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exquisiteserotonin · 2 months

Text

Ternion

Word count: 3.3K

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

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

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

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

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

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

Ternion

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

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

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

“Hey Ben, what’s up?”

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

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

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

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

You gripped the steering wheel before announcing your decision.

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

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

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

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

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

Passable. You thought to yourself.

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

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

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

“Um…hello to you, too,” he greeted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What were the chances?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

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

“Taste her.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ben, tell me what she tastes like.”

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

“Like heaven.”

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

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

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

And then…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wait,” Professor Levy called out.

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

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

“Get on your knees and crawl.”

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

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ozarkthedog · 1 year

Note

Could I also request something for Mr. Ben using #89 from the prompt list? 😊💗💗

summary: the repercussions of sending your boyfriend nudes while he's at work.

“YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING?!”

warnings: 18+ only. Mr. Ben x fem!Reader. spanking. fingering. dirty talk.

word count: 628

author's note: thank you so much for celebrating and putting this obscene thought in my brain. hope you rot in horny jail with me. 💙 FIRST TIME WRITING MR. BEN!

✨10K Birthday Celebration✨

“YOU SENT ME PICTURES OF YOU NAKED WHILE I WAS IN A WORK MEETING?!”

You almost spit your wine all over the dining room table as your boyfriend, Ben, stands before you aghast.

It was harmless fun, really it was. You had some time to kill after lunch and thought he’d enjoy the naughty surprise. It was rather stupid in the long run to send him topless photos while he was at work but you’d barely seen him all week and your hormones got the best of you.

“Thank god I didn’t have my phone connected to the monitor!” His hands perched on his hips as pins you with a hard stare. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

You squirm in your seat. His tone is harsh, leaving no room for error. You fucked up big time.

You shake your head and begin to apologize but clicks his tongue and stalks towards you.

“Too late.” He hisses.

With ease, he tugs you from the chair only to take your place as he tosses you over his lap. “Maybe this’ll teach you a lesson.”

In a flash, he yanks your panties and leggings half way down your thighs and locks your legs together. You teeter on his lap, his solid muscly thighs press crudely into your curves as you sweetly beg forgiveness.

“Hush, Baby.” Ben’s chest rumbles as he smooths his hand over your ass. “Couldn’t stop thinking about you bent over like this. Taking your punishment like a good girl. Made me so fuckin’ hard.”

A heavy hand lands on your rump with a thwap. You jolt and grab his calf as the pain radiates across your flesh. Your head hangs between your shoulders as you bite back the whimpers that threaten to fall spank after spank.

“You’ll be my good girl, right?” He grabs the base of your hairline and yanks your head back. His nose grazes your cheek as he nuzzles his lips against your jaw. “Answer me.”

He carelessly rubs the tender, raised skin on your ass forcing a whine to bubble from your lips.

“Yes, please. I’m sorry.” You sniffle and yelp when he tugs on your locks.

“Thatta girl.” He beams before lowering your head to hang once more.

His sinful touch moves lower, nestling thick fingers between your thighs, he finds you slick and wanting. “Lookit’ you getting soaked from a punishment.” He tsks. “What am I gonna do with you?”

You mewl as he spears you open with his fingers. He deviously glides his thick digits across every spot that makes you see stars and leaves you breathless. “You’re making a mess. Can you hear it?” A continuous sticky sound hits your ears with each overwhelming thrust of his wrist.

“You know, this isn’t how a good girl is supposed to behave.” His condescending tone has you lurching in his lap. Suffocating bliss fogs your mind and seeps into your bloodstream. “Good girls don’t drip down their thighs from getting spanked.”

Your grip on his calf gets tighter as the pleasure mounts and races up your spine. He wickedly curls his fingers, zeroing in on the spongy spot behind your clit as your cunt pulses and constricts. “That’s it. Good girl.”

With a shout, you cum around his fingers and he continuously fucks you through your orgasm despite your whimpers of protest.

You hear him groan as he sucks your cream off his fingers. His hard cock pokes into your belly and ignites a searing burst of arousal deep in your belly. He slips you onto your knees between his thighs and you come face to face with his throbbing cock hidden beneath his slacks.

“Now you show me how sorry you really are.”

#mr. ben #mr. ben x reader #mr. ben x you #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal

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wannab-urs · 1 year

Text

You Have Me In a Chokehold | Mr. Ben (SNL) x teacher!reader | 18+

Summary: You’re a teacher at Mr. Ben’s school and you’re sitting in the “No More Fancams” assembly freaking out because he just showed your fancam on screen… Do you think he knows it was you? (AU where he’s not in love with Ms. Jenny, the assembly just ends with him being like “please don’t do this anymore, thanks”)

WC: 2.4k

Warnings: MDNI | 18+ | SMUT | no ages implied (all legal obvi), hair pulling, sir kink, very mild degrading language, fingering, unprotected PiV (don’t be silly, wrap your willy) (also y’all are teachers, you should know better), rough-ish sex but no one gets hurt, Mr. Ben is girthy (Big Ben ;) ), brief mention of the picture of dorian gray, which deserves its own warning if you’ve ever tried to teach that book to teenagers, extreme cringe in the first half. Gets weirdly fluffy at the end so if that kills your vibe just stop reading after the uhhhh climax of the story (if you catch my drift). Sorry we support aftercare in this house. I think that’s it, love y’all, enjoy!

It’s 8 in the morning, supposed to be first period, and the principal has called for some technology assembly. You’re unlucky enough to have first period planning, you have essays to grade, and you won’t have a spare minute for the rest of the day. But sure, let’s all go sit in the gym so the boomers can lecture the zoomers about technology use. This is a great use of everyone’s time.

You slip into the auditorium with 5 minutes to spare, hoping to go unnoticed in the back row. You’re just about to subtly put in your airpods and watch TikToks like 90% of the students, when you hear the principal introduce Mr. Ben. This assembly suddenly became worth paying attention to.

Ben is by far the prettiest thing to look at in this school. He’s ridiculously broad chested, always wearing these just-shy-of-too-tight button ups that he pairs with definitely-a-little-too-tight pants, accentuating his cute butt. He has toned forearms, usually peeking out of rolled up sleeves, and huge hands that he waves around in the air or clasps in front of him when he speaks. And then, despite being this big, broad, powerful looking man, he has the sweetest face.

