hi it's ben

Hi I’m Ben | 17 | Filipino | INFJ-T | Can draw

[brunchable]

𝗠𝘆 𝗡𝗲𝗶𝗴𝗵𝗯𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝗶𝘀 𝗮 𝗣𝗼𝗿𝗻𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗿 [ Masterlist ]

Summary: Your coworker peer pressured you to look up SergeantBarnes in Pornhub, reason? Because apparently you're missing out. Little did you know that that same dude was your neighbour.

Chapter 1 ꔫ Chapter 2 ꔫ Chapter 3 ꔫ Chapter 4 ꔫ Chapter 5 ꔫ Chapter 6 ꔫ Chapter 7

[itsbensart]

the best ✨

[snstrack11]

Trained to Tease

Laying on a yoga mat has consequences

PAIRING: Dom!Bucky x Sub!reader

WARNING: nsfw/explicit content, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, dirty talk, implied sexual activity, light impact play (slapping thigh), possessiveness/marking (hickeys, "you belong to me" type), D/S element, mild breeding ("begging to be fucked"), ownership language ("you belong to me"), petnames ("baby", "kid"), playful humiliation/teasing (ragebait, mocking each other) lots of and lots of teasing

WORDCOUNT: 700+

A/N: I needed the gym motivation and my delusional ass brain lead me to this thought. hehe. enjoy!! :) - Liz 💛

------------------------------------------------

"What the hell are you doing?" Bucky laughs, watching you lift a leg in the air.

"What does it look like, dummy? Exercise," you grunt, switching legs as your back presses flat to the yoga mat. "The rain won’t stop me from my workout streak." Pride colors your voice, making Bucky smirk at your stubbornness.

"You know…" he murmurs stepping beside you, hands sliding to your ankles to still your movements. "I have some workout ideas made specifically for you." His grin widens at your eye-roll.

"Oh yeah? Like what?" you ask, though you already know where this is going.

Bucky’s smirk darkens at your challenge. "I’d rather show you. Just follow me, okay, baby?"

He kneels between your legs, nudging them open, and the funniest part? You don’t fight it. No complaints. No witty remark. Just curiosity, submission—things he eats up.

"You look so handsome playing trainer," you tease, keeping your gaze locked on him as he hovers above you.

His chuckle drops into a growl. "Baby, stop it. You and I both know no compliment will stop me from devouring you like a man starved." His lips graze yours, a dangerous smile curling at both your mouths.

"You seem to love it though, baby," you snark, catching the flicker of red across his cheeks. He blushes—just for a second. One of your favorite sights.

"Shut up," he mutters, laughing lightly as he pecks your nose.

"That’s it?" you whine dramatically. "All I get is a nose kiss? Snooze fest, Barnes. Here I thought you were giving me workout tips."

His eyes roll. Heat floods them. "Oh, you just love ragebaiting me, don’t you?"

You laugh, but your body tenses under his weight as he pins you down. He takes in your tiny shorts, your loose shirt—his jaw clenching.

"Yeah. Ragebait. You heard me," he growls. "You love teasing me with this bullcrap, pretending it’s about a workout. But baby, you’re practically begging to be fucked on this mat."

His palm slaps against your thigh, then grips it. His metal hand clamps your waist as he crashes his mouth onto yours. His kiss is hot, greedy, devastating—and still, that left hand never strays rough, always careful.

When his lips trail down your jaw to your neck, you whimper at the sting of love marks blooming there. He leans back, admiring them, voice dripping with ownership.

"So every person at that gym knows you belong to someone. And that someone is me. Got it, kid?"

You nod, biting your lip from smiling.

"This stupid loose shirt," Bucky then mutters, tugging it up. His suspicions confirmed: bare underneath. "Fucking knew it."

"Were you even committed to working out, or were you just set on teasing me?"

"Well… maybe both," you admit with a giggle.

His head shakes, growl low. "Take it off. Now."

You peel it off, leaving yourself bare for him. He drinks you in, thumb caressing your cheek as his eyes soften.

"You’re lucky you’re beautiful," he murmurs. "…and that I love you."

Then the edge slips back into his tone. "But you’ve been a very naughty girl this morning. And I think you need to be punished."

-------------------------------------------------

NOTE: my brain finally blurted out some light smut. yippie!

[itsbensart]

It’s Bucky! 🦾

[itsbensart]

Underneath the Surface

Professor Luke Thompson x Male Student Reader

Summary: Y/N, a focused architecture student, catches the attention of his strict professor, Luke Thompson, with his impressive work. What starts as a professional relationship shifts into something more intense after a dinner where Luke pushes Y/N to recognize his potential. Their connection grows, leading to a passionate moment that tests their boundaries.

Warning: Mature content, slight age gap (???), explicit language, sexual situations, power dynamics, and consent issues.

Word Count: Approx. 3,300 words.

Y/N was the type of student who blended into the background—quiet, focused, and steadfast in his pursuit of academic success. Architecture was his life. Each project, each late night drafting, was a step closer to achieving his dreams. He didn’t have time for distractions, much less for indulgences that could derail his carefully laid plans.

Professor Luke Thompson was another story entirely.

He was notorious among students for his rigorous standards, his unyielding critiques, and the piercing gaze that seemed to see through any facade. But beneath the stern demeanor, those who worked closely with him knew he was fair, even kind in his own way. He rewarded effort and talent, often surprising his students with encouragement just when they thought they couldn’t take another step.

Y/N had caught Luke’s attention during his first critique session of the semester. The young student presented his work with a quiet confidence that stood out against the nervous energy in the room. His designs were intricate, meticulously thought out, yet imbued with a raw creativity that hinted at something extraordinary.

Luke, though impressed, had maintained his professional distance. He treated Y/N no differently than the other students, though his sharp eyes often lingered a moment longer than they should when Y/N spoke up in class or furrowed his brow in concentration.

It wasn’t until the midterm project that Luke’s resolve began to crack. Y/N had submitted a design that was breathtaking in its execution, and the murmurs in the faculty lounge confirmed Luke’s suspicion: Y/N was a rising star.

After class one evening, Luke lingered as Y/N packed up his materials. “Y/N,” he called, his voice measured.

Y/N turned, startled but composed. “Yes, Professor?”

“I was impressed with your project,” Luke began, crossing his arms. “It’s not often I see such dedication and originality from someone still in their second year. I’d like to discuss it further. Are you free for dinner this evening?”

Y/N blinked, surprised by the offer. “Dinner?”

Luke nodded, his expression unreadable. “There’s a bistro nearby. It’ll be less formal than my office, and I think it’s worth discussing where your potential could take you.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Y/N agreed.

The bistro was small and intimate, its low lighting casting a warm glow over their table. Y/N felt out of place among the softly murmured conversations and clinking glasses, but Luke was at ease, his presence commanding yet oddly comforting.

As the conversation progressed, Luke pushed past the academic discussions, delving into Y/N’s motivations and aspirations. He asked questions that were both insightful and disarming, his gaze never leaving Y/N’s face.

“You have a natural talent,” Luke said, his voice low. “But you hold back. Why?”

“I don’t—” Y/N began, but Luke raised an eyebrow, silencing him.

“You do,” Luke insisted, his lips quirking into a small smile. “You’re afraid to take risks, to put yourself out there. It’s admirable, in a way, but it won’t get you where you want to go.”

