Him✨ Secret: idk for certain if this is a still from season 3, it honestly might be from the Boba Fett episodes lol. But the colors slapped super hard, and I wanted to paint it. 🌌
SORRY it’s LATE. I post these every day at 11:30am est on my instagram north.the.lemon, and sometimes i forget to venture to tumblr. You will see day 13 in a mere 12 hours, do not worry.
Creds to morguedesign on ig with their #pedrotober #pedrotober2023 challenge 💕
A Visiting Pedrotober One-Shot - Day 20, Merge Mansion
Pairing: Professor!Ben (College AU) x OFC Lydia/fem!Reader (reader POV/2nd POV)
Summary: Lyd is stressed and frustrated, and hit with a bad dose of Parisian nostalgia. Thankfully, Ben knows of a detective - sorry, inspecteur - Roquefort, who is free to investigate the cause of her woes, shoulder holsters included.
Word Count: 2.3k
Rating: Explicit (MDNI; 18+)
Content (series/one-shot specific): Visiting fic one-shot; Professor Ben College AU; Ben and Lydia are contemporaries; canon is not a thing here; smut; fingering; oral sex (f receiving); safe PiV sex; enthusiastic consent; strong language; praise kink; references to stress; bad French; terrible French accents; role playing; these two are fucking dorks; extreme silliness
A/N: This is @jack-whiskey-daniels' fault. I wrote up this smutty little vignette, heavily inspired by the photo of Tim Rockford above, last night. Today, Luce informs me that it's Merge Mansion day for Pedrotober and I should post this. Well, who am I to say no?
With apologies for Ben's deliberately terrible attempts at role-playing a cliched French detective (inspecteur is the more common title). No apologies for me using Lydia to work through my love of Tim "Shoulder Holsters Tight Shirt Undervest" Rockford.
(And, seeing as it's his birthday and these two are film nerds, I had to throw in a reference to a film by the French director Jean-Pierre Melville, creator of several exceptional French crime dramas in the 1960s and 1970s. Le Cercle rouge is one of his finest, but they're all brilliant and highly recommended.)
His warm, broad hand rests lightly on your shoulder as he passes you at the dining table. You turn to look up at him, handsome face full of concern.
“You’re not yourself. What’s up?”
You sigh and stare into your coffee. “It’s dumb.”
He pulls out a chair and sits down, quirking an eyebrow. “If it’s bothering you, I doubt it’s dumb. What’s wrong, love?”
“It’s this stupid essay I’m trying to get finished. I’m missing some of the stuff that would be really useful for it, and I should have gone to see it last time I was in Paris, and I’m frustrated with myself.”
“That’s not dumb, darling. Even if you are being too hard on yourself, as usual.”
You slump forward on the table, mumbling against the wooden surface. “And then I thought about how easy it used to be to just…pop over to Paris, whenever I could, and then I started thinking about it and how much I love it.”
He pats your arm affectionately. “Still not dumb.”
“And then we watched Le Cercle rouge last night and even all those dodgy cops and inspecteurs in their trenchcoats and hats and crime were making me miss Paris. See? Dumb.”
Ben shakes his head and smiles softly. “Not dumb at all. It’s a part of you, of who you are.” He traces a circle on the back of your hand. “And anyway, didn’t you once tell me you had a thing for dodgy cops with moustaches?” He looks at you mischievously and you grin.
“You, Benjamin, are a very tolerant man.” You reach out and trace your fingers over the coarse hair on one side of his face, and he closes his eyes and hums happily.
“I love you, Lyddie. It’ll be okay.” He pushes himself away from the table and heads towards the hallway. “I gotta go for my early seminar, but keep Hemingway in mind.”
You laugh and roll your eyes affectionately. “Of course, the answer is in literature.” He pauses at the door, waiting for you to acknowledge the quotation. “‘Wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.’”
He does that half-smile that never fails to make you melt, blows you a kiss, and heads off to work.
You meet him later for lunch, having worked at home for most of the morning. In between bites of his sandwich, he excitedly talks about the graduate seminar he’d taught, and you discuss your plans for your workshop on gender and visual culture that afternoon while Ben listens attentively.
“You feeling any better?” he asks, as you brush a stray couple of crumbs from his moustache.
“A bit. I’m sorry, I just spiralled. Probably mostly stress and frustration at my own shitty work ethic and crap ideas.”
He kisses the tips of your fingers swiftly and discreetly, and you giggle. “You have to be kinder to yourself. You’re working too hard, thinking about it too much.”
You clear your table and bring your trays to the designated area, hands brushing lightly against each other as you stroll out of the cafeteria and back towards your building and your offices. You smile to yourself at how, even now, the slightest touch from him sends a current of electricity sparking through your body.
Ben opens his office door and pulls you in for a quick kiss before you have to go and teach. He pulls away reluctantly as you whine softly.
“Please be kinder to yourself, Lyd.” He wiggles his eyebrows suggestively as you move into the hallway. “I’m happy to help distract you, you know.”
