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⋆｡°✩ love summer <3l request are always open ! ⋆｡°✩

[itzj4ylene]

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salt air, soft hands, grief, longing

all dividers and headers by @uzmacchiato

hi (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) !! welcome to my writing space.

i write fanfiction across multiple fandoms.

expect angst, yearning, devotion, softness, and messy emotions.

uploads are sporadic — but i don’t disappear.

ALSO VERY IMPORTANT !! for some reason my master list from before crashed and i have to many writing pieces to individually add, so i’m only adding back half of them!!

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[itzj4ylene]

im gonna be taking a break from writing for awhile !!!

[itzj4ylene]

Hi there. I would like to place an nsfw fanfic request please. But first I have some questions I want to ask if that's okay. Also can we talk via tumblr messenger please?

ofc!!!! feel free to message me whenever, also idk if i’m a little dumb but what is nsfw..?

[itzj4ylene]

do you know varang is a woman? only in your latest fic you refer to her as a man

OMG YOUR LYING …. yes i do i literally love her thank you for telling me it was a mistake!

[itzj4ylene]

rules & request

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i write smut, but with limits.

✔ i WILL write:

— consensual sexual content

— adult characters ONLY (18+)

— emotional smut / yearning

— soft, rough, possessive dynamics

— praise / tension / intimacy

— established or developing relationships

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— minors or aged-up minors

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if a request crosses a boundary, it will be ignored — not debated.

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I watch a lot of shows and i’m willing to take request for about anything

if it’s not listed in my masterlist, dw about!!

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[itzj4ylene]

"THE FIRE BEFORE IT REACHES THE SEA"

Neteyam x Reader | forbidden love

After meeting you in secret near the reef—alone, injured, and carrying the name you were born under—Neteyam keeps coming back until “just checking” turns into real love. When he finally brings you to his family, the Sullys don’t trust you because you’re Varang’s daughter, no matter how hard you try to prove you’re on their side.

Warnings: threats of violence, past injury references, confrontation, weapon use, intense emotions, mentions of fire/raid tactics Word Count: about 2,700 Previous chapter: read

The reef gathering forms fast.

People move like a current that suddenly changed direction, bodies converging toward the central platform with eyes sharp and mouths tight. The air tastes like salt and fear. Torches crackle even though the sky is still dark with early dawn, and their light throws nervous shadows across faces that don’t want to be seen doubting.

You walk beside Neteyam, and you feel it immediately.

The attention.

Not curiosity this time. Not whispering suspicion.

It is the kind of attention a village gives a storm when it sits on the horizon.

Jake is already there, shoulders tense. Tonowari stands with him, calm but heavy with authority. Ronal’s posture is rigid, jaw set like she’s holding back something she doesn’t want to say.

Tsireya is close behind her father, eyes wide, hands clasped.

Neteyam’s fingers tighten around yours once, steadying you without making a show of it.

The scorched fiber marker lies on the platform between Jake and Tonowari like a dead thing.

The bead sits beside it.

Your bead.

You can’t stop staring at it.

“She knows where you sleep,” you hear one of the warriors mutter.

Another voice answers, “She will come anyway.”

Ronal speaks loud enough to cut through everyone. “This is what I warned.”

Silence snaps tight.

Ronal’s gaze lands on you. “You bring her shadow to our children.”

Your heart pounds. Your side aches faintly like it remembers pain.

Neteyam shifts, shoulders squaring, but you squeeze his hand before he can speak. Not because you agree. Because you need to keep this from becoming a fight that Varang would love.

You step forward slowly.

“I did not bring her,” you say, voice steady even as your chest shakes. “She raised me. She knows me. She knows how to find me anywhere.”

Ronal’s eyes narrow. “Then you understand why you cannot stay.”

Your stomach drops, but you force yourself to keep breathing.

Jake’s voice cuts in, firm. “No one is throwing her out.”

Ronal whips her head toward him. “Toruk Makto, listen to what you are saying. The woman threatening our reef is here because of her.”

Jake’s jaw clenches. “And Varang will keep threatening people as long as she gets what she wants.”

Tonowari finally speaks, voice calm but sharp. “If we offer her the Tsakarem, we teach her our answer is sacrifice.”

The word Tsakarem ripples across the gathered Metkayina, a reminder of your weight and your danger.

You swallow hard. “She wants me because she thinks she owns me.”

Ronal’s lip curls. “And if she does not get you, she will burn our sea.”

You nod once. “She will try.”

That honesty lands like a stone.

Whispers rise again, sharper.

One man says, “Then we should send her.”

Another voice answers, “And when Varang chooses another target next time, who do we send then?”

Someone else mutters, “We cannot fight fire on water.”

You close your eyes for a heartbeat and force yourself not to crumble under it.

Neteyam steps forward then, voice carrying.

“We don’t trade people,” he says, loud and clear. “Not here.”

Ronal’s eyes flash. “Your heart is loud, Neteyam Sully, but it is not the only one that matters.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “If you trade her, you trade your own rule.”

Tonowari’s gaze shifts toward his people, steady and measuring. “He is right.”

Ronal takes a sharp breath. “Tonowari—”

Tonowari doesn’t waver. “Fear makes us smaller. We do not become smaller.”

Jake looks at you then, like he’s checking if you’re about to run.

You don’t.

You step closer to the marker on the platform and force yourself to look at it like it is just rope and ash and not the sound of Varang’s voice in your ear.

“She left this to pull you apart,” you say quietly. “Because if you argue about me, you stop watching her.”

Jake’s eyes narrow. “So what’s her move.”

You swallow. “She’ll come from above. She’ll use smoke. She’ll choose a place where you can’t see the wind shift until it’s too late.”

Ronal’s voice cuts in, sharp. “How do you know.”

You meet her gaze, holding it. “Because I’ve watched her do it.”

Silence again.

Tsireya’s voice slips in, soft but clear. “If she comes from above… the mangroves.”

Tonowari’s head turns toward his daughter. “Speak.”

Tsireya swallows, then points out toward the outer waterline. “The mangroves are where the water is shallow and tangled. Fire cannot spread fast there if we break it. And the roots can hide watchers.”

Ronal’s eyes narrow. “She is not stupid. She will not walk into a trap.”

Neteyam’s voice comes low. “Varang is proud.”

Your throat tightens. You add, “She thinks I will come if she threatens others.”

The truth tastes bitter.

Jake exhales. “Then we use that.”

Ronal’s gaze snaps to him. “Use her as bait.”

Your stomach turns. You start to speak, but Neteyam’s hand tightens around yours, grounding you.

Jake’s voice is hard. “No. We use the message.”

Tonowari’s eyes sharpen. “Explain.”

Jake gestures toward you. “She stays in the village, visible. Guarded. Varang expects her to panic, to run, to offer herself. We do the opposite.”

Ronal’s jaw clenches. “And if Varang burns the breeding grounds while we wait.”

You swallow. That fear is real. That fear is the entire point.

Neteyam lifts his chin. “She won’t burn first.”

Ronal scoffs. “You trust a monster.”

You speak before Neteyam can, voice steady. “I don’t trust her. I know her.”

You take a breath. “Varang wants control more than she wants destruction. She wants me to walk to her because it proves she can still command me. If she burns the sea before she tries to take me, she loses the story she’s trying to write.”

Ronal stares at you like she’s trying to decide if that’s truth or arrogance.

Tonowari’s gaze turns thoughtful. “A hunter who burns the forest too early loses the prey.”

