#poorly edited

So what if Lohen has a couple screws loose? So do you. You two were a match made in heaven.

Warnings: nsfw content, dry humping (lightly), choking, knifeplay, exhibitionism, reader is tipsy but it's consensual, prommy.

(I forgot about warnings??? Omg)

Minors, DNI!

A/n: Dude. I've never posted on Tumblr like this and its obvious. Also, I haven't played the game since 2022

No idea what's happening with the knights or the fatui, last time I played liyue was having a festival and I was stocking up on limited time food items lol

There's something going on between you and Lohen.

Maybe his parents could advise him on how to better deal with his crush and how to actually charm her, with him trying and eventually succeeding. Please, I need Ao’nung to be clueless lol. You can add a bit of smut too, if you’re up for it.

I just love your writing! You always give me what I’m craving

Skxawng apxa

Stupid boy

A/N: I hope I pulled this off to your expectations

Summary: Ao'nung is a skxawng, and he’s in love. He doesn’t know how to navigate his feelings and instead of acknowledging them, he acts like an ass. Every time he tries to find you, you either make an excuse to leave or just leave. And he’s growing tired of the chase—if only he had the ability to take his head out of his ass, he’d understand he’s the reason why you run

Warnings: use of y/n, Ao’nung is a bit of an ass, fluff & smut, oral female receiving

Word Count: 4, 965

“That’s a pathetic looking fish. You were out for hours and that’s all you caught? That could hardly feed yourself.”

He speaks before his brain can catch up to his tongue. He opens his mouth and the words spill out from him with little hesitation. By the time he actually processes what he says, he is faced with the visible reality of your anger.

Your beautiful light eyes narrow, and your nostrils begin to flare with every sharp inhale and calming exhale you make. Your three fingers curl around the deboning knife that you’d been using to prepare your fish, and your tail heavily pounds the sand behind you. He is already scrambling mentally to chide his tongue when you rise to your feet and in an act of contempt, toss the knife into the fish.

You turn away from him with a sharpness, the tip of your tail practically vibrating with the acute irritation he has sparked in you. Ao’nung is watching you go, watching you walk away while your fish that you caught, singular, sits on the pier close to the ilu pen.

“Was it something I said, sevin?” He can’t prevent himself from calling out after you, he raises his voice and taunts you—and you respond hastily by whipping your head around and shooting him a glare.

An adorable, intoxicating, glare that has Ao’nung grinning like a damn fool on the platform. In the middle of the day, in the midst of the sun that beats down on Awa’atlu, Ao’nung has once again irritated the tutè he has a crush on—the woman he cannot stop thinking of.

It’s almost vexing to him, really. You are consistently there, lingering in his thoughts like a shadow he can’t shake off. In the morning he thinks of you, of how your face would look scrunched up in the glow of the light as you fight getting up. Or at dusk when your cute little freckles begin to illuminate and glow.

And the sounds…the sounds you unknowingly make when you are trying to fix your tewngs, your loincloths that always seem to snag on rocks, it drives him crazy.

Ao’nung physically cannot manage the way his body seems to buzz and come alive whenever you are near him. And because he can’t manage the crush, the swiftly developing feelings he has for the Metkayina girl who plagues every through, he chooses to be an ass. Although it feels like it’s less of a choice and more of a natural reaction from the disconnect in his mind and his tongue.

Ao’nung can’t help himself. Teasing you comes naturally, it comes easily, although it places him in a category that he fears he will never be able to get out of—especially considering that anytime he comes around you make an excuse to leave.

Or you just leave. Like now, with your fish abandoned and your knife imbedded in its body, you leave him behind to look after you with a wickedly dumb grin on his face. He stands on the pier staring in the direction you had disappeared in, the tips of his fingers twitching against his sides in tandem with his ears. He can hear the business of the village, the scattered conversations of the clan that go about their everyday lives.

And somewhere in the confines of Awa’atlu, you will hear hiding out avoiding him.