Y/N frowned, feeling a mix of irritation and awe. “I’m just cautious, Professor. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Caution is fine,” Luke replied, leaning forward slightly. “But brilliance demands more.”

The intensity of Luke’s words and the way he looked at Y/N stirred something unfamiliar in the younger man—something he couldn’t quite name.

By the time they left the bistro, the air between them was charged. Luke offered to walk Y/N home, and though the student hesitated, he found himself agreeing.

When they reached Y/N’s apartment, Luke hesitated, his expression unreadable. “I meant what I said earlier,” he murmured. “You have potential. More than you realize.”

“Thank you, Professor,” Y/N said softly, his heart pounding in his chest.

Luke studied him for a moment longer before taking a step closer, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “Invite me in.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, his mind racing. The power dynamic, the professional boundaries—they all screamed at him to say no. But there was something in Luke’s eyes, a vulnerability beneath the confidence, that made him nod.

Once inside, the tension that had been building between them snapped. The door slammed shut behind them, and Luke’s restraint crumbled instantly. He took a step forward, his presence overwhelming, and in one fluid motion, pushed Y/N against the wall. The coldness of the wall sent a shiver through Y/N’s body, but it was quickly erased by the heat radiating from Luke as he closed the distance between them.

Without warning, Luke’s lips claimed Y/N’s in a searing kiss, the urgency of it leaving no room for hesitation. Y/N gasped, his hands instinctively clutching at Luke’s shirt as the professor’s hands roamed. They explored, a possessive touch that left no part of Y/N untouched, claiming him with a fervor that made his heart race.

Luke pulled back just enough to look into Y/N’s wide eyes, his breath hot and uneven."You don’t even fucking know what you’ve done to me, do you?" he growled, his voice laced with a feral edge. “I’ve been holding back for so long, trying to stay professional, trying to keep my goddamn hands off you. But now—” His fingers trailed down Y/N’s sides, stopping just above his hips. “Now there’s no one here to stop me.”

Y/N’s breath hitched, and he froze under Luke’s intense gaze, his heart pounding. He opened his mouth to speak, but Luke silenced him with a finger pressed firmly to his lips.

“Don’t even try to play innocent,” Luke muttered, leaning in close, his lips brushing against Y/N’s ear. “You’ve been teasing me—walking into my lectures looking like you don’t have a clue how badly I want to ruin you. How badly I want to make you mine.”

Y/N’s body trembled, and a shiver ran through him at the words. His cheeks flushed as his professor’s voice, so often measured and authoritative in class, now dripped with raw hunger. “Sir—” Y/N began, his voice shaky, but before he could finish, Luke silenced him with another kiss, his lips demanding, controlling.

“No,” Luke growled, pulling back just enough to look Y/N in the eyes. There was a dangerous glint in his gaze, an edge of authority that sent a thrill through Y/N’s body. “You’ll say my name. Not ‘Sir.’”

Y/N swallowed, his pulse thundering in his ears. The word felt unfamiliar, but the way Luke said it made it feel important. “Luke…” The name slipped from his lips, and it felt real now. It was no longer about formality. It was about him.

“That’s right,” Luke said, his voice low and commanding. “You’ll say my name now. No more ‘Sir.’ No more distance. You’re mine here.” His hands gripped Y/N’s hips firmly, pulling him closer, until there was no space left between them. “And behind closed doors, I’ll remind you exactly who’s in control.”

Y/N swallowed hard, his mind spinning as Luke’s words sank in. His professor, the man he’d looked up to, was now unraveling before him, revealing a side that was feral and unrestrained.

“I could ruin you, Y/N,” Luke continued, his voice dropping to a whisper that was somehow more dangerous than his growl. “One word from me, and everything you’ve worked for could fall apart. But I won’t. Do you know why?” He smirked, his lips grazing Y/N’s jaw as he spoke. “Because I don’t want to break you. I want to own you. To make you beg for me.”

Y/N gasped softly, his hands gripping Luke’s shoulders as if for support. His professor’s words were overwhelming, leaving him breathless and flushed. He couldn’t tell if it was fear, desire, or both that sent a rush of heat through him.

“You’re quiet now,” Luke teased, his tone mocking but approving. “Good. You’re much prettier like this—helpless, waiting for me to decide what to do with you.” His thumb brushed over Y/N’s lower lip, his touch as possessive as his words. “Tell me, Y/N. Do you like hearing how much power I have over you? How easily I could ruin you if I wanted to?”

Y/N’s pulse thundered in his ears, his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. “I—I don’t know,” he stammered, his voice trembling.

Luke chuckled darkly, his lips curving into a wicked smile. “You don’t know?” he repeated, his tone dripping with mock disbelief. “Let me make it simple for you, then.” He leaned in, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “You belong to me now. And when we’re done, there won’t be a single part of you that doesn’t know it.”

Y/N’s head tilted back against the wall as his body betrayed him, leaning into the heat of Luke’s touch. His hands found their way to Luke’s shoulders, gripping them for grounding. The professor’s dominance was consuming, yet it didn’t feel like restraint—it felt like liberation, like permission to surrender.

“You can’t hide from me, Y/N,” Luke murmured, his lips brushing against the curve of Y/N’s neck. His hands moved with practiced ease, pulling Y/N even closer as though there was no space left between them. “I know what you want. Don’t act like you don’t.”

Y/N’s body trembled as he nodded, his voice almost too soft to hear. “I—I don’t want to hide.”

Luke’s lips curled into a satisfied smile, and for a fleeting moment, there was tenderness in his eyes. But the raw intensity of his presence didn’t soften. “Good,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Let me take care of the rest.”

[itsbensart]

Forbidden Desires

Jonathan Bailey x Priest Male Reader

Summary: Jonathan attends Mass for the younger priest, Y/N, whose presence captivates him. After weeks of hidden attraction, Jonathan confesses his love for Y/N in the confessional. Despite Y/N's professional response urging Jonathan to reflect on the consequences of his feelings, Jonathan pursues his desire, leading to a forbidden kiss and a moment of surrender.

Warnings: Forbidden Romance, Emotional Tension, Explicit Content, Religious Themes

Word Count: Approximately 1,137 words.

Every Sunday, Jonathan attended Mass, though his reasons went beyond the solemnity of the service. It wasn’t the prayers or the rituals that drew him back—it was the younger priest, Y/N. Jonathan couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something in the way Y/N carried himself. Despite his youth, the priest exuded a quiet authority in his voice, in the way he moved, the way his words resonated during the sermons. There was a gentle calmness in his presence— and Jonathan found it irresistible, something he couldn’t ignore. And so, week after week, Jonathan returned, his heart racing every time Y/N approached the altar.

Jonathan often caught himself watching him during the service, lingering just a moment longer than necessary, entranced by Y/N’s composed features. The attraction, though unspoken, was undeniable. Yet there remained a distance—Y/N, so measured and composed in his duties, so calm in his presence. Jonathan couldn’t help but wonder if Y/N ever noticed the way his gaze lingered, or if he ever felt the same unspoken tension building between them.

This Sunday, however, Jonathan could no longer keep his feelings hidden. After the congregation had filed out, leaving only the soft echo of footsteps behind, Jonathan stayed behind, lingering in the back pews, his thoughts consumed by the man who held his attention so completely. Y/N had been busy tidying the altar when Jonathan finally stood up, the weight of his decision heavy in his chest. He had to do this.