Jake nods. “Exactly.”

Ronal’s shoulders stiffen. “And if you’re wrong.”

You meet her eyes. “Then punish me after. If I’m wrong, if I betray you, if I lead her to your children… I will not run from your judgment.”

The village goes silent.

Neteyam’s head snaps toward you, eyes flashing, like he hates the words punish me.

But you mean it.

Not because you think you deserve it.

Because you need them to hear that you are not asking for mercy. You are asking for a chance to fight the thing that’s hunted you your whole life.

Tonowari lifts his chin slightly. “We will not trade you.”

Ronal’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t argue.

Tonowari continues, voice carrying. “We will prepare the mangroves. We will place watchers in the roots. We will hold our children close. And if Varang comes… she will learn the reef does not break.”

You feel your breath leave you, shaky and relieved.

Neteyam’s hand squeezes yours again, like he’s holding you together.

Jake’s gaze locks on you. “You stay where we put you. You don’t run. You don’t decide to be a hero alone.”

You swallow. “I won’t.”

Neteyam’s eyes flick to Jake, then back to you. His voice is quieter, but fierce. “You promised me.”

You nod, throat tight. “I promised.”

Tsireya steps closer, eyes on your face. “Come with me,” she says softly. “I’ll show you where you can sit where the watchers can see you. Where you can breathe.”

You glance at Neteyam. He hesitates, then releases your hand slowly like it costs him.

“I’ll be close,” he murmurs.

“I know,” you whisper back.

Tsireya leads you away through the village, past huts and nets and anxious faces. Some people stare. Some look away. One woman’s gaze softens for half a second, then hardens again like she’s angry at herself for feeling anything.

Tsireya doesn’t flinch from the looks.

She brings you to a raised platform near Ronal’s dwelling where the view of the water is clear, where guards can watch the tide and also watch you.

“It’s not a cage,” Tsireya says quickly, like she hears the thought.

You nod. “I know.”

She hesitates, then sits beside you.

“You’re scared,” she says.

You let out a breath that almost becomes a laugh. “Yes.”

Tsireya’s eyes shine faintly. “So am I.”

You glance at her, surprised by the honesty.

She looks out at the sea. “My mother is scared too. She just hates feeling it.”

You swallow. “I don’t want your fear. I never wanted any of this.”

Tsireya nods slowly. “Neither did we.”

Silence sits between you, heavy and real.

Then Tsireya says, quieter, “Neteyam looks at you like you’re air.”

Your face heats instantly.

You mutter, “Tsireya.”

She smiles a little. “It’s not a bad thing.”

Your throat tightens. “It’s dangerous.”

Tsireya’s smile fades. “Everything is dangerous right now.”

You can’t argue with that.

The day drags.

The village moves like it’s bracing, reinforcing nets, checking weapons, shifting children into the most protected dwellings. Ronal barks orders with sharp efficiency. Tonowari’s voice carries calm through the tension. Jake paces like a caged predator, checking lines of sight, making sure no one breaks formation.

Neteyam appears near you often enough that you stop pretending you haven’t noticed. He doesn’t sit right beside you, not in public. He stands within reach. Always within reach.

When the sun starts sinking, the wind changes.

You feel it first in your chest.

Ashlands taught you how to taste danger in air.

Your fingers curl against your thigh.

Neteyam notices instantly. He steps closer, voice low. “What.”

You swallow. “The wind is wrong.”

Jake turns sharply. “Explain.”

You scan the horizon. “It’s carrying smoke from nothing. It’s too clean for fire already burning. That means the smoke is traveling. That means…”

Neteyam’s jaw tightens. “They’re moving.”

A horn sounds from the outer watch.

This time it’s not a signal.

It’s alarm.

The village moves in a rush. Guards sprint toward the shore. Tonowari’s people spill into position. Ronal’s warriors lift spears, eyes flint-hard.

Jake grabs his bow, voice sharp. “Stay here,” he orders you again.

Your stomach twists. “I will.”

Neteyam doesn’t speak. He just looks at you like he’s trying to lock you into place with his eyes.

Then he turns and runs.

You sit still like you promised.

Your legs shake anyway.

From your platform, you can see the mangrove line in the distance where the water darkens with roots. Torches flicker there now, moving lights threading through branches. Shadows shift strangely above, too high, too quiet.

Your breath catches.

A shape glides overhead.

Not an ikran.

Not forest.

Something built for speed and smoke.

The sound reaches you a heartbeat later, a harsh scrape in the air like wings cutting wind.

RDA.

Your stomach drops.

Then another sound.

A scream.

You can’t see who.

You grip the platform edge so hard your fingers ache.

The reef does not erupt into chaos the way Varang expects.

It becomes organized violence.

You see it in the way Metkayina warriors move as one, drawing intruders toward the mangroves, refusing to chase into open water, refusing to scatter. You see Jake’s shape among them, bow snapping up and firing with brutal efficiency.

You see Neteyam, too.

He moves like a storm contained, fierce and focused, not reckless. Not hunting glory. Hunting threat.

For a moment, you almost believe it will work cleanly.

Then smoke blooms across the waterline.

Gray-black, thick, rolling low across the surface, crawling toward the village like a living thing.

Your breath catches.

That smoke is not RDA tech.

That smoke is Varang.

The shadows in the mangroves shift again, and you see them.

Figures moving above the roots, quieter than RDA, smarter than RDA. Mangkwan.

They’re using the confusion to slip in.

Your heart slams against your ribs.

She’s doing both.

She’s letting the RDA draw attention while she approaches the village from the side like a knife.

You stand without thinking.

A guard near your platform snaps, “Stay.”

You freeze for half a heartbeat, shaking.

Then you force yourself to sit again.

Stay. Stay. Stay.

Your mouth tastes like blood from biting down too hard.

The smoke reaches the outer huts first.

Not flame.

Smoke.

It pours into spaces, choking, blinding, making people cough and panic.

You recognize the tactic immediately.

Varang uses smoke to make people run, and then she takes what runs.

Your throat tightens.

Neteyam appears suddenly, sprinting back toward the village edge, eyes scanning wildly.

He sees you on the platform and his whole body shifts like relief and terror slammed into him at once.

He runs straight to you.

“You stayed,” he breathes, like it’s a miracle.

You nod, voice shaking. “She’s using smoke to pull you out of position.”

Neteyam’s eyes flash. “I know.”

Jake’s voice cuts across from below, urgent. “Neteyam, we need you at the mangroves!”

Neteyam doesn’t move right away. His gaze locks on you, fierce. “You don’t go anywhere.”

“I won’t,” you whisper.

He holds your eyes for one more second like he’s forcing himself to believe you, then he turns and bolts back toward the fight.

You sit in the smoke-thick air, coughing, eyes stinging.

Then you smell it.

Not just smoke.

Ash.

Real ash.

Your blood turns cold.

You stand again, scanning the shadows.

The platform is high. The guards are watching the main paths.

Varang doesn’t come through paths.

She comes through blind spots.

Your gaze flicks upward to the underside of the platform where woven supports create darkness.

Nothing.

Then movement.

Too smooth.

Too quiet.

Your stomach drops as Varang steps out of the shadow like she grew from it.

Her eyes fix on you immediately, bright and cold. Her mouth curls in a smile that is not joy.

“My daughter,” she says softly.

Your entire body goes rigid.

The guard nearest you spins, startled. “What—”

Varang moves like a blade. She knocks him aside with a brutal hit to his throat, sending him collapsing with a choked sound.