His eyes are soft brown, hooded and turned down a little, so he’s basically making puppy dog eyes constantly. His nose is prominent and curved and sitting above the most adorably pouty lips. His facial hair is sparse and a little patchy, but honestly it just makes him even more charming. God, you have it so bad for this man.

Your internal drooling over Ben is interrupted by the sound of a freshman at the front of the room yelling, “Come on guuurrrrl, eat it up!” Your eyes flick to the screen beside Ben. There are two very vague tech rules followed by… Shit.

“Do not make fancams of school staff, such as this,” says Ben, gesturing at the screen. And your stomach does a somersalt. Shit! There’s a TikTok playing on the screen, and though you can’t quite make out the username, you definitely recognize the video. That’s your fancam. And Ben looks… mortified. He looks extremely uncomfortable.

“You have made thousands of fancams of me and i’m not sure what they mean, but I know it has to stop,” he pleads. And fuck is he looking at you? He can’t know can he? There’s absolutely no way he knows. He’s just looking out toward the back of the auditorium. Yeah. You wouldn’t want to make eye contact with a bunch of 14 years olds while pictures of you flash on the screen either. That makes perfect sense.

“We make them because you’re our beloved and you have us a in a chokehold,” screams another student toward the front. You wish he would put you in a chokehold. GOD what is wrong with you. Pull yourself together.

“Okay, don’t say that,” Ben says, wringing his hands together in front of him. You can see that he’s clearly uncomfortable. You should delete your account. Ban him from your thoughts. You’ve crossed the line big time.

“I just don’t understand. Why do you make sparkly fast romantic montages of me every single day?” he asks. Another fancam, thankfully not yours, begins playing on the screen. You have to get out of here.

You stand up and try to sneak out as inconspicuously as possible, whispering “Bathroom,” in response to a disapproving look from another, older teacher.

You break into a run as soon as you get into the hall and only slow down when you’re safely locked in the handicap stall of the teacher bathroom. You slide down the wall to the floor and press your face into your hands. You are so stupid. Of course making fancams of school staff is a bad idea. It’s bad when the kids do it… and really weird because they’re kids… but when another teacher does it? He could have you fired for this.

But he doesn’t know. There’s no way he knows.

You manage to make it through the rest of the day, somehow facing your classes and teaching them about nouns and reading a bit more of The Picture of Dorian Gray aloud.

It’s finally the end of the day, but you still have those essays to grade, so you decide to set a timer for one hour and power through as many as you can. The school is so weirdly silent this long after final bell. The custodians won’t be in for another couple hours and pretty much every teacher and student has long gone home.

You finish packing your tote bag and start shrugging on your coat when you hear a knock at the door. “Come in!”

You freeze when the door opens. Shit.

“Ben! Hi! How can I help you? I was just leaving, but-” the sharp sound of the door slamming shut cuts off your nervous rambling. Ben stands with his hands behind his back, puffing his very broad chest out.

“I was wondering if you could tell me something, sweetheart.” His voice is low, gravelly, and you feel like you’re being raked over hot coals. He knows.

“Um. Sure?” you squeak out. Your face is on fire and you have no idea what to do with your hands. He takes a step toward you, looking for all the world like a predator stalking it’s pray. His eyes are dark, brow lowered, lips set in a hard line. He looks nothing like the shy, uncomfortable man from the assembly.

Your bag drops to the floor and you take a stuttering step back toward your desk.

“What’s your TikTok username?” he asks slowly, taking another step toward you.

You gulp and fall back another step, thighs pressing against your desk now. Your shake your head and glue your eyes to the floor.

“Don’t make me ask again.” And oh god he’s right in front of you now. He hooks a finger under your chin, bringing your eyes up to meet his. His pupils are blown so wide, you can barely see his usually warm brown irises. Wait is he turned on right now?

“It’s- uh… I don’t have one!” you stammer out. You try to look away, but his fingers hold your chin in place. He leans a bit closer, his breath ghosting over your face, and presses his other palm into the desk beside you. He tsks and presses his thumb to your bottom lip.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growls out, and oh that went straight to your core. You squirm in his hold and that’s when you truly realize how close he is. His body is nearly pressed against yours.

“It’s- it’s… fuck. It’s MrBensLittleSlut…” you stammer out. You feel like you’re on fire, ashamed of your actions, but also incredibly fucking turned on. The object of your not-so-innocent crush has you pressed against your desk like some school girl fantasy.

“And do you really want to be my little slut, sweetheart?” Holy. Shit. Did he really just ask you that? Your heart actually stops beating in your chest for a second. You nod.

“Aloud, please.”

“Yes, sir,” you whisper, squeezing your eyes shut.

He brings one hand to the back of your head and wraps your hair around his fingers, pulling your head back slightly. You whimper and he leans in, brushing his lips against your ear.

“Good girl,” he purrs. And you think you’ll melt into puddle on the spot. His hands slide to your hips and he lifts you up onto the edge of the desk. You instinctively part your legs and he presses himself flush against you. He keeps one hand on your waist to steady you and slides the other back up into your hair and suddenly his lips are on yours.

It’s sloppy and open mouthed and greedy. He licks into your mouth, curling his tongue around yours. Your hands find purchase around his biceps and you hold on for dear life. His fist tightens in your hair and you moan wantonly, throwing your head back and pushing your hips up into his, chasing friction.

His lips trail down your jaw and he nips at your earlobe before sucking a kiss to the spot where your jaw meets your throat. You dig your nails into his muscular arms and choke on a gasp.

“Please,” you whine, shifting your hips against him again.

“Please what, sweetheart?” you can feel him smirking into the skin of your throat. He loves how riled up you are. Loves watching you try and fail to grind yourself on him.

“Please- please touch me, sir,” he rolls his hips into yours, finally giving you something. Anything to ease the burning desire between your legs.

“You’re so pretty when you beg,” he growls in your ear. Then you feel his right hand leave your waist and pull up your skirt. He drags his fingertips up the inside of your left thigh, featherlight. Finally, he hooks two fingers into the soaked crotch of your panties and drags his knuckles across your clit.

You suck in a gasp and a little “Oh” falls from your lips. He pulls back, keeping his left hand in your hair and watches as he slowly sinks two fingers into your cunt, down to the knuckle. Your hands ball up into fists, twisting the sleeves of his shirt and you let out a long, breathy moan.

“You’re so wet for me already, sweetheart. Really are a little slut, aren’t you?” Your pussy clenches around his thick fingers at his words.

“Yes! Yes, I’m your little slut!” you gasp out.