“The least I could do is return her fish.” Ao’nung’s crouches to the platform and yanks the knife out of your caught fish, only half-deboned, and then takes both of them in one hand. With you completely disappearing in the village somewhere he takes your fish and knife and starts heading back to his family’s marui.

He is only feet in front of his home, already comforted by the familiar markings etched into the thick corded pillars that supported the roof and entrance. From behind the leather privacy flap, just as decorated and designed as the etches in the wood pillars, he could hear his parents talking.

The tips of his ears twitched subtly when he had detected the sound of his mother’s soft singing to Pril and his father’s deep voice as he spoke to Tsireya. Ao’nung had approached the entrance and lifted the privacy flap with the back of his hand, getting a clearer look at his home.

His mother, like he expected, was sitting near the fire with Pril in her lap allowing their mother to braid her curls. Pril, like his mother, wore the same style of clothing made from bleached reeds stretched and woven into delicate thread. His mother’s voice echoed in the marui as she sang to Pril, her voice carrying words that he remembered from his childhood.

His father was near the hammocks with Tsireya, the designated sleeping area for their family was laden with different items. Some weapons he and his father had, pillows and blankets, toys for Pril, baskets of herbs for his mother, and Tsireya’s courting gifts from Lo’ak. Ao’nung had listened to the tail end of the conversation between his father and Tsireya, which had swiftly ended when he entered the home.

“Ma tsmukan what is that?” Pril’s nose scrunched when she looked at the dead fish in Ao’nung hand that still had your knife sticking out of it. “A fish?”

Ao’nung glimpsed at the fish in his hand, half-gutted and prepped, that he had carried all the way from the pier. The fish was on the smaller size although for you it would have been sufficient enough for you to eat. Ao’nung knew he was being an ass when he was giving you a hard time about the stupid fish but it was easy to tease you.

“Why do you have a fish, tsmukan?” Tsireya had joined in on the conversation, turning away from their dad to be more directly involved. Like Pril, her nose scrunched and she looks at the fish with a look of distaste.

“Took it from a little Eylan of mine.” He shrugs and removes the knife from the side before he tosses the fish into the fire. When it lands in the ash and the scales begin to crackle in the flames, Ao’nung’s lips form a frown. “Who avoids me like I’m diseased.”

“Y/N you mean?” Tsireya asks while she touches the bracelet Lo’ak gave her, fingers running along the beading. “You tease her a lot, Ao’nung.”

“Sevin suylang…” he trails off, speaking of you with a voice that edges on the line of neediness transcending simple desire. He spoke of you like he needed you to live, to breathe. “Pretty petal, she is…. everything. But she avoids me like I’m some rabid akula.”

“Ma ‘itan,” his father raised his voice, drawing Ao’nung’s attention from where it was fixated on the fish burning in the fire, “your tsmuke tells us that you have been…taunting her.”

“Teasing.” Ao’nung corrects, attention flitting between his dad and Tsireya. “I tease her because I like her reactions but whenever I show up, she goes running.”

“She hates you because you are mean.” Pril quips from their mother’s lap, squirming when their mom takes another section of hair to braid. “Maybe she wouldn’t run away from you if you were nicer.”

Silence falls over the marui as Ao’nung remunerates about his feelings for the girl who keeps running from him. He didn’t know how to manage his crush, that much was obvious, and that’s why he was so keen on teasing you. He didn’t exactly know how to navigate feelings for someone like you, someone who wasn’t blatantly head over heels for him like some of the other girls in the clan were.

Ao’nung had a pretty face, he was the eldest son of the Olo’eyktan, and that had awarded him with a group of girls who fantasized about being his mate. He could have had his choice of any of them, and they would have never given him any pushback, but he wanted you.

He had desired the one who thought he was a walking, raging ego, who had been tired of Ao’nung’s behaviour and avoided him at all costs. He wanted you, damn him did he ever want you. It was an inevitable, crushing, debilitating kind of want.

The kind of desire and need that completely threw Ao’nung for an endless nosedive into feelings even he didn’t understand. The pretty boy of Awa’atlu, the chief’s son, was madly, deeply, inescapably in love.