The second guard raises his spear.

Varang doesn’t even look at him. She kicks the spear aside and strikes him hard enough that he falls off the edge of the platform into the sand below.

Your heart slams.

You reach for the small knife you’ve been allowed for work tasks, not a real weapon, not enough.

Varang’s gaze flicks to it. Amused. “They keep you dull,” she murmurs. “Like they think you will cut them by accident.”

You swallow hard, voice shaking but steady. “You won’t take me.”

Varang steps closer, slow, savoring. “You think you can say no.”

“I already did,” you whisper.

She tilts her head. “And look what it cost them.”

A distant scream carries over the smoke.

Your stomach twists with guilt.

Varang smiles wider. “Feel that. That’s your leash.”

You force yourself not to flinch.

You whisper, “I’m not yours.”

Varang’s eyes sharpen. “You’re mine because I made you. I raised you. I shaped you. These sea people will throw you away when you become inconvenient.”

You swallow, voice tight. “They didn’t.”

Varang laughs softly. “Not yet.”

Her hand lifts, reaching for your braid like she used to.

You jerk back instinctively.

Varang’s smile drops. “Don’t pull away from me.”

Your chest heaves. “No.”

For a second, anger flashes hot across her face. Then it smooths into something colder.

“Come,” she says, voice quiet and commanding. “Walk with me. I will end this. I will stop the smoke. I will stop the RDA.”

Your throat tightens.

She’s offering a deal.

Me for peace.

Your knees feel weak.

You hear Neteyam’s voice in your memory, fierce and absolute.

You do not trade yourself to her.

You lift your chin.

“No,” you say.

Varang’s eyes narrow. “Then they burn.”

“You’ll burn them anyway,” you whisper. “Because you don’t keep promises. You keep control.”

Varang’s gaze flashes, and you know you hit something true.

She steps forward, fast, grabbing your wrist.

Your breath catches.

Then a blur of blue crashes into the platform like a hurricane.

Neteyam.

He slams into Varang’s side, ripping her hand off you, driving her back with a feral snarl that makes your blood freeze and warm at the same time.

Varang stumbles, then recovers instantly, eyes bright with delight.

“There you are,” she purrs. “The boy who thinks love makes him brave.”

Neteyam plants himself between you and her, bow in his hand, knife drawn. His chest rises and falls hard.

“You don’t touch her,” he growls.

Varang laughs softly. “You speak like you own her.”

Neteyam’s jaw clenches. “I speak like she is not yours.”

Varang’s eyes flick to you behind him. “Daughter, tell him. Tell him what you are.”

Your throat tightens.

You step closer behind Neteyam, voice shaking. “I’m not your daughter anymore.”

Varang’s smile disappears.

For the first time, real anger flashes through her face.

Neteyam’s hand reaches back without looking, finding yours, squeezing once.

Then he moves.

He doesn’t attack wildly. He fights smart, forcing Varang away from you, away from the platform edge, away from routes she could use to vanish. He cuts off her angles the way he’s been trained, like every lesson Jake drilled into him is finally being used for something he chose.

Varang is fast. Brutal. Experienced.

But she’s not alone on the reef.

A spear whistles past and strikes the platform near her feet.

Ronal.

She’s there, eyes burning, jaw set, a storm in the smoke.

Tonowari appears behind her, calm and lethal, warriors filling in around them, closing the circle.

Varang’s gaze shifts, assessing.

She realizes it.

The lever didn’t work.

They didn’t throw you away.

Ronal’s voice is sharp as a blade. “You step into my home again.”

Varang’s lip curls. “This home is weak. It shelters ash.”

Ronal’s eyes flash. “It shelters people.”

Your breath catches at the word.

Neteyam’s chest heaves, gaze locked on Varang. “Leave.”

Varang’s eyes glitter. “Or what.”

Neteyam’s voice goes low, dangerous. “Or you lose.”

Varang laughs softly, like the idea entertains her. But her eyes flick to the circle tightening, to the Metkayina spears, to Jake appearing through smoke with his bow drawn and his face carved into fury.

For the first time, Varang looks like she’s calculating risk instead of indulging herself.

She lifts her hands slightly, a mock surrender.

“You’re all so proud,” she murmurs. “Enjoy it.”

Then her gaze locks on you, cold and intimate.

“This isn’t over,” she whispers.

Your stomach twists, but you hold her stare.

You whisper back, voice shaking but steady. “I know.”

Varang’s smile returns, small and cruel. Then she moves.

Smoke surges, thicker, swallowing the platform in gray. Warriors shout. Someone coughs hard. Shapes blur.

When the smoke thins, Varang is gone.

Not defeated.

But repelled.

The circle loosens slowly, breaths harsh, eyes scanning every shadow.

Neteyam turns to you immediately, hands on your shoulders, checking you like you’re made of glass.

“You’re okay,” he breathes, more statement than question.

You nod, voice trembling. “I stayed.”

Neteyam’s eyes close for a second like relief hurts. Then he pulls you into his chest, careful of your healing side, holding you so tight you can barely breathe.

Ronal watches you both for a long moment, expression unreadable.

Then she looks away sharply, barking orders to her people like she needs something to do with her hands.

Tonowari steps closer to you, gaze steady.

“She came for you,” he says.

You nod, throat tight. “Yes.”

“And you did not go,” Tonowari continues.

Neteyam’s grip tightens.

You swallow. “No.”

Tonowari’s chin lifts slightly. “Then you have done what many cannot.”

He looks toward his people, voice carrying just enough. “She did not break.”

Ronal’s jaw tightens, but she doesn’t contradict him.

Tsireya appears near the edge of the platform, eyes shining with relief. She gives you a small nod like she’s proud and trying not to show it too loudly.

The village begins to move again, shifting from panic into repair. Water is thrown on smoldering spots. Children are gathered. Injured are carried to healers. The reef exhales, battered but standing.

Neteyam doesn’t let go of you until your shaking eases.

When he finally pulls back, his hands frame your face, thumbs brushing your cheekbones.

“You didn’t run,” he whispers.

You swallow. “You came back.”

Neteyam’s eyes burn. “Always.”

Later, when the smoke is gone and the torches are fewer, you sit with Neteyam at the water’s edge, far enough from the noise that you can hear the sea again.

Your hands tremble slightly in your lap.

Neteyam watches you quietly, then reaches out, taking your fingers in his.

“You did good,” he says.

You let out a weak breath that almost becomes a laugh. “I’m not sure I did anything.”

Neteyam’s gaze sharpens. “You said no to her.”

You swallow hard. “I was scared.”

Neteyam’s thumb presses against your pulse, grounding you. “Bravery is not being unafraid.”

You glance at him, eyes stinging. “What if she comes again.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightens. “Then we stand again.”

You stare out at the water, voice small. “I hate that you have to keep fighting because of me.”

Neteyam’s eyes flash. “Stop saying that.”

You blink.

He leans closer, voice low and fierce. “She would have come to hurt someone eventually. You’re not the reason she exists.”

Your throat tightens.

Neteyam softens slightly, pressing his forehead to yours. “You’re the reason we saw her before she burned everything.”

You inhale shakily. “Ronal still doesn’t trust me.”

Neteyam’s mouth twitches. “Ronal doesn’t trust anyone.”

You laugh softly, surprised it comes out at all.

Neteyam’s expression warms. “She didn’t throw you out.”

You whisper, “Not yet.”

