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stupidnerdlol · 4 months ago

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Can you write about Tenzin being obsessed with Lin ;)

How to make a man obsessed with you? Well let’s see. Oh wait LIN DOESNT HAVE TO TRY. I MEAN WE ARE ALL OBSESSED WITH HER AND SHES NOT EVEN REAL. Maybe we are crazy or Maybe Tenzin is. Or both. We are all obsessed with a depressed mommy issues woman.

But I am going to say this is set when they are 17/18. And I kinda wrote it in like little chapters but you are in for a treat. (I also wrote myself little scenes and gave them names so if you see one sticking in there. NO YOU DIDNT. I swear I removed them all, I hope)

Tenzin didn’t really remember when he started noticing Lin like this. Maybe it had been gradual, creeping up on him in stolen glances and quiet moments. The way she carried herself—strong, confident, yet effortlessly graceful—had always commanded attention, but now, it was different. Now, he couldn’t stop looking. The way her hair curled against her neck and cheeks, dark strands falling loose from her usual tied-back style, made his fingers itch to tuck them behind her ear. The way she started to wear that pretty shade of pink on her lips—subtle, barely there, but just enough to make him wonder if she did it on purpose—drove him to distraction.

And right now, as she moved across the training grounds, her body twisting and striking with effortless power, he was completely lost in her.

“Tenny.”

Tenzin snapped out of his trance as an arm slung lazily around his shoulders, dragging him out of his daydream. He turned his head sharply to see Bumi grinning at him, eyes twinkling with mischief.

“Enjoying the view?” Bumi teased, his voice low so only Tenzin could hear.

Tenzin immediately stiffened, his cheeks heating up. “I was observing her technique,” he muttered, clearing his throat and straightening his posture. “Lin is an exceptional earthbender.”

Bumi snorted. “Sure, sure. That’s why you look like you’re about to start writing poetry about her.”

Tenzin shot him a sharp glare, but his older brother only laughed, ruffling his hair as if he were still a child.

On the sparring grounds, Lin was facing off against Aang, exchanging rapid blows with the ease of someone who had trained alongside the Avatar since childhood. Her movements were sharp, precise—years of disciplined training and raw talent making her a force to be reckoned with. Aang, of course, was faster, but Lin’s sheer power and endurance made her a challenge.

Tenzin was supposed to be paying attention to their techniques, studying their footwork, their strategies. But his mind kept wandering. The way Lin’s muscles flexed beneath her fitted training clothes, the determination burning in her sharp green eyes, the way a bead of sweat traced a path down her temple—it was unfair how effortlessly she captivated him.

Bumi nudged him again, jerking his chin toward Lin as she walked toward them. “You might wanna wipe the lovesick look off your face before she gets here.”

Tenzin scowled but barely had time to compose himself before Lin was standing in front of them, hands on her hips, breathing only slightly heavier from the spar.

“Annoying him again, Bumi?” she asked, arching a brow.

Bumi grinned. “It’s my duty as his older brother.” He gestured toward Tenzin’s head with mock seriousness. “Still surprised he’s not bald yet from all the stress I put him through.”

Tenzin rolled his eyes, crossing his arms. “I’m not spiritually ready for my tattoos yet.”

“I like his hair,” Lin said casually, wiping some sweat off her forehead with the back of her hand. “It makes him look… normal.”

Tenzin felt his breath hitch. She liked his hair. The thought settled into his chest like a warm ember, spreading through him until it was all he could think about. He’d always imagined himself following in his father’s footsteps, eventually shaving his head when the time was right. But now… he suddenly never wanted to. Not if Lin liked it this way.

Bumi, of course, couldn’t let the moment slide. “Ditch the clothes, and he’ll look like a normal person too.”

Lin smirked slightly, the rare expression making Tenzin’s pulse quicken. Her smiles weren’t common, but when she did smile, it was like everything else around them faded. It was effortless, understated, but it held something deeper—something Tenzin wished he could hold onto forever.

She turned back toward the sparring grounds, ready to resume training with Aang, but Tenzin’s gaze remained locked on her.

His eyes traced the way her body moved, strong and sure. Lin wasn’t delicate, wasn’t the kind of girl who dressed up in silk robes or giggled behind a fan. She didn’t wear tight, fashionable clothes that accentuated her figure—but to him, she didn’t need to. He could see the strength in her, the quiet elegance beneath the layers of armor she built around herself. She was all sharp angles and soft curves, muscle and grace, fire and steel.

She was beautiful. Not in the way most people defined beauty, but in a way that felt undeniable to him. She could have scars or bruises from her training, stretch marks or callouses from years of hard work, and none of it would matter. He would still think she was the most incredible person he had ever laid eyes on.

