#pedro pascal snl pedro pascal x reader

[musings-of-a-rose]

Love at the Top

Pairing: Teacher Ben x f! Teacher reader

Word Count: 3200+

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: This was an ask that was pm to me from @fishingforpike and I couldn't pass! I hope it's what you want (and if you want a smutty part 2 I may be down for writing that)

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

Main Masterlist 

Teacher Ben Masterlist

Love at the Top Part 2

Graduating wasn't easy. Interviewing for my first big job was harder. But the hardest so far is this. Teaching high school English fresh out of college - and I know no one at this school. 

I moved to a new city right after graduation after accepting the English teaching position so not only was it my first real degree job, but it was in a new city with a whole new culture. And I was teaching high school. Which shouldn't be an issue because I'm 24 which means I can still relate to the youth of today, right? 

I hope so.

I completed all of the new hire orientation at the district building. Today I finally get to see my classroom and start setting up while navigating all of the back to school meetings and having everyone point out "the new teacher". I hope there aren't any ice breaker games. 

"Welcome back everyone!" The principal starts the all staff meeting with a typical speel of announcements. 

"Before we continue, let's do some ice breakers to get us into that back to school spirit!" 

Damn. 

He starts to pair us up, trying to match people outside of what they teach. 

"And Ben, you'll be with the new English teacher." He gestures between me and a man I've not met yet. 

Ben turns to face me and my stomach jumps into my throat. He is gorgeous. All dark eyes and graying dark hair, button up shirt tucked into his dress slacks with a tie that says "Science ROCKS!" on it with pictures of rocks all over it. He has black framed glasses which he's taken off his face to fiddle with nervously as he stands, walking to me. 

"H-hi. I'm Ben." He holds his hand out and I shake it, noticing that his palms were slightly sweaty. 

I tell him my name. "Nice to meet you."

We get through the ice breaker game and I find myself crushing hard on Ben with his shirt tucked into his pants. 

The meeting resumes and everyone goes back to their seats. I find myself stealing glances at Ben across the room and I swear I catch his eyes a few times but there's no way he's looking at me, right? 

The meeting ends and I gather up my things, trying to remember how to get to my room from here when I feel someone walk up to me. Turning, I see Ben, shifting nervously from foot to foot. He leans in and speaks quietly to me. 

"Need help getting back to your room?"

"How did you know?"

He smiles and now I know I'm in trouble. "Happens for all of us. What's your room number?"

"Uh…" I check my paper. "148-B." 

"Oh that's not far from me. I'll take you there.. if…if you'd like?"

"I'd love that, thank you."

Ben escorts me to my room and looks around at the bare walls and boxes stacked everywhere.

"You have some work ahead of you."

I sigh. "Oh yeah. I haven't had a moment to unpack anything." 

"Do you want some help?"

"Oh. Um.. I don't think so." Really I'd have him stay but this is my first room and I'd like to set that up myself. 

He smiles but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Ok. Well if you change your mind, I'm in 140-A. Just at the end of the hall." 

"Thanks."

"You're welcome."

We stand there for several awkward moments before he gives me a little wave and heads out the door. What the fuck was that? I can't have a crush on a coworker already. 

I start to unpack, the room slowly coming together. I find myself thinking about Ben and when I can't take it anymore, I decide to set aside some posters that I'll say I need help with. 

I head down to his room and take a breath, gently knocking on the door.

"Come in."

I push open the door and have to pause - his room is heavily decorated, earth science posters plaster the walls, stacks of books around the edges, bins and bins of rocks are everywhere. It feels like organized chaos and I love it. Wait, is that a lightsaber in the corner? 

"Oh hey. How's the room coming?" 

"It's..nowhere near as cool as yours."

Is he blushing? "I - my room's a mess. Especially compared to yours I'm sure."

"I think it's wonderful."

"Th-thanks."

A few moments pass before I work up the courage to ask. 

"I- could you help me hang a few things? I just don't want to fall off a chair."

"Y-yeah. Of course!" He walks towards me.

I point to the corner. "Is that a lightsaber?"

Now I know he's blushing. "I uh… yeah." He sounds embarrassed. 

"I have Ashoka's. What color is yours?"

His eyes snap to mine, a light igniting behind them. "Green. You have a lightsaber too?" 

"2, technically. I'd love to get my own at Disney one day."

He smiles wide. "Oh it's a great experience! That's where I got that one from. So you're a Star Wars fan then?"

I nod. "Absolutely."

"Are you old enough to see them in theaters?"

I laugh. "Well not the original ones, but yeah. I was little and they were re-releases but that's when I fell in love. They were my first movies in theaters."

We chat about Star Wars all the way back to my room and while he puts up the posters I could've easily hung myself. Once he finishes, he turns to me, dropping his voice quieter than normal. 

"Ok, want the real low down on the school?"

"Ooo yes!"

He chuckles. "Ok my young Padawan." He launches into a mini Ted talk about the best bathrooms, which stairs cases to avoid, the sticky elevator, which lunch lady will sneak you extra food, although I have a sneaking suspicion that applies to Ben only. 

"Thank you so much, Ben! What would I have done without you?"

He waves a hand. "I'm sure you would've been fine."

"Can I buy you lunch tomorrow?"

He starts coughing violently but waves me off when I move to help him. "What?"

"As a thank you. Can I buy you lunch?"

"Oh really you don't have to."

"Of course I don't. But I want to. What are the good spots?"

"You don't want to go to lunch with an old man like me."

I blow a raspberry at him. "Please. You aren't old."

"I'm 47. And you're what, 20?"

"24. And stop acting like you're 120. You're only 47."

"It's a 23 year difference."

"So you've done the math between us?"

What did I just say?

He blushes hard, hands not sure whether they want to settle on his hips or cross his broad chest. "N-no. I mean it's simple math."

I nod, trying to hide my own embarrassment. "It is. But it's not bad. We get along just fine, don't we?"

He opens and closes his mouth a few times. "I-yeah but…wouldn't your boyfriend mind?"

Is he fishing? 

"It's a thank you lunch so it wouldn't matter even if I had a boyfriend. Or a girlfriend."

He says nothing, studying me. "A simple thank you is just fine, Padawan."

"No matter how much I insist, you're going to turn me down aren't you?" 

He nods. "Afraid so."

"Suit yourself. I was going to see if we could catch the early bird special."

He puts his hand on his chest in mock shock. "Is that an old person joke?"

"It would be if you were old."

—----

That first week back for teachers flies by, mostly thanks to Ben. He's helped me decorate and setup nearly my entire room, helping me with every vision I had as "It's your first classroom so you decorate it how you want." 

Then it's time for students. 

Ben comes in early that first day and drops by my room, quietly handing me a cup of coffee he'd brought me from a local coffee shop, telling me I'll be brilliant on my first day after seeing the nerves in my eyes. 

"You've learned so much, Padawan. They'll love you. Just don't show them any weakness and you'll be good."

"What?"

He waves, giving me a smirk as he heads back through the door. "You'll be great!"

Somehow I make it to lunch without vomiting. The kids were actually not too bad so far. And I get to see Ben at lunch. 

He's saved me a seat, sliding me a peanut butter cup when I sit across from him in the teacher's lounge. 

"How did you know I needed this?" I ask him, eagerly peeling back the paper and stuffing the entire cup into my mouth. 

He smiles. "I just had a feeling."

—----

We settle into a routine, spending our lunch time chatting about anything and everything, popping into each other's classrooms with some random excuse to just say hi, students or not.

A  couple months later, one of my students approaches me, handing me her class work as I take a sip of water.

"Miss, are you dating Mr. Ben?"

I choke on my water, throwing my hands in the air. "I-what?"

She's smiling at me. "You're dating aren't you?"

"Uh… no we aren't. We're just good friends."

"Uh huh."

"Why would you ask that?"

"You're just always with each other. I thought you were together."

I bring this up to Ben when I drop by his room during planning period. He blushes furiously, red creeping up his cheeks as he removes his glasses to wipe at them nervously. 

"What, uh what did you tell her?"

"That we weren't dating. Just good friends."

He nods, his eyes looking a little sad. "I can't believe they'd think you'd date an old fart like me."

I laugh. "You're not that old, how many times do I have to tell you that?"

"You're closer to them in age than to me."

He's not wrong. 

"That's just numbers. Besides, none of them have those little gray hairs in their hair."

His fingers come up to run at his hair. "Is there something wrong with it?"

"Not at all. Trust me, it works."

His eyes meet mine and they shift ever so slightly down to my lips before flicking back up. He opens his mouth to say something bit then the bell rings, extinguishing any sort of spark we felt in that moment. 

—-----

The State Fair comes to town and it's all the students can talk about. Apparently it's a big thing here and so, I decide not to give them homework and even push back their planned test, which earns me a class full of whoops and hollers every period. 

At lunch, I mention this to Ben who chuckles and says I may have surpassed him as favorite teacher now. 

"Oh please, all the kids love you."

He chuckles and shakes his head. "I have no clue why."

"Really? You're a fantastic teacher and really take the time to get on their level so they understand the subject."

He stares at me. "You- you think?"

"I love watching you teach. It's obvious you care and the kids can pick up on that."

He blushes, red dusting his cheeks as he turns to his sandwich, mumbling a "thanks".

"So this state fair is a big thing?"

He nods, swallowing the bite of sandwich. "Huge. It's not small either, has concerts and livestock shows, typical fair food and rides, and a bunch of other stuff."

"Sounds fun. I've never been to a fair."

He chokes and I jump, moving around the table to thump him on the back. 

"Y-you've never b-been to a fair before?"

I shake my head. "Nope. Parents didn't want to pay for it."

"Well you have to go then!"

"By myself?"

"Fairs aren't fun alone. I'll take you."

Silence stretches between us as his eyes grow wide when he realizes what he said. 

"I mean as friends, of course."

I smile, letting it not reach my eyes. "Of course."

"I uh… I'll pick you up Saturday morning?"

"Sounds perfect."

—----

I swear I've tried on everything I own and I can't settle on something to wear. It's not like it's a date, but it feels like something… more. I don't know how to explain it but I know I want to wear non school work clothes. 

I finally settle on a sundress, pale green with embroidered flowers and vines running across it and pair it with some short boots, not wanting to walk across dirt in sandals. 

