#avatar faa

Jake is literally giving Spider a piggy back ride cause he’s too short for the water 🥹

THAT’S RIGHT QUARITCH HES CHOSEN HIS DAD.

-art by jjok_rrt

1: https://www.instagram.com/p/DNTGhTlN-EY/ 2: https://www.instagram.com/p/DNlMDsjNvfg/ 3: https://www.instagram.com/p/DOqSFURjW6G/?img_index=1 4: https://www.instagram.com/p/DRaHa-BkRIj/

OEL NGATI KAMEIE — neteyam te suli x fem!ash na'vi!reader

WARNINGS: p in v / hate sex / death / gory descriptions of death / war / aggresive makeout / praise kink / slight hair pulling ?? / belly press kink / neteyam holds back his cum / reader has a female body / body kisses / groping / kuru connecting

AN: ask and you shall receive!! i rlly wanted this one to be longer because maybeee ill post tomorrow but i cant post sunday bcs im going out to dinner,,, ive been wrking on this smut for a few days because i wanted to work out all the details so that its angry and beautiful and such hateful yet loving sex ykkk?? also guys im making gonna work on a rotxo / aonung, but lmk if i should do separate fics of them or like them two x reader. ALL CHARACTERS INVOLVED IN SEXUAL ACTIONS ARE 18+!

WC: 3.5k holyyy

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The air on the floating vessel of the Windtraders was different.

Thin, crisp, and humming with the low, organic thrum of the medusoids that kept the massive, woven ship suspended in the sky. Below, the world was a breathtaking, dizzying tapestry of emerald canopy and sapphire rivers. It was a mission of tense diplomacy; the Sullys, seeking refuge, were escorting Spider back to the Omaticaya, and the Windtraders were their reluctant, wary ferry. The fragile peace, held together by threads of shared necessity, shattered with the first war cry.

Fire lanced through the sky. The Ash Na’vi, the Fire Tribe, descended like a plague of locusts on their sleek, black-scaled Nightwraiths, their arrows trailing oily smoke and leaving streaks of fire across the hull of the Windtrader ship. The air filled with the scent of burning wood and the sharp, acrid tang of their alchemical weapons.

And then Neteyam saw you.

You were a goddess of war, a phantom of destruction perched on your terrifying mount. Your Nightwraith was a creature of nightmare, its scales absorbing the light, its eyes glowing like embers. You were a fury incarnate, your body lean and corded with muscle, your movements sharp and utterly lethal. Your bow was drawn, the polished yew wood gleaming, an arrow nocked with a head that glowed like a fallen star, a molten piece of your volcanic home. Your face was a mask of brutal artistry, your gray skin slathered with the crimson war paint of your tribe, the color of blood and rage. But beneath the soot and ash, Neteyam could see the faint, bioluminescent blue of your skin, a ghost of the life force he knew, a beautiful pattern obscured by a layer of hatred. You were fierce, ruthless, and unforgiving, and you were the most terrifying thing he had ever seen.

With a scream that tore through the sky—a sound that was both a battle cry and a promise of death—you loosed your arrow. It was a comet of pure destruction, a silent, deadly missile that streaked through the air with impossible speed. It slammed into the wooden planking just inches from where his younger sister, Tuk, was cowering behind a railing, the impact splintering the wood and sending a shower of fiery sparks onto the deck. A protective, snarling rage, white-hot and absolute, ripped through Neteyam’s chest. No one. Threatened. His. Sister.

He urged his Ikran into a sharp, suicidal dive, the wind screaming past his ears. He squatted low on the creature's back, his thighs clamping down, his own bowstring pulling taut against his cheek, the fletching tickling his skin. The world narrowed to a single point: you. The fierce, merciless warrior woman. He released his breath and his arrow. It flew true, a silent, deadly promise forged in the forest. With a sickening, wet thud that echoed even over the chaos, it pierced the neck of your Nightwraith, sinking deep into the vital artery.

He watched, hovering for a heartbeat too long, as your mount gave a final, shuddering cry, a sound of betrayal and pain. It began its fatal descent, its powerful wings failing, its body spiraling towards the earth. You clung on, a small, determined figure against the massive, falling body, a testament to your will, before you both disappeared into the thick Pandoran canopy below.

A roar of pure, unadulterated fury echoed from the forest floor, and before Neteyam could turn his Ikran, searing pain shot through its wing. His mount shrieked, a sound of agony that vibrated through his bones, lurching violently as an arrow, glowing with the same fire as yours, pierced through the leather and membrane. They were going down.