He pumps his fingers in and out of you, hooking them just right so that he hits the spongy spot inside you every time. You’re holding onto his shirt so tight you think you might rip the sleeves off. You can hear how wet you are, the sound echoing off the cinderblock walls. You start moving your hips to meet the thrust of his fingers inside you, chasing your orgasm.

“I’m-- I’m gonna--” you clench hard around his fingers, so close to tipping over the edge.

And then his touch is gone. He’s pulled his fingers out of you and let go of you completely, taking a step back. You let out an actual scream of frustration. “No!” you shout, slumping back until your head hits your desk. You actually pout at him.

“Not yet, sweetheart. Want you to come on my cock.” His voice is so low, you almost can’t hear him over the sound of your heaving breaths. “Sit up, pretty girl.”

You push yourself back up and take in his appearance. Other than his rumpled shirt, he looks completely unbothered. His hair is still effortlessly tousled, his face is set into a teasing smirk. The fucker didn’t even break a sweat and you’re gasping for breath like a fish out of water. Pretty girl. He called you pretty.

“Bend over the desk, sweetheart.”

You scramble to obey his request, standing up and bending over, pushing your ass into the air. You press your forehead into the desk and try to calm your fluttering heart rate.

Suddenly… finally… you feel his hands on you. He grabs your skirt and bunches it up around your waist. His fingertips slide into the waistband of your panties and he pushes them down, letting them settle around your ankles. You hear the clink of a belt buckle, the tug of a zipper, and then you feel him.

He slides his cock between your clenched thighs, through the wet folds of your pussy and oh god. You can’t see him, but you can feel that he’s thick. The head of his cock presses against your clit and you moan.

“Such a pretty little pussy… I’m going to ruin it.” You gasp, but before you can respond, he’s moving. In one fluid motion, he pulls back, kicks your feet apart, and pushes all the way into you.

“Oh fuck,” you moan out. You might pass out from pleasure. His cock is thick, filling you up and stretching you out more than you ever have been before. He holds still inside you while you clench and unclench around his girth, trying to get used to it. “So big.” you gasp into the desk.

“I know, baby.” And then he moves, pulling all the way out to the tip and thrusting hard, all the way back in. The force of his hips smacking against your ass jolts you into the desk, making you cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain and sprawl forward on the desk.

Ben grabs your shoulder with one hand, tightens his grip on your hip with the other, and resumes fucking into you at an absolutely brutal pace.

Some part of you is scared you’ll get caught, but that part is overpowered by the euphoria you feel. You’re moaning and babbling incoherently as his cock hits that sweet spot deep inside you and grinds into it with every thrust.

“Is my. Little. Slut. Gonna. Come. on my. Cock?” Ben grits out between thrusts.

You cry out a garbled response. Your cunt is fluttering around his thick length and your eyes are rolling into the back of your head and there’s no way you can form words right now.

Ben wraps his arm around your chest and pulls you back against him. His cock hits something deep inside you and you come with an agonizing cry, gushing around his cock and soaking him to the base.

Your whole body goes limp with the force of your orgasm, but he holds you up and continues fucking up into you. After a few more thrusts, he pulls out and covers your ass and thighs in his release, letting out a low groan as the thick ropes hit your skin.

You’re lying on the desk on your stomach, naked ass still in the air. It’s a ridiculous position to lay in, but you’re still riding the high of your orgasm and too blissed out to care. You jolt as you feel silk move across your over-sensitive skin.

“What’re you doing?” You’re so drunk on his cock, it comes out slurred.

“Cleaning you up, sweetheart,” Ben says. Is he- he’s cleaning you up with his tie. Fuck that’s hot. And sweet?

“Thank you…” you sigh into the desk. He pulls your panties back up for you and settles your skirt back down around your legs.

“Can you sit up for me, baby?” He doesn’t wait for you to answer before wrapping his arms around you and pulling you to your feet, nestling your head into the curve of his shoulder.

It’s not fair for him to fuck you that good and go right to being the sweet, bashful man you thought you knew.

He brushes your hair out of your face and presses a soft, almost tender, kiss to your nose. You giggle and the sound makes him break out into a smile, his eyes crinkling at the corners and his dimple peeking out behind a 5 o’clock shadow.

“Come on, sweetheart, I’ll walk you to your car.”

He grabs your coat and your tote bag, slips his hand into yours, and leads you out to the parking lot.

a/n: I’m so sorry. This is ridiculous and I apologize for the no plot snl character porn fic.

Tags: @beskarandblasters @meveispunk

#Mr. Ben #mr. ben x reader #Mr. Ben snl #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal characters #pedro fics

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wyn-n-tonic · 1 year

Text

Well Read

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

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Masterlist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Then go get dinner started.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“For now.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Was I supposed to?” He laughs.

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

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

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

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

“Wanted to make your job easier for you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh god, that explains so much.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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pretty-saucy · 1 year

Text

I need more of you beautiful Pedro writers to care about Mr. Ben. Please. For me.

(This is serious, y'all. The reason I loved Joel in the games is because he looked and sounded like MY ACTUAL DAD. DON'T ASK ME TO GET OFF TO THAT.)

#pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal #mr. ben snl #mr. ben x reader

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mellowsaturns · 1 year

Text

it’s cuffing season

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

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

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

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

part two

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh? And what is that?”

“What do you want for lunch today?”

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t help but giggle at his adorableness.

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

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

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

“This is serious!”

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

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

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

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

“Well, should we?” he asked.

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

“Become a Daddy and Mommy.”

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

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

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

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

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beskarandblasters · 5 months

Text

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

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hellfire-state-of-mind · 27 days

Text

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

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exquisiteserotonin · 10 months

Text

I haven't written fic in such a long time, but Pedro is such a muse. Also I initially thought my writings were going to be on my original tumblr, but I decided to move them here for organization. Enjoy! <3

Better Than Vanilla

Mr. Ben x F! Reader

Word Count: 5.9K

Pairing: Mr. Ben (SNL) x F!Reader (HS English Teacher)

Warnings: 18+,MDNI, Explicit content, SMUT, language, oral sex (male and female receiving), light bondage, PIV sex, praise, Mr. Ben is the consent king.

“So, when you get a steal, you have to conference with your team,” you emphasize, hoping that your exasperation wasn’t obvious.

One of the 6 students in your classroom began crunching on a snack he reached for in his backpack.

“Ugh!” exclaimed one of the female students, snapping a dirty look at him. “He’s not being serious!”