The knock at my door comes promptly at 11am, exactly when he said he'd pick me up. I grab my bag and open the door, smiling wide at his choice of black slacks and a light blue top that somehow brings out his eyes. I've never seen this man in a color that he can't pull off. 

"HI Ben! Wait…does your bow tie have little Earths on it?"

He smiles nervously, fingers twisting his bow tie. "Yeah it does! Do you like it?"

"I do!"

His smile is brighter, but then his eyes rake down my body and something shifts in him, his eyes becoming darker.

"Y-you look…"

"Oh. Is this not fair appropriate? I can change-"

"No! I mean, no. It's perfect. You're perfect."

"What?"

"I uh said come on let's go."

—----

He wasn't kidding - this fair is huge. 

He insists on paying, buying parking and my entrance ticket, helping me decide which fair foods to try as I'd never had any of them. We hit up the petting zoo, a livestock show that one of our mutual students was competing in, and looked at all of the vendors, some selling some really unique things. 

Then it was time for rides. 

We went on several different ones before I needed a break, noticing the relief on Ben's face when I insisted we rest. The sun was starting to set, so Ben said we should rest on the ferris wheel. 

"You have to catch the sunset from the ferris wheel," he insists. 

I don't have the heart to tell him I'm not a huge fan of heights. 

We get in the cart and pull the bar down and I think I'm doing OK…until we move. The second we start to ascend, my hand flies out and I grip Ben's thigh, trying to basically insert myself into his lap. 

"Are you ok?" He asks as we continue to climb, cart stopping every few feet to let someone else in. 

"I… I'm g-good."

"You're gripping my thigh."

I try to let go but I can't. "Ok… I'm terrified of heights."

We make it to the top and the wheel starts to move slowly around and I think I'm going to lose it. 

Ben hesitantly puts his arm around my shoulder, pulling me into his side. He squeezes me slightly, adding just enough pressure to calm me. His other hand lays on top of mine, which is still gripping his thigh. He manages to slide his fingers around mine, the warmth from his hand grounding me in the moment. He rubs his thumb along the back of my hand, trying to comfort me. We stay like that through 2 rotations of the wheel before it stops, us at the top. 

"Why is it s-stopped?"

"It's to take in the view. But you don't have to."

I nod. "I think I'm doing b-better." 

"Can I ask you something?"

"You just did."

He chuckles sarcastically. "Ha-ha. But seriously, why did you agree to the ferris wheel if you're not a fan of heights?"

The cart rocks and I squeeze him harder, unable to think clearly. "To be with you."

He stiffens. "To..what?"

The cart sways again and my grip tightens. 

"I want to see the sunset."

He rubs his hand up and down my arm. "You don't have to." 

"No. I want to."

I take a deep breath and open my eyes, immediately starting to breathe faster as my eyes take in the height. 

"Hey, padawan, look at me."

My terror filled eyes find his, soft and warm and comforting, and I find myself relaxing, getting lost in those brown eyes I love so much. His hand comes up to tuck some hair behind my ear and his fingers brush my cheek. 

I sigh, the tension leaving my body the longer we stay like that. His eyes flick down to my lips and linger for a few seconds before meeting my eyes again. 

I take my hand from his and place it on his chest, gently, hesitantly, gripping his shirt and tugging slightly on it to pull him toward me. He acquiesces, slowly lowering his head to mine, but then he pauses, lips an inch from mine. 

"I'm 47."

"I don't care."

I tug him ever so slightly again and a moment later, he pushes his lips to mine, mustache tickling me as he kisses me. It's gentle, restrained, as if he can't believe he's kissing me. He pulls back, dark eyes finding mine, wide and asking if that was ok. 

I slide my hand up to his cheek, rubbing my thumb over his patchy stubble before sliding it behind his head, pulling him down to me, deepening the kiss the second our lips meet. I feel his hand come up to cradle the back of my head and he sighs into me, pulling me as close as he can, a slight moan in the back of his throat. 

He pulls back, but stays close, eyes meeting mine. 

"Are…are you sure? I'm such an old man."

"I really like you, Ben. Like a lot. But I don't want to make you uncomfortable-"

"I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

My finger traces a pattern on his cheek and he closes his eyes briefly before finding mine again. 

"You could never make me uncomfortable. You're the only person I've ever felt like I could be myself with."

Oh God, his eyes are like a puppies' and I don't know what to do.

"Really?"

"Really."

"Would it be bad of me to make out with you before the first date?"

I mock thinking, finger poking at my chin. "I'll allow it."

"Oh thank God."

His lips pressed to mine and the kiss is more frantic, deeper, more emotion behind it than before. Like he's relaxing and allowing himself this chance at happiness. 

I clutch him to me, my leg sliding over his as I try to slide into his lap, forgetting about the lap bar. And the fact we're in public. Ben chuckles, placing his hand hesitantly on my bare thigh.

"Not here, sweet girl. Too many eyes. And I want you all for myself."

-------

Love at the Top Part 2

General Taglist:

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

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

[oscarisaacsspit]

i’ll be like “need him so bad it makes me stupid” and it’s this guy:

#yeah <3 #what can i say #pedro pascal #pedro pascal snl #snl #this bit was so fucking good #joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #tlou #the last of us #javier peña #javier peña x reader #javier peña fluff #javier peña smut #oberyn martell #oberyn martel x reader #the mandolorian #din djarin #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #din djarin x reader #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #pedro hrs #miss mitten posts

[talaok]

Heyy, first, I'd like to say that I really love your writing, keep it up!

And I'd like to make a request, I know we all went crazy over Pedro on SNL (he looked so handsome!!!), and I would love to read a Pedro x Reader behind the scenes of the show, her watching, supporting, and being proud of Pedro, and then the two of them going out together to the SNL after party, dancing, kissing, enjoying each other's company, very fluffy, and a bit of smut at the end?

Pairing: Pedro pascal x f!reader

warnings: very very faint allusion to smut

a/n: he did look handsome and thank you so much love <3 (and yes this ask skipped the line bc as always it wouldn't have made sense for me to post it in two weeks)

It was incredible how nervous he was. He'd done this already, and yet he was acting like a kid like at his first recital.

"you're gonna do amazing baby" you promised, standing on your toes to kiss his cheek "Now go out there and have fun"

His eyes anxiously danced around your face

"my heart's beating so fast" he huffed a laugh

"I know" you smiled, stoking his cheek "but remember, you have nothing to be scared of, you've done this already, and you were amazing at it, so just relax"

"ok" he took a breathy sigh "yeah, you're right. I can do this"

"that's it" you grinned, but before you could say anything more he was kissing you like it was the last time he ever could.

"Pedro?" his assistant's voice brought you back to reality "It's time"

You smiled as he leaned away.

"I love you" he promised, the honesty of that statement shining through his eyes

"I love you too baby" you murmured "Now go!" you said, giving him a playful push "Break a leg!"

__ __ __

As you already knew, everything went perfectly smoothly, he and Bad Bunny were an amazing duo, and you could just see how well they got on even with the cameras off.

The monologue was perfect, and you didn't miss any opportunity to cheer and laugh every time you could, but as much as you'd loved it... nothing could top the Ms. Flores sketch.

You loved it last time, and you loved it this time too.

Even just seeing him in the costume made you laugh (you had filled your camera roll with photos of him) but then combined with the actual sketch... it was just perfection.

You almost didn't want him to change, you kind of liked the constant teasing of calling him mama and telling him just how sexy he was, but unfortunately, he did change.

Imagine what a look that must have been for the afterparty instead of that old shirt he wore everywhere.

But then again, considering how much he was sweating from the dancing maybe it was a good call.

"thank you for tonight" he spoke over the music, as the song changed to a slower one "I couldn't have done it without you sweetheart"

"oh stop" you rolled your eyes, playing with the hair at the nape of his neck as you swayed to the music "You would have been amazing regardless." you smiled "I'm surprised they haven't offered you a role as a permanent part of the cast yet"

"No I'm serious" he laughed softly "I don't know if I would have gotten on that stage without you"

"baby..." you cooed, touched by his words "I love you. I'm always gonna be there for you"

"and me for you" he murmured, before kissing you.

You could only vaguely feel everyone around you and hear the music, it was just you and him.

He always made you feel like that.

"I've just realized I was so anxious for tonight that I haven't told you how beautiful you look yet," he said, making you blush faintly.

"You look beautiful too" you murmured, a mischievous smirk pulling at your lips "Not as much as you did when you were dressed as Ms. Flores, but you're not so bad"

He couldn't help but laugh at that

"You'll never let that go, will you?"

"nope" you chuckled, earning another kiss, this time deeper and much... hungrier.

You whimpered into his mouth as his hand on your back started traveling dangerously low.

"baby-"

"you're gorgeous sugar"

you bit down a grin at that

"I know that look"

"what look" he silenced you with another kiss "I'm not doing anything" he breathed, his lips now on your neck

And as much as you weren't completely conscious of everyone around you, a part of your brain still was.

"I think it's time we go home baby" you whispered

"yeah" he nodded, meeting his lips with yours again "Yeah I think it is"

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #dad!pedro pascal #fluff #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal snl #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #narcos #pedro pascal fandom #snl

[pascalypse]

PEDRO PASCAL - PASCALIPSE

We present the complete Filmography of Pedro Pascal, with images of all the works that our Pedrito has done on TV and in Cinema. Enjoy!

Apresentamos a Filmografia completa de Pedro Pascal, com imagens de todos os trabalhos que nosso Pedrito fez na TV e no Cinema. Aproveitem!

Presentamos la Filmografía completa de Pedro Pascal, con imágenes de todos los trabajos que nuestro Pedrito ha realizado en TV y en Cine. ¡Disfrutar!

#pedropascal #pedro pascal fandom #pedroispunk #the last of us #tlou #strange way of life #oberyn #dave york #snl #grogu #the mandalorian #joel miller #frankie morales x f!reader #ppascaldaily #ppascaledit

[mellowsaturns]

it’s cuffing season

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

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

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

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

part two

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? And what is that?”

“What do you want for lunch today?”

-

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but giggle at his adorableness.

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

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

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

“This is serious!”

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

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

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

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

“Well, should we?” he asked.

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

“Become a Daddy and Mommy.”

