “what does it mean?!”

he glanced to me, a twinkle in his eye. “we have to set them up!”

heidi made a screeching sound that caused me to cringe. i blushed; again. heidi grabbed my shoulders, shaking me about.

i pulled out of her clutches. “do not even think about it!” i interrupted both of them.

they ignored me, crowding each other as they started gossiping about it. they started off towards the dressing rooms and practically left me in the dust.

i threw my hands down in defeat and watched their backs retreat from view. after my hesitation, i began my way to where they probably were- heidi’s dressing room. as i turned the corner backstage, i heard pedro chatting away with someone up ahead. my mouth went dry and i quickly opened up my binder. i could pretend i was busy and wasn’t paying attention. i was so mysterious and hot and cool. i didn’t care about anything.

wrong.

pedro and colin were standing by the door to the lobby, where the elevators and stairs led away. colin glanced at me as i walked past. my hands shook slightly as i shuffled a paper around. i felt blood press against my skin.

as i fully passed them, i glanced up for just a second. pedro looked away from colin and met my eyes. he smiled cheerfully, waving a hand in my direction. my pupils blew out, and i pictured my eyes as hearts, like some animated caricature.

but, without even trying, a small smile painted my lips.

when i made it to heidi’s dressing room, i was practically gushy. my office was elsewhere, but i tended to hole up in her dressing room. i shared space with some interns, and they were usually annoyingly noisy.

i didn't mind their want to play music every time any of them were in the office. but they played weird shit, like, sometimes, the gummy bear song. heidi always let me play my music- and my music taste was impeccable.

keenan sat upon heidi’s couch, leaning forward as he listened intently to whatever heidi- sitting at her vanity- was rambling about. it sounded like they’d moved on from discussing me.

i slumped onto the couch beside keenan, dropping my binder on the floor. i picked up a throw pillow and stuffed my face in its embrace.

“ugh!” i yelped.

keenan and heidi trailed off. he pulled the corner of the pillow away from my face and my eye peeked out. “you good, girl?”

i shook my head and slouched against the couch, pillow in my lap. “you guys are right.”

heidi immediately broke out into a grin. “and what are we right about?”

i rolled my eyes with a deep, guttural sigh. “he’s so fucking hot.”

they shared a loud laugh, and i gave in, giggling along with them. keenan high-fived heidi. “i knew it! do we have permission to set you up?”

i shrugged. i blushed again, but i didn’t fight it. “honestly? please get me laid.”

heidi quickly stood from her spot. she went to her closet and dug around in a bag. i heard a glass clink and giggled. “is this an occasion deserving of the vodka?” keenan remarked.

heidi nodded excitedly, dropping back into her seat with a full bottle of liquor. she held three shot glasses in her other hand and carefully passed them out to us.

“we don’t have to be in until 3 tomorrow. it’s barely midnight. let’s party a little, yeah? celebrate the hopeful end of y/n’s dry period,” heidi uncapped the liquor as she spoke.

i scraped a nail against the tag on the shot glass. it was a nyc tourist gift, but it was special. we had bought it from times square my first night on the show. the liquor came from some bodega a few blocks away. it was our special sauce.

i guess pedro really was looking at me. damn. good for me.

heidi filled out glasses. we all clinked them together and let them slide down our throats. i crinkled my nose in disgust. plain liquor was nasty.

“another, please,” keenan sang, slamming the glass against the side of the vodka bottle.

thirty minutes later, we had done about half a dozen shots a person. i had shed my shoes a while ago, turned on some music through heidi’s little speaker. i knew others had stayed late, too, to study scenes or run over things for tomorrow. during the season, it was rare for the studio to be empty. so i kept the music at a reasonable volume as i began dancing to it.

heidi stood, trying to fill my shot glass. i jumped to the taylor swift song, the shot glass in my hand shooting up and down with me. i spun in a circle as i jumped and came face to face with heidi. she grinned at my happy exterior, warm from the liquor.