And the truth was, it wasn’t just the way she looked that had him so mesmerized. It was her. Her unwavering determination, her quick wit, her fierce loyalty. The way she carried the weight of the world without ever asking for help.

All of it.

He wanted all of her.

Tenzin had never been one to let emotions distract him. He prided himself on discipline, on maintaining control. He was the son of Avatar Aang—expected to be a leader, a spiritual guide, a pillar of wisdom. But when it came to Lin, all that self-restraint crumbled into dust.

He had convinced himself that it was a passing thing, something he could ignore, something that would fade in time. It didn’t.

If anything, it grew worse.

Tenzin found himself at the training grounds more than usual, offering excuses to his father or himself about needing to refine his airbending techniques. In reality, he was there for one reason—Lin.

She trained harder than anyone he knew, often long after the others had left. And he would watch. He told himself it was admiration, that he respected her dedication, but deep down, he knew better.

Lin moved with a controlled kind of violence, her every step grounded and firm. Earthbending was so different from airbending—solid, forceful, direct. She never hesitated. Never second-guessed herself. And that confidence, that raw, undeniable strength, had him completely enthralled.

“Are you going to stand there staring, or are you actually going to spar with me?”

Tenzin blinked, snapping out of his daze. Lin stood a few feet away, arms crossed, an amused yet challenging smirk playing at her lips. He hadn’t even realized she had noticed him.

“I wasn’t staring,” he lied, stepping forward.

Lin snorted, rolling her shoulders. “Sure you weren’t.” She dropped into a fighting stance, eyes locked onto his. “Come on, Airhead, show me what you’ve got.”

Tenzin hesitated. Sparring with Lin meant being close to her—too close. It meant dodging her strikes, feeling the force of her movements, catching glimpses of the fire in her eyes. But he couldn’t exactly back down.

So he took his stance.

The match started fast. Lin lunged first, sending a sharp, deliberate strike toward him. He barely avoided it, twisting the air around him to propel himself backward. She pressed forward, relentless, her movements quick and calculated.

Tenzin dodged and redirected, his style fluid where hers was firm, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep this up forever. She was pushing him, and he was letting her. Maybe because he liked the way she moved. Maybe because he liked the way her eyes flashed with determination when she fought. Maybe because he just wanted an excuse to keep looking at her.

But then, she caught him off guard.

A well-placed foot sweep sent him stumbling, and before he could recover, Lin had him pinned—one knee pressing into his chest, her hands gripping his wrists.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Tenzin could feel her breath on his skin, could see the beads of sweat on her forehead, the loose strands of hair sticking to her cheek. His heart pounded so hard it drowned out every logical thought in his head.

Lin raised a brow. “You’re distracted.”

He swallowed, trying to find his voice. “You’re just… very skilled.”

Her lips twitched in amusement, but she didn’t move right away. And neither did he.

Then, just as quickly as she had taken him down, she pushed herself off him, offering him a hand. “Try harder next time,” she said simply.

Tenzin took her hand, his fingers lingering against hers for just a second longer than necessary.

Try harder? He already was. Trying so, so hard not to want her.

The problem with living at the Air Temple was that there were too many places to run into Lin.

Tenzin often found himself in the courtyard at night, hoping the cool air would clear his mind. It never did. Especially not when Lin was there too.

Tonight was one of those nights.

She sat on the temple steps, leaning back on her palms, eyes turned up toward the stars. The moonlight cast soft shadows across her face, making her look almost serene.

Tenzin hesitated before stepping forward. “Couldn’t sleep?”

Lin glanced at him, then shrugged. “Too much energy.”

He sat beside her, leaving just enough space between them to keep his thoughts in check. “Training too hard again?”

“Something like that.” She tilted her head slightly, studying him. “And you? Why are you awake?”

Tenzin could have given a dozen excuses. Meditation. Studying. Preparing for his responsibilities. But instead, he gave her the truth.

“I’ve been thinking.”

Lin smirked. “That’s dangerous.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “I suppose it can be.”

A comfortable silence settled between them, the kind that didn’t need to be filled with words. It was something he liked about Lin—she never felt the need for unnecessary chatter.

Then, without looking at him, she spoke again. “Do you ever feel like… you’re supposed to be someone specific? Like everyone expects you to be a certain way, and you don’t know if you can be that person?”

Tenzin turned to her, surprised by the vulnerability in her voice. Lin never talked like this—not often, at least.

“All the time,” he admitted softly.

Lin exhaled, as if relieved he understood. “Yeah.”

Another silence. Then, she leaned back on her elbows, gazing up at the sky again. “I think you’ll figure it out.”

Tenzin looked at her, taking in the way the moonlight highlighted the curve of her jaw, the softness in her usually sharp features.

