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Jealous!Aang x Reader

༊*·˚ 18+, mdni, jealous!aang x brat!reader, reader purposely makes aang jealous, dom!aang, brattamer!aang, rough sex, mating press, doggy, hair-pulling, mirror sex, nsfw, heavy plot

༊*·˚ jealous type series : table of contents

────୨ৎ────

ㅤㅤㅤㅤThe day that the Fire Nation finally surrendered and went into Zuko’s hands, peace surrounded the world. The group rebuilt cities alongside its people, Zuko became the Fire Lord, Toph formed the Beifong Metalbending Academy while you, Aang, Katara, and Sokka focused on dismantling the Fire Nation colonies in the Earth Kingdom to restore harmony.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤEventually after years of hardwork, both Zuko and Aang transformed the oldest Fire Nation colonies into the United Republic of Nations—quite known as the Republic City.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤRepublic City glittered under the night sky, strung with lanterns that swayed gently in the warm breeze. Music echoed through the streets, drums and flutes blending with laughter as dancers filled every open space. The Harmony Festival had become a symbol of everything they fought for—every nation together, no fear, no borders.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAnd at the center of it all—was the Avatar.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤAang stood among friends, smiling easily, greeting people as if the weight of the world had never rested on his shoulders. He moved through the crowd with that same lightness people admired—kind, patient, endlessly warm.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤBut there was one thing about Aang that most people didn’t notice.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤHe wasn’t as unshakable as he seemed.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤNot when it came to you.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤ

#atla smut #aang x reader #smut #x reader #atla #avatar #avatar x reader #avatar series #aang #atla aang #avatar aang #aang smut #aang x reader smut

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 the tainted.

pair: neteyam x fem!mangkwan!reader

warnings: kuru torture / mommy issues / being tied up / mentions of death / war

author: hey guys!! i really hope u like this one it took me forever to write like literally 3 hours of grinding with my takis next to me,,, while i was writing this i was worried people would think this was a filler chapter but i promise you everything that happens in this chapter is EXTREMELY pivotal to the plot! someone guessed what happens at the end in the last chapter lolll but HAPPY NEW YEARS GUYS!

wc: 6k

the poison, the poisoned, the tainted.

click here to be included in a taglist!

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

The pre-dawn light was a weak, grey smear against the perpetual haze of the Ash Nation, a reluctant guest in a world that knew only shadow. It filtered through the thick, choking veil of ash that never truly settled, clinging instead to the air as if the land itself refused to let go of its scars. The light did not feel earned here. It felt intrusive, exposing a place that had learned to survive without it.

It did not bring warmth, only a stark, unforgiving clarity that illuminated the grim reality of the day to come. Stone blackened by centuries of fire reflected that pale light dully, revealing deep fractures in the cavern walls and the uneven ground worn smooth by generations of bare feet and bloodshed. Everything looked harsher in the light, sharper, stripped of illusion.

The air, thick with the scent of sulfur and the metallic tang of fear, was cold enough to bite at the skin, a constant, biting reminder of the dying mountain that was their home. Each breath scraped down your throat, heavy and acrid, settling uncomfortably in your chest. Beneath the sulfur lingered the faint smell of smoke and old ash, a scent so familiar it barely registered anymore, even though it should have.

In the central cavern, a space carved from the living rock of the volcano’s throat, the atmosphere was suffocating. The ceiling loomed far above, jagged stone arching inward like ribs around a heart. Heat pulsed unevenly through the walls, subtle tremors passing beneath your feet, as if the mountain itself were restless.

Hundreds of warriors stood in grim formation, their bodies a sea of ashen skin and dark leather, their faces painted with the stark whites and blacks of war. The markings were sharp and deliberate, symbols of endurance, conquest, and survival etched across scarred faces. Many bore old wounds, pale lines crossing shoulders, arms, and chests, each one a story of a battle survived.

They moved with a quiet, lethal purpose, checking the straps on their armor, testing the edge of their obsidian blades, their movements a silent, synchronized ballet of impending violence. Fingers ran along blade edges. Leather creaked softly as armor was adjusted. Nightwraith riders murmured low sounds to their mounts tethered along the cavern’s edges, pressing foreheads to scaled hides, steadying both beast and rider.