“can you stop for one sec?” she laughed.

i pouted, but settled on my heels. i bounced on the balls of my feet as she filled my glass, holding my hand steady. the song picked up again, and i swung my hips side to side, hitting every rhythm. when she finished, i quickly took it, set it down on the vanity, and spun in another circle.

“y/n,” keenan stood from the couch, holding out a hand. “turn it up!”

i glanced into the hallway, a little worried to disturb people. but, we never did this. we never let loose and had fun- me, specifically. we’d get brunch together, starbucks before rehearsal. we’d been to a few bars, but we never did shots and danced to loud music at work. it was fun. and after a hard week, it was deserved.

i reached over to the speaker and turned it up all the way. it’s not like we were going to get fired, anyways.

keenan and heidi joined me on the make-shift dance floor, doing their own, weird dance moves. a fleetwood mac song came on and i swear to god i went feral.

i cheered, pumped my fist in the air like a child, and began moving my body to the new beat. i was a decent dancer, i would admit that. i was always on beat, and though i made funny expressions, i was known for doing well at the club.

“i love this song!” heidi commented, jabbing her thumbs in either directions on each beat.

i laughed, running a hand through my hair. my eyes fell shut, my head slumped back, and i spun again, shaking my body around.

keenan reached out a hand again, and i took it, laughing as we danced together. he twirled me around, and i rubbed my butt against his side. i pulled away from him, pointed at heidi as the chorus came around again, and sang, “i wanna be with you everywhere!”

“damn, mama, get it!”

i swear to god, i burst into flames. we entered a parallel universe and the world exploded and i choked on my own throat and im dying. i’m dead. i died.

i stopped in my tracks, arms slack at my sides. i met heidi’s eyes, my own wider than possible, as my jaw hung open. she continued swaying side to side, but she was laughing very loudly. keenan snorted into his hand.

i turned, tucking my hair nervously behind my ears. pedro and colin stood outside of our door. the latter man was bent at the waist, laughter ringing throughout the hallway. i blushed, deeply, feeling red hot wash down my body, to the tips of my toes.

pedro was grinning at me, arms crossed, a rolled up script in his fist. i cracked a small smile, but i was incredibly embarrassed.

“what’re we drinking?” pedro asked, moving into the room. colin followed, popping onto the couch. pedro stood beside me, towering over my frame. he smelled like yumminess.

he looked down at me, grinning still. “cmon, don’t stop on our account. i wanna join in!”

it was probably the liquid courage in me, as i teetered on the edge of sober and a little drunk. but, i was happy because instead of being weird and nervous, i grabbed the vodka bottle from heidi and filled pedro a shot glass.

he held it between his fingers, watching as the vodka filled to the brim. we were standing very close to one another.

he looked up from the glass, meeting my eyes, and he flashed his teeth at me. i grinned, gooey eyed again.

i held the bottle to my chest when i finished filling his glass. he glanced to me again, “where’s yours? i can’t do one on my own.”

heidi handed me her shot glass. i knew the three of them were watching us intently, but it was thrilling- the undeniable tension in the room. i filled the glass.

i held it up to pedro, a silent cheers. he wrapped his arm around mine, maintaining direct eye contact. it tugged me forward a bit, and i wanted to sigh at the sweet touch of our skin. he kept his eyes on mine as we took the shots.

then, he took my glass from my hand and set the both of them on the vanity.

another song booted up; sex on fire by kings of leon. how perfect.

pedro held out his hand, tilting his head at me. i bit my lip, but took ahold of his palm. he wrapped his fingers around my hand, pulled me closer, and we started dancing.

heidi and keenan went back to it, and colin just watched, amused at our shenanigans. pedro and i moved in sync, jumping up and down, bouncing into one another, yelling the lyrics at the top of our lungs. during the chorus, he got real close to my face, looking me directly in the eye as he sang.

heidi remembered the strand of lights on her wall. she gasped, ran over to turn the lights off. we all cheered at the dimly lit room, feeling more like we were all at a club and not at work.