He wanted to tell her the same thing. That she was already enough, that she didn’t have to prove anything to anyone. That she was incredible, exactly as she was.

But he didn’t. Because if he started saying things like that, he might not be able to stop.

And he couldn’t afford to want her more than he already did.

Tenzin never realized how much he associated Lin with a scent until it started haunting him.

She always smelled like something familiar. Not perfume—Lin wasn’t the type to bother with flowery fragrances—but something raw, something real. The scent of earth after rain, of metal and stone, of sweat and effort.

It clung to her training clothes, to her gloves, to the space where she stood. And, unfortunately, it clung to him too.

One afternoon, he caught himself in the temple halls, breathing in the faintest trace of her scent on his scarf. She must have brushed against him earlier, maybe handed him something, and now the smell was there, lingering like a ghost.

And Tenzin, fully aware of how pathetic he was, didn’t want to let it go.

He groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. He was losing his mind. Completely, utterly losing it over her.

This wasn’t normal. It wasn’t rational.

But when it came to Lin Beifong, nothing ever was.

And yet, despite all his efforts, despite his self-restraint and logic, Tenzin knew one thing with absolute certainty—

He was already too far gone.

Tenzin knew he was in trouble the moment he started dreaming about Lin.

Not just passing dreams, but vivid, all-consuming ones. Dreams where he felt the warmth of her skin against his, where her calloused fingers traced the shape of his jaw. Dreams where she leaned in, close enough that he could count the freckles on her nose, and whispered his name like it meant something.

Then, just before he could kiss her, he always woke up.

And it was agony.

Because no matter how much he tried to push these feelings aside, they always found their way back to him—like the unshakable pull of gravity.

Tenzin had never been a particularly materialistic person. Air Nomad values taught him to let go of attachments to physical things.

But then Lin had to go and leave her shirt at the temple.

It was an old training shirt, slightly worn at the edges, left crumpled on one of the benches after sparring. Tenzin found it before anyone else did, holding it in his hands like it was some forbidden artifact.

It smelled like her.

Earth and metal and something uniquely Lin.

And for an embarrassingly long moment, he just stood there, gripping the fabric and closing his eyes, breathing it in like some kind of desperate fool.

He knew he should return it. He would return it.

But instead of walking to Lin’s room, he ended up taking it back to his own. Just for a moment, he told himself. Just until he saw her again.

It sat folded on his desk for three days.

When Lin finally found out, she smirked at him and said, “So… you stealing my clothes now, Tenzin?”

He nearly choked on his own breath

It had been a long day of training, and Tenzin found himself walking with Lin along the cliffs of the Air Temple. The sun was setting, casting everything in deep gold and violet hues.

For once, they were both quiet.

Tenzin wanted to say something. He wanted to tell her that he couldn’t stop thinking about her, that she had completely consumed him in ways he didn’t understand.

But when he finally turned to face her, Lin was looking at him with something unreadable in her expression.

“What?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

She hesitated. Then, almost too quietly, she said, “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

He could feel it between them, thick as the air before a storm.

Tenzin opened his mouth, ready to say something—anything—to break the unbearable tension. But then, Lin smirked and nudged his shoulder with hers.

“You’re thinking too hard again.”

Just like that, the moment was gone.

And Tenzin knew, deep down, that if he didn’t do something soon, he was going to lose his mind over her.

Tenzin had spent his whole life striving for balance. Balance in his bending, balance in his emotions, balance in the expectations placed upon him.

But Lin Beifong was not balanced. She was chaos wrapped in a smirk, sharp edges softened only by those rare moments of quiet vulnerability. And Tenzin—who had always prided himself on being in control—was completely, utterly unraveling.

Tenzin had always thought himself above petty emotions like jealousy. But then Lin started spending more time around one of the younger earthbenders at the temple—a visiting student named Ren.

And Tenzin? He hated him.

It was irrational, immature, and completely beneath him. But none of that mattered when he saw Ren laughing a little too freely around Lin, standing a little too close when they trained, placing a hand on her shoulder like he had the right to touch her.

Tenzin told himself it wasn’t his business. Lin wasn’t his.

But that didn’t stop the simmering frustration every time he saw them together.

One afternoon, he found himself watching them from a distance, pretending to be invested in a scroll about airbending forms while actually grinding his teeth as Ren demonstrated some new earthbending technique for Lin.

“She’s going to break his ribs,” Bumi said casually, dropping onto the bench beside him.

Tenzin tore his gaze away. “What?”

Bumi smirked. “She’s only letting him get comfortable so she can humiliate him when he gets cocky. It’s what she does.”

Tenzin looked back just in time to see Ren attempt a fancy move—only for Lin to sweep his legs out from under him with effortless ease. He landed flat on his back, groaning, while Lin smirked down at him.

Tenzin should have been mature about it. He should have let it go.