The usual grumbles and boasts were absent, replaced by a heavy, oppressive silence that was more terrifying than any war cry. No laughter echoed through the stone. No one tried to mask their fear with bravado. Even the nightwraiths seemed to sense it, their movements subdued, their low breaths fogging faintly in the cold air.

You stood at the very front of this assembled force, your heart a cold, heavy stone in your chest, its weight pressing down on you with every breath you took. It felt as though it might drag you into the ground if you let it. Your hands rested at your sides, fingers curled tightly, nails biting into your palms beneath the leather.

These were your people.

They trusted you.

You had a duty to perform, a role to play, and you would play it to its devastating, heartbreaking conclusion.

You raised your voice, letting it carry over the tense silence, praying it sounded stronger than you felt. The sound echoed faintly against the stone, louder than you expected, making your chest tighten.

“The western flank is their weakest point,” you began, your voice echoing slightly in the vast space. You forced yourself to keep your tone even, authoritative. “Their scouts are lazy there, relying on the treeline for cover.”

A few warriors nodded. Others leaned forward, listening intently, eyes fixed on you.

“We will send the first wave there, a loud, aggressive charge to draw out their main force.” You paused only long enough to breathe. “Once they are committed, the second wave, led by me, will circle wide, through the ravine to the north, and hit them from the rear. It will be a hammer and anvil. We will crush them.”

The words settled over the cavern, heavy and final.

It was a perfect plan for an ambush, a plan that would lead to a massacre of your own people. Every detail had been considered. Every movement calculated.

It was also a beautiful, intricate lie.

The western flank was where the Omaticaya’s most seasoned hunters were waiting, hidden deep within the dense foliage, bows already drawn, breath held in patient silence. The ravine to the north was a dead end, its steep sides easily defensible, its narrow entrance a perfect bottleneck for slaughter.

You were committing treason with every word that left your lips, and the shame of it burned like acid in your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing the guilt down, forcing your voice to remain steady.

Just as you were about to give the signal to move, to seal the fate of hundreds, a chilling silence fell over the warriors.

It was sudden. Unnatural. As if the air itself had been sucked from the cavern.

Your breath caught.

You turned, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach, to see Varang striding towards you.

She moved with a predator’s grace, her steps silent and sure against the stone. There was a sharp, crazed light burning in her eyes, something fevered and unyielding that made your skin prickle. A smile, all teeth and no warmth, was stretched across her face, a grotesque mask of triumph that made your chest constrict.

She reached your side and placed a hand on your shoulder, the gesture seemingly maternal, almost gentle.

Her nails dug into your skin like claws.

“My daughter has a brilliant mind for strategy,” she announced, her voice dripping with a venomous sweetness that made your blood run cold.

The warriors stirred uneasily.

“But she will not be leading the war party today,” Varang continued, tightening her grip just enough for you to feel it. “I will.”

Varang’s hand remained on your shoulder for a beat longer than necessary.

The cavern held its breath.

You felt it in the way the warriors stiffened, in the way no one spoke, no one questioned her words. Authority settled over the space like a physical weight, crushing and absolute. Your pulse thundered in your ears, loud enough that you were sure others could hear it.

She stepped forward, finally removing her grip on you, and took the space that had been yours moments before. The shift was immediate. Eyes that had been fixed on you snapped to her instead. Backs straightened. Jaws set. Whatever confusion flickered through the ranks was quickly buried beneath obedience.

Varang raised her voice.

She laid out the plan.

Not the one you had given them. Not the lie. The true route. The narrow pass hidden beyond the lava fields. The timing that would slip them past the outer sentries. The precise moment they would strike, coordinated and ruthless. Every detail was sharp, deliberate, and terrifyingly effective.

She did not stumble. She did not hesitate.

Every word was correct.

Your stomach twisted as you listened, realization settling cold and heavy in your chest. She had seen through you. Through the careful phrasing, the intentional misdirection, the false confidence. She had known before you ever opened your mouth.

The warriors murmured their approval, low and controlled. Heads nodded. Weapons were lifted with renewed purpose. This was the plan they trusted. This was the plan that would work.

And it was no longer yours.

When she finished, Varang let the silence stretch just long enough to ensure it sank in. Then she dismissed them with a sharp command. The formation broke cleanly, warriors dispersing to prepare, their movements efficient and focused. Nightwraith handlers moved to untether their mounts. Blades were sheathed. Armor was tightened.