eventually, as the song changed to wet desk by wet leg, he pulled his touch lower on my arm, over the cap of my shoulder, straight down my side and to my hip. his fingers wrapped around my hip, and he tugged my closer. my back hit his chest, and our steps molded together, like we were attached by our hips. my hand was in the air, but it attached itself to the nape of his neck. i slid them through his fingers. his skin was warm.

i saw heidi out of the corner of my eye. her jaw fell open, her pupils wide. she stopped dancing, and slapped a hand on keenan’s shoulder. he was turned away, but slowly danced until he was facing us. i watched him register pedro and i. it was a silly expression that crossed his face.

pedro’s chin pressed against my neck. goosebumps tickled my skin.

his lips brushed against the bottom of my ear, “damn, mama.”

yeah, i was definitely dead.

—

it was 11:30. the band was playing the opening music, loud and clear in my headset. i sat in front of the stage, on a wooden chair with the black fabric back and butt. it didn’t have my name on it, just head writer in bold, white letters. i always felt fancy in it.

i adjusted my head set, pushed my glasses further up my nose. liz, sat beside me in her own chair, glanced at me as i shuffled. she smiled encouragingly.

darrell announced the cast members, like yesterday. the audience clapped, cheering as the red sing above our heads encouraged them to do. i shuffled some papers, and pulled out pedro’s monologue.

his name was announced and he ran out of the doors. i hadn’t seen him since yesterday, and i couldn’t lie- i was a little nervous. something between us, whatever it was, had been validated by last night’s dancing. it was up to someone to break that tension.

it sure as hell wasn’t going to be me.

i looked up from my binder, and i swear drool pooled in my mouth. he was wearing this purple shirt, long sleeved with a little ribbon hanging off of it. the color complimented his skin, his hair, so well. he was ten feet away, but i swear it brought out the gold in his brown eyes.

my eyes raked up his body, taking in his appearance. i felt liz nudge my arm and i glanced at her. she was grinning, “stop staring.”

i rolled my eyes. okay, so it was that obvious. i flicked her arm. she chuckled into her hand, attempting to be quiet.

pedro went on with his monologue, delivering it beautifully. by the end, the audience was crying with laughter. i let out a few giggles here and there, but i tried to maintain my composure. as he finished, pedro thanked the cast and crew for working with him this week. he turned his head towards either side of the stage, nodding at everybody. then, he dragged his eyes across the front of the stage, where liz and i sat. he waved at her, and when he met my stare, he dropped a wink.

i literally fangirled.

through the rest of the show, i was extremely antsy to see heidi and keenan and tell them what happened. finally, at around 1am, the credits rolled and the cameras shut off. i raced backstage, sliding my headset off of my ears and around my neck.

heidi was backstage, removing a wig from her head, when i practically tackled her. she flinched as i grabbed her shoulders, shaking them.

“oh, my god,” i groaned, hitting my head off her shoulder.

she laughed at my antics and pushed me off of her. “what?! what happened?!”

i stepped back, apologized to the hair dresser. i brushed down the wrinkles in my shirt, unable to hide the grin on my face. “he winked at me,” i held out my hands, as if delivering the news to her literally.

heidi’s head dropped back. she squealed, shaking her closed fists excitedly. “this is literally movie,” she looked back up at me. “you’re in a rom com.”

i giggled, “god, i hope so. listen, when are you and keenan going to, like..talk to him?”

it felt like we were in middle school, but i couldn’t care at this point. he wanted me.

god, life was so good.

“we already did,” heidi shrugged.

i gasped, covering my mouth with the palm of my hand. “what?”

she tapped my forearm, willing me to peel away my shock. “don’t freak out. it was before the show. we were just hanging around backstage.”

a dramatically long pause rolled between us. i popped my chin forward, brows raising up in my forehead. “uh…and?” i pushed her on.

heidi snickered, and stopped teasing me, “okay, he’s really into you, girl. we were just chatting about last night. and he brought you up. we didn’t even say anything. he asked if you were single, and we obviously said yes. he asked if we knew if you’d been like, looking for anything. and i practically screamed in his face. so, i think he’s probably going to be asking you out.”

i closed my eyes and took a deep breath. “what did i do to deserve such a wonderful fucking thing? thank you universe, thank you joe biden. just thank you, world, for such a blessing. i will not let you down.”

heidi snickered at my sarcasm. she stood after the hairdresser lifted the wig from her head. “honestly,” she thought for a moment, “god find him. go manifest that shit.”

i tapped my chin. “you think?”