The student raised his hands and shrugged, “What? I’m hungry? Coach, pleeeease?”

The urge to roll your eyes grew as you heard the student whine. Ben, your colleague and academic team co-advisor, snatched up the packet of Voortman vanilla wafers.

“Thanks for the snack, kid!” he quipped as placed the wafers on your desk with a wink before turning back to your group of students. “I think we’re gonna call it a day, don’t you think?”

A sigh of relief floated from your students as they hoisted on their backpacks to leave. You also felt a weight lift off your chest and shoulders as the left. A small smile was all you could muster as the last of them shuffled out of your room. Two students lingered behind giggling as they asked Mr. Ben for extra advice. You sauntered over to your desk and sunk into your chair, organizing the mountain of papers screaming to be graded. Meanwhile the two lingerers continued their giggles as they left your classroom. Their goodbye to you was friendly and quick, the opposite of the one they offered to your counterpart.

“Bye, Mr. Beeeeeeeen.”

It escaped their lips like a squeal. Adding a groan to your eye roll seemed apropos, but you managed to keep your composure. Supervising and sponsoring an extracurricular club full of hormonal teenagers was a small price to pay, especially if it meant more money in your paycheck. You at least had the company of a colleague despite him being the object of infatuation for nearly half the student body of St Lawrence High School. Ben sat at the corner of your desk, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater and button-up shirt.

“Thanks for taking those, by the way,” you commented as he grabbed the confiscated vanilla wafers and popped one in his mouth, savoring it.

“God, I love these!” he declared, devouring another one after the first.

“Ugh, why,” you questioned, “they’re so boring.”

“You’re probably eating them wrong,” he teased. “If you let the wafer sit in your mouth a little bit, you can feel the vanilla cream just kind of melt all over.”

You cleared your throat at his description. It sounded sinful and gave you enough pause to briefly reconsider the wafers as an inferior snack. Lifting your gaze to him, you reaffirmed your resolve, “nope, too vanilla.”

He was interested in you, that much you could sense. A combination of professionalism and apprehension prohibited you from any kind of active pursuit.

A little flirting is harmless, your mind spoke. Right?

He shrugged before finishing the last of the wafers.

“How do you think they’re doing?” He asked, pointing his chin towards the door where your students had exited.

“They’re so smart,” you replied and tapped his forearm with pencil , “but I think they’re easily distracted.”

“By me?” He scoffed, throwing his hands up.

“Yeah, I know, I don’t get it,” you teased, “Must be the way you wear your tie.”

“Ha ha. Very funny,” he said dryly, playfully tossing a white board eraser at you as you opened your laptop. “Are you seriously doing more work right now? It’s Friday.”

“Hey, I’m still considered the new girl in town,” you replied as you set a stack of papers next to you to grade, “I still have to earn my keep.”

Footsteps echoed down the hall, approaching your classroom. In the doorway stood Jenny, a close friend to you and best friend to Ben.

Her arms crossed in front of her, she tutted before speaking, “you’re not seriously working this late on a Friday?!”

“That’s exactly what I told her!”

“You’re coming out with us, right?” Jenny asked. “With me, Ben, and Kate?”

“I’m trying to be good and finish these grades up; I’ve been procrastinating,” was the explanation you offered.

“It’s Friday, we’ve been here all week; do it tomorrow,” Ben suggested, giving Jenny a hug before bouncing out of your classroom. “I’m gonna head home for a minute and I’ll meet you guys there.”

“You got it,” Jenny agreed.

“Make sure this one doesn’t stay here too late,” he commented, directing his eyes to you.

Jenny nodded and you furiously began entering grades in your laptop as he left. Grabbing a student chair, she parked herself in front of your desk. The quick clicks and clacks of your typing echoed over the peaceful silence of your room. Soon she was leaning over your desk with a grin and a raised brow. She knew you well enough to realize that it wouldn’t take too much convincing to close your laptop and join her for some post-work revelries. Instead of continuing to try to convince yourself to be productive, you gave into the invitation, but not before gauging the situation a little further.

“Wait a second, this isn’t a work thing, is it?”

“Oh god, no!” Jenny sneered. “You know they’re not exactly our people.”

Your agreement with Jenny was an understatement. It wasn’t that you disliked working at St. Lawrence. The prestige that came with being a student there was also bound to the excellence of the faculty and staff. The administrators would beam at any good news that followed the people that worked at the school. This also meant being hired at the school was no easy task, especially when parents paid for a certain level of prestige. A sense of entitlement would sometimes extend to their colleagues, sometimes making team building insufferable.

“Kate’s going?” you asked Jenny, speaking of her girlfriend who did not work at the school.

She nodded, helping you pack your things and walking you out of the building and towards her silver Honda Civic.

“Do you need a ride?” Jenny teased, “you know, in case things get a little bit wild.”

“Sure, we can carpool,” you agreed. “And please, things aren’t going to get that wild.”

You took off your too-formal blazer that you had worn for most of the school day and straightened your pencil skirt before you sat in the passenger seat. You looked over with suspicion at Jenny and noticed her making an extra effort to maintain a reserved silence. As she started to drive, she glanced at you, tightening her lips.

“Are you going to give Ben a chance this time?”

You rolled your head and eyes towards her and an exasperated, but involuntary laugh escaped you.

“So, there it is.” You sighed, now fully aware of her intentions. “Why do you always try to set me up with him?”

“Because you are attractive, he is attractive, you’re both intelligent and single,” Jenny stated matter-of-factly. “And I love you both dearly and you two would make the cutest couple.”

You smiled in appreciation of your friend’s efforts. With it only being your second year of teaching at St. Lawrence, navigating friendships was still difficult as many of the teachers had been working there for a decade or more. You latched onto Jenny quickly, first as a department colleague and next as a kindred spirit in personality and interests. She urged you to sponsor the academic team this school year, knowing that her best friend in the math department, Ben, would be co-sponsor. Trusting her judgment, you knew that he was at the very least safe and respectful.

“What are you thinking?” Jenny's eyes twinkled. “You know he thinks you’re pretty hot.”

“Jenny, shut up!”

You shifted in your seat, trying to suppress your increasing intrigue. Aside from his math expertise and help in planning the academic team, “Mr. Ben’s” good-natured reputation among staff preceded him. He had always been friendly and managed to bring entertainment to even the most mundane faculty meeting. And of course, you also were most recently inundated with the way students giggled, blushed, and ogled him as he walked through the halls. As much as you hated to admit it, especially to yourself, he was pretty cute. The TikTok incident at the school assembly was to blame, you convinced yourself.