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

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

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

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

[palioom]

call me mommy

summary: your boyfriend's mom has never liked you much. so who could've imagined her to be so... nice.

pairing: claudia flores x f!reader word count: 745 warnings:18+ content; no use of y/n (but a lot of nicknames) ; mommy kink, fingering; squirting, implied age gap

a/n: so, pedro as mrs. flores rotted my brain and i whipped this out at 4am, enjoy

• masterlist •

She didn’t know how exactly she had ended up on the kitchen table of her boyfriend’s mom, her legs spread wide open and the older woman’s thick fingers buried deep inside of her. All she did know was that the sounds echoing in the kitchen were borderline obscene, the wet squelch of her fingers driving in and out of her only drowned out slightly by their voices.

It was insane. Her own boyfriend’s mother was better at using her fingers than her boyfriend was.

Despite the fact that it had always seemed like Mrs. Flores hated her. No matter what she did, it never seemed to be enough for the older woman. 

The wrong flowers, the wrong cookies, she wasn’t dressed nicely enough or she was dressed too nice. It went on and on, making her dread coming over every damn time.

But all that didn’t seem to matter right now, the woman curling her fingers in a way that made her cry out. Only to be shut up with a rough kiss, smudging the pink lipstick all over her own lips, her beard scratching her face.

Muttering something in Spanish that she didn’t understand, but it made her pussy clench around the thick fingers anyways. Something that didn’t go unnoticed by Mrs. Flores, smiling into the kiss and curling her fingers up again.

So damn close, so much faster and feeling so much better than Luis ever made her feel. Fuck, how could she look his mother in the eye ever again after this?

How could she look him in the eye ever again?

The fingers had her delirious, knowing exactly where to touch her to draw out her weak moans and pants, her own fingers curling into the rough surface of the kitchen table she was trying to hold herself upright on.

“Oh- Fuck, I’m gonna-” She moaned, looking down at the fingers pumping in and out of her at a rapid pace.

Suddenly her chin was lifted by two fingers, making her look into the older woman’s face, just inches away from her own. A sweet smile on her face, crinkling the corners of her eyes behind those glasses of hers. Holding a certain intensity to them.

“No swearing in my house.” Claudia said almost too calmly, repeatedly stroking that spongy spot inside her that would have her falling apart too soon. “Not even that you can do right. Are you even good enough for my fingers, cariño?”

A whimper left her, too damn turned on by what was happening.

Her mind was swimming, like she was floating on a cloud.

“Sorry, mommy.” 

It had just slipped out, surprising herself but somehow liking how the word felt on her tongue. And Mrs. Flores seemed to like it, too, smiling and pressing her thumb against her clit, making her see stars as her orgasm crashed into her.

Again.

How fucked up was it that her own boyfriend’s mom was better at this than he was?

Fuck, she even made her squirt. All over the damn kitchen table and floor.

Legs trembling with the intensity of it all, the wet dribble leaving her embarrassed.

Claudia pushed her through until the last waves were ebbing off, leaving her twitching from the aftershocks, spent but satisfied.

Slowly Mrs. Flores pulled her fingers out, actually seeming somewhat impressed by the mess her cariño had caused.

And the name? Mommy?

Maybe all it took to get this girl on the right track was a bit of correction and reward from her.

“¿Te gusta llamarme mommy?” Claudia asked, holding up her glistening fingers to the younger woman’s lips, raising a brow at her. 

You like calling me mommy?

The blush on her face told her everything she needed to know, watching how she sucked her fingers clean, keeping the eye contact.

There was something incredibly hot about all of this, something she hadn’t even known she wanted before all of this had even happened. It definitely made her pussy throb, needing more of this.

“Maybe you need mommy to take care of you?” Claudia said, brushing some hair out of the younger woman’s face. “¿Mi buena niña?”

The whimper that left her was something she couldn’t have stopped even if she had wanted to.

Licking her lips and nodding, her eyes still hungry.

Oh, she would do anything for Mrs. Flores if it meant she could experience this again.

The next family dinner would be very fucking awkward, though.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal fandom #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal smut #mrs flores #claudia flores #snl #my writing

[beskarandblasters]

Under the Mistletoe

Mr. Ben (SNL) x Teacher!Reader

12 Days of Pedro Masterlist

Main Masterlist | Mr. Ben Masterlist

Author’s note: Thank you to @hellishjoel for including me in this cute lil celebration! Be sure to check out the 12 Days Of Pedro masterlist for all of the other fics!

Summary: You've had a crush on your coworker, Mr. Ben, for a long time. Tonight, at the Saint Lawrence staff Christmas party you decide to finally do something about it.

Word count: 1.8k

Warnings: reader is able-bodied, F!reader, Ben is his first name, Morales is his last name (because he's Frankie's cousin, duh), drinking, dub con (because both Reader and Ben have consumed alcohol), fingering, oral sex (M and F receiving), vaginal sex, semi public sex, pull out method, praising, pet names, no use of y/n

It’s time for the annual Saint Lawrence High School staff Christmas party. Every year the Lawrence Committee (the group in charge of putting on events for the staff throughout the year) rents out a banquet hall the Friday night before Christmas break starts for all of the teachers and staff. You’d had a crush on one of your colleagues, Mr. Morales (really Mr. Ben because he’s one of those “cool” teachers who lets his kids call him by his first name). He’s been in a relationship with Miss Jenny, another teacher at Saint Lawrence, ever since you started but to your delight, they broke up in October. And you’ve just been waiting for the perfect moment to try and get closer to him. It’s hard when you and Ben have opposite free periods from each other and only see each other in passing throughout the day. But tonight you’re both going to be in the same room for once and there will be alcohol involved. You can’t wait.  

School gets out at two and the party starts at six. So you take the opportunity to go home and change into something more… festive; an emerald green colored dress, black heels, and a pair of mistletoe earrings. You finish the look with classic red lipstick before heading to the party around six, that way you won’t be the first one there but also not too late. 

When you pull into the parking lot you see Ben’s car, a dark blue Prius, and your tummy flutters in excitement. You take a deep breath and park, smoothing your dress down as you get out of the car. The dress you’re wearing reveals just enough cleavage and now you’re feeling a little self-conscious. You don’t show it, though. You hold your head high, confidently walking as you enter the party. Heads turn your way, and rightfully so, because you’re a fucking knockout. And if Ben doesn’t notice you tonight then there’s something wrong with him, not you. 

The Lawrence Committee went all out with this party. The place doesn’t even look like a regular banquet hall anymore, it looks like a winter wonderland. It makes you wonder where they got the budget for this stuff… But that’s a problem for another time. 

You head to the bar, ordering a vodka cranberry and sipping it as your eyes scan the room. And there he is, tucked away in a corner by himself, nursing a whiskey neat. God, he looks so handsome, wearing a white dress shirt and a green tie with Christmas lights that also lights up. He’s alone for now but he won’t be for long. You know for a fact that there’s a handful of teachers in the history department and the foreign language department that have the hots for him. If you want him, you have to act fast. You also notice that Miss Jenny isn’t here which makes what you’re about to do a lot easier for you.  

You order another vodka cranberry from the bar, finishing this one much quicker than the last. You need some liquid confidence if you’re going to make your move tonight. You set your glass down on the bar and head toward his direction, mentally hyping yourself up for the moves you’re about to pull. 

You swear his eyes light up when he sees you, so you turn on the charm, cocking your head to the side with a flirty, “Heyyy!”

“Having fun?” he smiles. 

“So far so good. You?”

“I’m not one for big parties like this.”

“I get that. Why did you come then?”

Yikes, that question was probably too personal. But Ben doesn’t mind, instead, his smile shifts into a smirk. 

“Wanted to see a special someone.”

Oh fuck. 

You glance to your left and see Miss Becker and Miss Marin, both history teachers, shooting daggers at you. The unwanted attention is making you anxious but also… fuck them. You deserve this. 

Before you can answer he glances up towards the ceiling, your eyes follow his gaze, and right above you so perfectly hung is a bundle of mistletoe. This can’t get any better for you. 

“Who might that special someone be?” you ask, both of you still looking at the mistletoe. 

He doesn’t answer, instead, one of his hands caresses the side of your face. Your eyes meet and before you know it, your lips collide. His kiss is warm and inviting, everything you dreamed it would be. You hear a disgruntled “ugh” from your right and you can only assume it’s Miss Becker or Miss Marin. You smirk into the kiss, knowing that you have something they can’t attain. 

He pulls away and your red lipstick is on his lips. He reads the amused expression on your face and his eyes glance down to your mouth. You can only assume your lipstick is smudged. Before you can even address it he’s kissing you again, this time setting his drink down at the table beside you and holding your face with both of his hands. The kiss grows needier, more passionate. All you can think about is how badly you want him and how badly you wish you were somewhere private right now. 

“Ben?” you whisper against his lips. 

“Hmm?” he hums, sneaking another kiss again. 

“Can we go somewhere-”

“Private?” he asks, finishing your sentence and pulling away to look at you. 

“Yeah… I just feel like there’s a lot of eyes on us.”

“Sweetheart, they can stare all they want but of course we can somewhere else if that’ll make you more comfortable,” he smiles, brushing his thumb across your cheek. 

He grabs your hand and leads you across the room. He’s so bold, proudly showcasing you as you weave around tables and walk through the dance floor. He stops in front of a single-stall bathroom, not even bothering to peer over his shoulder at who’s looking before opening the door and letting you inside. 

He locks the door and wastes no time pushing you up against the tiled wall and gluing his lips to your neck. He nips and sucks at the soft skin while one of his hands slides up your dress, hooking his fingers around your panties and sliding them off. You step out of them and he bends down to pick them up, marveling at the large patch of wetness on the lacy fabric. 

“So ready for me,” he teases. 

You whine in response, spreading your legs for him. He stands up and brings two fingers to his mouth, moistening them before returning his lips to your neck and one hand under your dress. He teases your entrance with his fingers, sliding your wetness around and teasing your clit. 

“Ben, please,” you whine. 

“Be a good girl and be patient,” he softly commands, returning to kiss and nip at your neck after. 

You whimper in response just as he slides one finger in, going painfully slow as he works your walls. It’s not enough, you need more and he knows that. But instead, he’s taking his time with you, moving his finger painstakingly slow inside you.

Just when you can’t take any more teasing, he pushes another finger in, eliciting a deep moan from you.