“yes,” she waved me off, “he’s daddy, but i think he’s into, like, a power struggle. oh, you better tell me if i’m right or wrong whenever y’all…”

she made a suggestive face. i shoved her shoulder. i could only put up with so much.

i turned towards the stage, where pedro was standing with liz, chatting away excitedly. i looked back over my shoulder, at heidi. she flicked her brows at me. i took a confident step forward, and nearly stopped, but heidi pushed my lower back gently.

i approached liz and pedro slowly, fingers fumbling with one another in front of me. liz saw me over pedro’s shoulder and cut herself off. she patted his shoulder, murmured some kind of goodbye, and walked past me. she winked.

pedro turned in my direction, once he noticed i was there. he grinned brightly, “hey, mama.”

i melted into the floor. a smile grew on my expression. i was nervous, but none of that mattered when he looked at me like that. “hey. great job out there.”

“hey, the script was great,” he corrected me. “you’re seriously talented at writing. and, you know, dancing.”

i blushed and looked down at my shoes. “jeez, thanks.”

pedro chuckled lightly. “last night was fun.”

i looked back up at him, meeting his golden-brown eyes. they were very…nice.

“yeah.” i braced myself with confidence thoughts, squaring my shoulders and standing a little taller, “we should do it again sometime.”

pedro’s chin tilted, a knowing look crossing his gaze. “you know, i’m back in new york for the time being. my schedule’s open.”

“then it’s a date.”

we went dancing.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #snl 48 #snl #pedro #pascal #here you go whores

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mellowsaturns · 2 years ago

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now we got a reason

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

summary: turns out, hiding your feelings is harder than you thought

warnings: fluff, hidden relationship, workplace romance, kissing, teasing, suggestive content but nothing too explicit, all the feels, pet names, it’s kinda cheesy i’m sorry, fem!reader

wc: 1.1k

part one but can be read as a stand-alone

a/n: it’s mr. ben’s world and we’re just living in it

— — —

It’s during those extra minutes in class where one of your students decides to take one for the team and ask you.

“How come Mr. Ben doesn’t visit you anymore?” one student calls out instead of doing their class work.

Here we go again.

Sighing, you place your pen down. “Is there a reason he should be visiting me?”

“Well… He always does,” another student adds.

“And he hasn’t for a while now,” pipes in another.

God. You loved your homeroom students, you really did, but if only they would focus on their education as much as they do with your love life.

“Whether he visits me or not is none of your business,” you answer with a bit of an edge.

That gets your entire class perked up, and suddenly, everyone’s whispering and murmuring among themselves. And you know exactly what they are talking about with words like ‘Break Up?’ ‘Fight’ and ‘Misunderstanding’ being thrown around.

You just simply look down and ignore them and your feelings.

“Did something happen between the two of you?” a brave soul asks.

“Frankie,” you say sternly. “Focus on your work.”

It’s lunchtime when you’re making your way down the empty hall for a department meeting. You never make it to your destination because someone pulls you into an empty classroom.

You let out a small yelp when your back hits the door, locking you inside. The panic never comes because you know just who it is.

Looking up, you're met with a pair of beautiful brown doe eyes.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he says with a charming smile.

Ever since he made that Daddy and Mommy joke and you teasing him that he needed to put a ring on your finger first—he had asked you out on a date.

Then another. And another.

It didn’t take long for him to officially ask you to be his girlfriend—a home cooked meal at his house with a lit candle and everything.

After that, he couldn’t get enough of you.