“I mean,” you paused, an image of him eating vanilla wafers at your desk flashed in your brain, “I guess he‘s cute, he’s just—he just seems so…vanilla.”

“VANILLA?!” Jenny’s voice squeaked incredulously, and it caught you by surprise. “Are you serious?”

“He wears pullover cashmere sweaters!” You cried with laughter.

“We can’t all be perfect!” she laughed with you.

Before you realized it, you had arrived at a restaurant far enough from campus, decreasing the likelihood that you’d run into any teachers or parents from your school. Jenny studied you as you got out of the car. She undid the top two buttons of your dusty pink blouse, revealing a slinky, tan, lace bodysuit you had beneath.

“Ooh, you hussy,” she teased, adding with a wink, “by the way, Ben is probably about as vanilla as you.”

The last few words silenced you. You felt your eyes get wide and felt heat growing on the apples of your cheeks.

Trying to recompose yourself, you followed Jenny inside. Ahead of you, Jenny spotted her girlfriend, Kate, who gave her a bright smile and a sweet peck to her lips.

They then lead you to a u-shaped booth with plush, rich, teal fabric peaking at the edge. And then him. Ben. You stole a glance at Jenny before she pushed you in front of her and into the booth.

“Hey Mr. Ben,” you greeted.

“Just Ben,” he replied with a boyish grin, “we’re not at work, we don’t need to use the formalities.”

You nodded and slid closer to him, as Jenny followed you into the booth. The proximity provided a different window for you to look at him. His brown wavy hair was perfectly mussed; his shoulders were loose, relaxed, and he had even discarded the confines of his tie and cashmere sweater. Amplifying his breeziness was how he had not one, not two, but three buttons undone on his pale, terracotta colored shirt. They whispered to you to peek at his neck and chest which always remained hidden during the school day. It was as though you were bearing witness to something you weren’t supposed to see. The thought warmed your cheeks.

Maybe Jenny was right. Maybe he wasn’t as vanilla as you presumed.

“You didn’t take my advice from earlier,” he stated plainly, “you stayed at work late!”

“Hey, it wasn’t that late,” you retorted, teasingly pushing into him with your shoulder and hip.

“Jenny texted me that you almost didn’t come out with us,” he murmured, a trace of disappointment soaked in his words as he took another sip of his beer. “I’m really glad you didn’t.”

He pressed into your side so your shoulders touched.

“Hmm,” you mused, wondering what more you could pull from him, “really glad, huh?”

“Well,” his lips appeared poutier in thought, “I had to see if you were more than just an amazing…brain with a good work ethic.”

His tone had you thinking sinfully again, just as when he described the vanilla wafers.

“I guess you’re about to find out,” you replied, the words coming out with ease and your tone like honey trapping a fly with sticky sweetness.

Ben looked at you with surprise, giving you a smirk and a wink. That wink was dangerous.

“What are you drinking?”

“I should ask you that,” you stated, grazing his thumb that rested on his beer mug, “is that a bock, pils, a lager?”

Ben looked at you with a raised brow, impressed. He tipped his beer towards you in acknowledgement and beckoned for a waiter to come to their booth. The response was quick, a young woman rushing to your table.

“My friend right here will have a Yuengling, like me,” he touched the small of your back and then leaned over you to get Jenny’s attention.

A tingle climbed up your spine, like electricity climbing up your back, and down again igniting every nerve ending. You fidgeted in your seat and fixed your gaze at him. You tapped your foot, counted inside your head, and observed to see if the electricity would leave. It didn’t.

Fuck, you thought. This is new.

Your attention found its way back to you. It was possible that Ben had asked Jenny what she wanted to drink, since you heard her request for an Old Fashioned. A different kind of clarity took over you as you kept your eyes on him, like seeing something in high definition. His nose was prominent and strong. His facial hair grew in endearing patches. The corners of his eyes crinkled when he smiled, revealing a dimple on his right cheek.

“What convinced you to finally come out with us?”

“Hmm, let’s see,” you replied thoughtfully, “the promise that there would be no unwanted co-workers here.”

Ben scratched at the patchy facial hair on his chin and turned to you. His chocolatey brown eyes were big, expectant, and you swore you noticed a not-so-innocent twinkle in them.

“How’s that working out for you?”

Before you could answer, the server returned with your drinks. She handed Jenny her Old Fashioned but before you could reach your hand to take your beer, Ben took hold of it and handed it to you. It was an authentic attempt at being charming. A self-study of the consistent butterflies fluttering in your abdomen floating up to your chest, neck and shoulders declared to you that his attempt was working.

“I guess the kids were right, Ben,” you admitted, “you are in your assembly era.”

He guffawed, his voice rich and throaty. He shook his head and ran his right hand through his hair.

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

With an up and down nod of your head you confirmed his answer and turned towards Jenny, “and neither are you, mommy.”

Jenny nearly choked on her old fashioned as you reminded her of her role in the fancam debacle.

“First of all, yes, I am mommy,” she affirmed and looked intently at Ben before shifting her eyes to you to wink, “and second of all, those kids don’t need to be messing in our romantic business anyway.”

Suddenly, Ben became bashful. You swore his cheeks turned the same shade of reddish pink as his shirt. Vanilla or not, you decided that Jenny’s testament of him as a good human being was worth further exploration.

For the rest of the evening, you and Ben traded life stories over intermittent drinks. Things you discovered about each other included siblings, your older brother to his older sister and younger brother. You found he was passionate not just about teaching, but math as well and was too much of a kid to work with adults 24/7. His favorite part of teaching, like yours, was to advocate for students who never had anyone to believe in them. And a shared love of late 90s, early 2000s alternative rock led you two to engage in heavy critique of the cover band playing for the evening.

“What do you think of the band?” he asked at one point during their set.

“If they play Creed, it’s over, I’m peace-ing out,” you replied in a deadpan voice.

He keeled over in laughter, leaning over towards your shoulder.

Fuck, you thought to yourself. He smells so good.

You found yourself staring at his neck and the hint of chest beneath his unbuttoned shirt. It made you feel shallow. You glanced at your watch as a distraction, noting it was nearly midnight. Jenny had been ushered out at Kate’s behest, indicating that the whiskey was making her extra drunk and extra sleepy. You were now without a ride.