“She hates me.” He gracefully fell into a crouching position with his hands draped between his knees, fingertips grazing the rattan floor of his family’s marui. “I am in love with her and she hates me.”

“You need to be genuine, ma ‘itan.” His mother reached for his hand, resting it upon his own and squeezed gently. Encouraging her son to embrace gentility with a potential mate was obvious and it came from a place of love—however it was a blanketed way of telling Ao’nung that he needed to remove his head from his ass.

“Tomorrow she will in the market trading the bone knives she makes, you can start with an apology.” His father suggested, nodding his head with another statement that felt like a blanketed order.

And when Ao’nung stared openly at his father, eyes only slightly narrowed, his father returned the gesture. “Do not tell me you are so clueless about your future mate that you didn’t know she made knives?”

Ao’nung’s cheeks flushed with warmth and his ears had become flatter against his head. He wished he could have told his father differently but that would be a bold faced lie and he knew his father would catch him. There was a folly that settled into his bones, making him feel more like an ass than he had before. Because how could he have followed you everywhere with this overbearing crush, that quickly became the desire to mate, and yet he didn’t know you made knives?

“Ao’nung.” His father spoke his name, almost deadpanned over the lack of conscious behavior when it came to you.

Ao’nung he was an idiot, but he was an idiot in love.

There was a clamouring chatter that had felt necessarily familiar to you in the markets of Awa’atlu. With wicker baskets resting against the rattan floor of the open air gathering hall, also used for clan parties, there was a flux of Metkayina coming and going. Your interaction with Ao’nung the day before had left you with a strong repulsion towards the beach and the shallow fishing pools by the tide-wall.

You desired a break from him and every other arrogant warrior like him, the kind of Metkayina that thought they were Eywa’s gift to the sea. They were skilled, that was undoubted, but he was also pretty and Ao’nung with his pretty face had only boosted his already healthy ego.

An ego and confidence that made so many girls in the village go starry eyed whenever they had seen him. Yet Ao’nung hadn’t seemed as if he would ever be interested in a mate—even if he had multitudes of Metkayina who wanted to be with him. None of them had ever won his favour.

Your avoidance of the shoreline and the beach, where most of the activity from those arrogant hunters were, should have given you a break from Ao’nung. It wasn’t just a convenient excuse that you had to be in the market today, you had genuinely wanted one day without him bothering you. Every time you went somewhere, he had seemed to pop up in your presence.

If you were looking for shells to grind together to make dye for the wood you used to make your knives, Ao’nung was there trying to annoy you. If you were enjoying the early morning sun before the village was awake, somehow Ao’nung would know. And he would follow you just to ask you if you were up because you didn’t want anyone to see your grumpy face that early.

Small comments that might have been insignificant to some, had the potency to worm under your skin and eat at your composure.

But market day should be peaceful. Should.

And yet from the corner of your eyes, you see him—first the curls of the cocky son of the chief that are loose and not restrained in a bun and then his impish blue eyes that light up in your direction. You want to run, again, you want to complete vacate the market to avoid his nasty little comments. Comments that tempt you to strike him with the rough unfinished wood you use to make your knives.

But you can’t run. You can’t escape because your brother is out on his duties as scout, and your sister is gone off into the market to trade some spear heads for beads. You are alone to watch your family’s market area and even if you could leave, Iomll wants to purchase a knife for his grandson who will going through his Iknimaya.

Iomll is a good friend of your fathers, he is an aged warrior who now enjoys his older age with his mate and his children’s children. The warrior-hunter before you are scouring your crafted small weapons with a scrutinized cautious eye, not because he thinks your weapons are ill-made. It’s the opposite, you have a talent for making these small weapons and there are too many to choose from.

Which means you are stuck.

“The ‘evengan is relentless.” Iomll sees Ao’nung approaching with a directness to every step, a personal mission that has him weaving in and out of the crowds.

“The boy is going to get smacked.” You grit your teeth and look back at the aged hunter before you, hair turning grey and lines of experience on his face. You beg him with your eyes, pleading with him to choose fast so you could make your hasty departure.