No one looked at you.

You stood where you were, rooted to the stone, your limbs heavy, useless. The cavern felt larger now, emptier, like something vital had been torn from its center.

Then you felt it.

Her grip closed around your arm, iron strong, fingers digging into muscle. The sudden contact made you flinch despite yourself.

Varang did not speak.

She turned and began to walk, dragging you with her without breaking stride. You stumbled to keep up, boots scraping against the stone as she pulled you away from the cavern and into one of the side tunnels. The sounds of preparation faded behind you, swallowed by the winding passageways of the mountain.

The tunnel narrowed as you went, the air growing cooler, damper. Torchlight flickered against the walls, throwing jagged shadows that danced and twisted with each step. Your heart hammered in your chest, dread coiling tighter with every pace.

You knew where she was taking you.

Your shared quarters lay deeper within the mountain, carved from the stone long ago. A place that was supposed to be private. Safe.

She shoved you inside and turned, sealing the entrance behind her with a heavy, final sound that echoed through the chamber.

For a moment, she simply stood there, her back to the door, shoulders rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. When she turned to face you, the expression she wore was no longer performative. No audience waited to be convinced.

It was raw.

Fury simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and volatile. Betrayal cut through it, clear and unmistakable.

“You thought you could deceive me,” she said quietly.

The softness of her voice was worse than a shout.

She took a step toward you.

Then another.

She stopped an arm’s length away from you, the torchlight catching in her eyes and turning them bright and unsteady. Up close, the strain in her jaw was impossible to miss, the tension in her shoulders pulled tight as if she were holding herself together by sheer force of will. This wasn’t the controlled fury she showed the clan. This was something rawer, something that had slipped its leash.

“You learned that from them,” Varang said. Her gaze raked over your face, lingering as though she were searching for something familiar and finding only absence. “The forest taught you how to lie. And you still choose them. They are evil.”

"They are not evil, mother!" You hiss, but her loud snarl makes you feel small.

Your mouth opened, but no sound came. Every truth felt like a blade turned inward, every lie pointless. Your thoughts tangled over one another, panic and guilt colliding until you couldn’t tell them apart.

She exhaled sharply and turned away, pacing once across the stone floor, her claws scraping faintly against the rock. When she faced you again, the decision had already been made. She reached for her blades.

The soft metallic sound of them sliding free sent a cold jolt through your body. You stepped back on instinct, your heel catching against the uneven floor. There was nowhere to go. The chamber felt smaller now, the air thick and suffocating. In a single swift motion, she closed the distance and seized your kuru, her grip bruising and possessive, winding into the thick neural braid with practiced ease. Pain flared instantly, sharp and disorienting, and you gasped, your hands flying up on reflex, only for her to twist it just enough to force you still.

She drew one blade up and laid it flat against your kuru. The cold of the metal against the delicate tendrils made your stomach lurch, every nerve in your body screaming danger.

“You are infected,” Varang hissed, her voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “The forest has tainted you. Its softness. Its lies.”

Your breath hitched as tears burned at the corners of your eyes. You shook your head frantically, the movement making the blade shift just enough to remind you how close it was. “No,” you choked out. “Please. I just wanted to stop this. I just wanted them to live.”

Her grip tightened.

“I tried to make you strong!” she roared, the words tearing out of her chest. She lifted the blade, the edge hovering a breath away from your kuru. Your body began to tremble uncontrollably, a broken sound clawing its way out of your throat as the reality of it crashed over you—being severed, being cut off from Eywa, from everything you had come to understand, from him.

The blade trembled in her hand.

For a long, agonizing moment, nothing moved. The torch crackled softly, absurdly loud in the silence. Varang’s breathing was uneven now, her chest rising and falling too fast. Then a sound escaped her, not anger, not triumph, but something fractured and unrecognizable.

She lowered the blade.

“My own daughter,” she whispered, her voice raw, cracking under a weight you couldn’t name. “My own daughter has betrayed me.”

She released your kuru so suddenly you staggered forward, barely catching yourself. For a heartbeat, you thought she might strike you anyway. Instead, she turned away sharply, as if she couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. She didn’t speak again as she bound your wrists and ankles, her movements rough and efficient, stripped of any trace of care. Thick leather straps bit into your skin as she forced you down onto the cold stone floor, each knot pulled tight, deliberate, final.