He couldn’t wait any longer.

Quietly, Jonathan made his way toward the confession booth, the old wood creaking under his feet. He entered one of the confessional spaces, sliding the door shut behind him, his heart pounding. A moment later, the screen in front of him shifted as Y/N appeared on the other side.

It was now or never.

“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned,” Jonathan began, his voice thick with emotion, though the words held a weight they hadn’t before.

Y/N’s voice came through the screen, gentle and composed. “What is troubling you, my son? Speak, and the Lord shall forgive.”

Jonathan paused, the words catching in his throat for a moment. He hadn’t come for absolution—no, this was something else entirely. His mind raced with the secret he’d been carrying for far too long.

“I… I don’t come for confession, Father,” Jonathan confessed, his voice quieter now, the air between them charged with a hidden tension. “I come to tell you something else. Something I can’t ignore anymore.”

There was a long pause on the other side of the screen, and Jonathan could hear the soft shift of Y/N’s breath. The priest’s voice came again, a little less steady now. “Jonathan, I’m afraid you’re mistaken. This space is for confession of sins, not for—”

But Jonathan couldn’t stop now. His desire, his feelings for Y/N, had been building too long to keep quiet any longer.

“I’m in love with you, Father,” Jonathan said firmly, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “I’ve been coming here every week for months now, and it’s you I can’t stop thinking about. I’m... infatuated with you.”

Y/N fell silent on the other side, his heartbeat quickening as he processed the confession. His breath hitched, but he composed himself swiftly. Though he was younger than the man speaking to him, he straightened his posture and drew on the weight of his position, his authority as a priest grounding him.

“Young man,” Y/N said finally, the title chosen with deliberate care, his voice steady and firm despite the turmoil simmering beneath. “I need you to pause and reflect on what you’ve just said. You must understand the weight of your words. Feelings like these lead down a path that neither of us can afford to walk. It is a path of confusion, pain, and ultimately... sin. My life is one of service and devotion, and to stray from that would betray not only my soul, but yours as well.”

He folded his hands, his gaze steady yet compassionate. “I urge you to reflect on these feelings, pray for clarity, and see them as a challenge to overcome—a test of faith. We must rise above this. I cannot, and will not, return your sentiments. My calling requires me to lead by example, even when the path is difficult.”

But Jonathan wasn’t deterred. He knew this was dangerous, knew the consequences if anyone found out. But his desire was overpowering, and he couldn’t hold back anymore. He stood up, sliding open the small door of the confessional and stepping into the narrow space beyond, his eyes locking with Y/N’s.

Before the priest could protest further, Jonathan moved closer, his hands reaching up to gently lift Y/N’s face, bringing their lips together in a kiss that was fierce and possessive. Y/N’s body tensed, his initial instinct to pull away, to stop this madness, but Jonathan’s hands held him in place, his grip firm and insistent.

“Don’t fight it,” Jonathan whispered, his lips brushing against Y/N’s. “I know you feel it too. The pull between us. It’s undeniable.”

Y/N’s mind screamed to stop, to push Jonathan away and remind him of the vows, of his sacred duties. But as Jonathan kissed him deeper, his body betrayed him. He had kept his distance for so long, suppressing every desire, every temptation, but Jonathan’s presence in the small confessional space, hidden from the world, made it impossible to resist.

Y/N’s hands hovered, unsure of what to do. He wanted to push Jonathan away, to end this madness, but the heat between them was overwhelming. Jonathan’s kiss deepened, his tongue exploring Y/N’s mouth with a hunger that made Y/N gasp.

The walls that Y/N had built around himself—walls of duty, of discipline—began to crumble, piece by piece, as Jonathan continued to pull him closer, urging him to give in. Jonathan’s hands slid down Y/N’s robes, his fingers grazing the fabric as he moved with purpose, undressing the priest with a slow, deliberate motion. Every touch was electric, every movement a silent promise of something forbidden.

“Please,” Jonathan whispered against Y/N’s lips. “Let go. Let me show you what we’ve both been hiding.”

Y/N trembled, his mind at war, but as Jonathan kissed him again, more urgently this time, he felt himself losing the battle. The need, the desire, the temptation—it was too much. With a low moan, Y/N finally surrendered, pulling Jonathan closer, his hands fisting in Jonathan’s shirt as they gave in to the quiet, hidden passion that had been simmering for so long.

In the darkness of the confessional booth, hidden from the world, they allowed themselves to fall into each other, their desires and guilt entwining in a dance that could only end in chaos. But for that moment, it was all they needed.

[itsbensart]

Unspoken Doubts

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Male Reader | Part 3

Summary: Y/N’s success in the semester, thanks to Fiyero’s support, leads to an invitation to the Ozdust Ball. As they share a dance, Y/N’s internal doubts cause him to pull away from Fiyero without explanation, leaving both of them heartbroken and uncertain of where they stand.

Warnings: Emotional distress, Unspoken love, Self-doubt and insecurity, Sudden emotional withdrawal, Vulnerability in moments of intimacy, Themes of rejection, Angst, and Heartbreak.

Word Count: 2,000 words (approximately)

Y/N couldn’t recall the last time someone had made studying feel less like a chore and more like an adventure. Fiyero had that uncanny ability, infusing even the driest topics with his playful charm and relentless optimism. Between the teasing remarks about Y/N’s obsessive highlighting and exaggerated groans during all-nighters, Fiyero had somehow turned their late-night grind into a source of laughter.

“You know,” Fiyero mused one evening, sprawled out on Y/N’s couch with a textbook resting precariously on his chest, “I don’t think this semester would’ve been half as fun without me.”

Y/N snorted, looking up from his notes. “You mean ‘half as distracting.’ You’ve got more commentary than this entire book.”

“Hey, I’m a multitasker,” Fiyero replied, smirking. “I can distract and inspire at the same time.”

Y/N rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at his lips. For all his antics, Fiyero had been a lifeline, keeping him afloat during moments of doubt and burnout.

But their dynamic wasn’t one-sided. When Fiyero’s own struggles surfaced, Y/N was there, unwavering.

Fiyero, for all his confidence and charm, had his academic Achilles’ heels—anything involving numbers, formulas, or rigid logic was enough to make his head spin. One night, as he sat hunched over a mock exam for his math class, his normally easygoing demeanor faltered.

“Y/N,” he groaned, dragging his hands through his hair, “I swear this stuff is designed to break my spirit.”

“Math isn’t out to get you,” Y/N teased, pulling up a chair beside him. “You just need to look at it differently.”

Fiyero sighed dramatically. “Unless you’ve got magic powers, I don’t think that’s happening tonight.”

“Not magic,” Y/N said, leaning over to point at his paper. “Just patience. See here? You’re overthinking it. The equation isn’t as complicated as it looks—try breaking it into smaller parts.”

Under Y/N’s guidance, Fiyero’s furrowed brow slowly relaxed. His frustration gave way to cautious understanding, and after solving a particularly tricky problem, he beamed.

“Holy Oz, I actually did it,” he said, turning to Y/N with a mix of disbelief and gratitude. “You’re a miracle worker.”

“Hardly,” Y/N replied, smirking. “You just needed someone to explain it in a way that didn’t make your brain short-circuit.”