“I’m home, love!”
You drop your bag beside the hall table and hang your coat up on the rack before kicking off your shoes and stretching upwards as you walk towards the kitchen, where you expect to find him. On days when you have a later teaching schedule, Ben likes to get home earlier, finish his work in his attic study, and then get dinner started for both of you.
Something delicious is cooking away in the CrockPot, but there’s no sign of your boyfriend. You pass into the dining room, noticing the light from the living room coming through the glass-panelled doors.
Ben is sitting on the sofa, wearing his glasses - nothing out of the ordinary there. But he’s also clad in the trenchcoat he wore for his Dave Toschi costume on Halloween, which is decidedly weird.
“Uh, baby? You okay?”
He turns to face you, arching an eyebrow and running his eyes up and down your body as if he’s appraising you.
“Ben?”
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”
You scrunch your face up in absolute confusion, and wonder if you should call Jen. Maybe some kind of accident happened at work? Did he take a knock to the head?
“Ben, I’m…what the fuck is happening?”
He holds a hand up to one side of his face and does a sort of stage whisper. “Go with it, Lyd! Just an attempt at cheering you up. You want to stop, just say the word.”
You burst out laughing and shake your head. “No, I’m… I’ll see where this leads, monsieur.”
He grins in satisfaction and stands up. “Je suis Inspecteur Timothée Roquefort, and…uh, I mean, et je suis un…Parisian police homme.”
“Baby, I know your French is better than this.”
Ben holds up a hand and continues speaking in what can only be described as one of the worst comedy French accents you have ever heard. “Mademoiselle! Do not interrupt moi.”
You bite your lip, body shaking with laughter. “D’accord, monsieur.”
“I received une message at the commissariat de police that une jolie femme was…” He looks away as he thinks. “Triste parce que she is not in Pareeeeee.”
“D’accord, mais je ne sais pas pourquoi les flics doivent intervenir dans une question personnelle, en fait, et alors -” [Okay, but I don’t know why cops have to intervene in a personal matter, really, and anyway -]
Ben looks panicked, and starts to rub at one side of his moustache with his pointer finger.
“Uh… HON HON HON. OMELETTE DU FROMAGE.”
That does it. You collapse against him in a fit of laughter, eyes creased and tears rolling down your cheeks. He holds you close against him as you look up at his open, handsome face.
“You are a very goofy man, Benjamin Morales, and I love you for it. Though I don’t really understand how I want to fuck you this badly even with that accent.”
He grins. “You want to fuck moi because je suis a sexy Parisian police homme, non?”
He plants a kiss to your forehead as he hugs you tightly. “L’Inspecteur did have une question de plus, Lyddie.”
“Eh bien?”
You can see him struggling not to laugh as he makes a cheesy, cliched “sexy” face at you.
“La question, s’il vous plait.”
“Well, mademoiselle…” Ben shrugs off the trenchcoat to reveal the shoulder holsters he’d worn at Halloween. The ones that had helped show you just how beautifully broad he was. The ones you’d held onto as the two of you sat as close as it was possible for two friends to sit, both taking any opportunity to make contact with the other’s body.
The ones you’d asked him, a while back, if he’d kept. “Just because,” you’d explained. “They were kinda hot.”
You reach out and trace your fingers over the leather of the straps, biting your lip and feeling the flame of your desire building steadily into an inferno.
“La question, monsieur l’Inspecteur.”
He arches his brow and gives you his most seductive smile. “Voulez-vous coucher avec moi ce soir?”
You make it to the bedroom in record time, laughing as you race up the stairs and sit down on the bed as he stands in front of you.
“Where do you want me for the, uh, investigation, monsieur l’Inspecteur?”
Ben grins delightedly and leans forward, encouraging you to lie back on the mattress as he shifts his broad form over you, arms caging your body as you run your hands over his warm, solid chest and that tummy that makes you absolutely feral. His white shirt is perfectly snug, sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, and your hips are already shifting upwards to meet his crotch, desperate for him.
You grip the shoulder holsters as Ben chuckles, bringing his head lower and whispering in your ear. “Je think that les clues are hidden dans your body.”
You both burst out laughing, but your eyes stay trained on each other, never breaking the intense intimacy and erotic power of the shared gaze.
“You should probably do some searching, then, Inspecteur.”
Ben kisses you deeply as he moves you towards the middle of the bed and loosens his tie before unbuttoning your blouse, bringing his mouth to every new area of skin exposed. “Might be here?” he murmurs, lips brushing off the velvety flesh of your breasts before sucking on your nipples through the pink lace of your bra.
Your back arches as you gasp. “No, don’t think so…sir.”
You feel his cock twitch in his pants at that and you smile wickedly. “Liked that, did we? Sir?”
Ben hides his face against your tummy and laughs. “Maybe.” His broad hands roam up to your shoulders as he helps you out of your blouse, before tracing the outline of your waist and the curves of your hips and ass as he unbuttons your dark green pants and slips his fingers into your panties.