“You’ve been so patient, sweet girl,” he says, his two fingers working your walls. He brings his thumb to your clit, rubbing small circles around it as he fingers you. You writhe against the wall, your knees barely able to hold you upright. 

“I bet you wanna cum so bad,” he teases.

“Please?” you whine.

“You’ve earned it. Soak my fingers,” he softly commands.

And you do, your walls fluttering around his fingers and your release soaking his hand down to his wrist. He pulls his hand away once you’re done bringing it in front of your face.

“Look at the mess you made,” he teases.

“Yeah, thanks to you,” you shoot back.

Before he can reply with another witty remark your hands are on his belt.

“What are you doing?” he asks, sounding flustered. 

“You don’t think I thought about this for so long?”

“R-Really?”

“Mhm,” you say, sinking to your knees. 

You unbuckle his belt and unzip his pants, pulling his cock free from his boxers. You wrap your hand around the base and take the head into your mouth, swirling your tongue around the tip. He shudders in reaction to your touch, his hands caressing each side of your face as you suck him off. Your head bobs up and down as you keep your tongue flat on the underside of his cock. Your hand strokes the section you can’t fit in your mouth. 

But just as he’s about to cum he pulls himself out of your mouth and says, “Not so fast,” with a smirk.

You rise from the floor and he grabs your waist, spinning you around so you’re facing the sink. And now you’re looking at him in the mirror, reading the devious smirk on his face. He undoes his tie, taking it off and bending you over the sink. He takes the tie and ties it around your wrists, hiking your dress up. 

“How long have you been thinking about this?” he says, smirking at you in the reflection.

“Even longer,” you smile back just as he enters you.

He watches your face as it melts from a smile into an expression of pleasure, your mouth forming into a soft “O”. His hands grip your hips as he thrusts in and out of you, hitting a deeper angle with each thrust. The small bathroom is soon with the obscene noise of skin colliding with skin. Thank God for the music or else the whole party would be able to hear you. 

“So wet for me,” he purrs, his eyes glued to your face in the mirror.

“Mmm, all because of you,” you respond.

He’s bashful even when he’s fucking you stupid so you praise him further.

“And you’re so big.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm. It feels so fucking good,” you say just as he slams into you on the last word, making your voice jump an octave, “Fuck, Ben. I’m gonna cum.”

“Let me feel it, sweet girl,” he says, his pace never faltering. 

With one final slam of his hips, you’re coming around him, your cunt pulsing around his cock. He holds on as long as he can, wanting to feel the entirety of your orgasm before pulling out and coming on your ass. He hurriedly grabs a few paper towels from the dispenser and cleans up his mess.

“Thanks,” you giggle.

“Anytime,” he smirks.

He unties his tie around your wrist, replaces it around his neck, and zips up his pants. You stand upright and smooth down your dress. He pulls you against him, wrapping his arms around you. 

“Do you think anyone noticed us gone?”

“Probably,” he chuckles.

“Fuck, should we leave separately?”

“Why?”

“What if they stare?”

“Let ‘em,” he says, kissing your cheek, your red lipstick still all over his mouth. 

He opens the door and grabs your hand. So you decide so what? Let ‘em stare. 

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Fic recs: @kelbellsficrecs

#mr ben fanfiction #mr ben x reader #mr ben snl #mr ben (snl) x reader #mr ben x f!reader #mr ben (snl) x f!reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedrostories

[morallyinept]

BROADCASTING LIVE TONIGHT - A Dieter Bravo One Shot

Summary: Dieter Bravo hosts SNL and you're assigned as his personal make-up artist, which means you'll be getting up very close and very personal to him...

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x F!Reader (No name or physical description of reader. It’s you, bub.)

Word Count: 7.9k

Scoville Smut Rating:🌶️🌶️ “It's the emergence, of.”

Check out my Scoville Smut Ratings here.

Explicit - Unprotected PIV (wrap up, folks!)/fingering/oral M & F receiving/substance abuse/Dieter being an absolute menace.

NSFW. MINORS DNI! OVER 18’s ONLY. YOU ARE SOLELY RESPONSIBLE FOR WHAT YOU READ. ☝🏻Don’t come at me; you’ve been plenty warned.

Author’s Note: With all the SNL hype recently, how could I not? This man is a menace. Inspired by THAT blazer.

@wildemaven has created a fantastic mood board of Dieter hosting SNL, which has inspired some of this fic. Shoutout to @pedroshotwifey for drawing my attention to this mood board, which has resulted in me getting absolutely no sleep due to writing this. 🥴🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Enjoy! 🖤

The commotion outside Studio 8H, at NBC's headquarters in the Comcast Building, has reached a fever pitch.

Crowds have gathered, for most of the day, some rocking up early to get in line, to catch a glimpse of notorious, bad boy-turned-Emmy nominee, Dieter Bravo, who is tonight hosting Saturday Night Live.

A move, which most critics speculate, is to start laying the foundations in the re-cementing of his fragile career. 

There have been sightings of him all over the Big Apple for the last two days, walking down Broadway sipping on green juice, hanging outside the dispensary on East 30th Street like a shifty pervert, and spotted rollicking in a café in Hell's Kitchen with, what is reported, as his current on-off partner, Ricky Santos.

Although, sources are yet to be confirmed from the turbulent press pictures and fan theories. Dieter himself snorts at this each time he reads that they're "getting serious." They mostly just hang, and suck each other off when high. Serious? Pffft.

Dieter's PR team have his personal life heavily locked up ever since he checked out of Wonderland, clean and fresh faced, some eight months ago. Dieter has mostly stayed out of the headlines and off of pap scoop websites for bawdy, offensive behaviour.

And he finds this new squeaky clean image he's been threatened with, boring, if not suffocating. His fingers are constantly itchy, both figuratively and literally. There's an unyielding yearning for some anarchy left swilling in his veins.

So he takes a crowbar to that lock and flips the birdie when it breaks open.

He's been confirmed staying at The Bowery on the Lower East Side, and paparazzi and the odd cluster of hardcore fans and autograph floggers, have accosted him each time he comes and goes.

He simply ignores them and doesn't sign their merch with his face plastered on, or takes selfies, no matter how much they try to invade his personal space like malignant cancer.

He makes no attempt to remain incognito either, simply appearing out in public in lazily dressed attire of stained grey sweatpants and crocs, or a floral kimono teamed with sliders and shorts. It's usually what he finds strewn over the floor in the aftermath of his hotel room. He's pretty sure this kimono isn't even his. But it fits nice.

Eyes hidden behind giant, dark sunglasses and hair an untamed mess, Dieter roams New York unperturbed and off leash. His dishevelled appearance sparks rumours that he may be back to his partying ways on the sly after he's papped coming out of a strip-club at 4AM.

And they would be right about that.

He masks the shakes well, the bloodshot eyes he keeps hidden behind the Ray Bans. He's only had about four hours sleep since he touched down in this feculent city.

God he loathes New York. The stench of hotdog vendors and trash piles uncollected for days, turns his stomach.

He throws up on the sidewalk as he stumbles back to The Bowery and sleeps until his agent is hammering on the door and dragging him off in a covert car towards the NBC building.

He wishes his head was thunking around under the wheels; his skull feels like it is already, as he slumps down on the leather upholstery and questions what the fuck he is doing here.

Tonight, his styling team have lined up a single breasted blazer from Homme Plissé Issey Miyake, with clashing pants from the same designer. The same soft corduroy ribs pleasantly against the pads of his fingers as he runs them back and forth over this thigh during the final fitting.

He looks in the mirror, turning this way and that. Sucks in his stomach and hacks loudly when he breathes out, startling everyone.

He runs his ringed fingers around his grey scruff and scratches under his chin as he takes himself in. Yeah, he can work with it. Dieter doesn't care much for blending in anyway.

It's a look that only Dieter Bravo can pull off with such style and garish aplomb. Even if the lurid yellow gives him a headache to look at its neon hue for too long. It physically makes him squint.

The sunglasses stay firmly on as Dieter wishes more than anything he could have a tab right now as he glances himself in the mirror.

Jesus fucking Christ.

You’ve prepared the dressing room as usual; the lights switched on around the mirror and the chair positioned in front of it ready.

An array of cosmetics and creams line the vanity and your make-up belt is loaded up with an arsenal of spare brushes, wipes and cotton pads ready to attach on set.

Spritzing mists, anti-shine sprays and all manners of skin-coloured bottles are on hand and ready to make Dieter Bravo look his best self.

You're mixing foundations together on the back of your hand, and chatting idly with the hair stylist you're tag-teamed with, when the door swings open, and an animated foofaraw can be heard barraging through it.

You look up to see two crew members stride in, flanked by another two burlier guys, all herding into the small dressing room and practically filling it to the brim with braying masculinity.

You notice how hot it's suddenly gotten in the room; the warm prickles felt at the back of your neck as you take him in.

Wardrobe has done a number on him; a weird, mis-matched ensemble with clashing colours, which strangely works. But the deep V on his chest revealing caramel tanned skin, that looks as though it's been waxed, is an intimidating thought that slowly swamps your brain in quicksand the longer you stare at it.

You've never really rated his work. You'd attempted to watch the Cliff Beasts saga, just like anyone without a functioning or sane mind, but gave up after enduring the first thirty minutes of the first film in the franchise, and then promptly cancelled your Netflix subscription in dire protest. They'll fucking make anything these days.

You'd heard through friends, and through working here on the show, that Dieter has been recently nominated for something, an Emmy, maybe even a Golden Globe, but for what exactly, you're not sure and don't really care either. You're just not that invested in Dieter Bravo.

Sure, he's a little attractive in a scummy sort of way the more you observe him right now; he has that cocaine chic about him as the tabloids confirm, but his reputation precedes him.

You don't need to be an avid fan of his to have heard about the debauchery of it. The guy is probably riddled with Hepatitis A through Z.

You notice his fingers tightly clutching onto his phone inside them, almost frantically. He taps his wily digits against the back of it, clacking those silver rings against the plastic. His face is swamped in a massive pair of sunglasses.

A lively melange of voices fills the dressing room. Various outfits are hung up for the live skits and monologues as other people pass in and out.

A busy hive of instructions are passed back and forth between the crew members and the men who accompany him - his security entourage you assume - about timings and cues.

They speak as though he isn't there at all sometimes, you note. Dieter this and Dieter that, as he stands gauchely in between the fracas engulfing him; glancing back and forth between them all before he turns away and taps listlessly on his iPhone.