Instead, he smirked.

Bumi elbowed him. “Wow. That’s a little evil for you, monk.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Tenzin said, his voice completely neutral.

But when Lin caught his gaze across the training yard and raised an amused eyebrow, he quickly looked away.

Tenzin had touched Lin before, of course. Brief, fleeting moments—passing her a cup of tea, steadying her after a sparring match, a casual brush of shoulders when they walked side by side.

But this was different.

It was late. The training grounds were empty except for the two of them, sitting side by side on the cool stone steps after an exhausting day. Lin was rolling her wrist absentmindedly, wincing slightly.

“You should wrap that,” Tenzin said.

Lin scoffed. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not,” he said firmly, already reaching for the cloth wrap in his pocket. “Let me see.”

She gave him a look, part amused, part exasperated, but she held out her hand.

Tenzin swallowed hard. Her fingers were rough, calloused from years of bending, strong enough to crack stone—and yet, when he touched her, they were warm. Steady.

He wrapped her wrist carefully, trying to focus on the task and not the way her skin felt against his.

“You’re weirdly gentle,” Lin muttered, watching him.

Tenzin’s hands faltered for half a second.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Lin blinked, something unreadable flickering across her face. Then, just as quickly, she smirked. “I’ve been punched through walls before, Tenzin. You’re not going to hurt me.”

He tied off the bandage and exhaled. “Still.”

Lin flexed her fingers experimentally. “Not bad, Airhead.”

For a moment, they just sat there, his hand still lightly resting over hers.

And then, without thinking, she flipped her hand, palm pressing against his, fingers curling slightly as if testing something.

Tenzin felt his heart stop.

He should have pulled away. He should have made a joke. He should have done anything except stare at her like she was the most important thing in the world.

Lin’s fingers twitched—then she pulled back, standing up abruptly. “I should go.”

Tenzin barely had time to respond before she was already walking away.

He sat there for a long time, staring at his empty palm, still feeling the ghost of her touch.

It was raining the night it almost happened.

Tenzin and Lin had taken shelter under one of the covered walkways of the temple, watching as the storm rolled over the mountains.

Lin hated the rain.

“It makes the ground too soft,” she grumbled, crossing her arms. “Like it’s melting under me.”

Tenzin chuckled. “Airbenders like it. The wind moves differently in the rain.”

Lin turned to look at him. “Of course you would say that.”

He smiled, but it faded quickly when he realized how close they were. Close enough that he could see every raindrop clinging to her eyelashes, close enough that her body heat cut through the chill in the air.

He shouldn’t have stared at her lips.

But he did.

And Lin—Lin—didn’t move away.

She was watching him, waiting.

Tenzin’s heart pounded. He leaned in—just slightly, just enough to see if she would stop him.

She didn’t.

Then, just as their breaths mingled, a voice called out from across the courtyard.

“Lin! Tenzin!”

They jolted apart like guilty teenagers, and Lin let out a frustrated sigh before stepping away.

Tenzin exhaled sharply, running a hand over his face.

So close.

Too close.

Tenzin wasn’t sure when it became unbearable. Maybe it was that night in the rain. Maybe it was every time she smirked at him, or every time she casually touched his arm, or every time she looked at him like she was daring him to do something about it.

But it reached a breaking point.

And when it did, he could no longer pretend.

It happened in the dead of night, after another long day of training, another night of pretending that his entire body didn’t ache for her.

Tenzin found her alone in the courtyard, arms crossed, gazing out over the cliffs. She looked tired.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asked.

Lin shook her head. “You?”

Tenzin hesitated—then made a choice.

“No.” He stepped closer. “Because of you.”

Lin stilled. Slowly, she turned to face him, her sharp green eyes searching his. “What?”

Tenzin’s pulse roared in his ears. He had spent months—years—biting his tongue, forcing himself to be patient, to be logical, to be careful.

But he wasn’t careful now.

“I think about you,” he admitted, voice rougher than he intended. “More than I should. More than I want to.”

Lin didn’t look away. She didn’t smirk, didn’t deflect, didn’t tease.

For once, she was completely still.

Tenzin stepped closer, so close that all he had to do was reach out.

“Tell me you don’t feel it too,” he whispered.

The wind howled through the courtyard. Lin’s fingers curled at her sides, like she was waging a war with herself.

Then, just as she opened her mouth—

A loud crash echoed from the temple halls, followed by Bumi’s voice shouting, “Tenzin! I may have set something on fire!”

Lin exhaled sharply, turning away.

And Tenzin?

Tenzin clenched his fists, watching as the moment slipped through his fingers again.

This time, he wasn’t sure if he’d get another chance.

Sooo I might continue this and make him beg for her… stay tuned

#kiss already #linzin #love this

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