“Fuck, Ben, fuck, that’s -”
“Maybe the clues are here? What do you think, mademoiselle?”
He shifts his body down the bed and looks up at you lasciviously, eyes burning black with lust as he pulls your pants down and discards them. He eases your legs apart and you react with a gasp and a giggle as he works his way up your thighs.
“Looking for treasure, sir?”
He laughs, low and warm, and brings his face to your core. “Found it, mademoiselle.” The heat of his mouth hits your pussy through the fabric of your panties, and you moan loudly. He hums happily as he kisses your soaking cunt, pulling the fabric aside to grant him more access before he drags them off you completely and buries his mouth between your legs. His tongue moves between your folds, flicking your clit every now and again before diving into the warm wetness of your entrance while the strong line of his nose keeps the pressure on the sensitive nub.
The first orgasm hits you hard, and your hips bear down on Ben’s face as he groans with pleasure. He slips two fingers inside you to sustain the climax a little longer, and with the other hand unbuckles his belt and undoes his zipper, slipping off his pants and boxer briefs while he continues to massage the spot inside you that he knows, having had you so many times, will deepen the orgasm and build to an even stronger one next time.
“Need you, baby,” you whine, eyes drifting to his hard cock, tip glistening with pre-come. “Need you so badly.”
You reach up as he shifts his weight over you, unbuttoning his shirt to reveal his white undervest, clinging perfectly to his gorgeous, solid form. He makes as if to take off the holsters.
“Don’t you fucking dare take those off. They’re staying on, sir.”
He raises his eyebrows and laughs. “Oh, mademoiselle likes them, does she?”
You giggle, feeling his warm breath against your lips, and slip your fingers under the straps around his shoulders. “She really likes them, monsieur. Liked them from the first time she saw them on you.”
He kisses you hard, one hand groping your tits while the other gives his cock a few strokes as he shifts into position. “Sometimes I wish you’d told me back then, that night,” he murmurs, sucking lightly on your neck and making you cry out.
“Think we made up for lost time, though,” you gasp, tilting your head to look at his hard length notching at the wet folds of your cunt. “Please fuck me, baby.”
He slides into you in a fluid motion, moaning long and slow as he bottoms out and the tightness of your pussy takes hold around his cock. He drags back out of you slowly, luxuriantly, savouring every bump and ridge inside you and trying to restrain himself from driving back into you too quickly.
“Jesus, baby, your pussy is fucking incredible. So warm and tight for me.”
He starts to fuck you, picking up pace quickly as you keep hold of the shoulder holsters.
“Tell me, darling.”
He closes his eyes, face a perfect expression of ecstasy. “It’s just fucking perfect. Like you’re made for me, made for my cock. Made for each other.”
You tilt your pelvis slightly so that he’s grinding a little more on your clit as he moves in and out of you, and before long the friction has you coming again. Ben groans at the sensation as your pussy clenches around him and you ride out your orgasm on his cock.
“Fuck, Lyd, I - oh, fuck.” He seems surprised at how quickly his own release comes, spilling into you while he buries his face against your neck, muttering a litany of curses and praise.
“Oh fuck fuck fuck baby, that’s fucking it, that’s - my good fucking girl, fuck.”
When he lifts his head again, his face and upper body are drenched in sweat, dripping onto your neck and chest. He kisses you slowly, deeply, before he pulls out. You whine with pleasure at the taste of yourself, of your cunt, on his lips.
He flops back onto the bed, turning to kiss you again and stroke your cheek as he whispers his love for you, over and over.
You return the gesture, nuzzling against him, sated and feeling completely loved, completely adored, completely safe.
The sight of the shoulder holster makes you giggle affectionately. This beautiful, goofy, sexy man, who would come up with something so silly and so sweet and so insanely hot, just to make you feel better.
“Can the inspecteur come by another time, baby? I think there might be more cases to solve.”
(tape warning by @cafekitsune; star dividers by @saradika)
For the freebie, I put a few Pedro Boys into the Breakfast Club poster (which is a movie that Pedro loves). I also think it's pretty cool that PP has played people who match the descriptions of the 5 Breakfast Club members.
Hello! I didn't think I'd ever be back here. As you can see from the posts behind this one, it's been quite some time. But a friend encouraged me and I really think I could make some fun stuff happen on here. <3
In the 6 years since I last posted on this little blog, I've been nurturing my Instagram instead and have also developed quite the obsession with a certain Mr. Pascal.
Instagram is still the best place to reach me, but I'm going to start posting my portraits on here too. I have hopes of finding even more folks who enjoy the same things I do-- Pedro, Oscar, Moon Knight, the Mandalorian, Ted Lasso, Disney Parks, and other happy magic fangirly things <3
Here's my 2021-2023 Art vs. Artists to show you just a quick glimpse of how much I've progressed since the last art I shared on here!