Neteyam’s voice turns steady, absolute. “Not ever.”

You look at him, really look, at the way his love is stubborn like a vow, at the way his anger is protective not possessive, at the way he keeps choosing you even when it costs him.

You whisper, “I don’t know how to be free.”

Neteyam’s gaze doesn’t waver. “We learn.”

The ocean breathes beside you, steady and loud. It has opinions, you remember. It doesn’t let you disappear.

Maybe that’s not a curse.

Maybe it’s a promise.

You lean into Neteyam’s shoulder, letting the salt air fill your lungs.

And this time, when you close your eyes, you don’t feel Varang’s hand in your braid.

You feel Neteyam’s hand in yours.

Warm.

Real.

Staying.

🏷️list: @mrsjohnnysuh @supersonicoxo

[itzj4ylene]

long fics

Coming soon …༉‧₊˚.

[itzj4ylene]

series

coming soon.. ༉‧₊˚.

[itzj4ylene]

Hello! I really adore the way you write Ao'nung. Could you possibly write something between him and a Ta'unui!Reader? Perhaps after her home was destroyed by the RDA, she was sent to the Metkayina for safety since she is the Tsakarem and is placed in the care of Tonowari and Ronal to continue her training? (So kind of like forced proximity!!) ( ´∀`)

here you go!! <3 enjoy

[itzj4ylene]

"WHERE THE TIDE KEEPS US"

Ao’nung x Ta’unui Reader | forced proximity

When the RDA destroys your home, you are sent to the Metkayina for protection. As the Tsakarem of the Ta’unui, you are placed under Tonowari and Ronal’s care to continue your training. Ao’nung is assigned to help you adapt. He tells himself it’s just duty. Just proximity. But grief has a way of binding people together, and the ocean keeps you closer than either of you expected.

Warnings: loss of homeland, references to RDA violence, emotional distress, cultural displacement Word Count: about 2,500

Ao’nung does not like surprises.

He especially does not like the kind that arrive half-drowned on ilu-back with eyes too quiet and posture too straight, carrying the weight of an entire people on their shoulders.

“This is the Ta’unui Tsakarem,” Tonowari says calmly as you are helped onto the shallows. “She will remain with us.”

Ao’nung blinks.

You don’t look injured, not physically. Your braids are neat despite the journey. Your hands are steady. Your face is composed in the way people get when they’ve already cried all the tears they’re willing to let anyone see.

Ronal watches you carefully, gaze sharp but not unkind. “She will continue her training here.”

Ao’nung glances between them. “With us.”

“Yes,” Ronal says. “Under our protection.”

Protection.

Ao’nung feels something twist in his chest, unfamiliar and irritating.

You bow slightly, respectful despite exhaustion. “Thank you for receiving me.”

Your voice is calm. Too calm.

Ao’nung shifts his weight, tail flicking. He doesn’t know why this bothers him yet, only that it does.

Tonowari turns to him. “Ao’nung. You will help her adapt.”

Ao’nung’s head snaps up. “Me.”

“You know the reef. You know discipline,” Tonowari says. “And you are close in age.”

Ao’nung opens his mouth to argue, then closes it when Ronal looks at him.

“Fine,” he mutters. “I’ll show her around.”

You look at him for the first time then. Really look.

Your gaze is steady, assessing, not grateful, not fearful. Just… present.

“Thank you,” you say.

Ao’nung shrugs. “Don’t thank me yet.”

—

You are given space near Ronal’s dwelling, close enough that elders can watch you, far enough that you are not suffocating.

Ao’nung tells himself that is why he keeps noticing you.

Because he is responsible.

Because Tonowari said so.

Not because you sit on the edge of the platform at night staring out at the water like you’re listening for something that will never answer.

Not because you wake early, training alone before anyone else stirs, movements precise but heavy, like you’re forcing your body to remember why it exists.

He approaches you the third morning, arms crossed.

“You’re supposed to train with others,” he says.

You don’t stop moving. “I am.”

“You’re training alone.”

You pivot smoothly, spear stopping just short of his chest. Not threatening. Just exact.

“You are others,” you reply.

Ao’nung huffs. “You know what I mean.”

You lower the spear. “I focus better alone.”

“That won’t work here,” he says. “The reef is about connection.”

You pause, eyes flicking away. “My people are gone.”

The words land quietly. No accusation. No drama.

Ao’nung doesn’t know what to say.

So he says, “You’ll still need to learn the water.”

“I know,” you reply. “That’s why I’m here.”

Something in your tone makes his chest tighten.

—

Training with you is different.

You are disciplined, sharp, clearly trained from childhood, but your movements are land-heavy. You hesitate before diving. You surface too quickly. You do not trust the tide.

Ao’nung tries not to get frustrated.

“You fight it,” he says, treading water beside you. “Stop doing that.”

“I don’t fight,” you argue. “I control.”

He snorts. “The water doesn’t care.”

You glare. “Neither did the RDA.”

The tension snaps tight between you.

Ao’nung exhales hard. “That’s not what I meant.”

You shake water from your braids. “Then what did you mean.”

He struggles, annoyed at himself. “I mean if you keep trying to dominate it, it’ll wear you down.”

You go still. Slowly, you nod. “That I understand.”

He softens without meaning to.

“You don’t have to prove anything here,” he adds. “No one’s testing you.”

You look at him then, eyes sharp but tired. “Everyone is always testing the Tsakarem.”

He doesn’t argue.

—

Forced proximity does strange things.

You eat near Ronal’s family. You train with Ao’nung daily. You sit beside him during gatherings because there’s nowhere else to sit that doesn’t feel like intrusion.

At first, you barely speak.

Then, slowly, you do.

You tell him about the Ta’unui, about the cliffs and the way wind moves through stone arches near your old home. You talk about the responsibility of being chosen, of hearing voices others can’t.

Ao’nung listens more than he talks, which surprises both of you.

One night, he asks quietly, “Do you still hear them.”

You hesitate. “Yes.”

“Does it hurt.”

You think for a long moment. “Not as much as the silence where my people used to be.”

Ao’nung’s jaw tightens.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time,” he says before he can stop himself.

You blink. “I do.”

“Not here,” he insists.

Your voice drops. “If I stop, I don’t know who I am.”

Ao’nung looks at you, really looks at you, and understands something he doesn’t like.

You are not just grieving. You are holding yourself together out of obligation.

He nudges your shoulder lightly. “You’re allowed to just be a person sometimes.”

You almost smile.

—

The first time you panic in the water, it happens fast.

A current shifts unexpectedly. You lose balance. For half a second, you sink too deep, disoriented.

Ao’nung reacts instantly, grabbing your arm and pulling you up.

You gasp, claws digging into his forearm.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out, embarrassed. “I don’t know why—”

“It’s fine,” he says firmly. “You’re fine.”

He doesn’t let go until your breathing steadies.

Afterward, you sit in silence on a rock ledge, dripping and shaken.

“I hate that I froze,” you mutter.

Ao’nung shrugs. “Happens to everyone.”

“Not to you.”

He smirks. “You didn’t see me the first time I tried to dive.”

You glance at him. “You’re lying.”

“I am not,” he says, grinning. “I flailed.”

You laugh. The sound surprises both of you.

Ao’nung’s grin softens. “See. Still alive.”

You nod, quieter now. “Thank you.”

He doesn’t brush it off this time.

—

Over time, something shifts.

You start teasing him back. He starts checking if you’ve eaten. You sit closer without thinking. When others talk over you, Ao’nung cuts in sharply, protective without realizing it.