The landing was a chaotic tumble of snapping branches and tearing leaves. Neteyam was thrown from his Ikran's back, slamming into the ground, the air knocked from his lungs in a painful whoosh. He rolled, coming to his senses among the ferns. He was alive. His Ikran was injured, not dead, its wing bent at an unnatural angle. "Dad, I'm down," he rasped into his comm, getting a crackled response of orders to hold position and secure the area. He instructed his loyal beast to stay hidden, its wing too damaged to fly, stroking its head and murmuring reassurances. His eyes scanned the forest, his senses on high alert. He knew you were down here. And he was going to finish this.

A sound cut through the jungle's hum: a raw, agonized wailing that made the fine hairs on his arms stand on end. It wasn't a battle cry; it was the sound of a soul being torn apart, a sound of such profound grief it was almost physical. His ears drooped, his tail curling instinctively around himself as he moved silently toward the sound, every step a careful calculation. He hid behind the broad trunk of a massive, moss-covered tree, peering into a small clearing.

The sight stole the breath from his lungs.

You were on your knees, hunched over the massive, still body of your Nightwraith. The creature's neck was a mess of blood and feathers, his arrow protruding obscenely from the wound. The warrior was gone, replaced by a creature of pure anguish. You were screaming, a high, desperate sound of denial and pain, your hands grabbing at your mount's head, shaking it as if you could will life back into it. "Ney'te! Ney'te, wake up! Wake up!" you sobbed, your voice cracking.

With a gut-wrenching cry, you grabbed the shaft of the arrow and yanked it free. A fresh gush of blood flowed, and you threw the arrow aside as if it burned you, collapsing onto the creature's chest, your body wracked with violent sobs. You weren't just crying; you were breaking.

Neteyam felt a sickening twist in his gut. He had seen death, had caused it, but this... this was different. This was the shattering of a bond deeper than he could fathom. He took a step back, his foot landing on a dry branch.

Snap.

The sound was like a gunshot in the sudden silence.

Your head whipped up, and in a single, fluid motion, you were on your feet and pouncing. You slammed into him, pinning him against the tree with a strength born of pure fury. Your eyes, wide and wild, were bloodshot from crying, but they burned with a crazed, murderous light. You recognized him instantly. Your rounded obsidian knife was at his throat in a flash, its cold tip pressing into his skin.

"You," you snarled, your voice a venomous hiss. Your breath was hot and smelled of salt and sorrow. "You did this. An eye for an eye."

Neteyam’s own anger flared, hot and defensive. "Your beast nearly killed my sister!" he spat back, his hands coming up to grip your wrists. "You fire-breathing monsters attack without reason!"

"We survive!" you screamed, pressing the knife harder, a thin line of blood welling up on his neck. "Something you forest-dwellers wouldn't understand!"

Your breath hitched, your chest heaving. You stared into his eyes, and for a moment, the murderous rage faltered. He saw it then, behind the fire and hate: a ocean of grief, tears threatening to spill from your wide, beautiful eyes. The sight hit him like a physical blow. He had done this. He had broken you.

"I..." he started, the word foreign in his throat. "I am..."

Before he could finish, the sound of an Ikran's cry split the air. An arrow thudded into the tree trunk just beside your head. You hissed in alarm and fury, pushing off of Neteyam and spinning around. Jake Sully was there, on his Ikran, his bow still raised.

You locked eyes with Neteyam one last time, a promise of vengeance burning in your gaze. Then, with a final, frustrated scream, you bolted. You hesitated for a fraction of a second at the still, limp body of your Nightwraith, a look of such profound loss crossing your face that it made Neteyam's chest ache. Then you let out another terrifying, guttural scream and vanished into the shadows of the forest.

Days later, Neteyam was on patrol, his Ikran gliding silently through the upper canopy. His duty was to sweep the area for any straggling Ash Na'vi, to round them up for his father to question. It was a grim task, but one he carried out with the precision expected of him. Still, your face haunted him. The warrior. The mourner. He pushed the thought away, focusing on the mission.

His Ikran gave a low rumble, and he heard it faintly on the wind.

A mourning song.

It was a haunting melody, filled with a grief so potent it was almost a physical presence. It was a song of the Ash Na'vi, but the voice... the voice was familiar. He guided his Ikran toward the sound, landing silently and continuing on foot.

He found you in a small clearing. You had built a small pyre of sacred wood and flowers, and on it lay the cleaned skull of your Nightwraith, Ney'te. You were chanting, your voice thick with unshed tears, your body swaying with the rhythm of the death rite. As your song ended, you went silent, your head turning slowly in his direction, as if you had sensed him the entire time.