“My driver left me,” you sighed to Ben.

“Oh shit,” Ben remarked, “I would offer to take you home, but I might have to Uber it---I’m not sure I can drive.”

An inspired proposition entered your mind. A conflict waged in your mind, contemplating all the ways this evening could end and the one way you wanted it to, “Um…well, we could share an Uber.”

“Well, sure,” he replied earnestly, “if you don’t mind.”

He followed you as you beckoned him outside with a single look. As you stood before each other, you noted the broadness of his shoulders as he reached his hands over his head to stretch, rolling his shoulders up and then down the length of his back. You caught a glimpse of the elastic of his boxer briefs and his belly. The physicality of his movements was enticing and kept the tingling flame you felt earlier in your stomach alight, willing it to travel lower between your legs.

I’m fucked. You thought to yourself.

Ben opened the car door for you. You slid in and he followed, his knee brushing against your leg where your pencil skirt had slid up a few inches. Ben slid in, reaching over, grazing the exposed skin of your thigh with his hand. He looked up at you holding your gaze captive for what seemed like minutes.

“Sorry,” his voice came out in a gravelly hush.

“Nothing to be sorry about,” you countered, biting your lip involuntarily.

“I had a lot of fun tonight,” you spoke softly, keeping your eyes on him.

A grin grew on Ben’s face. “Same.”

Emboldened with desire, your hand caressed the mapwork of veins on his forearm, gently tracing the curve of his knuckles, and the lines on his fingers until he opened his hand, intertwining his fingers with yours. You watched, transfixed, as his chest rose and fell with deep breaths. He turned to face you, your noses just a few inches apart. You tilted your head and perused the shape of his pouty lips, soft, and inviting. Nuzzling your nose to his, your lips nearly touched his sweet pout.

“I’m going to ask you in,” the confession melted off your tongue.

He took another deep breath, and you swear that once again, for the third time that evening, his cheeks were quickly painted red. The car began to slow as you noticed it approaching your neighborhood, until it stopped in front of your modest, but adorable mid-century home. You slid out of the car, leaving your door open for him to follow. When he did, your exhalation threatened to consume you. A hot-blooded thumping coursing through your body. He closed the car door gently behind him, thanking the driver with a wave before he turned to follow up on the walkway to your door.

Fumbling for your keys, you felt him close in behind you, feeling the heat escaping from your body and his. A tiny gasp escaped as you felt his hand behind you, touching you first at the small of your back and then circling around to land at your hip. He stepped forward and pulled your body close. Instantly, you felt a tenting build in his pants, pressing himself against you while you unlocked the door. Reverberating tingles vibrating over every inch of your skin. His other hand caressed up your triceps, to your shoulders, gently brushing the hair away from your neck leaving goose bumps behind in their wake. Replacing his hand, his nose caressed your neck, breathing you until you felt his lips taste you with gentle kisses.

“Fuck me,” he panted, warms breaths leaving him as your touch pulsated through every cell in his body.

“That’s the plan,” you smirked and growled at him

You rushed into the house, shoving the door closed behind you. Your lips caressed his Adam’s apple, breathing him in as you licked, kissed, and nibbled on his neck and ear. A growl rattled from him to your ears, his heat rising from his body with each touch. You pressed your lips hungry meeting his soft pout. Instinctively your hands weaved through the soft waves of his hair, until you tugged at it. Not too hard, not too soft but just enough for him to open his mouth with a gasp, allowing you to savor the taste of his bottom lip with your tongue until you met his tongue with fervor.

You pulled from him to take a breath of frenzied desire as you simultaneously attacked each other’s buttons. You marveled at his broad chest and shoulders as you pulled back his shirt, letting it fall to the floor. A wanton dizziness took over you as his large hands pulled you effortlessly towards him. His bulge throbbed against you as you pressed your pelvis into his, gasping and heady with desire. Electric desire moved through you, your skin on fire as a primal lust darkened his eyes while he studied your tits and how your nipples stood at attention, beneath the tan, lacy fabric of your bodysuit.

“Fuck, baby,” the way he growled at you was decidedly not vanilla, “you’re so fucking pretty.”

Lips hot and swollen you grabbed him by the belt loops of his slacks, pulling him towards your bedroom. A giddy gasp escaped you when the jingle of his loose belt buckle reached your ears, sliding it free from its confines tossing and onto your bed.

Ben caressed your shoulders and began to play with the thin straps of your body suit pulling them slowly down your arms, down the fabric covering your breasts, ruching the fabric as he slid it down to your waist. A moan escaped lips as he pulled you with one hand at your waist and the other found a home at your neck with the perfect amount of pressure. A yelp left you as he pushed back against you until you felt the edge of the bed behind your knees, where you fell together.

His mouth found your right nipple licking the numb in tight circles before taking a small bite. The fire on your skin grew hotter from the wet heat of his tongue and it left you panting for more. His deep laugh rumbled from his chest to yours. In his dark eyes he reveled at how he was slowly making you come undone. That pout of his traveled the valley of your chest and gave your other nipple the same attention.

You felt his hardening cock against your thigh and your core began to pound and cry for him. Reaching your hand to his boxer briefs you pull at his cock, eliciting a low moan as your hands slid off the barrier keeping you from his thick hard member. You looked down and your eyes widened at his size. An astonished gulp left your lips as you wrapped your hand around his cock. Your grip barely closed around its girth as you stroked up and down his entire length. A tear of precum escaped the tip. You look up at him deviously and bring your tongue down to taste the saltiness of him. You then wrap your lips around him, taking as much of him in as you possibly can, causing your cheeks to hollow. The taste of him was a perfect combination of sweet and musky and sometimes salty as a hint of more precum coated your tongue.

“Shit, sweetheart,” he moaned through gritted teeth. “Stop, wait.”

You released him with an audible pop, pouting a little bit.

“I just want to make you feel good.”

“Fuck, are you real?” He sighed, brushing his hands through wavy locks.

You nodded and then gasped as he grabbed you and tossed you on the bed like a rag doll. An excited moan leapt from you through heaving breaths as you savored the feeling of his naked body as he crawled over you. A different expression took over his gentle face as he caressed you and kissed your inner biceps as he raised both of your hands above your head. His hot breath branded you as he began to whisper into your ear.

“Can I cuff you with my belt,” he growled.

A whimper escaped you. You were no stranger to being cuffed, but the offer from Ben was…unexpected. The wetness at your core grew when he asked and all you could do was nod.