He’s caging you with one arm propped up onto the door as a way to impress you and you had to stifle your laughter at his enduring shamelessness.

“Hey,” you whisper back.

He grabs one of your hands and rubs gentle circles on the delicate skin. “I missed you,” he murmurs.

“You missed me?”

He hums. “Of course I did.”

You let out a small chuckle. “You saw me this morning.”

“I know,” he says with a small pout, “but I usually see you more than that.”

Ever since the two of you made it official, you had suggested that he stop coming by your classroom so often to reduce the chances of getting caught. And he had consciously agreed because he had no control when it came to you—he would’ve accidentally kissed you in front of the whole class, he had said himself.

It’s not like there were strict forbidden rules about teachers getting together, but just to play it safe, the two of you agreed to keep it on the low for the meantime.

But he just couldn’t keep his hands to himself, it seems. Because while he can’t go to see you in your classroom, he’s always pulling you into empty rooms for a quick stolen kiss.

“It’s hard for me too,” you confess, intertwining your fingers with his. “They ask me about you all the time and I have to act as if we had a fight or something.”

It was the hardest thing in the world because you’re so lovestruck that the mere mention of his name results in an automatic smile.

But you had to keep the act up—just until the two of you figure out how to tell your colleagues and most importantly, your boss.

He brings you into a hug. “I know, baby. I know.”

“You know this is highly inappropriate, right?” you say into his chest.

He smirks. “You never complained before.”

You pull away. “Yeah but this time you led me into a classroom with the lights off,” you chime. “Are you suggesting something?”

He lowers his head, just enough that his lips brush past your ear. “You know better than to tease me, honey,” he says, voice so thick and guttural that you had to shut your eyes to stabilize yourself.

He may look reserved and modest, but he was anything but that, especially when the two of you were alone.

Pulling back, he smirks at your reaction. Then, the next thing you know, his plush lips were on yours.

No matter how many times the two of you do this, the first touch always ignites a spark.

And for Ben, he would never get over this feeling, one that he longed for ever since you transferred to this school.

And because he always loses himself with you, his lips are now on your neck—gentle, yet eager from all those years of pining.

You helplessly let yourself melt into his touches for a minute before gently pushing him away. “Not here,” you whisper.

He nods, always thinking about you and putting you first.

(It didn’t matter anyways, he’s staying over at your place this weekend, there will be plenty of time. It doesn’t need to be said.)

You hum and pull onto his tie. “I see you’re wearing the one I bought you.”

The blue one with little planets on it because it was so him.

He looks down and a grin spreads across his face. “Of course I’m wearing it. It’s all I’ll ever wear from now on.”

He gives you a peck on the tip of your nose. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before the other teachers think you got kidnapped or something,” he says referring to your meeting. One where you’re probably very late for.

Exiting the classroom, he quietly shuts the door while you giggle at him, both of you acting like guilty school children.

When you turn around, the two of you are stunned—like deers caught in headlights.

Because one of your students is in the hallway. And they’re staring at the two of you.

You look back at Ben and your eyes widen even further because when did his hair get that disheveled?

“Uh…” you start, voice in a panic, “This isn't what it looks like. Really.”

But the poor soul just looks at you. Then, something unexpected happens. “Wait. So you two aren’t in your divorced eras?” they say happily.

You and Ben look at each other with confusion. Divorced—What?

“What does that even mea—”

But Ben doesn't even get a chance to finish his question because they’re already off in a rush, pulling out their phone and typing something with a sneaky grin on their face.

The two of you take a deep breath. “Oh god,” you mutter.

This was definitely going to get addressed at the Assembly next week.

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

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oscarisaacsspit · 2 years ago

Text

real (x)

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talaok · 1 year ago

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hi bestie, I've been thinking about your incredible writing and I thought of something, if it's okay for you, it would be an interesting fic, thank you very much for the dedication and love you put into your works, they are perfect.