Fiyero leaned back in his chair, his smirk returning, though this time with a glint of mischief in his eyes. “You know, if you keep being this amazing, I might have to...... reward you.”

Y/N froze, blinking. “R- Reward me?”

Fiyero leaned forward, resting his chin on his hand, his tone dropping into something dangerously teasing. “Mm-hmm. Something special. Something... unforgettable.”

The heat rushed to Y/N’s face, his voice faltering. “I-I don’t need a reward!”

Fiyero laughed, clearly enjoying his reaction. “Don’t be so modest, Y/N. You’ve earned it. I mean, it’s not every day someone teaches me math and keeps their sanity intact.”

“I’m fine with just... knowing you passed,” Y/N mumbled, his cheeks burning. He buried his head in his notes, wishing the couch would swallow him whole.

The truth was, for all of Fiyero’s teasing, Y/N didn’t mind the attention. It left his heart racing, even if his mind screamed at him to brush it off.

Their late-night study sessions became a two-way street. Fiyero would lift Y/N’s spirits during moments of exhaustion, and Y/N would ground Fiyero when the weight of his challenges threatened to pull him under. It was an unspoken exchange of support, a rhythm they fell into naturally.

And somewhere in the midst of equations, essays, endless plates, and scaled models, Y/N began to notice the moments in between. The way Fiyero’s face lit up when he finally grasped a difficult concept. The way he’d absentmindedly drum his fingers on the table whenever he was deep in thought. The way his laughter filled the room, warm and contagious.

It wasn’t just admiration. It was a spark—quiet at first but growing steadily, warming parts of Y/N he hadn’t realized were cold.

What is this? Y/N thought, his pulse quickening as the realization began to settle. It’s nothing. Just... he’s just a good friend. He shook his head, trying to push the thoughts away, but they clung stubbornly, refusing to be dismissed.

He tried to ignore it. He told himself it was nothing, just gratitude for Fiyero’s friendship. He’s just being nice. That’s what Fiyero does—he’s charming with everyone. This isn’t special. It doesn’t mean anything.

But every time their hands brushed, his breath hitched, and the warmth of Fiyero’s touch lingered far longer than it should. Stop it. You’re overthinking. It’s just an accident.

Every time Fiyero shot him a mischievous grin, Y/N’s heart betrayed him, skipping a beat before thudding painfully in his chest. Why does he have to smile like that? Like he knows exactly what he’s doing to me.

And every time Fiyero leaned in a little too close to explain something, his voice low and his presence all-consuming, Y/N found himself unable to focus, his thoughts spiraling. Don’t look at his lips. Don’t look at his lips. Just... focus. Please.

The spark flared, undeniable and terrifying, no matter how much he tried to extinguish it. This can’t happen. I can’t feel this way.

Not about him.

.....

By the end of the semester, they had both overcome their struggles—Y/N had passed his classes, and Fiyero had conquered his math demons. It should’ve been a moment of pure relief, but for Y/N, it was anything but simple.

Sitting together on the campus, in their usual resting place in an oak tree, the evening sun casting a golden glow over them, Fiyero turned to him with a smile that made Y/N’s heart race.

“You did it,” Fiyero said, nudging him lightly. “And you know what that means?”

Y/N raised a brow, pretending not to know. “Let me guess. You want a thank-you speech?”

Fiyero laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Nope. I want to celebrate. You’re coming to the Ozdust Ball with me tonight.”

Y/N froze, his pulse quickening. “The Ozdust Ball?”

“Yes, the Ozdust Ball,” Fiyero repeated, his eyes twinkling with excitement. “You’ve worked yourself off all semester. You deserve a night to let loose. And who better to drag you out of your comfort zone than me?”

Despite his reservations, Y/N found himself agreeing. He didn’t know if it was Fiyero’s infectious enthusiasm or the way his eyes seemed to light up at the prospect of them spending the evening together.

What he did know was that being around Fiyero felt…different. It was exhilarating and terrifying all at once, like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure whether to leap or retreat."

.....

The Ozdust Ball was an extravagant affair, yes, but it was no ordinary celebration. The grand ballroom, tucked away in the heart of Oz’s hidden district, pulsed with energy, its walls vibrating with a sound that was more jazz than waltz—more raw and rebellious than refined. Lanterns floated lazily through the ceiling of the underground landscape, casting soft glows over the guests, their faces lit by a dangerous mix of wonder and defiance. The instruments played, laced with dissonance, stirring something wild in the air. It was a place where nothing seemed quite real, yet everything felt more alive than ever—a place where the rules didn’t just bend; they broke.

Y/N stood at the edge of the ballroom, feeling more like an outsider than ever. The dancers twirled around him, their movements free, unrestrained. They were all part of something illicit—something forbidden, yet utterly intoxicating. His heart raced, not just from the unfamiliarity of the scene but because of Fiyero, whose presence beside him seemed to throw him off balance. There was admiration, yes, but also something deeper—something more overwhelming. Fiyero’s gaze lingered on him with an intensity that felt like a silent challenge, a daring invitation into a world Y/N wasn’t sure he was ready for.

Fiyero’s smile was mischievous, almost daring as he extended his hand. "Dance with me?" he asked, his voice carrying a hint of a promise—dangerous and sweet.

Y/N hesitated, the words swirling in his mind like the chaotic energy around him. But something pulled at him—something magnetic. He placed his hand in Fiyero’s, feeling the spark of contact, and together, they stepped onto the dance floor. The music swirled around them, and the rhythm was infectious. Fiyero led him effortlessly, his hand on Y/N’s waist firm, yet his touch made everything feel electric.

“You’ve worked so hard for this moment,” Fiyero murmured, his voice warm, but there was an edge to it—an undercurrent of something more, something like rebellion. “I’m proud of you, Y/N, and tonight, you deserve to celebrate everything you’ve become.”

But Y/N couldn’t focus on Fiyero’s words. His thoughts were a tangled mess of uncertainty, the constant tug of conflicting emotions—his doubts, his fears, and the intense, overwhelming pull toward Fiyero.

What if this isn’t right? The question gnawed at him. What if I’m not enough for him?

The tension between them grew as the music slowed, the movement becoming less structured, more intimate. Fiyero pulled him closer, the space between them closing until all Y/N could feel was the heat of Fiyero’s body and the pulse of the music beneath his skin.

Fiyero’s voice dropped lower, a whisper now, but filled with urgency. “Y/N, I need to say this before I lose the chance.”

Y/N’s heart pounded in his chest, his breath catching.

Fiyero pulled Y/N slightly closer, his voice barely above a whisper but filled with emotion. “You mean so much to me. More than I can even say. I don’t just want this dance. I want all of them. Every single one, for the rest of my life. I want to tease you, to make you blush, to see you smile like this forever. I want it all—with you.”

Y/N’s chest tightened as the weight of Fiyero’s words settled over him like a heavy fog. The moment felt surreal, his mind spinning. He wasn’t ready for this. How can I give him what he wants when I don’t even understand myself?

The doubts clung to him like a thick, suffocating cloud. What if I hurt him? What if I don’t know how to love him?

The music continued, but it sounded distant now, drowned out by the racing of his heart. He felt the pull of Fiyero’s gaze, but all he could do was shut himself off further.

What if I ruin this?

The air around him seemed to shift, the dreamlike atmosphere of the ball turning dark, suffocating, as his pulse quickened. Without warning, he pulled away, his voice breaking as he muttered, “I… I can’t.”