You try in earnest not to stare, but it's a futile task. Drawn to him like driving slowly past a wreck on the interstate to get a better look at the carnage and dead bodies thrown through the windshield. You know you shouldn't, but you do; pulled to it like a magpie, ooh shiny.

He stares back at you; an unreadable face partially hidden, that seems as disinterested as he looks about being here.

You mentally chastise yourself for being a little starstruck. Eh, it happens. In this line of work you’re around them constantly, “stars.”

Dieter Bravo isn’t an exception, except his star is a little scuffed around the edges and has lost some of its polish through years of tarnishing.

The stylist sets him down in the chair and goes to work on taming the chocolatey grey fluff that sits on his crown like he’s had an abundance of dandelion seeds blown at him.

You’re introduced to him officially by one of the crew members after a few minutes of them talking shop. And this is Dieter Bravo reaches out for your hand, which seems tiny when engulfed inside of his own.

You’re mindful not to offer him the one covered in concealer swatches - it’s a bitch to wash out.

His hand is warm, almost abnormally; his palm seemingly just as clammy as yours as you shake it politely.

"Wow. How are you?" He greets, face unchanging and you can see your own features mirrored in his shades, as the room begins to quieten down and shrink in its size around you.

His brows raise over his Ray Bans at you. You smile as you regale him with the tantalising tale of how you're simply just fine, thanks.

After more talk is passed between the bodies, scripts waved under his nose which he tosses on the floor at his feet almost immediately, and cues and timings rehashed, the two crew members exit the room, flanked by the brutes in tow.

The door closes and seals the three of you inside with an awkward silence, which seems to birth and grow its full life cycle before eventually dying slowly with a choked gurgle as you step over it and crack on.

"May I?" You ask, handing out your palm for his sunglasses. He reluctantly takes them off, almost shoving them into your hand like a petulant child. He rubs manically at his face for a second or two.

The first thing you notice about Dieter’s face is those deep, purple trenches under his eyes, and you auto-reach for the concealers. The second thing is how puffy and tired his eyes are.

You can work with it, you have some cooling orbs that you hand to him from the small fridge in the dressing room, and instruct him to run them around his eyes gently.

You try not to look directly at him. It feels forbidden somehow. As though you’re in a museum gawking at a rare exhibit in wonderment and realise that's exactly how you must look to him because he smirks crookedly at you; rousing you from your thought process, which pretty much consists of a lone, dribbling chimp scratching its own butt idly.

You turn your back to Dieter as he makes himself comfy in the chair as his locks are tamed; pink hair slides are fixed into his hair in sections as he runs the orbs around his sockets.

He tosses his phone onto the sofa, and you glance at him in the mirror making no attempt to hide the fact that he is staring quite intently at your ass.

His head slowly cocks as his thought process drains out of his ear onto his shoulder in a wet schollop.

Bemused, you smirk as his eyes flash up to yours and he holds your gaze darkly in the mirror.

You wipe off the make-up from the back of your hand and turn to face him, throwing him your best, yet less than enthused, smile.

He’s staring straight back at you expectantly.

"Look this way for me, Dieter." You instruct, your voice cracking like a teenage boy who has just started to grow pubes. And a stark warning for him to stop gawking at your behind.

“Sure. Sure, honey.” He says, looking fully at your face.

You clear your throat, as you step towards him, treating him no differently to how you would any other celebrity sitting in front of you.

There had been bigger names sat in that chair - legends, those with long renowned titles of Hollywood royalty. The same spiel, the same routine; inspect their skin, ask about allergies, do their make-up and send them on their way on stage.

Touch them up during commercial break and/or if they were sweating under the stage lights. Take home a paycheck. Repeat the process, chronically exhausted, until you die. They say that the Hollywood industry is glamorous. You must've missed that fucking memo.

But yet, you’re sweating; feeling it simmer up under your armpits and down the middle of your cleavage inside your t-shirt. Your body betrays you as you get closer to him and you feel it zap in between your legs.

"Do you mind?" You ask as you raise your hands towards his face and he shakes his head, plopping the orbs in his lap.

“Go ahead. You have my consent to touch me,” he says.

You can see the stylist pinning sections of his hair as she gets to grips with trying to tame those unruly curls with knitted eyebrows and hands sticky of styling putty.

Placing your fingers lightly on the side of his face, you inspect his complexion over in the light and are forced to inhale the tonka bean and neroli wafts of his aftershave that attacks your nostrils with delicious, sinful notes.

There's an underlying tone of something else that bites on the back of your tongue, something metallic in it's flirty chemistry.

Dieter has an almost perfect canvas of unspoiled skin, despite his years and the crinkles nesting around his eyes. Some large, open pores are dotted over his aquiline nose with black roots and flaky, dried out nostrils. A few broken capillaries snake around in his sockets like tiny parasites.

His beard is patchy, smattered with grey whiskers that's groomed neatly, despite it's chaos. You start there, taming it with oil and a soft brush. Preparing the canvas before you paint life back into it.

"We're not going to need much, your skin is pretty good," you compliment.

“Must be the years of sobriety.” Dieter clucks, monotone.

The stylist snorts behind him and he smirks. At least someone got the joke.

"I like your scent," he says to you, inhaling and it’s like you’re back in gym class in high school and someone has thrown the ball and it's leather slap bounces right off your face. “Your perfume. Smells like oranges. I like oranges. Do you want an orange?”

“Urm-”

“Hey, sweetheart? Can you get them to get me an orange?” Dieter says, tilting his head back to the stylist. “Maybe four… and some water, please. Oh, and a Don Julio. No, fuck it. Just bring the bottle. Thank you. Your eyes are incredible.” He compliments her and you watch, amazed, as she instantly melts into a pile of goo on the floor.

He could have asked her for a blow job and you're pretty convinced she'd be on her knees right now giving it to him if he had.

“Sure,” the stylist heads towards the door and opens it as she turns every shade of pink.

You step back from him shaking your head with derision, taking the orbs, and turn to the dresser. Your fingers are still burning from touching his face.

"I'll do some concealer, some powder, maybe a little colour correction under your eyes." You reply all business-like.

"Whatever you think." Dieter replies casually; his voice grizzly, yet airy.

You pick out a few bottles of skin coloured liquids and mix a few together, matching his skin tone. He has a slight tan to his already golden face; a subtle shimmer that dances across his forehead and nose.

"You don't like me. I can sense it." He announces as few seconds later.

"I'm sorry?" You baulk.

"Like animals. Pheromones or some shit, they can smell it. I don't know. Predator. Prey. But you don't like me." Dieter rambles.

You shake your head again smirking into the palette, stunned, but equally impressed by his arrogant gall. "I don't know you."

"So get to know me." He challenges.

"If it's all the same, I'd rather just do your make-up." You reply a little more sour.

He rests his chin on his fist, crossing one leg over the other and studying you carefully.

"You're a professional." He yawns around his words. On purpose, you're not sure. You can see dark fillings in the back of his molars.

"I am." You assure, teeth clenching. It offends you that he thinks you'll cave so easily. Who does he think he is?

Your pussy tries to convince you that actually, you probably would as it pulses at his smirk. You clench that smack talk away and concentrate on the task at hand.

"That's cool. I like a challenge." Dieter retorts and you roll your eyes.

You offer him a few wipes to cleanse with. Once he’s done and his face glows a little pink from running them all over his skin, you wheel your stool forward and perch on it in front of him.

He reaches forward and pulls it closer with a yank under the lip between your legs.

He opens up his own legs so you can slot in between, and you try to look anywhere else aside from the obvious package nestled between them in banana slug yellow. Jesus.

"I like the way you smell." Dieter explains as your eyes question his gumption.

"Is this you flirting with me?" You query, your professionalism hanging on by a single finger as you bite back.

It's not the first time some sleazy actor or hack has tried their luck with you. Why is it always the sleazy ones?

"Is it working?" Dieter questions. He genuinely looks interested in your reply.

"No."

"Liar."

You scoff at his defined, roguish face and begin prepping it with a silky primer. His eyelids drop towards your lap, your centre, and his long eyelashes flutter as he blinks.

It’s hushed between you as you dab at the skin under his eyes delicately with the pad of your third finger; a tiny little bouncing notion as he looks upwards towards the ceiling at your instruction.

But those damned brown peepers keep wandering back to yours to pull you into sedition.

You run your fingers with the product over his cheeks and forehead. Smoothing your thumbs under his fuzzy chin; feeling the soft, silken scratch of his facial scruff under them. You glide across the bridge of his large, wide nose up to his T-zone and between his eyebrows.

You can feel the heat of his breath on your wrist as it passes directly across his face.

Dieter then throws a grenade over your fence as your brain conjures up despicable images of that breath felt on your cunt as he licks it.

You reach for some tissues and hand them to him, remembering to breathe. He tucks them inside the flaps over the lapels of his blazer at your suggestion as you reach for the concealer.

"Want me to just take it off? This blazer is over a thousand dollars." He offers, mixing innocence with practicality into a shaker and pouring you out a glass of beguilement, topped with extra cherries and a sugary rim. Delicious.

You lick your lips.

He follows your eyes down his clavicle, to the sun-kissed, smooth skin that the jacket exposes. To the nipple, that if you just twist your head, you're certain you'll see waving at you under the dark confines of the blue corduroy where it's lifted ever so as he sits.

Skin that you want to taste. You want to know what Dieter Bravo fucking tastes like, and the echo of that thought prods at your wanting with menace.

"I don't make a mess." You assure, feeling your mouth run dry. You lick around your teeth.

"I bet you do." He simmers.

"Just stop." You warn firmly. "This, what you're doing. It's not appropriate, and I'm not interested, okay?" Yeah. Best shut that shit down.

He lets out a small slip of a chuckle. Kind of like a subtle huh in restrained astonishment.

"What?" You question, as he continues to stare at you whilst you paint his skin. You're serious. Your mouth is pulled tight into a scowl.

“Sorry, sorry.” He says, dropping his eyes. He gets it; he overstepped the mark and retreats hastily back to safe territory, dick between his legs.

The stylist returns with a crew member who has a handful of fresh oranges, Fiji water and a bottle of tequila. Dieter necks back a mouthful of the tequila directly from the bottle in a deep gulp, much to your surprise, and reaches out for the fruit, peeling the waxy skin.

