Warnings!! : Explicit Sexual Content, Bloodplay, Knifeplay, Consensual Violence, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sex, Marking, Primal Play, Mating, Kuru Play (Avatar - Cameron), Na’vi Culture (Avatar - Cameron), Na’vi Mating Rituals, Established Mates, Messy Sex, Body Fluids, Comeplay, Blood Kink, Licking Wounds, Ash Play, Aftercare, Both Are Masochists
Some guy on tt genuinely influenced me
The furs beneath them were no longer soft, no longer the clean tawny-gray of Wukula’s kelku. They were heavy now, soaked through with the mingled evidence of their claiming. Sweat-slick, the sharp copper of his blood, the thicker musk of her arousal and his seed, and the fine gray ash still clinging to their skin from the night’s fire ritual. The scent was overwhelming, primal, a territory marker no other Na’vi would dare approach.
Wukula lay on his side, long blue limbs relaxed but never truly at rest. One thick forearm was curled beneath his head; the other hand, 3 strong fingers and an opposable thumb, toyed with the kuru that spilled over your shoulder like liquid moonlight. He separated the delicate neural tendrils with careful curiosity, watching them twitch and curl instinctively toward the warmth of his palm. Every so often he gave the queue a gentle, deliberate tug.
Each pull earned him the same reaction.
A low, rumbling hrrrrow rolled out of your throat. Half warning, half complaint. Your ears flicked back, then forward again as you shifted closer. The fine cut along the side of his neck still wept slow beads of crimson; the line you had drawn with your dagger was precise, ceremonial, possessive. Not deep enough to scar badly. Deep enough to remind every hunter, every wanderer, every curious eye that turned toward him: that “this one is mine.”
You pressed your mouth to the wound again.
Your tongue dragged slow, deliberate, tasting iron and salt and the faint undercurrent of his natural bioluminescence. The flat of it soothed the sting even as it coaxed fresh blood to the surface. Wukula’s chest vibrated with a deep, approving purr. Too low for most to hear, but you felt it rumble straight into your bones.
“Still hungry, yawne?” His voice was rough, smoke-scraped from earlier cries and commands. The word yawne came out softer than the rest, the way it always did when the rest of the world had fallen away and only the two of you remained.
You answered with your teeth. Gentle, grazing the uninjured skin just below the cut, then soothed it with another long lick.
He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest where it brushed yours. “You mark me like I am still unclaimed. Like I have not already spilled inside you until you could carry nothing more.”
Your tail lashed once against his thigh in answer. A small defiance. A reminder that you were no soft, pliant thing. That he had not tamed you. You had chosen him. And you would keep choosing, keep marking, keep tasting, until the so called Great Mother herself grew tired of watching.
Wukula’s fingers tightened briefly around your kuru, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your spine arch and your breath hitch. Then he released it, letting it fall free so he could trail calloused fingertips down the length of your back instead. Followingthe stripe of ash that still dusted your spine, the same ash you had both smeared across each other in the heat of it all.
He leaned in, nosing along the shell of your ear until his lips found the sensitive spot behind it.
“Again?” he murmured, voice thick with promise. “Or do you need to taste me more first, my fierce little hunter?”
Your hand slid up to wrap around the base of his kuru. Firm, possessive, and you tugged once in return.
He hissed through his fangs, hips rolling forward instinctively.
You smiled against his throat, tongue flicking out to catch one last ruby drop.
“Both,” you answered, voice low and wrecked and entirely unapologetic. “Always both.”
Outside the kelku the wind moved through the floating mountains, carrying distant calls of ikran and the soft crackle of dying embers.
Inside, the only sounds were breath, blood, ash, and the slow, inevitable slide of bodies already knowing exactly how they fit together.
I’m living for this cut scene, my girl is not fucking around.
When she starts taunting the major I was literally giggling manically.
EDIT: Thinking about how distant Tamtey is when the scene firsts starts, at first I thought it’s cause she’s imprisoned with not much to do, and not wanting to give them anything- but baby girl thinks So’lek is dead and is even maybe mulling over partially playing a part in it. The way she lights up when she finds out he’s ok makes the idea that she was mourning So’lek so much more tangible imo.