Fiyero’s brow furrowed, concern etched across his face. “Y/N?”

But Y/N couldn’t stay. He turned abruptly, the sound of his footsteps echoing across the polished floor as he fled the ballroom. The celebration, which had seemed so magical, now felt hollow and distant, fading into the background as Y/N’s heart pounded louder in his ears.

He didn’t look back. He couldn’t. The chaos inside him was louder than anything else—louder than the music, louder than Fiyero’s hurt.

Back in his room, Y/N sank to the floor, his chest tight. I don’t know what I’m doing, he thought, the weight of the moment heavy on him. I don’t know how to love him.

Meanwhile, Fiyero stood frozen in the center of the ballroom, the noise of the celebration surrounding him, but all he could hear was the silence left in Y/N’s wake. The moment had been stolen, leaving him alone and empty. The intensity of what had just transpired felt like an unanswered question hanging in the air.

Was it me? he wondered. Did I push him too far? But the answers were nowhere to be found.

The ball, with all its illicit allure and hidden promises, had lost its magic. Fiyero was left standing there, consumed by the ache of unanswered questions and the pain of rejection, unsure if Y/N would ever come back—or if he had just lost him forever.

To be Continued

[itsbensart]

Hopelessly, Utterly Smitten

Anthony Bridgerton x Angelo Santiago (OC)

Summary: Angelo Santiago, the quiet yet brilliant youngest son of renowned Elias Santiago and Teresa Santiago, arrives in London with his family, stirring intrigue among the ton. When introduced at a summer soirée, Angelo's charm captivates Anthony immediately. While Angelo remains unaware of the growing affection, Anthony is hopelessly smitten, determined to win his heart.

A/N: The Santiago Family is of Filipino Descent.

Warnings: Romantic/Emotional Tension, Slow-Burn Romance, Consent and Vulnerability, and Mild Sensuality.

Word Count: 1,246 words.

The Santiago family was the epitome of grace and intellect—a perfect blend of artistic brilliance and philanthropic legacy. Arriving in London amidst whispers of admiration and intrigue, they carried with them a reputation earned through decades of unparalleled contributions to art and education.

Elias Santiago, the patriarch, was a master painter whose works adorned galleries across Europe. His pieces, infused with Filipino heritage, told stories that captivated audiences. His wife, Teresa, was equally remarkable—a trailblazer in education reform and a champion of literacy initiatives both in the Philippines and Spain.

Yet, it was their youngest son, Angelo, who stirred the most intrigue. Unlike his siblings, who dazzled with confidence and charisma, Angelo’s quiet brilliance and gentle demeanor made him stand out.

The Santiagos were first introduced to the Bridgertons during a midsummer soirée hosted by Lady Danbury, who was always eager to introduce “fresh faces” to the ton. The family’s arrival was a spectacle; Lady Danbury’s commanding voice announced their presence.

“I present the illustrious Santiago family,” she said with her usual flair, “a testament to the union of art and intellect—and, dare I say, a refreshing addition to our little society.”

Anthony Bridgerton, standing near the refreshments table, barely glanced up until he heard Angelo’s name. The unfamiliar yet lyrical sound drew his attention immediately.

Angelo stood slightly apart from his family, his posture calm but not stiff. His dark eyes, framed by long lashes, scanned the room with quiet curiosity. Dressed in a tailored suit of navy blue, he exuded an understated elegance. A stray lock of black hair curled rebelliously over his brow, softening his otherwise composed appearance.

“Who is that?” Anthony asked aloud, more to himself than anyone else.

Benedict, who had sidled up beside him, followed his gaze. “Ah, that’s Angelo Santiago. I believe Mother has already made plans to invite their family for tea. Something about their mother’s work in education.”

Anthony barely heard his brother. His attention remained fixed on Angelo, who smiled politely as he exchanged pleasantries with a group of guests. It wasn’t the dazzling smile of someone vying for attention but the gentle, genuine expression of someone at ease in his own quiet world.

Anthony knew in that moment that he had to know him.

.....

The Queen herself took note of Angelo Santiago. Impressed by his intellect and grace, she spoke of him with admiration during a royal gathering, even bestowing upon him the honorary title of "Scholar of the Crown" for his contributions to historical research and storytelling.

Angelo, however, was deeply embarrassed by the attention.

“Scholar of the Crown,” Anthony said one day, testing the title with a teasing grin. “It has a rather regal sound to it. It suits you.”

Angelo looked down, his fingers nervously tracing the edge of a book he held. “I don’t know if I deserve such an honor. My work is… modest compared to others.”

Anthony leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a soft murmur. “You deserve far more than the world can offer, Angelo.”

The flush that crept up Angelo’s cheeks made Anthony’s heart race. There was something about Angelo’s unassuming nature, his quiet brilliance, and his gentle soul that was utterly intoxicating.

But Anthony’s feelings were not limited to admiration. He wanted more—so much more.

He dreamed of holding Angelo close, of whispering tender words into his ear, of feeling the warmth of Angelo’s soft lips against his. The thought of hearing his name moaned in that gentle, quiet voice sent shivers down his spine.

Anthony was hopelessly, utterly smitten.

And Angelo Santiago had no idea.

.....

When Angelo arrived at Bridgerton House a week later, he captivated the entire household almost immediately.

Daphne and Eloise hung on his every word as he spoke of his passion for history and folklore. Even the usually mischievous Gregory and Hyacinth sat in awe as Angelo animatedly recounted legends from his homeland, like the tales of Ibong Adarna and Maria Makiling.

Anthony, seated on the sofa with a book he wasn’t actually reading, watched in fascination.

There was something about Angelo that was utterly mesmerizing—the soft curve of his lips when he smiled, the faint blush that crept up his cheeks when Eloise teased him, and the way his hands gestured delicately as he explained something.

Later that evening, as the family began to disperse, Anthony found Angelo standing by the garden, admiring the blooms.

“You’ve made quite the impression,” Anthony said as he approached, his voice warm but teasing.

Angelo turned, startled but not displeased. “Oh, I—I hope I didn’t impose. Your siblings are so charming, it was a pleasure to spend time with them.”

Anthony chuckled, stepping closer. “Impose? Hardly. I haven’t seen Gregory and Hyacinth sit still for that long in years. You must have a gift.”

Angelo’s cheeks flushed. “I think it’s less a gift and more a shared love of stories. They had so many questions about the myths I mentioned; I couldn’t help but indulge them.”

“You speak with such passion,” Anthony said softly, his gaze unwavering. “It’s… captivating.”

Angelo blinked, his blush deepening. “I—I wouldn’t say that.”

“I would,” Anthony countered, his voice earnest. “You have a way about you, Angelo Santiago. It’s rare and… deeply admirable.”

For a moment, Angelo seemed at a loss for words. His eyes darted to the ground as he murmured, “That’s very kind of you to say, my lord.”

“Anthony,” he corrected gently. “If we are to grow better acquainted, I insist you call me Anthony.”

Angelo hesitated before smiling shyly. “Very well… Anthony.”

Anthony’s heart skipped a beat at the way his name sounded in Angelo’s soft voice.

.....