“You’re territorial,” you observe one evening.

He scoffs. “I’m not.”

“You glare at anyone who questions my training.”

“They’re annoying.”

You smile. “You glare at them more than Ronal does.”

He opens his mouth, then closes it.

“Don’t read into it,” he mutters.

“I won’t,” you say gently.

But you do.

—

The night you finally break, it is quiet.

The sea is calm. The village sleeps.

Ao’nung finds you sitting alone at the edge of the water, shoulders shaking silently.

He hesitates, then sits beside you without a word.

You don’t look at him. “I can’t hear them clearly anymore.”

His chest tightens. “Who.”

“My people,” you whisper. “I think the distance is fading them.”

Ao’nung swallows. “That doesn’t mean they’re gone.”

You shake your head. “It feels like I failed them.”

He turns toward you fully. “You survived.”

“That wasn’t the plan.”

He reaches out, awkward, then rests his hand over yours. “Plans change.”

You finally look at him, eyes wet. “What if I don’t belong anywhere.”

Ao’nung answers without hesitation. “You belong here.”

You inhale shakily. “You don’t have to say that.”

“I do,” he says firmly. “And I mean it.”

Silence stretches.

Then you lean into him, forehead resting against his shoulder.

Ao’nung stiffens for a second, then relaxes, arm wrapping around you like it’s always known where to go.

“You’re not alone,” he murmurs.

For the first time since you arrived, you let yourself believe it.

And Ao’nung realizes, quietly and terrifyingly, that he would fight the tide itself to keep you safe.

[itzj4ylene]

Hi! Can you please write a Tsu’tey x na’vi! Reader (omatikaya or metkayina, you can choose) where they meet and fall in love and start a family?? Or like he moves with his mate and kids to the reef and are adapting to life there?? Whichever you want!

here you goooo <3

[itzj4ylene]

"WHERE THE TIDE LEARNED HIS NAME"

Tsu’tey x Na’vi Reader (Omatikaya-born) | protective husband

You were forest-born. Tsu’tey was forest-made. But love asks for movement, and when life changes, so does the land beneath your feet. When you bring your family to the reef to survive and grow, Tsu’tey must learn water the way he once learned war, and together you build a home that blends roots and tide.

Warnings: mild battle references, grief for lost homeland, culture shock, parenting stress, emotional moments Word Count: about 2,500

Tsu’tey does not belong to the water.

That is the first truth he accepts as he stands at the edge of the reef village, toes sinking into warm sand that shifts too easily beneath his weight. The forest never moved like this. The forest held you steady. The forest knew his steps.

The sea does not.

You stand beside him, one hand resting at your lower back, the other holding your youngest close to your hip. Your skin glows softly in the reflected light off the water, braids adorned with shells now instead of beads and feathers. You look… changed.

Not lost. Just changed.

“It will get easier,” you say gently, as if you can feel his tension through the bond even without touching him.

Tsu’tey grunts. “The ground should not move.”

You smile despite yourself. “You’ll learn.”

“I already learned how to live,” he mutters.

You glance at him then, not offended, just honest. “And then the world changed.”

That silences him.

Behind you, your eldest child splashes at the water’s edge, shrieking with laughter as a Metkayina child shows them how to float. Your second clings closer to Tsu’tey’s leg, tail twitching uncertainly as waves creep up and retreat again.

Tsu’tey looks down at them, jaw tight.

“They are not afraid,” he says.

“They are curious,” you reply. “That’s a good thing.”

He watches the water lap at their ankles. His hand flexes unconsciously like he’s ready to pull them back at the first sign of danger.

“They should not have to adapt,” he says quietly. “They should have grown under the Great Tree.”

You step closer, shoulder brushing his. “I know.”

The grief is still there. It always will be. Home does not disappear just because you leave it. But you chose this together. Survival. Future. Life.

Tsu’tey exhales slowly. “I will not fail them.”

You tilt your head up to look at him. “You already haven’t.”

—

The first weeks are… difficult.

Tsu’tey learns to swim with the stubborn determination he once reserved for battle. He does not float easily. He sinks, legs too heavy, movements too sharp. The Metkayina warriors try not to laugh. Some fail.

Your eldest takes to the water like they were born to it.

Your youngest cries the first time a wave knocks them off balance, clutching at Tsu’tey’s arm with wide eyes.

Tsu’tey lifts them instantly, heart pounding. “Enough,” he growls.

You touch his arm, calming. “They need time.”

“They need land,” he snaps.

That night, after the children finally sleep tangled together on woven mats, Tsu’tey sits outside your dwelling staring at the sea like it personally insulted him.

You join him quietly.

He doesn’t look at you. “They laughed today.”

You sit beside him. “Who.”

“The warriors,” he says. “Because I could not stay afloat.”

You frown. “They laugh at everyone.”

“They did not laugh at me before,” he says stiffly.

You sigh softly. “Before, you were a feared warrior. Here, you’re learning.”

“That is not the same.”

“No,” you agree. “But it isn’t weakness either.”

Tsu’tey turns to you then, eyes sharp. “You belong here already.”

You hesitate. “I don’t. I just… try.”

“You breathe with the tide,” he says. “You listen. You adapt.”

You smile faintly. “I learned that from you.”

That surprises him.

“You taught me how to endure,” you continue. “How to protect. How to lead without crushing others.”

Tsu’tey studies your face like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again.

“And now,” you add gently, “you’re learning from me.”

His expression softens, just slightly.

—

It is the children who change him.

Your eldest begs him to swim deeper. Your second proudly shows him how they can hold their breath longer now. Your youngest sleeps better with the sound of waves.

One morning, you wake to find Tsu’tey gone.

Your heart leaps until you hear laughter outside.

You step out and see him standing waist-deep in water, arms outstretched as your children cling to him, shrieking with joy. He is tense, clearly still unsure, but he is there.

Present.

Protective.

Learning.

When he notices you watching, he stiffens. “They insisted.”

You smile warmly. “Of course they did.”

Later, he admits quietly, “The water is… not always an enemy.”

You kiss his cheek. “High praise.”

—

Months pass.

Tsu’tey learns to fish with a spear adapted for water. He learns to read currents the way he once read tracks. He still prefers land, still sleeps lighter near the shore, but he no longer flinches at the tide.

One evening, after the children are asleep, you sit together watching bioluminescence bloom beneath the surface like stars fallen into the sea.

“They call me reef warrior now,” he says, half-amused, half-grumbling.

You laugh softly. “And.”

“I am still forest,” he says. “But maybe… also this.”

You lean against him. “You can be both.”

Tsu’tey wraps an arm around you, pulling you close. “I followed you here.”

You tilt your head. “You chose us.”

He presses his forehead to yours. “Always.”

Your children stir inside, safe and warm, belonging to two worlds instead of one.

The tide moves gently. The forest lives in memory. And Tsu’tey, once rooted only in trees, finally learns that love can grow anywhere.