It was a full-circle moment, a cruel echo of the Hallelujah Mountains, where you had once been tied and helpless, burning with defiance and hatred. Now, there was only grief, heavy and suffocating, settling into your chest as you lay there shaking, bound in your own home.

Varang stood over you for a moment longer before turning and leaving. The door slammed shut, the sound echoing like a sentence being passed. Alone on the floor, you listened as her voice carried through the stone walls, laying out the true route to the war party, the one that bypassed the defenses you had tried to protect.

“The forest is ours,” she cried. “We will take what is ours by blood and fire.”

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

Back in the Hallelujah Mountains, the air tasted of damp earth and blooming life, but there was no comfort in it. The Omaticaya homebase had become a hive of quiet urgency, the forest itself seeming to lean inward as its people prepared for a war they had never sought. Bioluminescent plants dimmed as warriors passed, their soft glow muted beneath hurried footsteps and low, murmured commands. Bows were restrung, blades sharpened, ikran fitted with harnesses and armor, every movement practiced and tense. The great spiraling structures of the village loomed overhead, usually alive with song and laughter, now heavy with anticipation and dread.

Neteyam sat alone in the cave, on the same worn chair where he had first met you, his elbows braced on his knees, his head bowed into his hands. The stone beneath his fingers felt cold, grounding in a way nothing else could manage. He was terrified. Terrified that you were angry, that your last look at him had been one of betrayal rather than understanding. Terrified that people would die on both sides because of his fear, because of the words he hadn’t trusted himself to say sooner. But more than anything, he was terrified that you hated him.

The thought lodged in his chest like a barbed arrow, a crushing pressure that made it hard to breathe, as if his heart itself were folding inward at the mere possibility. He knew it was wrong. He was of the forest and you were of the ash, and the kiss you had shared should never have happened. But it had, and it haunted him relentlessly. He couldn’t stop thinking about you, about the way your eyes had widened in awe beneath the Spirit Tree, about the way your lips had trembled against his, soft and uncertain and filled with a hope he had been too afraid to name.

“Neteyam.”

His father’s voice cut through the spiral of his thoughts, firm and unyielding. Jake stood at the entrance of the cave, his expression carved from equal parts command and concern. He had been you once, in a way. An outsider, torn between two worlds, human and Na’vi, duty and love. Jake knew exactly how deep that kind of fracture could cut, and he had no intention of watching his son bleed the same way.

“You can’t see her again, boy,” Jake said, stepping closer and resting a heavy hand on Neteyam’s shoulder. The gesture was meant to be grounding, reassuring, but it felt like a cage closing shut. “She’s the enemy. No matter how hard you try to pretend she isn’t.” His voice hardened on the last word. “She’s tainted.”

Neteyam’s jaw tightened. The word struck like a slap, echoing too closely to his own darkest fears, but he swallowed the retort that burned on his tongue. He stared down at his feet instead, his hands curling into fists as he forced himself to remain silent. Angering his father now would help no one.

Soon after, the Omaticaya took to the skies.

Ikans lifted in silent waves, their wings cutting through the thin mountain air as they circled the region the Ash People were expected to attack from. Their bright, iridescent hides were a sharp contrast against the grey stone and mist, flashes of color moving with predatory grace. Neteyam hovered among them, his eyes fixed on the horizon, on the dark smoldering lands beyond the treeline. The wind whipped at his face and braids, cold and biting, but he barely registered it. Minutes stretched, then longer, the silence growing heavier with every passing breath. Too heavy. Too wrong.

A chill crawled up his spine.

His eyes widened as he turned, the instinct screaming in his bones just a heartbeat before he saw them. Blazing arrows arced through the sky, their cloth-wrapped tips aflame, streaking toward them from an entirely different direction than planned. From behind.

“AMBUSH!” Neteyam yelled, his voice raw as he ducked his ikran sharply downward, the world tilting violently as fire hissed past where he had been moments before.

The sky erupted.