Over the weeks that followed, Anthony found subtle ways to see Angelo again and again. It began with thoughtful gestures: a rare edition of a history book Angelo had once mentioned, delivered to his home with an anonymous note; a handpicked bouquet of lavender and white roses sent “on behalf of the Bridgerton family” after Angelo delivered a talk at a symposium.

But the subtlety didn’t last long.

One afternoon, during a walk along the river, Anthony handed Angelo a small box.

“I noticed your quill was worn,” he said casually. “I thought you might appreciate these.”

Angelo opened the box and gasped softly, it is a quill set carved from mother-of-pearl. “They’re beautiful. You didn’t have to—”

“I wanted to,” Anthony interrupted, his voice firm but warm. “Consider it a token of my admiration.”

Angelo hesitated before taking the gift, his fingers brushing Anthony’s as he did. “Thank you, Anthony. Truly. It’s… more than I deserve.”

Anthony stopped walking, turning to face Angelo fully. “You deserve far more than this. Far more than the world could ever offer.”

Angelo’s breath hitched, his wide eyes meeting Anthony’s. For a moment, the world seemed to fall away.

One evening, as Anthony escorted Angelo to his carriage, he finally spoke the words that had been weighing on his heart.

“Angelo,” he began, his voice low and tentative, “I hope you know how much I… care for you.”

Angelo froze, his hand resting on the carriage door. “Anthony…”

“I don’t expect an answer now,” Anthony said quickly. “But please, promise me you’ll think on it. On… us.”

Angelo turned, his expression soft but uncertain. “I’ll think on it,” he whispered.

Anthony smiled, stepping back to watch the carriage pull away. His heart was full of hope, and for the first time in years, he felt truly alive.

End

A/N: Hey everyone, thanks so much for reading this story! I’m really excited to share this with you, as I always wanted to incorporate the Filipino roots into the Bridgerton world (as a filipino myself). Let me know what you think (I will continue with my Fiyero x Male Reader next) until then, thank you for reading!!

[itsbensart]

Burnt Out but Not Alone

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Male Reader | Part 2

Summary: Y/N feels overwhelmed by his demanding workload and the pressure of looming deadlines. Despite his exhaustion, he refuses to take a break, even as concern grows from friends like Elphaba—and even the Winkie Prince. When Fiyero sees just how much Y/N is struggling, he offers unexpected help, proving that sometimes, even the most carefree people can provide the support needed during times of stress.

Warnings: Excessive teasing and playful banter, Subtle romantic tension, Themes of academic pressure and burnout, Light physical touches (e.g., arm grabs), Vulnerability in moments of exhaustion, and Heartwarming support from an unexpected ally.

A/N: Y/N is an Architecture Student specializing in Ozian Architecture at Shiz University, known for its demanding curriculum.

Word Count: 1,743 words

The lecture hall buzzed with the soft hum of conversations, the rhythmic tapping of pens against desks, and the occasional shuffle of papers. Y/N sat in the middle row, staring at his open notebook but not truly seeing it. His thoughts were elsewhere, replaying Fiyero’s smug grin and that low, teasing voice that seemed to follow him even now.

“You know what to do if you want to shut me up, doll.”

The memory sent an involuntary flush to his cheeks. He quickly ducked his head, hoping no one noticed. Shaking his head, he tried to dispel the distraction. This was no time to get flustered. An endless list of tasks awaited, and Professor Solennia was already notorious for her high standards.

Y/N’s chosen course, Ozian Architecture, wasn’t for the faint of heart. It was one of the most demanding programs at Shiz University, known for its rigorous workload and the precision it required. Students delved deep into the rich architectural history of Oz—an eclectic mix of styles balancing the grandeur of Emerald City’s gleaming towers with the rustic charm of Munchkinland’s cottages and the imposing, fortress-like structures of Winkie Country.

Today’s lecture focused on the integration of natural and magical elements in building design, a cornerstone of Ozian architecture. The topic would have been fascinating under other circumstances, but Y/N found himself struggling to concentrate. Between looming deadlines and the lingering echoes of Fiyero’s remarks, his mind was a chaotic mess.

Professor Solennia’s voice cut through his thoughts. “As you can see, the inclusion of enchantments in structural integrity was not merely aesthetic but practical. Now, who can tell me how the dragon clock influenced the design of Emerald City’s central spire?”

Y/N froze as the professor’s gaze swept across the room. He usually prided himself on being prepared for questions like this, but today, his mind was blank. He prayed someone else would answer, his heart pounding as he stared down at his notes—frustratingly empty.

By the end of class, as students filed out, Y/N realized just how little he had retained. The weight of his responsibilities crashed back down on him, amplified by the realization that he was now further behind than before.

He decided to head to the university’s library to tackle his pending tasks—especially the scale model due next week. Though he was exhausted, he had no choice. The output would determine whether he passed this semester.

As he walked through the hallway, he almost bumped into Elphaba, who had been waiting for him to catch up. She noticed his drooping posture and the dark circles under his eyes immediately.

"Y/N," she said, her voice softer than usual, "You look like you haven’t slept in days."

Y/N gave a half-hearted shrug, trying to brush her off. "I’m fine, Elphaba. Just... busy, you know? I have a lot to do."

She narrowed her eyes, not buying his response. "It’s more than just being busy. You’re running yourself ragged. You need rest."

"I don’t have time for rest," Y/N replied, his tone more tired than he meant it to be. "There’s too much to do."

Elphaba hesitated for a moment, clearly concerned. "I get it, but this—" she gestured to him, her eyes lingering on his fatigued form, "—isn't sustainable. You’re only going to burn out."

Y/N gave a small, dismissive smile. "I’ll be fine. I just need to get through this week."

Elphaba didn’t look convinced but didn’t press the matter further. "Alright, just don’t overdo it. Take care of yourself, Y/N."

He nodded quickly, not meeting her eyes, and made his way toward the library, eager to escape the conversation.

Unbeknownst to Y/N, Fiyero Tigelaar had been wandering the campus, casually searching for his favorite “doll” to tease. His natural charm and carefree demeanor had earned him a reputation for showing up wherever and whenever he pleased, and today was no different.

As he strolled into the library, his piercing eyes immediately spotted Y/N in his corner.

Fiyero smirked. This was too perfect. He sauntered over, his footsteps deliberately light. “There you are. Hiding in the library, huh? Didn’t think this was your kind of hangout spot.” As he slid into a seat beside Y/N, he leaned closer, his voice low enough to only reach him. “Still thinking about me, doll?”

Y/N clenched his jaw, his ears burning as he hissed, “You wish.”

Fiyero chuckled, clearly pleased with the reaction, and leaned back in his chair. “You’re awfully red for someone who’s not thinking about me.”

Y/N barely looked up, his pencil pausing briefly before resuming its work. “Not now, Fiyero. I’m busy.”

The lack of reaction made Fiyero blink in surprise. Usually, his remarks earned him a flushed face or an exasperated retort. Instead, Y/N’s tone was flat, his focus unbroken.

“Busy?” Fiyero peered down at Y/N’s sketches. “What’s got you so tied up? Another one of those fancy projects?”

“Yes,” Y/N responded curtly. “So please, not now, Fiyero.”

Fiyero, however, seemed unbothered. “So, what’s next, doll? More lectures? Or maybe some of that architectural magic you lot are so obsessed with?”

Y/N let out an exasperated sigh, his patience worn thin. “I have too many tasks to finish. Does that answer your question?”