You hand him another tissue to collect the peel in. The zesty scent fills your nose and you feel the subtle mist of it on your face, tasting it when you lick your lips.

He offers out a segment that drips sticky over his fingers to you. You're Eve, he's the Serpent. It's a fucking orange instead of an apple, but it slaps all the same.

“I’m fine, thank you.” You deny it.

“Sweet enough, aren’t you, babe?” Dieter mutters, chewing as the juice bursts around his teeth and watches you keenly.

You catch the glance of the stylist who rolls her eyes at you smiling with some webbed pity.

You have to stand to reach him without your arms aching after some time, and as you stand up from the stool, you topple forward as the wheel throws you off balance.

He steadies you inside his large hands, either side of your waist and squeezes tightly to support your body weight before you head butt him. The orange is smooshed into your hip before it plops onto the floor.

"Don't fall for me" Dieter smirks, smiling as wide as his eyes are now.

You decide to heed his advice and squeeze away all those macabre thoughts of illicit wanting starting to brew.

You’re kinda on pause for a few, clumsy moments; him holding onto you and your face inches away from smacking into his.

"I'm so sorry." You stand upright and still feel the searing brand of his hands on your hips as he lets you go, orange now completely discarded on the floor in it's wet, pithy death in exchange for needless heroism.

"It's alright." He muses, smiling as you become more and more flustered. Oh, real smooth.

Dieter asks for another orange, and you give it to him, almost throwing it at him, and continue to prep his face without further incident.

The steam continues to billow out of your ears, however. Alongside the steady dripping, like a leaky faucet, of your cunt into your panties.

A while later, when you’re both finished up with him, and he's as preened and prepped as he's going to get without staying still, he asks to be left alone for some privacy to re-run through his lines.

You both leave the room, feeling grateful for the reprieve. The cool air in the corridor smacks you in the face and you welcome it.

His arrogance does amuse you, admittedly. And the flattery boosts you in equal measure. But to know you'd just be another notch on his seedy bedpost doesn't appeal, even if your pussy is trying to counter-argue otherwise right now.

You try to ignore the damp, throbbing bitch.

You head onto set for a short gathering with the team to talk logistics, scene movements and outfit combos.

You realise you need to stock the make-up caddy with a few essentials as you inspect it carefully, and head back down to the dressing room around twenty minutes later.

You knock on the dressing room door, but don’t hear anything. You knock again and when you don’t hear Dieter welcome you in, or tell you to fuck off, you push open the door gently.

The scent of oranges fills the air and there doesn’t appear to be any sign of him. You set to work on filling your make-up belt with some supplies, and reach for some bottles, when you hear it.

It’s indistinct at first, but you turn your head towards the bathroom where the door is slightly ajar.

“Fuck!” You hear a growl and freeze, heart thrumming in your ears.

You hear a deep, long sniff, some metallic tapping, or scraping, you can't be sure. Another sniff and then a heavy loaded cough that sounds like hacking up.

Your limbs are rendered useless as Dieter comes out of the bathroom wiping at his nose, and stops when he catches sight of you staring back at him.

There's some white powder dusted on his lapel, obviously stark in the blue at what it is, and his face is a little shinier now, despite the job you've done.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t think you were in here-” you begin, but he shrugs.

You clutch at the bottles and your belt, and make your way towards the door. You shouldn't be here, you shouldn't have seen this. You shouldn't be tempted.

But why is it kinda hot that you are?

"I don’t have to be on set for half an hour yet, right?” Dieter's eyes look you up and down.

“Yeah, I think so,” you confirm.

"I want to have sex with you." He states.

"Dieter," you sigh. You swallow. Your thighs clench and you feel it pulse in your panties.

"I know you want to have sex with me too. So shall we just cut the shit and skip the part where you act all indignant and offended by it, babe? Because I'd really like to get to the part where you're coming all over my cock." He slips the blazer off of his shoulders and tosses it on the stool brazenly.

Your eyes run the length of his thick neck, over the mountains of his broad shoulders that you want to mark and claw into as you cling onto him. Down the matching, inverted triad tattoos inked on each of his inner arms.

Wandering over the small, pink studs of his nipples and down to the smattering of dark curls beneath his belly button that disappear into that jaunty yellow waistband.

His tummy is a little paunchy; a small spread of middle age catching up with him, but it's actually doing something for you, despite yourself.

Clearly, you've underestimated this cocky fucker.

“Does that door lock?” He enquires, although his current state of undress clearly gives no fucks if it doesn't.

Your gaze drops to his cock and it's apparent in it's hardness, tenting almost. You notice a small wet patch that has appeared staining the yellow darker. Evidence of his obvious arousal for you, and you can only imagine the state of your own panties by how sodden they feel.

You nod, salivating. Fuck, this is really going to happen. Shit.

“Lock it." Dieter juts his chin towards you.

You swallow at his gall. And at your instant reaction to lock it quickly.

“Do you want to have sex with me?” Dieter repeats. You watch as his hand grips his cock over his pants and he hisses, revealing his teeth.

You nod, feeling it flare all over your body as you reach for the lock behind you and twist it round. The click sounds like a shotgun being fired.

"Need to hear it." He coaxes. "Can't have you saying shit after..."

"I want to have sex with you, Dieter." You can already hear your cunt goading you. I told you so...

You confirm to him clearly your consent, which makes you respect him that bit more that he's asking for it, and like you've never wanted anything more in your life.

He nods. "Good.”

You both careen into the dresser; brushes rolling off the top and scattering onto the floor with little plinks and plonks.

He pushes his body weight onto yours, and you reach for him over those terrible yellow pants, feeling how unabashedly hard he is against you.

Feeling that he's not wearing any fucking underwear underneath them either.

The material is thinner than it looks and you can feel all the hard, swollen ridges of him; the fat bulb of his swollen head as you grope and squeeze lavishly.

His kisses become hungry, desperate and gasping as his tongue massages yours and you kiss him back harder. You can taste a faint descry of sweetly saccharine citrus around his teeth as you lick into his mouth.

It's a little sloppy, frantic. You nibble on his bottom lip as his hands claw at your ass prodding bruises into it, and he presses his cock into the middle of your legs and winds his hips upwards.

Dieter's hands are squeezing and kneading; feeling its curves and shape through your jeans. He shoves you up against the wall; running his hands up either side of your body.

It's almost as if he's afraid to let go of you, scared you'll fall out of his grip and you cling onto him just as feverishly.

You pepper kisses over his bare, toned chest as his fingers lift your top off over your head and he pulls down your bra straps, kissing along your shoulders. Trailing his hot, wet tongue down your collarbone and towards your cleavage. He occasionally bites at the skin and it makes you feral.

You gasp out as he pulls down the cup of your bra and takes your nipple inside his mouth. Your hands are running through his hair, twisting and mussing and looking down at him as he suckles on that hard, bud; those full lips of his suctioned around it tightly and pulling wildly.

"Fuck! Your hair," you gasp, giggling at the state of it.

He simply rubs his head all in your chest and tits, messing it up further and snickering as he does it. Dieter Bravo's jar of fucks is definetly empty.

You reach down to his pants, pushing them down his hips and dropping them to the floor where he steps out of the ghastly things, and his shoes; standing there completely naked.

You cup around his balls, plump and firm; squeezing and massaging gently as he pulls your jeans and panties down.

Feeling how thick and heavy he is inside your hands, he gasps around your nipple; moving up to your face to kiss you as your palm runs over the sticky tip of his head that makes him shudder and flinch.

His cock feels amazing, weighty and warm. Thick in it's continual swelling and with a lush, rosy head that matches the hue his lips have become from you chewing and sucking on them.

Dieter's big hands are on the side of your face as he nips at your lips hungrily. Slipping his tongue inside of your mouth so you can taste him some more.

He squeezes both your breasts together inside his giant hands as he kisses you, whining as you jerk him off. Little strained whimpers and shudders flow into your mouth.

"You like that, huh?" You tease watching him melt, pupils blown wide at you.

"Yeah." He places his hand over yours and jerks with you.

He smirks as he runs his other fingers down the underside of your arm lightly; causing you to squirm where it tickles and your skin erupts in goose pimples.

He mouths hungrily over your face. He can taste your hair strands flossing his teeth.

"Fuck, babe," he gasps looking at you both pumping his cock. His hips thrust into your mutual grip. Your wrist is wet from his sticky leakage.

He runs his lips down your chin and chest, stopping over your hard nipples again and sucking them; biting them and making you gasp out. He trails his tongue around your belly button, his cock slipping out of your grip as he settles on his knees.

"I want this pussy coming on my face." He murmurs up to you; his voice possessed by brazen lust. Dieter sinks his face, without hesitation, into your pussy lips and begins licking around your drenched folds voraciously.

Your hands are tugging tighter on his hair now, twisting around the roots as he licks all over your clit making your thighs spasm and jerk around his face.

"Mmm... yes," you moan out, throwing your head back into the hard wall. You see stars for a moment, but they don't dissipate; instead they flood under your eyelids in gold and fluorescent pinks.

He holds onto your hips as he licks and sucks. Arching your back and pulling your pelvis further into his face as he feasts on that buzzing nub sending zaps of electricity through your legs.

"Shit!" You mewl as he begins to intensify the movements of his tongue; looking up at you with those dark, beguiling eyes that could charm even Lucifer himself to walk off a cliff. The Devil? Pah!

He leads you up that hill, tugging you enthusiastically by the arm as you climb higher and higher. Your body tightening, curling inwardly as you feel it build and gather on the end of your clit.

And then it snaps back, flooding your legs with warmth and fanning that fire that has been simmering in your belly since he got all up and personal in your grill.

"Oh fuck, I'm coming!" You writhe on him and squeeze your fists together in his scalp. Closing your eyes and seeing multi-coloured glitter and sparkles behind them as those stars now implode.

After Dieter makes you come on his face, he picks you up, lifting you onto the dresser with an audibly strained groan.

"I'm just an actor and my back is fucking killing me," he whines as he plops you down and you smirk.

He streches, it clicks and your own back is pressed against the mirror. The products that you had previously arranged in neat lines are now tossed aside by the crush of your ass.

Dieter spreads your legs and grabs the back of your neck and presses his mouth against yours; his tongue finding its way around your gums again, and you can taste the tang of your pussy. A sticky, sweet syrup that coats his lips like gloss.