The battle roared to life in a deafening cacophony of screeching ikran, clashing blades, and shouts torn loose by panic and fury. Neteyam moved on instinct alone, leaping from his ikran onto the back of an Ash warrior’s nightwraith, the unfamiliar leathery hide slick beneath his hands. He fought the rider off with brutal efficiency, his skinnife finding its mark before he launched himself back into the air, his ikran catching him mid-fall. Over and over, he searched the chaos for you, for any sign that his fear had already come true, for a flash of familiar braids or the shape of your silhouette.

You weren’t there.

Instead, he saw Lew’eyn.

The sight made his blood run cold. Lew’eyn was perched on his nightwraith, bow drawn, loosing arrows into the fray, but not at the Omaticaya. He was shooting down Ash warriors from behind, striking his own people to save the forest. Something was horribly wrong.

Neteyam didn’t hesitate. He dove, landing hard on Lew’eyn’s mount, the impact nearly sending them both tumbling. Lew’eyn spun with a hiss, blade raised, but froze when he recognized him, panic and relief warring across his face.

“Where is she?” Neteyam shouted, his tail lashing, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

Lew’eyn spoke quickly, breathless, words spilling over each other as he explained—how Varang had overheard, how she had taken command, how she had left you bound and helpless. Each word drove deeper into Neteyam’s chest, dread settling heavy and cold in his stomach. He didn’t wait for Lew’eyn to finish.

Without another word, he dove from the nightwraith, his ikran swooping beneath him to catch his fall. He urged the beast forward with a desperate cry, flying straight toward the Ash Nation’s territory, a streak of blue and orange against the ash-grey sky.

He wasn’t fast enough.

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

Neteyam landed hard in the Ash village, the ground trembling beneath his feet. The air was thick with sulfur, smoke, and fear, the shouts of the few remaining non-combatants echoing between scorched stone structures. He ran without slowing, straight for the burned-out stump of their old Hometree, the hollowed heart of a grief that never truly healed. Groans and cries for help echoed from within as he plunged inside.

You were there.

Bound in thick leather cuffs, thrashing weakly against the restraints, your face streaked with tears. The moment you saw him, a sob of relief tore from your chest, your entire body sagging as if the tension holding you upright finally snapped. Neteyam was at your side in an instant, adrenaline lending him strength as he broke the cuffs apart.

You surged up, words tumbling out of you in a rush, apologies spilling faster than you could catch them. You told him Varang must have overheard, told him how you had gone back to the Spirit Tree after he left, how you had felt Eywa, how her presence had wrapped around you like something vast and gentle and alive.

“You were right,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “She’s beautiful.”

A low growl sounded behind you.

Before either of you could react, Varang was there, a blade pressed to Neteyam’s kuru just as she had done to you. Your scream tore through the chamber as you froze, terrified to move, terrified that even a breath would make her cut him. Varang gave a mock pout, pulling Neteyam closer, her grip cruel and deliberate as she connected her kuru with his. The tendrils wrapped together, and Neteyam collapsed to his knees with a cry, pain ripping through him as the bond was forced open.

“Choose,” Varang snarled. “Your people. Your mother. Or him.”

Outside, the battle raged on, blood soaking into the forest floor as warriors fell on both sides. Slowly, the fighting began to fracture, the few remaining combatants retreating, battered and broken. Lew’eyn stood between them, shouting that this war was not the answer, but his words were swallowed by smoke and screams as he finally fled, his heart heavy with failure.

Varang’s blade never wavered.

The metal pressed so close to Neteyam’s kuru that you could see the faint shimmer of the tendrils beneath it, delicate and impossibly fragile against something designed only to destroy. Your chest felt too tight to draw a full breath, every inhale shallow and panicked, as if the air itself refused to enter you properly. Your hands curled uselessly at your sides, fingers trembling, the instinct to run to him screaming through your body even as fear rooted you in place.

Neteyam knelt on the stone floor, shoulders hunched, his breath coming in ragged gasps as the forced connection burned through him. His hands dug into the rock beneath him as if he could anchor himself to the ground, as if that alone might keep him from shattering. His face was twisted in pain, teeth clenched, a low sound caught somewhere between a growl and a sob tearing its way from his chest.

“Mother,” you whispered, your voice barely more than breath. Saying the word felt wrong and inevitable all at once, a lifetime of devotion and fear wrapped into a single sound. Your throat burned as you swallowed hard, eyes flicking from her face to the blade and back again. “Please.”