Fiyero tilted his head, studying Y/N’s face with uncharacteristic seriousness. “You look exhausted.”

“Thanks for noticing,” Y/N muttered, packing up his materials before leaving the library, hoping the prince wouldn’t follow him.

At first, Fiyero assumed it was just another one of Y/N’s quirks—being too serious about academics and all—but as the hours turned into days, he couldn’t ignore the change. The playful teasing he usually dished out with ease seemed to fall flat, met with a tired smile or a quiet nod instead of Y/N’s usual fiery retorts. Fiyero had tried to brush it off, but the concern gnawed at him, growing stronger with each passing day.

One afternoon, while they were in the cafeteria, Fiyero noticed Y/N in line. With a tray in hand, Y/N seemed oblivious to his surroundings, swaying slightly from exhaustion. Just as it seemed Y/N might stumble, Fiyero reacted quickly, grabbing him to prevent a fall.

"Alright, doll," he began, keeping his tone light, though concern lingered beneath the surface. "You’ve been looking like you’re one step away from collapsing. What’s going on?"

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

Y/N glanced at him briefly, then lowered his gaze to the ground. "Just… school stuff. You wouldn’t understand."

Fiyero frowned, his usual teasing grin replaced with a concerned expression. "Try me."

Y/N sighed long and heavy, adjusting the strap of his overburdened bag. "There’s just too much. Drafts, models, presentations… I can’t keep up. And Ozian Architecture isn’t an easy course. It feels like I’m drowning, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t keep my head above water."

Fiyero came to a stop, gently grabbing Y/N’s arm and halting him in his tracks. "Why didn’t you say anything sooner?"

Y/N shrugged, avoiding his gaze. "What good would it do? It’s not like anyone can help. This is my workload. My responsibility."

Fiyero didn’t respond immediately, instead narrowing his eyes at Y/N’s exhausted face. "How much have you slept? Or even rested?"

The silence that followed was answer enough.

Fiyero’s usual smirk softened into something more like genuine concern. "Alright, doll. Time to take a break."

"I don’t have time for a break," Y/N snapped, his tone sharper than he intended.

Fiyero stood firm, the command in his voice unmistakable. "Then you don’t have a choice. Let’s go," he said, pulling Y/N toward the courtyard with surprising insistence.

"I’m serious, Fiyero. I have so much to—"

"And I’m serious too," Fiyero interrupted, his voice firm but not unkind. "You’re running yourself into the ground, and you know it. If you collapse, you’re not going to finish anything."

Y/N frowned, but the warmth of Fiyero’s hand on his arm and the determination in his eyes made resistance feel futile.

They walked in silence, the noise of the cafeteria fading as they headed for the quieter courtyard. Once there, Fiyero led Y/N to a bench, underneath an oak tree. "Sit," he ordered, dropping his own bag onto the ground.

Too tired to argue, Y/N complied.

For once, Fiyero didn’t joke or tease; instead, he looked thoughtful. After a moment, his gaze sharpened. "Alright, here’s what we’re going to do."

Y/N blinked up at him, still a bit disoriented. "What?"

"I’m going to help you."

Y/N let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. "You? Help? No offense, Fiyero, but this isn’t exactly your area of expertise."

Fiyero smirked, though it was softer than usual. "Maybe not. But I can still do something. I’ll carry your books, keep you company during late nights, or even distract you when you’re on the verge of a breakdown."

Sitting beside him, Fiyero leaned back, as if the weight of the world didn’t rest on his shoulders. "Look, I might not understand all your architectural mumbo jumbo, but I can help in other ways. You don’t have to do this alone, doll."

Y/N opened his mouth to respond but paused. The sincerity in Fiyero’s eyes caught him off guard. For the first time in days, a small, genuine smile tugged at his lips. "You’re serious?"

"Dead serious," Fiyero replied, his grin widening. "Starting now. So, what’s first on the agenda, Mr. Burnt-Out Architect?"

Y/N hesitated, then admitted, "I have to finish a scale model for tomorrow, and I still need to draft the base plans."

"Easy," Fiyero said, slinging an arm around Y/N’s shoulders. "You draft, I’ll cut and glue. I’m not completely useless, you know."

"You’re really going to help me?" Y/N asked, feeling the weight on his shoulders lighten just a little.

Fiyero chuckled. "What can I say? You’re growing on me. And besides, I can’t have you walking around looking like a zombie. It ruins my fun."

Though exhaustion still pulled at him, Y/N couldn’t help but laugh softly. "Alright, Tigelaar. Let’s see if you can keep up."

As they made their way toward the studio, Y/N felt a strange warmth spreading through his chest. Maybe, he wouldn’t have to face the chaos alone after all.

And maybe, just maybe, Fiyero Tigelaar was more than just a cocky prince of charm.

To be Continued.....

A/N: Hello! Here’s the second chapter of my series, (I don't have a title yet, so..... yeah). I’m so happy you’re sticking around to see where this story goes—it means a lot!

There’s definitely more drama, love, and emotions coming your way, so keep an eye out for the next chapters. I’d love to hear what you think, feel free to leave a comment. Thanks for reading, and see you in the next one! 😊

[itsbensart]

Books, Blushes, and a Winkie Prince

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Male Reader | Part 1

Summary: Y/N’s day at Dear Old Shiz University takes a chaotic turn when Fiyero Tigelaar, the charming prince of Winkie Country, decides to make him his new source of entertainment. Between teasing smirks, flirty comments, and one stolen moment too many, Y/N’s carefully balanced world—and stack of books—might just come crashing down.

Warnings: Flirty banter and teasing, Light suggestive themes (innuendos), Excessive blushing and flustering, Minor physical touch (e.g., hand kisses, cheek kisses), Slow-burn romantic tension, and an Overwhelming charm from a certain prince.

Notes: Y/C/N - Your Country Name

Word Count: 1,339 words

Shiz University was alive with its usual energy, students rushing to and from beneath the towering spires of Oz’s most prestigious school. Among them, Y/N hurried through the courtyard, struggling to balance an armful of books that threatened to topple over at any moment. The precarious stack earned a few curious glances from passersby, but no one offered to help.

Well, no one except one.

Fiyero Tigelaar, the infamous prince of charm from the Winkie Country, leaned casually against a nearby pillar. His arms were crossed, his posture effortlessly relaxed, as if the world moved at his pace alone. The golden afternoon light caught the sharp lines of his face, and his piercing eyes followed Y/N with open amusement.

A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Having some trouble there, doll?” he asked, his voice playful and teasing.

Startled by the sudden voice, Y/N nearly dropped the books. Turning swiftly, his wide eyes met Fiyero’s. The man stood there, radiating a playful energy that instantly put Y/N on edge.

“Oh, I didn’t see you there,” Y/N stammered, his heart racing in response to the teasing glint in Fiyero’s eyes.

Fiyero chuckled, his smirk widening as he took a step closer, closing the gap between them with an easy confidence. “I just happened to be passing by and couldn’t help but notice your struggles. Quite a sight, really.”

Flustered by his teasing tone, Y/N adjusted his grip on the books, determined not to let him get to him. “Haha. Laugh all you want,” he mumbled, trying to sound unaffected.

Fiyero’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he leaned more comfortably against the pillar. “Don’t be like that, doll. I’m just trying to help. Though, I have to admit, watching you struggle is entertaining.”