But Eywa does not bless you with luck because Iomll is continuing to take his time and Ao’nung steps beside the experienced hunter. Ao’nung and Iomll share a common understanding when it comes to the need for sharp blades at their sides. Not just for hunting or fishing but for personal defence.

He looks half-assed at the knives, briefly admiring your craftsmanship before he lifts his head. He doesn’t even have to say a word, not a single syllable before you are already scowling at him. Your arms fold across your chest and you are cursing yourself for not trying harder to convince your sister to stay here so you could wander around.

“These are nice knives, ma suylang.” Ao’nung compliments you, calling you his petal, or flower, as if that could make you any less likely to stab him. “You are very talented.”

“I am not trading with you.” You reach forward and grab the edge of the thin, tanned hide the knives are lying on, and yank it away from him.

Iomll is unabashedly watching you and Ao’nung, looking from you to him and back again, a rising and knowing smile forming on his wise face. He is silent though mindful as he taps the edge of a knife and as a trade, hands over a tightly bound wrapped food parcel. You thank him and hand the knife over before you set the food down on the table to the left of you.

“Why won’t you trade with me, paskalin? I have something you want.” Ao’nung’s lips form a pout, playful in nature and just as aggravating.

“I’m not trading with you because…” your ears flatten and your frown deepens. Ao’nung is relentless, he won’t leave until you give him some explanation, and you still can’t escape. “…because you will do something stupid like the skxawng you are and blame my knife for it.”

You lean toward and look past Ao’nung, eyes trailing the length of the market until you find your sister. Relief does not come to you, not when you take notice of the other person with your sister. Roxto and your sister were speaking closely, laughing and flirting, with her body turned into him and his hand brushing curls out of her face.

They were in their own little world, and you were stuck here.

“I am sorry.” Ao’nung’s voice draws you back to focus, and you rake your narrowed, suspicious gaze over him.

“What?”

“I am sorry.” He places his hand upon his chest and tilts his head down, giving you a better look at those striking eyes. “For always making jokes at your expense.”

“You’re apologizing for teasing me?” You scoff and tilt your head to the side, indignation for Ao’nung pausing while curiosity took centre stage. “Is this a joke? Did you get bitten by the kali’weya?”

“Ma sevin,” Ao’nung’s lips begin to form a smirk, the impish nature of his personality shines through his apology, “you think I’m joking?”

“Yes.” Your eyes narrow and you lean forward again, this time you call for your sister and demand her attention.

She turns her head and looks your way, eyes flitting between you and Ao’nung, before she apologizes to Roxto. He takes her wrist in his hand and she turns back, just soft enough of a spin to have him kissing her, and you can see the way she laughs into the kiss. When she finally starts walking toward you and your family’s market place, you turn your head back toward Ao’nung and shoot him a dirty look.

“I’m genuine, Y/N.” He says your name, not some pet name or term of endearment. “I’m sorry for being an ass, I am…I was only acting that way because I like you. I want to court you, yawntu.”

“Ngari tìreyä tirea slu horenka.” You recoil as surprised shock takes the place of your anger and you feel your eyes narrowing. Your mind is reeling as you try to make sense of what he was saying, of what he was implying.

Your life's spirit has become lawless—you were accusing him of being out of his mind, because the complete 180 he had done was messing with you. How could this stupid boy go from teasing you and taunting you every chance he had gotten, to suddenly confessing that he actually liked you? That he wanted to court you but in some twisted expulsion of words, had instead bullied you?

“No, listen to me-” your sister stepped up to the table, and you stepped back.

Your sister greets Ao’nung with a strained smile, she knows all about the cocky son of the chief who had spent his time teasing you every chance he got. You don’t say a word to her or another to Ao’nung, you turn sharply on your heel. You begin navigating your way through the crowds of Metkayina that are here to trade and barter with each other.

Behind you Ao’nung is trying to follow, he is calling your name telling you to stop, to let him explain himself but giving him the time of day feels like a lofty chore.