“Good thing you picked the correct answer,” he sighed, satisfying his hunger with a taste of your lips.

“I like this,” you keened, “this side of you.”

“Good, because you’re going to do exactly as I say,” the demand made you breathless. “You’re going to move when I say you move. You’re going to cum when I let you cum and I’m going to fuck you, when I’m ready.”

“Ben--,” you called out his name like a mantra.

He grabbed his belt from where you had tossed it on the bed. His hands moved with the quick competence of a man who had definitely done this before. The deftness in the way looped the leather as he cuffed your wrists with the perfect amount of pressure left you panting.

“You sure this is OK?” he asked, his fingers gingerly stroking your face and lips.

You opened your mouth taking one digit, swirling your tongue around it, and sucking the tip.

You nod and replied, “Consent is so fucking sexy.”

He smiled and kissed your lips, neck, and breasts. He pulled your pencil skirt from your body, but tortuously left you in your bodysuit, damp with heat of your desire. Your breaths were heavy with anticipation as he traveled to your ankle, up your calf, to your knee, to your inner thigh, until he floated closer to your center. His nose breathed in the scent of your wet core and his broad shoulders pushed your legs apart, licking at the fabric that separated her from his tongue.

“God, you’re so wet for me already,” he moaned, kissing, and licking the fabric again causing shivers to erupt all over your body.

“Ben!” You cried and you writhed beneath him. “Please.”

Your wrists strained against the thick leather of his belt, desperate to touch and grip his body with your hands. our back when you heard him chuckle as he pulled the thin fabric of the bottom of your bodysuit to the side. He flattened his tongue, pressing it through your folds and up to your clit. Like a man starved, he devoured you licking up and down, up, and down and then circling and sucking at your clit. Then he took sanctuary there, making it his place of worship, circling you, sucking you and then licking you again, between maddeningly slow and unbearably fast. A jolt twisted through your body when he slowed down to a stop.

“Oh fuck, Ben, please,” you begged, “I need to cum, please, let me cum.”

“You sure?” his voice full of wanton lust.

You bucked your hips towards him, and you felt his soft pouty lips smirk into your core. His large hands ripped the thin, cheap fabric of your bodysuit, tossing it to the floor. A lascivious chuckle rumbled from his chest as his hands seized your hips before putting his mouth back to work on you. You were devoured, as if you were the last and best meal he would ever have. You trembled slowly at first, your core beginning to quiver and quake. The quaking moved outwards from your core, ready to erupt within your body, as he teased, licked, and sucked, slowing down, or speeding up until you cried out his name begging for mercy.

“Oh god, Ben; you’re so good,” you wailed, the leather becoming tauter around your wrists. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes while your breaths became more and more ragged.

“Yes, sweetheart, cum for me, cum for me then I’ll fuck you.”

An order, not a request.

A tightness began resonating outward from your core, as Ben latched his mouth to your clit and suddenly you felt him push not one, but two fingers deep inside you, finger fucking you relentlessly until you could do nothing but cry out and scream his name. Your own personal mantra. A merciless spark took over your body until every inch of you trembled, as a wetness spread onto your sheets beneath you.

“Wow, baby, you are amazing,” he sighed, granting you a moment to regain your composure.

It felt as though you had run a marathon, you were breathing so hard.

“Was that?” You asked in shock through breaths, “did I?”

“Yes, and it was amazing,” he confirmed, releasing your hands from his thick leather belt. “Don’t tell me you’ve never squirted before.”

You shook your head vigorously, the freedom of your hands allowing you to pull his face towards you in a passionate kiss. He growled over you, capturing you by the waist, allowing your bodies to savor the heat and sweat from one another.

“You taste so good,” he praised. “Sorry about your bodysuit, I guess I’ll have to buy you a new one.”

It didn’t matter. Clothes just seemed like an annoying inconvenience. You needed to be naked with him. You felt how rock hard his member was, upright and ready for you.

“Ben, please, I need you inside me.”

“Condom?”

You held his gaze before speaking, “I’m clean and protected, you?”

The excitement rose within you again at his confirmation. He leaned over you, his eyes almost black with lust. He pushed your legs apart with his muscular thighs before kneeling upright, his large, capable hands dragging your hips towards him. He wrapped your legs around his hips as he grabbed the base of his throbbing cock, slapping it to your clit, nearly making you scream. Your heart pounded into your ears as he lined up his tip to your glistening entrance. He pushed through your slickness, inch by inch, agonizingly slow, rewarding you with his pulsating girth . You threw your head back, nearly sobbing as he stretched you. You wrapped your arms around his broad shoulders as he rolled his hips into yours, moving his length in and out.

“You’re so big, you feel so good,” you praised as you felt him increase his pace.

“I’m never leaving this pretty little cunt,” he groaned as he rolled and thrust into you.

“Faster, baby, fuck me harder, faster,” you implored.

His thick fingers pressed into your hips, and he began to drive into you exactly as you asked, pounding into your tight, wet cunt. Your name left his lips in repeated growls through gritted teeth. It was like he fucking owned you. A gravelly hiss leaves his throat as your walls rippled and squeezed his thick cock. He thrusted deep into you, hitting your g-spot and you gifted him with a loud moan of his name, your voice unable to form any other words.

His left hand pressed down hard at the base of your neck, and you felt his thrusts begin to roll into you at a slower pace. With his right hand, he lifted your knee towards your chest, hooking it over his shoulder. A pleading whimper escaped your lips when it felt like he was almost completely out of you. But as quickly as the thought drifted in, he pounded into you even harder than before. The pleasure was amplified one-hundred times with the newfound angle. The way his cock pounded your g-spot was somehow better this way and just as you thought it couldn’t get more perfect, Ben took his hand from your neck and began circling your clit with his thumb.

You let out a long, loud moan, crying out his name in a never-ending chant. “Ben! I can’t, my pussy can’t, I’m gonna cum!”

“Fuck, me too, baby,” he moaned with each thrust. “Wh—where, can I?”

“Cum inside me!” you demanded.

His cock throbbed and reverberated in you, until you found it impossible to contain everything you felt. Your orgasm washed all over you, your core quivering and every part of your body shaking as he thrust in with every bit of strength he had. Not once, not twice, but three more times, he chased your high with his own until you felt him fill you with ropes of his sweet, hot cum. Your voice cried out with him as he hissed and moaned through his own orgasm. His cock stayed sheathed within you, savoring how your core pulsated around him. He released his hands from your hips and slowly he pulled out of you. You let out a luxurious gasp, feeling a twinge of sadness from not feeling him inside you anymore.