“Are you always this charming,” Y/N shot back, “or is this a special occasion?”

The corner of Fiyero’s mouth quirked up into a grin, the sarcasm in Y/N’s tone clearly delighting him. “What can I say? It’s a gift. But seriously, doll, what’s your name? I can’t keep calling you ‘doll’ forever, now can I?”

Straightening up, Y/N carefully set the books down on the floor and gave a small, formal bow, though his rosy cheeks betrayed his attempt at professionalism. “I’m Y/N, from Y/C/N.”

Fiyero raised an eyebrow, clearly entertained by his formality. His smirk softened into a more genuine grin. “Well, aren’t you the very picture of formalities? Y/N from Y/C/N. Quite a mouthful. I’m Fiyero Tigelaar, from Winkie Country. But you can just call me Fiyero.”

Tentatively, Y/N extended his hand for a handshake, hoping to steer the conversation back to normalcy. But instead of shaking his hand, Fiyero surprised him by taking it in his own and pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. The warmth of his lips sent a jolt through Y/N, who quickly pulled his hand back, his face aflame.

“Y-you can’t do that! Especially with someone you’ve just met!” Y/N protested, his voice a mix of flustered surprise.

Fiyero’s grin widened, clearly enjoying the reaction. “Can’t I? Why not? It’s just a harmless little gesture. Unless…” His smirk turned mischievous as he leaned in slightly, studying Y/N’s flustered face. “…it means something more to you?”

“It doesn’t!” Y/N blurted out, his voice betraying his embarrassment.

Fiyero laughed, the sound ringing out in the courtyard. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave. For now.”

Desperate to steer the conversation elsewhere, Y/N glanced up at the dragon clock and gasped. “Oh, look! The time—it’s almost class. I really need to go!”

Fiyero tilted his head, following his gaze. “Ah, you’re right. Don’t let me keep you. Though…” His eyes flicked to the stack of books Y/N was carrying. “You really planning to carry all that by yourself?”

Y/N hesitated but nodded. “Y-yes, I’ve got it. No problem at all.”

“Yeah, no,” Fiyero said, reaching out and grabbing the top few books before Y/N could protest. He balanced them effortlessly in his arms. “Let me take some of those.”

“T-thank you… Are you sure? I don’t want to be a burden,” Y/N mumbled, looking at Fiyero’s confident, steady hands.

“You’re not a burden. Trust me, I’ve carried worse. Now, let’s get you to class.”

As they walked, Fiyero’s smirk returned, his teasing nature still very much alive. He glanced down at Y/N, clearly delighted by how easily flustered he remained. “So, doll, are you always this easily flustered, or am I just special?”

“What makes you say that?” Y/N asked, trying to sound unaffected.

“Oh, come on. You’ve been blushing since the moment I held your hand,” Fiyero said with a chuckle. “Plus, you can barely put a sentence together without stuttering. It’s like I’ve completely flustered you.”

Y/N shot him a defiant look, though his cheeks betrayed him with their persistent rosiness. “Maybe you did. But for the record, I was born with naturally rosy cheeks. My parents said so. It’s natural.”

Fiyero’s grin widened, amused by the explanation. “So you’re naturally rosy-cheeked? Now that is interesting. Makes it much easier to tease you.”

Y/N rolled his eyes and picked up his pace, as if putting physical distance would muffle Fiyero’s words. “You cocky man,” he muttered under his breath.

“Me? Cocky?” Fiyero leaned closer, his grin turning sly. “I’m just telling the truth, your reactions give you away. Besides, I can’t help it if I have that kind of effect on you. It’s not my fault you find me so charming."

Y/N suddenly stopped walking, his jaw tightening as his grip on his bag strap visibly clenched. Fiyero noticed immediately, his teasing grin replaced by mild confusion.

“What’s wrong? Why are we stopping?” Fiyero asked, his voice more concerned than before.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N stepped forward and turned to face him directly. The sudden seriousness caught Fiyero off guard. Tilting his head slightly, he regarded Y/N with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh? Is there something you want to say, doll? Or are you just staring at my handsome face?”

Without a word, Y/N leaned in and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, hoping it would make Fiyero quiet. Fiyero froze, his eyes wide with surprise.

“Now, will you be quiet?” Y/N asked, his voice firm.

For the first time, Fiyero was left momentarily speechless. When he finally found his voice, it was a mix of amusement and disbelief. “Well, I’m speechless. Was that your attempt at making me be quiet?”

“Yes,” Y/N replied simply, his voice carrying the weight of his determination.

Fiyero’s smirk returned as he leaned in closer. “That was unexpected. But effective. Not that it’ll stop me from teasing you later.”

Pausing, his tone softened, a hint of seriousness weaving through the playful undercurrent. “But… you do know there are better ways to shut me up, right?”

Y/N hesitated, his face reddening again. “Like what?”

Fiyero’s grin turned sly, his voice dropping to a low, teasing tone. “Oh, doll, there are several ways. Ways that would require your lips to be elsewhere than my cheek. Ways that would require a bit more… physical contact.”

Y/N’s face turned crimson, the implication of his words leaving him completely flustered.

Noticing his reaction, Fiyero chuckled, clearly enjoying the effect he had on him. "Oh my... You’re already picturing it, aren’t you?"

Y/N’s face turned crimson. “N-nonsense! I’m not imagining things!”

Fiyero laughed again, his grin smug. “Oh doll, there’s no need to deny it. Your flushed cheeks tell me everything I need to know.”

With a satisfied smirk, he turned and began walking again, leaving Y/N standing frozen, his heart pounding and his mind racing.

...

When they finally reached the classroom, Y/N turned to take the books back. “Thanks for the help, Fiyero. I can handle it from here.”

He handed them over with an exaggerated sigh. “Always happy to help. But before I go…”

“What now?” Y/N asked warily, half-expecting another teasing remark.

Fiyero leaned in, his voice dropping to a low whisper. “Just remember—if you ever need to shut me up, you know what to do.”

Blushing furiously, Y/N spun around and hurried to his seat. “We’ll see about that,” he muttered over his shoulder.

Fiyero chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, doll… I’ll be waiting.”

To be Continued

A/N : My first ever fic that I finally have the courage to post! I know, it is a drastic change from what I am posting before, a breath of fresh air per say, anything for this charming prince.... I’ve been sitting on this idea for a while, and after tweaking it (and overthinking every detail), I’m so excited to share it with you all. (I'm not sure if there's gonna be a part two of this, let's see....) Until then, thank you for reading.

[itsbensart]

Mortal Kombat 1 - Countess Jade Redesign

I tried to make it "minimalistic", similar to the simplistic design of the female characters in the game, but also unique to her character. Hope you like the design.

[itsbensart]

Liu Kang in his Mortal Kombat 4 skin (Human version) 🐉🔥

(I like doing these redesigns, who should I do next?)

[itsbensart]

Kung Lao in his MK Deadly Alliance alternate skin 🩶

(another skin I want to see in MK1)

[itsbensart]

WIP ✏️

[itsbensart]

👑 Who's your Queen? 👑

The "Empress of Outworld" Sindel 💜

[itsbensart]

Training session with Kung Lao 🥋💪🐉

the arms tho...... I wanna get cho-

[itsbensart]

"You will learn respect."

🪭 MK1 Kitana 🪶

[itsbensart]

WIP ✏️