There is a party in the village, a clan party to celebrate the Metkayina who have completed their iknimaya’s and become fully fledged hunters. With food and music that welcomes the newest successful Metkayina, there is little focus on who is missing from the party.

You could easily be overlooked by anyone—just not Ao’nung.

Eclipse has settled upon the shores of Awa’atlu and the nightlife is vibrant. With bioluminescent algae lighting up the shoreline and shallow waters, there is a transcending beauty that is only visible in the darkened hours of the long day. It’s in the sand that glows where he finds you sitting, just you among the waves with a thin blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Your curls are loose and free, your kuru sits in your lap where your fingers are weaving shells into the thickest parts of your braid.

Ao’nung approaches you from behind, bringing you a gift of peace and apology, desperate to make amends. In his hands is a bowl made from wood hardened and sealed with resin, carved with his family’s design, but it’s what’s in the bowl that he hopes you will take from him.

“I don’t want to talk to you.” You don’t give him the opportunity to say anything before you already shut him down with a clear directive, even if it is softly spoken.

“Rutxe, mikyun oeyä ngaytxoaru.” Ao’nung continues his approach although he takes his time as to not spook you, like you were glider fin or hammerbrow fish that would dart away.

“Apologize? That’s why you’re here?” You question him with a sharp edge trailing at the edge of your words, and when you turn your head to throw a look at him, Ao’nung is equally as captivated as he is vexed.

Not by you, but by how stupid he clearly was.

“I want to apologize to you, sevin.” Ao’nung painstakingly yet smoothly comes to sit next to you with that bowl in his hands, light traces of steam rising from the interior. The steam carries the heady, intoxicating smell of flat snake fish, herbs and vegetables—your preferred delicacy to have when the clan throws parties. “I brought you your favourite.”

You lean over and look into the bowl he carried from the clan party to you, somehow balancing the bowl expertly without spilling a drop all while also carrying a gift. There is speculation in his gaze as you slowly take the bowl from him and set it in your lap, although you don’t eat from it yet. You let it rest upon your thighs while you stare him down, waiting for some kind of punchline.

Instead, Ao’nung apologizes for the second time since he saw you.

“I was an ass; I am an ass.” He reaches for you and rests his hand upon yours, fingers squeezing the edge of your palm as a glimmer of apprehension radiates off him. “I really do like you paskalin, and I do want to court you. I am a skxawng and I will always be a skxawng, I didn’t know how to manage my feeling because-“

“You are used to having girls fall at your feet and worship the ground you walk on.” You finally lift the bowl to your lips and sip on the broth, flavours bursting on your tongue are hearty and warm, and you purr from the experience. “You are pretty, and you are stupid.”

“Incredibly stupid.” He doesn’t deny your claim, he fully leans into the insult because he deserves it. “I am an idiot in love.”

“Your sister already spoke to me after I left the market.” You raise the bowl again and continue eating, a sight that has the tension in Ao’nung’s shoulders begin to lessen. The simple act of you eating what he gave you is a hopeful sign that perhaps you could forgive him, and he could make it up to you. “She is a good spokeswoman on your behalf, she almost makes you out to be less of a skxawng.”

Ao’nung takes the chance to lean in and draws his hand from where it rests upon yours, and places it against your shoulder. He is evaluating the water, gauging whether you will decide to smack him off and curse him out, or let him continue.

“I want to court you ma suylang-“

“-you aren’t done apologizing yet.” You cut him off, you speak over him and he draws his attention to your lips as they move, striking him with another jolt of desire.

“I know a way I can properly apologize, yawne.” His voice grows heavier; his eyes become a blaze of lust and need that follow a trail from your pretty face to the smooth skin that leads to your chest and then to your tewng.

“You need to put your tongue to better use.” The bowl he brought you is set aside and out of the way in order for you to shift your body toward him.

Your arms stretched out behind you giving you something to lean on as you arch your back and begin to spread your legs. Your tewng falls between your thighs which have only become more exposed with this new position, effectively stealing his attention and his ability to speak.