A heinous thought tempts you to send him out on stage like that.

His fingers from his other hand slide all over your slit; finding their way inside the moist, fleshy lips. You let out a deep gasp as he curls two of them inside you, making room for an eventual third, as you buck against them.

They swim deeper, until you can feel the warmth building deep in your core where he's found the magic spot and is stroking it, making you pant under him.

"That feel good, baby?" Dieter croons to you, smirking.

"Uh-huh." You breathe, nodding in wonderment at him.

It really does and you're kinda shocked, because from the moment he walked in, you couldn't imagine that almost an hour or so later, he'd have you foaming at the mouth like this.

You can say a lot about Dieter Bravo - and many do, singing like canaries for the right price - but Dieter is not a selfish lover as he pulls another orgasm out of you within minutes of your first.

And it won't be your last.

"I knew you'd make a mess..." he grins, as your cunt soaks over his digits buried to the hilt in you and stretching you wide.

His lips find your nipple; gently teasing it between his teeth and nipping on it gently until it's fully puckered once more. He sucks on it greedily whilst he drills his digits faster and faster inside your dripping hole.

Squelchy noises can be heard fapping all round the dressing room in their shrill lewdness.

"Oh fuck!"

"Make a mess all over my fingers again," he cajoles.

You whine and reach for his dick, resting on the edge of the vanity you're spread eagle on, and it's dripping onto it. A loud grunt escapes from his mouth as you rub him up and down tightly inside your grip whilst his fingers whorl deeper inside you.

"I wanna suck your cock," you moan to him desperately, as his fingers are making you shudder once more.

"After you come again, baby." He pants.

You grip onto his wrist, pulling his fingers into you as he fingerbangs you faster. He mouths on you, swallowing down those moans and shrieks as they rise in their tempo.

You explode for the third time, creaming all over them. Dieter immediately shoves them into his mouth to suck them clean.

You drop to your knees in front of him; taking his hard length inside your mouth willingly as you open wide for it. You savor his salt, swallow it down as it floods across your taste buds deliciously.

The view inside the mirror is his torso with your head bobbing up and down slowly, and it makes him go nuts to see it.

"Better than porn." He growls, looking down at you with his dick sliding into your mouth.

He tastes meaty, and his cock is smooth, fat with blood; filling your mouth as you suck and tease the head before taking him all the way in deep.

His hand is felt on the back of your head gently and it makes you tingle to feel him fuck your mouth. Controlling the depth and watching you in the mirror as you swallow him down.

Dieter cups and pulls on his balls whilst you take him to the back of your throat. He curses, sending ragged profanities into the air around you as he closes his eyes and licks his lips, enjoying the deep, hypnotic pull on his dick.

"You know, I never do this." You assure him with a drool as he pops out. You still can't believe this is happening, or how exactly it is that this has escalated between you both so fast.

You lather him up with your saliva, shiny, almost crinoline, and suck him back in.

"You look gorgeous when you do this," he smirks.

Dieter can't abnegate himself away from you anymore. He pulls you up on your feet and bends you over the vanity.

Your face is close to the mirror and he arches an eyebrow at you - seeking more consent. You nod at him, staring back at him, as he sinks his cock into your pussy from behind.

Spreading your ass cheeks so he can view that damned fine cunt that he's tasted and now craves more than the coke.

As you become connected, you stare at each other through the looking glass; your breath fogging against it, as though you can't believe he's inside you for a second or two, and neither can he, until he begins pumping in and out of you at a pace that intensifies as he goes with each stroke.

His cock barrages in, packing you out and filling you full of him. You push back, meeting every move as your fuck begins to mutate into relentless drilling.

His thighs slap against the meat of your ass, his breath pelts onto your back. His hands pull on your shoulders wrenching you onto him.

"Fuck Dieter!" You wail.

A knock at the door startles you both to instant stillness. Shit.

"Mr Bravo? Uhh, Dieter?" A voice calls from the other side of the door.

His hand clamps around your mouth as he continues to thrust.

"Yeah?" He calls, smirking down at you.

"Fifteen minutes until live. Are you ready?" The door handle rattles but it remains locked.

"I'll be there!" Dieter yells back as you bite on the thick skin of his thick middle finger as he fucks you harder, quicker.

"Fuck!" You cry out as you contract and spasm around him. "Oh God!"

"You like that? I feel good inside you?" Dieter asks around wheezed pants.

"Ah, fuck yes!" You groan, your breasts jiggling in the mirror as he ploughs into you.

He looks down at the sight of his dick slamming into your pussy; it becoming shiny with your slick soaking all over it as he pulls back each time. Your pert ass cheeks rippling and pressed up against his groin.

He manoeuvres your hips and rams into your harder, making you cry out loudly.

"Your pussy is so fucking tight." He groans out as he fucks you deep and hard; barraging into you and the vanity shaking and creaking with each thrust.

He grunts behind you like an animal possessed.

More products topple onto the floor. You notice one of your more expensive Mehron eyeshadow palettes broken with colorful dust flaked over the carpet.

Shit.

Reality pulls you back as you realise you're both cutting it fine. You glance him in the mirror behind you and Dieter is a sweaty mess - and he's due on set in literal minutes!

''Dieter..."

"Yeah. Say my name, baby." He puffs.

"No, Dieter. We have to stop. You need to be on set." You say pushing yourself up.

"They can wait." He kisses your shoulder as you rise flat against his chest. His arms slip around your waist, his fingers skimming your clit.

"It's live. It can't wait. Stop, come on." You coax. Although you really don't want to stop.

He grunts and pulls out, not before giving you two deep shunts. "Fuck," he whines. "How long we got?"

"Minutes. Get dressed, we need to fix you up."

The next few minutes are spent frantically trying to dress yourself whilst you simultaneously fix his face. Multi-tasking at it's clumsy finest.

He doesn't help of course, slipping his fingers into the front of your jeans and kissing at your face as you try to blot the shine from his.

"You're impossible!" You squirm away, giggling.

"You're delicious." Dieter croons. "What is that perfume?"

He tussles his hair; fluffy, sweat laden curls and you spritz it with some hairspray hoping it will hold, but he looks incredibly windswept.

Fully dressed, Dieter opens the door just as a crew member is about to knock and strides out.

You follow behind him, hoping they don't peek their head in the dressing room and witness the carnage in there. But the thought makes your buzz in all the right places.

Scurrying beside him to powder his face as he walks quickly following the crew member towards the screens and wires that are taped to the floor, you also wipe down his lapel, freeing him of the evidence of the coke as he grins crookedly at you.

"Break a leg." You say. He leaves you with a wink.

The familiar music theme rises up and the crowd roars into applause.

You watch as that fiend, Dieter Bravo, steps through and disappears from your sight. The screams and frantic clapping rises in its tempo, and you hear him begin to start his opening monologue.

You watch him on a monitor. He's confident, brash, breezy. He delivers his lines, steals his cues and has the audience laughing and eating out of the palm of his hand.

A far cry form the dishevelled, tried man he was when he slumped into the make-up chair earlier.

He weaves some kind of voodoo over them all; hot liquid charm and you're pretty certain you've fallen under that spell too.

The stylist finds you a few minutes later as the monitor illuminates your face and whispers to you. "What the hell happened to his hair?"

You simply shrug, feeling the heat burning your face.

They stop filming for commercial break and you reach into your make-up belt, stepping up towards the stage with the stylist in tow and approach him gingerly.

You dab at his face with a tissue blotting natural oils away that have formed on his forehead, and apply another light dusting of powder as he sips from the Fiji water thrust into his hand.

He doesn't look at you, pretends that what happened in the dressing room hasn’t happened, despite carrying a semi in his pants throughout most of the monologue.

That'll do the rounds tomorrow, no doubt. Fans cropping pictures of his crotch to post on their socials with the eggplant emoji.

Before he gives you a chance to lament in any disappointment, you feel his fingers brush the side of your hip ever so gently, every so clandestinely.

The set is full of bodies, the audience twittering away and hot lights are almost blinding you.

But that small slip of affection, of wanting, doesn't go unnoticed, and has you sold that Dieter Bravo hasn't had his fill of you yet.

The feeling is mutual as you smile dipping your brush in for more powder and tapping off the excess.

The stylist is called away and Dieter runs a hand through his hair ruining her handiwork once again in just one second. He sends you a heated smirk and stares you down as you dust his face.

"What are you smirking at?" You mutter covertly.

He leans forward discreetly, his lips barely moving. "I'm thinking about the fact that my fingers smell of your pussy right now...”

You clear your throat, trying to regain some semblance of composure. It's hard, because those words just fucking killed you.

"I'm in the city for a few more days." He breathes out. "I'm staying at The Bowery. The Penthouse Terrace Suite. Fourteenth floor. Ask for Gio at the desk. We can hang out, finish what we started?" He raises his eyebrows in query.

"Maybe we will." You confirm.

"Good. Yes." Dieter smirks darkly, working you up all over again. "Amazing," he says, smiling with relief.

You grin back at him as you practically skip off the set; your face feeling heated and sweaty. Legs feeling like they could give way at any moment.

The music for the show starts up again and you watch as Dieter speaks into the camera like a natural once more.

You don't see Dieter Bravo again that night.

He’s whisked away to the after party as soon as the show wraps and you’re not important enough to be invited along.

You pack up your make-up case after tidying up the dressing room, and wheel it out to the trunk of your car in the lot, waving to the security guard as he lifts the barrier up.

You go home and ride your dildo to excess as you relive the encounter that stays with you all night.

The following day you make good on your word about visiting Dieter at The Bowery. You don’t leave his hotel suite for three days in total. Only coming up for air to snack and smoke blunts with him.

The sex is criminal; you should both be locked up it's so depraved what you do to one another. You lose count of the number of times he makes you come, and how many times you find your fingers slipping inside his ass.

Your friends message you incessantly about your whereabouts, some speculating you've been kidnapped. You dutifully inform them that you've actually been dicknapped instead, but can't say much about said dick in question. Your inner sadist revels in leaving them hanging.

No, Dieter Bravo is your filthy, little secret to keep. Like anyone would believe you anyway...

When you do eventually walk out of The Bowery, squinting into the sunlight with knots in your hair and bruises on your hips, you finally understand what it must feel like to have an addiction.