A breath of satisfied exhaustion left him as he rolled next to you, but he also deftly found a way to wrap you in his arms, pulling you close into him. You came down from your high together and you listened intently to his heartbeat as you caressed his chest gently with your fingers. He brought his left hand to yours and began to mirror your gentle touches, bringing your palm to his lips kissing the inside of it. He intertwined his fingers with yours and pulled you even closer, your legs tangled together, your bodies still glowing. You closed your eyes, breathing him in as you felt the velvety soft touch of his fingers caressing your hair and your shoulders. He pressed his soft lips to your forehead, a kiss so gentle it stood in direct contrast to how relentlessly he had fucked you. And it all felt right.

You looked up at him and he held his gaze to yours. A serene smile grew on your face, your cheeks flushing with a rosy warmth.

“Wow,” was the only thing that could leave your lips as you caught your breath.

The balmy air of sex hovered over you. A feeling of surprise and giddiness mixed in with the afterglow as you thought of the pale pink impressions the leather of his belt left on your wrists. Just thinking of the way he controlled your body with his tongue, hands, and cock was almost enough to make your arousal reawaken.

“Mmmm, that was not…vanilla,” you exhaled, chuckling at the thought of him eating those snack wafers, “you are an enigma, sweet Ben.”

“Thank you, I think?” He laughed.

Your hand traced up his Adam’s apple, snuggling against him and caressing your fingers along his endearingly patchy facial hair. You propped yourself up and brought your face close to his, nuzzling your nose against his, inviting him in for a sensual kiss.

“I promise you, it’s a good thing,” a giggle escaped your lips. “Even just laying here with you is…it’s something.”

“Something you want to try again?” he asked, his breath hitching as he waited for your answer.

“Fuck yeah,” you replied without hesitation. “But…”

“Uh oh, there’s a…butt!” He laughed, as he smacked your behind, tingling your core again with desire.

“Ben,” you laughed with him, gently caressing the soft skin of his pelvis, “what I was going to say is, ‘yes, there is a 100 percent chance of this happening again,’ as long as you take me out on a real date.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the most attractive and radiant smile.

“How does breakfast sound?”

“Mmmm,” you whispered, pulling your soft bed sheets over the two of you, “I would love that.”

Thank you to my darling friends @legendary-pink-dot & @blueheat1-blog for beta-ing this for me! <3

#mr. ben x reader #mr. ben snl #pedro pascal fic #juice bar collective #juice collective

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musings-of-a-rose · 1 year

Text

What the Hell Are Fancams?

Pairing: Teacher Ben (SNL) x f!reader

Word Count: 2500+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

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

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

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

Main Masterlist

Teacher Ben Masterlist

What the Hell Are Fancams? PART 2

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh?

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

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

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

He's..what?

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

Chelsea-

Oh look we're at math class.

Saved by the bell, indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do you have any questions?" I ask.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Fuck. Me.

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

I see you've met Mr. Ben.

I have. He's…nice.

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

What?

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

—----

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

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

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

Focus on your test, Chelsea.

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

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

She scoffs. You've known me forever.

Yes but you're not an adult.

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

What do you mean "everyone"?

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

The..what?

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

Thanks but I have no clue what that is.

She laughs and Mr. Ben walks over.

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

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

His face goes blank. "The what?"

She laughs. "You don't know?"

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

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

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

Shit.

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

"Hey Mr. Ben."

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

I smile. "Sorry. Habit."

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

Oh.

"I uh.."

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

"I don't-"

"Please?"

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

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

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

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

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

"Are you ok?" He asks me.

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

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

"I uh..who…who made these?"

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

"There's more than one??"

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

"What was that one?"

"Oh nothing. It's nothing."

"But it had my face-"

"Just another fancam."

"And yours."

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

"I can't see it?"

"Uh nah you don't want to-"

"Oh I think I need to see it."

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

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

"The kids…want us to go on a date?"

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

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

RIIIIING!

That fucking bell ruins everything.

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

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

"You're volunteering too?" He asks.

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

"That kid learned asl for her, right?"

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

"Sounds like her."

"Mmmhmm."

We walk together for a hall or two.

"I gotta go this way to homeroom."

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

"Yup. See you!"

—----

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

"HI, Ben."

"H-hi."

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

"Can I ask you something?" He asks.

"Yeah of course."

"I…uh did.. um… would you-"

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

—----

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

"You…you look…"

"Is that the tie I got you?

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

"Brings out your eyes."

"What?'

"What?"

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

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

"What?"

He sighs, gathering up…courage?

"Do you want to dance?"

Oh.

"With…you?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Of course."

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

"Ben, what-"

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

And then it does.

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

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

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

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

"Dinner?"

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

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

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

"I'd love to."

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

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

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

—----

What the Hell Are Fancams? Part 2>>

General Taglist:

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

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

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wannab-urs · 3 months

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Mr. Ben (SNL) Masterlist

Main Masterlist | AO3 | Kofi

You Have Me In a Chokehold - smut | AO3

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

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

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ktwritesstuff · 1 year

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The Professor (Pedro Pascal smut inspired by SNL)

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

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

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

For everyone else, I give you:

The Professor

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

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

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

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

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

“Coffee?”

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

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

Pedro looked at his watch.

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

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

“Thank you, Angel. Thank you!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Pedro chuckled. “I’ve heard worse.”

“That and un tequila, por favor.”

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

Your mouth fell open in surprise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I do.”

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

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

“Just thinking,” he said.

“About what?”

“Kissing you,” he said.

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

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

“I shouldn’t.”

“Fine then,” you turned to stand.

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

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

“You, too,” Pedro said. “Again?”

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

“More?” Pedro asked.

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

“Mi amor,” he breathed.

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

“Dime, lo qué quieres.”

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

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

“Qué lluvia.”

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

“A huevo.”

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

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

“Whatever you want, Angelita.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You grabbed Pedro’s shoulder to brace yourself.

“I’m close,” he warned.

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

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

“Oh God!”

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

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

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

“Yup.”

“It was nice."

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

"What time is it?”

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

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

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

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

“No,” Pedro said. “She scares me.”

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

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

You paused, checking your reflection in your compact mirror.

“Can we do that?” you asked.

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

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

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

You smiled. “I’ll see you then.”

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

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