Your eyes met. You hissed, a sound of pure venom, and without a word, you turned and ran.

This time, Neteyam was prepared. He was faster, fueled by a need he couldn't name. He chased you through the dense undergrowth, your smaller, lighter form a blur of red and black ahead of him. He finally cornered you at the base of a towering cliff wall, a dead end with no escape.

You spun around, your back to the stone, your chest heaving. But the hostility was gone. It had been burned away, leaving only ash and defeat. Your hands were up, not in a threat, but in surrender. Your tail was tucked between your legs, your gaze fixed on the forest floor. You had given up.

"Why are you running?" Neteyam asked, his voice softer than he intended. He kept his distance, not wanting to frighten you.

You didn't look up. "In the Fire Tribe," you said, your voice hollow, "it is survival of the fittest. The weak are left behind. I cannot go back. My soul sister is dead." You gestured vaguely in the direction you had come from. "I have nothing."

He knew that feeling. The constant pressure to be strong, to be perfect, to never be weak. The fear of not being enough. His gut screamed at him—the warrior's instinct to pin you down, to take you to Jake, to complete his mission. But the man in him, the part of him that had seen you break, won out.

He closed the distance between you until he was mere inches away. He could feel the heat radiating off your skin. He knew what it was like to feel lost, to feel like a failure. His hand rose, not in aggression, but in a gesture of peace. He brought his fingertips to his forehead, then extended them towards you in the ultimate act of seeing and acceptance. "Oel ngati kameie," he breathed. I see you.

Your mouth fell open slightly, your bottom lip trembling. The tears you had fought so hard to restrain finally broke free, tracing clean paths through the grime on your cheeks. And then, something inside you snapped. With a choked sob, you crashed your lips onto his.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was a collision. A desperate, angry, punishing press of lips. It tasted of salt, ash, and unshed tears. Your teeth clashed against his, a violent act of claiming. You poured all your grief, your rage, your pain into the kiss, trying to consume him, to hurt him as you were hurting.

Neteyam met your fury with his own. He gripped the back of your head, his fingers tangling in your braids, holding you to him as he kissed you back with equal ferocity. It was a battle, a war fought with tongues and teeth. His tongue forced its way into your mouth, dominating, claiming, tasting every part of you.

You bit his lip, hard, and he tasted his own blood, a coppery tang that only seemed to fuel the fire between you. His hands roamed your body, grabbing, squeezing, not with gentleness, but with a desperate need to feel, to confirm you were real, solid, alive.

"You're a monster," you gasped against his mouth, your hands fisting in his loincloth, pulling him impossibly closer.

"And you're a murderer," he snarled back, his lips trailing a hot, wet path down your jaw to your neck. He bit the sensitive skin where your pulse hammered, not hard enough to break, but enough to make you cry out, a sound that was half pain, half pleasure.

His hands were everywhere, tearing at the straps of your top, his rough palms scraping against your skin. He needed to see you, all of you. He shoved the material aside, his mouth immediately finding the hardened peak of your breast. He sucked hard, his tongue swirling, his teeth grazing the sensitive nub. You arched into him, a guttural moan tearing from your throat. Your hands clawed at his back, your nails leaving angry red lines in their wake.

"Say it again," you demanded, your voice breathy and commanding. "Say you see me."

"I see you," he growled, lifting his head. His eyes were dark, burning with an intensity that stole your breath. He saw all of you—the warrior, the mourner, the broken, beautiful creature in his arms. He spun you around, slamming you back against the cold, hard stone of the cliff wall. The impact knocked the air from your lungs. He grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head with one hand.

You struggled, a token resistance that was more about passion than escape. "I hate you," you spat, but your hips rolled against his, betraying your words.

"I know," he grunted, his free hand tearing at your tunic, ripping the fabric away to expose your stomach and the apex of your thighs. He dropped to his knees, his hot breath ghosting over your most sensitive flesh.

"But your body doesn't." He looked up at you, his eyes holding yours as he leaned forward and flicked his tongue against your clit.

You cried out, your body jerking at the contact. He was merciless. He licked and sucked, his tongue delving into your heat, his nose pressing against you. He was worshipping you and devouring you all at once. He brought you to the edge with a skill that made your head spin, only to pull back at the last second.

"Neteyam," you whimpered, your hips bucking, seeking the release he denied you.

"Tell me what you want," he commanded, his voice a low rumble against your skin.

"You. I want you."

He rose to his feet, his own loincloth discarded. His cock was hard and heavy, jutting from his body. He hooked one of your legs over his hip, the head of his length teasing your slick entrance. He leaned forward, his kuru, his neural queue, uncoiling from behind his head. Your own followed suit, drawn by an instinct older than time. He looked into your eyes, a silent question, and you gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

The tendrils intertwined.