[itzj4ylene]

Hey there! Omg I love your Vecna x Reader fic so much!!! Thank you for that, it’s so incredibly soft and beautiful 😭💖

May I ask for a sequel where reader goes a bit further with the body worship? Reader asking Vecna to lay down and get comfortable while they caress him lovingly. Maybe a bit of mind mending so they both feel the pleasure from the touches and kisses and Vecna experiencing something like an orgasm for the first time 🥹 I love him being soft! Maybe, if you can and want, let him be vocal 🥰

It’s totally fine if you don’t wanna do it. I wouldn’t ask if you weren’t such an awesome writer! Thank you ☺️

here you go <3

[itzj4ylene]

"WHERE HE LEARNS TO FEEL"

Vecna x Reader | body worship

You don’t rush him. You don’t take. You ask Henry to rest, to let you touch him without pain or fear. As your hands move over scars and shadows, you knit his fractured mind into yours so every gentle sensation becomes shared. For the first time, Vecna experiences pleasure without violence, without control. And it undoes him.

Warnings: consensual sexual intimacy (non-graphic), emotional vulnerability, mind-melding, possessive tenderness Word Count: about 2,500

Henry does not know how to rest.

Even when he stands still, something in him stays coiled, alert, waiting for threat. His power hums just beneath the surface, shadows shifting in response to every stray thought. You’ve learned to feel it the way you feel weather changes, a pressure in the air.

So when you take his hand and say, “Lay down,” he freezes.

Not in anger. In confusion.

“Why,” he asks, cautious.

Your thumb traces slow circles over his knuckles, grounding. “Because you’re always holding yourself together,” you say. “I want you to stop for a minute.”

Henry searches your face like he expects a trick. Control is how he survives. Surrender is foreign.

“I don’t need to,” he mutters.

“I know,” you say softly. “I want you to.”

The distinction matters.

After a long moment, he exhales and lowers himself onto the stone surface behind him. The shadows adjust automatically, reshaping into something that resembles a bed rather than a battleground. Even in rest, he cannot help but create structure.

He lies back stiffly, hands folded at his sides like he’s bracing for impact.

You move slowly, deliberately, giving him time to pull away if he needs to. You sit beside him, then gently guide his head to rest more comfortably.

“Let me,” you murmur.

Henry swallows. “I’m not… good at this.”

“I know,” you say. “You don’t have to be.”

Your fingers brush his temple, feather-light. He flinches at first, then stills when nothing bad follows.

You lean in and press a kiss there. Soft. Reverent.

Henry’s breath stutters.

“That,” he says quietly, “feels… strange.”

You smile. “Good strange or bad strange.”

He closes his eyes like he’s listening inward. “Good.”

Encouraged, you trail your fingers down his jaw, over his throat, across his chest. You don’t rush. You don’t skip the places he hates. You linger there.

His scars. The ridges where power once tore through him and never healed properly.

Henry’s breathing grows uneven.

“No one touches me there,” he says.

“I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I am.”

Your hands move with intention, not hunger. Each touch says you are seen, you are not broken, you are allowed to feel.

Henry’s body responds before his mind does. Muscles loosen, just a fraction. His head tilts into your palm without him realizing.

You smile softly and take the invitation.

“Henry,” you say, gentle but clear. “May I do something.”

He opens his eyes, pupils blown wide. “What.”

“I want to connect with you,” you say. “Not like before. Not to stop you. Just… to share.”

He hesitates. “You’d feel it too.”

“Yes.”

A long pause.

Then, quietly, “Okay.”

You close your eyes and reach for him the way you’ve learned to. Not forcefully. Not invasive. You let your mind brush his, asking rather than taking.

He lets you in.

The connection snaps into place like a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

Suddenly, you feel everything.

The way his body aches from existing. The constant low hum of rage he keeps buried. The unfamiliar warmth spreading wherever you touch him.

Henry gasps softly, the sound pulled from his chest without permission.

“Don’t stop,” he murmurs, surprised by himself.

You don’t.

Your hands roam more freely now, mapping him with devotion. You kiss his shoulder, his collarbone, the hollow at the base of his throat. Each touch sends a ripple through the connection, amplified, shared.

Henry’s fingers curl into the stone beneath him.

“I didn’t know,” he breathes, voice trembling, “that it could feel like this.”

“Like what,” you ask, brushing your lips along his jaw.

“Like I’m not… hurting,” he says. “Like my body isn’t a weapon.”

Your chest tightens.

“It doesn’t have to be,” you whisper.

You trail kisses down his chest, your hands warm, patient. You don’t rush toward anything specific. You let pleasure build naturally, unfamiliar and overwhelming.

Henry’s breaths turn shallow. His hips shift slightly before he realizes what he’s doing.

He stiffens. “I don’t understand this.”

You lift your head to look at him. “You don’t have to. Just feel.”

You guide his hand to rest over yours, anchoring him. Through the bond, you let him feel your calm, your want without demand.

He exhales shakily and nods.

As your touches deepen, the sensation becomes too much for him to contain quietly. Soft sounds slip from his throat, broken and surprised.

“Ah,” he gasps, then swallows hard. “Is this… supposed to—”

“Yes,” you whisper. “You’re doing fine.”

Henry laughs weakly, disbelieving. “I’m not doing anything.”

“You’re letting yourself feel,” you say. “That’s everything.”

The pleasure crests slowly, unfamiliar but undeniable. His body reacts in waves, each one stronger than the last. He grips your wrist like an anchor, eyes squeezed shut.

“I—” His voice breaks. “I can’t— it’s too—”

You lean over him, pressing your forehead to his. “I’m here. Let go.”

Through the mind-meld, you feel it when he does.

The sensation crashes through him, bright and overwhelming, not sharp like pain but full and consuming. His body arches slightly, a broken sound leaving his lips as the pleasure peaks.

“Oh,” Henry breathes, stunned. “Oh.”

You feel it too, not as intensity but as warmth, as release. You stay connected until the waves fade and his body goes slack beneath you.

For a long moment, neither of you speaks.

Henry’s breathing is ragged, his face flushed, eyes glassy with something like disbelief.

“That,” he says hoarsely, “has never happened to me before.”

You smile softly and brush his hair back from his forehead. “How do you feel.”

He closes his eyes again, overwhelmed. “Quiet.”

You lean down and kiss him, slow and tender.

He kisses back without hesitation this time.

When you pull away, he looks at you with something raw and open that makes your heart ache.

“Stay,” he says, not commanding. Asking.

You curl against him, fitting easily at his side. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Henry’s arm wraps around you, careful, protective.

“I didn’t know I could want something without destroying it,” he murmurs.

You press a kiss to his chest, right over his heart. “You can learn.”

He exhales, finally resting fully into the moment.

And for the first time, the darkness around him doesn’t feel like a cage.

It feels like somewhere safe to lie down.

wasn’t sure if y’all wanted smut for this…

[itzj4ylene]

hii will u be willing to write aonung x metkayina reader where aonung gets jealous when someone else trains with the reader? he pretends doesnt care but hes sulking. thank you:)

heres your request <3

[itzj4ylene]

"LIKE HE DOESN'T CARE AT ALL"

Ao’nung x Metkayina Reader | friends to something more

Ao’nung swears he doesn’t care who trains with you. He really does. Or at least that’s what he tells himself while he avoids you, answers in short words, and sulks like it isn’t painfully obvious. Watching someone else stand where he’s always stood messes with him more than he wants to admit.

Warnings: mild emotional tension, jealousy, pouting Ao’nung, teasing Word Count: about 2,500

Ao’nung decides he doesn’t care.

That’s the conclusion he reaches while standing knee-deep in the shallows, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching you spar with someone who is very much not him.

You’re laughing. That’s the worst part.

Your movements are clean and sharp, familiar to him in a way that feels uncomfortable now that someone else is matching them. You duck, twist, counter smoothly, spear flashing as you knock the weapon from your opponent’s hands. The water splashes up around your calves, sunlight catching on droplets like they’re mocking him.