We always see fic scenarios out there where Pedro is insecure about the age difference, exposure and privacy, but what about a totally different scenario where Pedro tries to convince the reader that none of that really matters because they are in love? and that they will be able to get through this? (In this case, I don't think the reader would have a problem with the age gap, but she would like to have a "normal" relationship and not one where they can't hold hands, kiss or be seen together because of the paparazzi...

Pairing: Pedro Pascal x reader

warnings: angst

a/n: thank you soso much love💖, and im sorry if this isn't exactly what you had pictured

it's stupid how you got here.

How you ended up sobbing on the couch as your boyfriend tried to understand what was going on.

It was just a stupid couple, a stupid couple kissing on the subway... in public.

And all you could think about as you came home was how unfair it was, that you and Pedro couldn't do that, that you had to hide your relationship in the confines of your apartment, that you couldn't kiss, hold hands, or hug him in the street like you longed for.

it made you think, but it also did something else, it made you realize.

It made you realize just how tired you were, just how exhausting having to pretend like you didn't love someone more than life was, and to have to watch that person, the man who's the object of said love, pretend the same thing.

It was exhausting, and you were exhausted, and as much as you loved him, you'd started to realize that maybe you couldn't, that maybe it just wasn't meant to be.

"sweetheart..." he murmured, softly caressing your right arm, as you hid your face in your own hands "What are you saying?"

You'd only half explained yourself before the tears started, so he hadn't understood completely, he had gotten a part- and he didn't like what he got, it was destroying him actually, but he still had hope... maybe he had simply misinterpreted it all.

"I-I'm saying" you sniffled, peeking up at him, "I'm saying that I don't know if I can do this anymore"

"What?" he breathed, his heart breaking into a million pieces with a simple sentence "Y-you can't do what?" he asked

Hope, hope, he needed to have hope.

This couldn't be it.

No, not like this, not now- fuck, not ever.

"this- us" you explained, tears falling from your eyes without a break "The hiding, the secrecy, not being able to kiss you whenever I want to, I-"

No.

He couldn't give up

"then let's tell everyone!" he begged, taking your hands in his, ignoring the void in his stomach, the sickness in his throat "we-we can do that, we could just-"

"you know I can't" you stopped him "My career is still at the beginning, if this got out it would destroy my image, they'd start saying that I'm with you for the fame and then no one would hire me anymore"

"but you're not" he murmured "You're not like that"

"I know" you shrugged "but how would they?"

"I-I'll tell them" He spoke, trying to sound more confident than he felt "I'll tell everyone how much I love you, how important you are for me, how amazing you are, I'll-"

it was your turn to beg now

"stop" a sob crept up your throat "stop, I just- I can't"

"Sugar, please" he whispered "I love you" he promised " I love you so fucking much, and I can't lose you- not like this, I just can't"

Your eyes were focused on where your hands were intertwining, not able to meet his gaze.

Guilt was eating at you from within, filling up your lungs with smoke until you couldn't breathe.

"I know you do" you spoke, your voice a faint thread "And I love you too, but that's not what this is about, it's about how exhausting this is- I mean, don't you feel it too, aren't you tired too?"

Your eyes were melting with his now

"yeah I am" he nodded "but if it's what I need to do to be with you, then I gladly do it. I'd do anything for you sweetheart- I'd jump off a bridge if you asked me to"

A soft, silly smile pulled unconsciously at your lips.

And he saw it as a victory, a small one, but still something, a crack he'd created.

"Please sugar" he squeezed your hands "Please don't do this, I'm begging you."

"I love you. I love you more than anything, more than myself, more than life itself, so please, for the love of god, don't do this"

"Baby I-"

"Please-" his eyes were shimmering "we'll get through this, we'll find a way"

"what way?"

"I-I don't know yet" he admitted, his voice lower "but what I do know it's that I can't lose you, not over something like this, and that I'm gonna work my ass off to find a solution"

"yeah?" a snort bubbled from your nose

"yeah" he smiled, leaning closer so his hot breath was fanning over your mouth "So what do you say," he asked, "you trust me?"

And at that, you couldn't help but smile

"I do," you said "I trust you"

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