It was like a lightning strike. A universe of sensation exploded in Neteyam’s mind. He felt your grief as if it were his own—the searing loss of Ney'te, the hollow ache of loneliness, the burning shame of failure. He felt your anger, your fear, and beneath it all, a desperate, aching need for him.

He knew, in that moment, that you felt it too. You felt his burden, the weight of being the perfect son, the fear of letting his family down, the primal protectiveness that had driven him to shoot your mount.

He slammed into you, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust. You both cried out, the sound echoing through the clearing. It was overwhelming. It was too much and not enough. He began to move, his strokes hard and deep, punishing. The stone wall scraped against your back with every thrust, a delicious counterpoint to the pleasure building inside you.

"Is this what you wanted?" he snarled, his pace relentless. "To be taken by the one who broke you?"

"Yes," you hissed, your nails digging into his shoulders. "Hate me. Fuck me like you hate me."

And he did. He fucked you against the cliff wall, your bodies slapping together, the sounds of your rough breathing and ragged moans filling the air. He pressed his flat palm against your stomach, his thumb pressing down just above your pubic bone. "Feel that?" he grunted, his voice thick with exertion. "Feel me inside you? Filling you up?"

You could only moan in response, the pressure of his hand on your stomach intensifying the sensation of his thick cock stretching you, claiming you. He was everywhere. In your mind, in your body, in your soul. He leaned down, capturing a stray tear that had escaped your eye with his tongue. The gesture was so tender, so at odds with the brutal way he was fucking you, that it shattered something inside you.

Your orgasm crashed over you without warning, a blinding, all-consuming wave of pleasure. Your inner walls clenched around him, and you screamed his name, a raw, primal sound of release. Neteyam felt your climax pulse through your bond, and it nearly undid him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, his own release threatening to take over. But he held back. He wasn't done with you yet.

He pulled out of you, turning you to face the wall. He kicked your legs apart and entered you from behind, this time slower, deeper. One hand gripped your hip, the other snaked around to find your clit. He circled the sensitive bundle of nerves with his fingers, his cock stroking that deep, hidden place inside you that made you see stars.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured against your ear, his voice a stark contrast to his earlier harshness. "So strong. Taking me so well."

Praise, from your enemy. It was more intoxicating than any victory. You pushed back against him, meeting his thrusts, your body singing with a renewed energy. His other hand came up to grope your breast, rolling the nipple between his fingers. The dual stimulation was exquisite.

"Again," he commanded softly. "Come for me again."

And you did. Your second orgasm was even more powerful than the first, a deep, rolling wave that left you trembling and weak, your knees buckling. Neteyam’s arm shot out, bracing you against the wall, holding you up as you shuddered through the aftershocks.

He felt your pleasure wash over him through the kuru, a warm, euphoric tide that made his own control fray at the edges. He had wanted to break you, to punish you, but instead, he was worshiping at the altar of your pleasure, his own need a distant, secondary thrum.

He slowly withdrew from you, the loss of his heat leaving you feeling suddenly cold and empty. He turned you in his arms, your back still against the stone, and gently lowered you to the ground. The moss and fallen leaves were a soft cushion against the hard earth. He knelt before you, his golden eyes scanning your face, his expression no longer angry, but filled with a raw, undisguised hunger that was almost worshipful.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he moved within you. "For Ney'te. For your pain."

Your heart clenched. "And I'm sorry," you breathed back, your hands running down his back, feeling the play of his muscles under his skin. "For your sister. For scaring you."

For a long moment, you just lay there, tangled together, your bodies slick with sweat, your hearts beating as one. The forest was silent, save for your ragged breaths. The kuru remained connected, a gentle, comforting hum of shared consciousness. He had filled you, not just with his body, but with his soul, and in doing so, had healed the hollow, broken places inside you.

He finally lifted his head, his golden eyes searching yours. They were soft, filled with an emotion so powerful it made your chest ache. He gently disentangled your kuru, the loss of the connection leaving you feeling momentarily adrift before he gathered you into his arms.

He held you, your head resting on his chest, listening to the steady, reassuring rhythm of his heart. The enemy. The murderer. The healer. The lover. He was all of those things, and as you lay in his arms on the forest floor, you knew with a certainty that terrified and thrilled you, that you were irrevocably, undeniably, his.

Look at them go!

And I've just noticed the other guy on Spider's right, I am attached to him now as well.

I love this scene so much, genuinely so pleasant and happy and uplifiting for a Spider fan