Ao’nung scoffs under his breath.

“So what,” he mutters. “She can train with whoever she wants.”

Roxto glances at him. “You okay.”

“Yeah,” Ao’nung snaps a little too fast. “Why wouldn’t I be.”

Roxto follows his gaze, immediately understanding. His mouth twitches. “You look like you want to bite someone.”

Ao’nung shoots him a glare. “Mind your business.”

Roxto grins. “Isn’t she your usual training partner.”

Ao’nung straightens. “Not my partner.”

Roxto hums. “You’ve trained together almost every day since she could hold a spear.”

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Ao’nung says flatly.

Roxto doesn’t argue. He just watches Ao’nung watch you.

You land another clean hit, forcing the other Metkayina to stumble back. He laughs and raises his hands in surrender.

“Okay, okay,” he says. “You win.”

You grin, breath a little heavy, braid sticking to your shoulder. “You left your guard open.”

“Because I underestimated you,” he replies, still smiling. “Won’t happen again.”

Ao’nung’s jaw tightens.

He turns away before he can think about why that bothers him so much.

You notice the shift almost immediately.

Ao’nung always makes noise. He splashes when he walks, laughs too loud, makes comments even when no one asks. When he’s around, the air feels full.

So when he suddenly goes quiet, it’s obvious.

You see him leave the shallows without a word, shoulders tense, tail flicking sharply behind him. You hesitate, spear still in your hand, eyes following him.

The Metkayina you were training with nudges your arm. “You upset him.”

You blink. “What.”

He shrugs. “You were supposed to train with Ao’nung today, right.”

You frown. “He didn’t show up.”

He lifts his brows. “He was here.”

Your stomach twists.

You hadn’t even noticed.

That realization sits heavy in your chest as you thank your training partner and head back toward the village. Ao’nung is easy to spot from behind, walking ahead with purpose like he’s got somewhere better to be.

“Ao’nung,” you call.

He doesn’t turn.

You jog to catch up. “Hey.”

Still nothing.

You step in front of him, forcing him to stop. “What’s wrong with you.”

Ao’nung finally looks at you. His expression is flat, guarded, like he’s put walls up in a hurry.

“Nothing,” he says.

You squint. “That’s a lie.”

He scoffs. “I don’t have to tell you everything.”

That stings more than you expect.

You lower your voice. “Did I do something.”

“No,” Ao’nung says immediately. Too immediately.

You tilt your head. “Then why are you acting like this.”

He shrugs, turning to walk again. “I just don’t feel like training today.”

You stare after him, confused and frustrated. Ao’nung skipping training is rare. Ao’nung being cold with you is even rarer.

You don’t follow him right away.

You give him space for the rest of the day. You train, you help mend nets, you dive until the ache in your muscles distracts you from the way he didn’t look at you.

But when the sun begins to sink and the village quiets, the feeling doesn’t go away.

So you find him.

Ao’nung sits alone on the edge of a rock outcrop near the water, legs dangling, toes brushing the surface absently. He’s staring out at the horizon like it personally offended him.

You approach slowly. “You’re sulking.”

“I am not.”

“You absolutely are.”

He huffs. “I just wanted quiet.”

You sit beside him anyway. “You never want quiet.”

He doesn’t argue. That tells you more than anything else.

You watch the water together for a moment. The silence stretches, heavy but not uncomfortable. Ao’nung’s tail flicks, betraying his tension.

“You looked good today,” he says suddenly.

You blink. “What.”

“Training,” he adds quickly. “Your form’s improved.”

You glance at him, surprised by the careful tone. “Thanks.”

Silence again.

Then you say, gently, “Why didn’t you train with me.”

Ao’nung’s jaw tightens. “You were busy.”

“With someone else,” you say.

He shrugs. “So.”

You turn fully toward him. “Ao’nung.”

He finally meets your gaze. There’s something unsettled there, something he doesn’t usually let people see.

“I don’t care,” he says.

You hold his eyes. “You do.”

He scoffs. “Why would I.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking.”

Ao’nung looks away, irritation flaring. “You don’t belong to me.”

Your chest tightens. “I never said I did.”

He flinches like he didn’t mean it to sound that way.

“I just mean,” he says, voice lower now, “you can train with whoever you want.”

“I know,” you reply softly.

Another pause.

Then you add, “But I like training with you.”

That gets his attention.

Ao’nung turns back to you, eyes searching your face like he’s checking for a trick.

“You do.”

You nod. “You push me. You notice things other people don’t.”

His ears flick. “Like what.”

“Like when I favor my left side too much,” you say. “Or when I get sloppy because I’m tired.”

Ao’nung swallows. “I’ve always noticed that.”

“I know,” you say quietly.

The tension shifts. It’s still there, but it feels different now. Less sharp. More vulnerable.

Ao’nung stares at the water again. “He was smiling at you.”

You blink. “Who.”

“The guy you trained with,” he says quickly, like it doesn’t matter. “He was smiling a lot.”

Understanding clicks into place, slow and warm and slightly terrifying.

“You’re jealous,” you say.

Ao’nung stiffens. “No.”

You smile a little. “You are.”

“I’m not,” he insists. “I don’t care who smiles at you.”

You tilt your head. “You didn’t care so much you avoided me all day.”

His ears flatten. “That’s not why.”

You lean closer. “Then tell me why.”

Ao’nung clenches his hands, frustration etched into every line of him. “Because I don’t like the way it felt.”

Your breath catches. “What felt.”

Watching someone else stand where he always stands. Watching you laugh the way you laugh with him. Watching you move in sync with someone who wasn’t him.

He doesn’t say any of that.

Instead he mutters, “Like I was being replaced.”

Your heart twists.

“Ao’nung,” you say gently. “You’re not replaceable.”

He laughs, short and humorless. “You say that now.”

You reach out without thinking, fingers brushing his wrist. He goes still under the touch.

“I train with you because I want to,” you say. “Not because you’re convenient.”

His eyes flick down to where you’re touching him, then back up. “Then why didn’t you come find me.”

You hesitate. “I thought you didn’t want to.”

He exhales sharply. “I always want to.”

That honesty hangs between you, fragile and real.

You smile softly. “Then next time, don’t pretend you don’t care.”

He groans, leaning his head back. “I hate that you see through me.”

“I’ve always seen you,” you reply.

He looks at you then, really looks at you, like he’s realizing something he’s been circling around for a long time.

“You could have trained with anyone,” he says quietly.

“I know.”

“And you still came back to me.”

You nod. “Every time.”

Ao’nung’s expression softens in a way that makes your chest ache. He shifts closer without thinking, shoulder brushing yours.

“I don’t like sharing,” he admits.

You laugh softly. “I’ve noticed.”

He smirks, tension easing. “Doesn’t mean I own you.”

“No,” you agree. “But it means you care.”

He doesn’t deny it this time.

Instead, he nudges your shoulder with his own. “Tomorrow. Train with me.”

You grin. “I thought you didn’t feel like it.”

He rolls his eyes. “Tomorrow I will.”

You stand, offering him your hand. “Then don’t sulk tonight.”

He takes your hand without hesitation, fingers warm and steady around yours. “No promises.”

You laugh, pulling him up. “You’re terrible.”

“And you like me anyway,” he says, smug.

You don’t correct him.

And as you walk back together, Ao’nung’s grip stays firm, like he’s reminding himself you’re still here.