“You want to apologize?” You croon as you move your hand down your abdomen to the ties of your loincloth, giving one side a sharp tug followed by the other.

As the loin cloth becomes loose around your thighs and pelvis, Ao’nung is spurned to action. With a sharp and reflective move, he is like a predator that has found it’s next meal, but this is all done by your demand.

“You’ll forgive me.” He speaks confidently while grabbing onto your hips and dragging you across the sand until your thighs and directly below his chin. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“So cocky.” You rest your hand upon that bun he always seems to keep his curls in, and give him a shove, directing his eyes and mouth to where you want them to be. “You can start your apology here.”

He ducks his head and even before he parts his lips to follow the demands you make for his apology, the warmth of his breath has your thighs trembling—even if it is only once. This is what you demand, what you require of him to apologize and prove that he is serious, then so be it. Ao’nung will prove it to you.

“You are pretty, paskalin.” Ao’nung lean forward and bumps the tip of his nose against your clit, a sensation that has you shifting beneath him. It’s the start of the wordless path to forgiveness, and he has to follow it with action to have you preening beneath him.

Action which comes in the form of the first expulsion of his tongue against you, the warmth of his tongue contrasts the coolness of the night air. He pushes himself further between your thighs as the tip of his tongue flicks against your pussy lips in a rhythmic motion that draws soft whines from your lips. The lullaby of sweet pleasure has only just begun and already he knows that this is a song that he will never grow tired of.

With another flick of his tongue against you, your hand tightens on his curls, and you push his head further into you, demanding more. Ao’nung gives you what you want when he pushes his tongue between those sweet pussy lips that have already begun dripping with your personal brand of sweet honey.

He latches onto your cunt with his mouth and while his tongue is busy, Ao’nung uses his hand to play with your hard little clit. His fingers reached for that hooded nub, teasing you with every soft pinch and twist.

You react with another rising surge of whines that turn to moans, your back arching and your thighs spreading further apart. He grins into your cunt, pleased with how you’re reacting to what he is doing to you, to how he is eating you out like he is a man starved.

“Oh fuck…” When you use the Sky-People’s language to curse, Ao’nung pulls his tongue out of your sweet cunt, and the loss of his tongue has your eyes burning. You raise your head and stare him down with fire in your eyes and your nostrils flaring. “Ao’nung-“

“Relax.” He doesn’t leave you longing for long before he returns to your cunt but instead of slipping his tongue between your pussy lips, he uses his tongue to lick up the length of your sweet heat. From the bottom to the top his tongue moves slowly until he reaches your clit, and then he sucks that nub into his mouth.

You respond with another deep arching of your back and a rush of moans fall from your lips, your eyes screw closed with the rush of pleasure. Ao’nung continues the track of teasing your clit, switching back and forth between sucking on your clit and flicking his tongue against that nub.

He watches you with incredible focus, watching your reactions to gauge how you are feeling about what he is doing. It’s his goal to drive you mad, to make you forget about every stupid thing he has done, and he will not leave until he has completed his task.

Every moment that he has his tongue on your clit is another delicious sound that he can pull from your pretty lips, but he is not singularly using his tongue, no—he drops his hand to your pussy lips and runs his fingers against you. He gathers the slickness that is evident of your desire and uses it as lube to push his fingers into your cunt, pumping slowly at a pace that has your breath catching.

“Ao’nung, fuck…” you moan his name in tune with grinding yourself against his hand, searching out more of that deliriously intoxicating friction of his fingers and his mouth. “Don’t stop, Eywa if you stop…”

“Have I earned your forgiveness?” He removes his lips from your clit with a pop, lips glistening from your arousal with that sweet, slick honey that drips down his chin.

“If you don’t put your mouth back-“ There is an intensity about your eyes, alight with anger fuelled by sexual need that has you baring your teeth with a hiss.

“I have more work to do.” He grins and lowers his head again, taking a brief moment to kiss above your pelvic bone muttering a compliment into your skin before he returns to his task.

I Gently Opened The Door [Deltarune Chapter 5 Stuff]

edited ts with my FINGER on my PHONE. yeah ok