You know you'll be burned. That this tryst will shrink into the rear view and he’ll not give you a second thought when he's back in LA.

You don’t have expectations, least of all from Dieter Bravo, and he didn’t make you any promises.

He sent you on your way, inherently satisfied and pumped full of his come. Your life is waiting for you and so is his. You chalk it up to a wild experience, one you'll never forget, and one you'll relive on those horny nights alone.

You think that perhaps you'll acquaint yourself with his career after all, it'll come in handy whilst you get off. Some Dieter porn paused on your TV. Yeah.

But for now you leave The Bowery, remaining invisible, past the paparazzi, past the fans that wait for a glimpse of him when he’ll emerge later and revelling in the power of their ignorance. It's fucking bliss.

You carry on into your life accompanied with an aching hunger you won't be able to shake; it weighs heavy in your core, for a little while.

It leaves you lightheaded, giddy.

And you experience that same feeling again later, a month later in fact; the lightheadedness, the giddiness.

You experience it as you stare, eyes fixed like a laser - the heat and panic clouding your senses. The rising bile swimming up the back of your throat at the audacity of that prominent, blue line on the pregnancy test, staring you back in the face, taunting you.

Blue, just like that damned blazer.

Fuck.

Thank you so much for reading this lil' Dieter story of mine. Re-blogs & comments are greatly appreciated.🖤

MASTERLIST | DIETER BRAVO MASTERLIST

Tagging the Dickin' Around With Dieter On Discord Lovelies: @secretelephanttattoo @rhoorl @maggiemayhemnj @trulybetty @for-a-longlongtime @ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @goodwithcheese @musings-of-a-rose @avastrasposts @undercoverpena @gemmahale @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @linzels-blog @sin-djarin @beboldbebravethings @legendary-pink-dot @laurfilijames @ladybess-a03

(If you wanna be removed, it's cool.)

🖤

#dieter bravo #dieter bravo the bubble #dieter bravo x f!reader #dieter bravo x female reader #dieter bravo fic #dieter bravo smut #dieter bravo x you #dieter bravo x reader #dieter bravo fanfic #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal #pedro pascal snl #jett's writing #jett's pedro boys

[exquisiteserotonin]

Ternion

Word count: 3.3K

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ternion

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

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

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

“Hey Ben, what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

You gripped the steering wheel before announcing your decision.

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

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

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

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

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

Passable. You thought to yourself.

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

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

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

“Um…hello to you, too,” he greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were the chances?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Taste her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, tell me what she tastes like.”

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

“Like heaven.”

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

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait,” Professor Levy called out.

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

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

“Get on your knees and crawl.”

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

[hellfire-state-of-mind]

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.”

#my writing #mr ben snl #mr ben x reader #mr ben fanfiction #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #ppcu #pedrostories

[musings-of-a-rose]

Back Pain

Back Pain

Pairing: Teacher Ben x f! Nurse reader

Word Count: 1300+

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: a belated birthday request for a friend of mine! This is what she asked for, with Teacher Ben:

"Reader is the school nurse

And Ben pulls his back - so two football hunks from his class carry him into the first aid room.

(Let's call her Miss Mint, cause she gets everyone a cup of mint tea all the time)

 Course they're both crushing on each other..

First kiss maybe? 🙂 back massage with no shirt? Poor Ben 🙂"

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

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

Main Masterlist 

Teacher Ben Masterlist

"It's funny how your illness always seems to coincide with Mr. Shah's quizzes, Maria."

The student in front of me tries her best to hide her guilt. "No, Nurse Mint, I really do feel like, sick." She coughs dramatically, and obviously fake. 

"I see. Well I've taken your temperature and since you're not exhibiting any other symptoms-"

"No, really, I'm sick." Another fake cough. 

"Maria, make sure to sign up for drama class next semester. You'll be brilliant on stage."

She perks up. "You think so? I've been prac- ah dammit!" Realizing I got her to admit she was faking, she groans and grabs her backpack, heading towards the door. 

"Tell Mr. Shah I said hi."

She waves over her shoulder and leaves. Being a high school nurse never gets old. 

—----

It's quiet today. Just the typical stream of kids who need their daily meds and such.

Loud noises come from the hall outside, coming closer to the clinic. I catch a few words, including my name, so I walk around my desk to open the door. 

There, in the hall, are 2 of the school's football players and between them they're carrying-

"Mr. Ben?" I ask, pulling the door open wider as the 2 students carry him inside. 

"Where can we put him?" One of the students asks. 

I gesture to a bed. "Here." I put on some gloves as the students gently set Mr. Ben on the bed.

"Move back, please," I say as I move to stand in front of Ben. The students step back, waiting to see if I need any more help. 

"Hi, Ben. What happened?" I'm standing in front of him, watching pained expressions move across his face. His beautiful face. 

"I think I-" He hisses when he moves "-threw my back out."

"Thank you, boys. You may head to class now." 

They nod, telling Mr. Ben they hope he feels better. 

"Now, what happened?" I ask as I head back to my desk, opening a side drawer to pull out some pain meds for him.

He chuckles softly and then hisses again. "I just..turned wrong."

"Turned wrong?"

"Yeah I'm old. It happens."

"You're not that old," I smile at him as I hand him a bottle of water and a cup with pain meds in it. He hisses again trying to grab the bottle. 

"It's okay. I'll help. Can you turn your head for me to give these to you?"

He takes a breath and moves his head back, his bright, brown eyes finding mine. I can see from the look in his eyes he's in more pain than he's letting on. I help him take the pain meds, stepping back to look at him. 

"Let's take off your shirt."

"I-what?"

"So I can massage your back, help work it out while the meds kick in."

He blushes, bright pink flushing up his cheeks. "I, uh oh. You don't have to. I'll be ok." He hisses again when he moves and I shake my head. 

"I won't force you, but it will help."

He looks at me, eyes like a puppies and I get lost in them a moment. To be honest, I've had a crush on this man since my first day. He's great with the students and they absolutely adore him. Sometimes too much, if you've seen the fancams. 

It doesn't hurt that he's easily the most handsome guy I've ever laid eyes on. 

He swallows hard and slightly nods, closing his eyes at the bit of pain that movement causes. 

"Ok." He tries to move to unbutton his shirt, but grunts out in pain. I move closer to him, placing my hands gently over his. 

"M-may I?" I ask. 

He looks up at me, something else in his eyes. Almost like…

"Y-yeah. Ok."

My fingers tremble, undoing each button, slowly revealing a small smattering of freckles across his chest. He's got a small tummy and the sight of it goes straight through me. He catches me staring and tries to pull his shirt around his stomach.

"I'm not super fit-"

"You're gorgeous."

"What?"

"What? Oh uh let me help you take off the shirt so I can get at your back."

He nods and I slowly slide the shirt off his shoulders, helping him remove his arms. He grunts a few times at the pain and I can't stop apologizing for it. 

"It's not your fault I'm old and turning wrong can put me on my ass for a week."

I chuckle. "You're not that old. And I don't want to cause you pain so please tell me to stop if it hurts."

"Ok."

I move to stand behind him, pulling out my tiny jar of Tiger Balm. Ben approves it and tells me where it hurts the most. I gather up some balm, fingers hovering over the spot he indicated before I touch him, massaging the spot with gentle force. Ben grunts and moans as I work my fingers into his back, and I feel myself flushing, thinking of how else I could get him to make those sounds.

"Oh, shit that feels…ugh there! There! Harder!" 

I massage harder, Ben letting out a gasp and a moan as I feel the knot unwind under my hands. I stop and he breathes deep for several moments. 

"Are you ok, Mr. Ben?"

He nods slightly. "You have magic fingers."

I smile, moving back around to stand in front of him. "Glad to help. Let me help you with your shirt."

I slide his arms back in the sleeves and help him button up his shirt. I'm so close to him I can smell his cologne, woodsy and a bit like parchment. I chance a glance at his eyes and find him already staring at me, an odd look on his face, as if he's trying to decide on saying something. Smoothing out his shirt, I toy with the collar. 

"Is..are you feeling better?"

"Y-yes. I don't know how I would've made it without you."

"You'd have found a way I'm sure."

I move to step away, but apparently my shoes were untied and I trip over the laces. But I never hit the ground, Ben grabbing me and holding me, preventing my fall. We're close, noses nearly touching. 

Ben clears his throat. "Are…are you ok?"

"Hhmm? Oh uh…yeah. Yes, I-"

His eyes travel across my face, lingering on my lips for a moment longer. 

"Are you sure?" He moves his head slightly closer to me. 

"Sure about what?" I move closer to him. 

"Tripping." He's the closest he's been to me, our noses just barely brushing against each other.

"What?"

His lips press to mine hesitantly, waiting for my to pull back. As if I ever would. We both deepen the kiss, a quiet moaning coming from the back of his throat. He breaks the kiss, pressing his forehead to mine. 

"I've been wanting to do that since the moment you handed me my first cup of mint tea on your first day here."

I smile, "Really?"

"Mmm. Would you go to dinner with me?"

"Absolutely. And if your back bothers you, I know exactly how to handle it."

—----

General Taglist:

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

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

[oscarisaacsspit]

real (x)

#shoutout user onlyoubae u a real one #i ​tagged the post that they liked on the x lol #he is my babygirl #his snl era was so boots #pedro pascal #the mandolorian #din djaren #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader #din djarin fluff #din djarin smut #joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller fluff #joel miller smut #joel miller tlou #joel and ellie #frankie catfish morales #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales smut #frankie morales fluff #pedro hrs #miss mitten posts

[talaok]

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"

#oh oh shes writing dramatic shit again #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fluff #pedro pascal x gn reader #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #dad!pedro pascal #fluff #pedro pascal blurb #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal imagine #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x y/n #pedro pascal x fem reader #pedro pascal snl #pedro pascal x f!reader #pedro pascal x female reader #pedro pascal angst #pedro pascal fanfic #the last of us #narcos #pedro pascal fandom

[pascalypse]

#pedropascal #pedro pascal fandom #the mandalorian #the last of us #snl #dave york #strange way of life #ppascaldaily #tlou #oberyn #game of thrones #the bubble #the unbearable weight of massive talent #javi gutierrez x reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javi gutierrez #javier pena #javier pena x reader

[mellowsaturns]

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

[ktwritesstuff]

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