[itzj4ylene]

"BE CAREFUL , ANYWAY"

Robin x reader

Hawkins High has (Y/N) figured out—cheer captain, golden girl, every guy’s “dream.” Then she starts seeking out Robin Buckley, the girl everyone whispers about but no one dares to choose. One hallway kindness turns into a dangerous obsession, and by the time rumors start circling, (Y/N) has to decide what’s scarier: losing her perfect life… or losing the first person who’s ever made her feel real

THIS IS THE SERIES IVE BEEN WORKING ON FOR ROBIN

Word Count: 2,750 words previous chapter: read

Monday morning arrived gently, as if the world had decided to lower its voice.

The rain from the night before still clung to everything—darkening the pavement, softening the edges of buildings, turning Hawkins into a town half-reflected in puddles and glass. The air smelled clean, sharp in a way that made breathing feel intentional.

(Name) noticed it immediately.

Not because it was unusual, but because she was.

She stood in front of her locker, fingers resting against the cool metal, the same posture she’d held a thousand times before. Her reflection stared back at her in the narrow chrome strip: hair neat, makeup perfect, cheer jacket pressed and familiar.

The girl Hawkins High recognized without thinking.

The girl teachers smiled at. The girl other girls measured themselves against. The girl boys expected to want them.

She looked the same.

But for the first time, she didn’t feel like she was waiting for that reflection to explain her.

Her chest was still tight—change didn’t undo fear—but it wasn’t hollow anymore. It wasn’t empty.

It was full.

The hallway buzzed with noise. Lockers slammed. Someone laughed too loudly. A group of juniors argued about homework. The world moved forward like it always had.

But people looked at her differently now.

Not openly. Not cruelly. Just subtly enough that she noticed.

A pause before someone said her name. A glance that lingered a second too long. Whispers that dipped when she walked past.

She felt herself being measured against an invisible ruler—one she hadn’t agreed to, one she was no longer interested in fitting.

Popular girls didn’t drift.

They stayed exactly where they were placed.

(Name) shut her locker and turned away anyway.

Robin was already in English.

She sat two rows back, long legs stretched slightly under the desk, bag hooked around the chair beside her like it belonged there. She didn’t look up immediately—too busy flipping through her notebook, scribbling something in the margins.

(Name) felt the pull before she acknowledged it.

She walked past her usual seat.

The sound of her bag hitting the desk was quiet but definitive.

Robin looked up.

Just for a second, surprise flickered across her face. Then something warmer replaced it. Something that felt like recognition.

“You’re early,” Robin said softly.

(Name) shrugged, sliding into the chair. Their knees brushed.

“Felt like it.”

Robin’s mouth curved—not a smile exactly, but close. “Cool.”

It was small. Insignificant, maybe.

But it felt like a decision.

The teacher cleared her throat at the front of the room, launching into a lecture about symbolism and structure. (Name) tried to follow, but her awareness stayed anchored in the present moment—the warmth of Robin’s leg beside hers, the steady sound of her breathing, the way she tapped her pen absently against the desk.

Halfway through class, the teacher clapped her hands.

“Okay,” she said. “Pair up. We’re doing peer reviews on your essay drafts.”

Chairs scraped. Groans followed.

Robin turned toward (Name) immediately, notebook already sliding across the desk.

“Hope you’re ready to be emotionally devastated,” Robin murmured.

(Name) laughed quietly. “By you?”

“Always,” Robin said, deadpan.

They leaned in close, shoulders touching as they read.

Robin’s focus was intense—not harsh, not judgmental. She underlined sentences thoughtfully, paused when something caught her attention.

“You do this thing,” Robin said quietly.

(Name) glanced up. “What thing?”

“You hedge,” Robin explained. “You make good points, but then you pull back. Like you’re apologizing for having an opinion.”

(Name)’s throat tightened.

“I—” She stopped, exhaled. “I guess I don’t want to sound wrong.”

Robin looked at her then. Really looked at her.

“You don’t sound wrong,” she said. “You sound careful.”

The word landed softly.

Careful.

It wasn’t an insult. It wasn’t a critique.

It was an observation.

“You don’t have to explain yourself to everyone,” Robin added. “Especially not on paper.”

(Name) nodded slowly. “Okay.”

The bell rang before she could say anything else.

Robin packed up quickly, movements deliberate. Then she hesitated.

“Hey,” she said, quieter now. “There’s a thing tonight.”

(Name)’s pulse jumped. “A thing?”

“Yeah. Not a party.” Robin grimaced. “More like… sitting on the hood of Steve’s car and pretending we’re interesting while music plays.”

(Name) smiled. “That sounds perfect.”

Robin blinked, then smiled back—open, unguarded.

“Cool,” she said.

The thing turned out to be exactly what Robin promised.

A handful of people gathered behind the old quarry, radios crackling between songs, laughter drifting easily through the damp air. Steve leaned against his car, arguing with someone about music while pretending not to care.

Robin stood close to (Name), shoulder brushing hers.

Nobody stared.

Nobody whispered.

The night felt suspended—unconcerned with expectations or labels.

At some point, Robin handed her a cassette.

“Trust me,” she said.

(Name) pressed play.

The music was strange. Loud. Nothing like what played at school dances.

She loved it instantly.

They talked until the air grew cold, until the world shrank down to shared jokes and unfinished thoughts. When it was time to leave, Robin walked her to her car.

“You okay?” Robin asked.

(Name) nodded. “Yeah. I really am.”

Robin hesitated, rain beading in her hair.

“Good,” she said.

She didn’t kiss her.

The restraint lingered long after they parted.

Saturday brought consequences.

Tiffany cornered her at the mall, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

“So,” she said. “Are we pretending this is temporary, or do I get the truth?”

(Name) felt the instinct rise—the familiar urge to smooth things over, to make herself easier to understand.

She didn’t do it.

“I don’t know what this is yet,” she said carefully. “But it matters to me.”

Tiffany stared at her, stunned.

“That’s it?” she asked. “You’re just… changing the script?”

(Name) exhaled. “Yeah.”

For a moment, it looked like Tiffany might argue.

Then she sighed. “God. You’re terrifying lately.”

(Name) smiled. “I’ll take that.”

Sunday was quiet.

She and Robin studied in her room, legs tangled, notebooks abandoned in favor of conversation. Rain tapped softly against the window.

“You’re braver than you think,” Robin said suddenly.

(Name) laughed softly. “I’m really not.”

“You are,” Robin insisted. “You’re just doing it scared.”

(Name) turned toward her. “Are you?”

Robin thought about it. “All the time.”

The admission felt sacred.

The kiss happened accidentally.

Or maybe it didn’t.

(Name) leaned in while laughing. Robin turned at the same time. Their mouths brushed—soft, startled, electric.

They froze.

Robin’s breath hitched. “Okay.”

(Name)’s heart thundered. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” Robin said quietly. “Okay.”

This time, the kiss was deliberate.

Careful. Exploratory. Like learning a language together.

When they pulled back, (Name) rested her forehead against Robin’s shoulder, dizzy and light.

Monday came again.

But it wasn’t the same.

(Name) walked into Hawkins High with her head a little higher, steps less rehearsed. She sat beside Robin without checking who was watching.

Kyle stared.

So did a few others.

Robin leaned in, voice low. “You good?”

(Name) nodded. “I think so.”

The bell rang.

Life moved forward.

And for once—

(Name) let it.

LAST CHAPTER HOPE YOU LIKED ITTT

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