Varang tilted her head slightly, studying you the way one might study a wounded animal. Her eyes were bright, fevered, reflecting the torchlight in sharp, erratic flashes. There was triumph there, yes, but beneath it something far more dangerous—vindication. Proof, in her mind, that she had been right all along.

“You beg now,” she said quietly. “After everything you have done.”

Outside, the sounds of battle were beginning to thin, the roar fading into scattered clashes and distant cries. Smoke drifted through the broken openings in the stone, carrying the scent of blood and scorched earth. The war was bleeding out, warriors retreating not because they had won or lost, but because there was nothing left to give.

Your legs felt weak beneath you. Every memory seemed to press in at once—standing at Varang’s side as a child, watching her map out raids in ash and bone; kneeling in the Hallelujah Mountains, wrists bound, defiant and burning with hate; standing beneath the Spirit Tree, your heart cracking open as Eywa’s presence wrapped around you like something ancient and endlessly kind. All of it collided inside your chest, a storm of loyalty and love and grief so overwhelming it threatened to tear you apart.

Neteyam lifted his head just enough to look at you.

Even through the pain, his eyes searched your face, not with accusation, not with fear, but with something achingly gentle. Understanding. Acceptance. As if, whatever you chose, he already knew it would cost you everything.

That was what finally broke you.

A sob tore free before you could stop it, your vision blurring as tears spilled over. “I never wanted this,” you said, the words rushing out, desperate and raw. “I never wanted any of this. I just wanted it to stop. I wanted them to live. I wanted—” Your voice cracked completely, the rest of the sentence dissolving into a sound of pure anguish.

Varang’s grip tightened on Neteyam’s kuru, and he cried out sharply, his body folding in on itself as the pain surged anew.

“Enough,” she snapped. “This ends now.”

The blade shifted, just slightly.

Your heart slammed against your ribs, terror eclipsing everything else. You took a step forward without thinking, then another, hands raised in a futile, pleading gesture. “Don’t,” you begged. “Please don’t hurt him. I’ll do whatever you want. Whatever you ask.”

Her smile was slow and terrible.

“That,” she said softly, “is exactly what I am asking.”

The silence that followed was crushing. Even the mountain seemed to hold its breath, the air heavy and unmoving around you. Your mind raced, grasping at impossible solutions, at words that might undo what had already been done. There were none. There had never been.

You looked at Varang, really looked at her, and for the first time you saw not just your mother or your leader, but a woman hollowed out by war, by loss, by a belief so rigid it had left no room for mercy. You saw the fear beneath her fury—the terror of a world changing beyond her control, of a daughter slipping from her grasp into something she could neither understand nor dominate.

Then you looked at Neteyam.

You remembered the warmth of his hands, the softness of his voice when he spoke of the forest, the way his eyes had lit with wonder when he realized you were capable of gentleness. You remembered the Spirit Tree, the way Eywa’s presence had felt like truth itself settling into your bones.

Your choice burned in your chest, searing and inevitable.

Outside, the last of the warriors were retreating, the forest falling into a wounded, aching quiet. Smoke curled upward through the canopy, carrying with it the echoes of screams and shattered vows. Lew’eyn was already gone, fleeing home with the weight of a war that should never have been fought pressing down on his shoulders.

Inside the ruined heart of the Ash village, Varang leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you.

“Go on,” she said. “Choose.”

Your breath shook as you opened your mouth.

And the world seemed to tilt, everything you had ever been and everything you might still become hanging on the next word you spoke.

Your hands were shaking.

You hated that Varang could see it. Hated that your body betrayed you even now, even after everything you had already lost. Your fingers trembled at your sides, nails biting into your palms as if pain might anchor you, might keep you from splintering apart under the weight of what she was asking of you.

Your mother stood so close you could smell the familiar smoke clinging to her skin, the same scent that had followed her through every moment of your childhood. Her blade was still poised at Neteyam’s kuru, the edge gleaming cruelly in the torchlight, so near that it felt like a held breath stretched far too long. Neteyam knelt before her, shoulders tight, his body still recovering from the forced connection, chest rising and falling unevenly as he fought for air.

When he looked at you, it was not with fear.

That shattered you.

There was pain in his eyes, yes, and exhaustion, but beneath it was something far worse. Trust. A quiet, devastating certainty that whatever you chose, he would accept it. That you would not be cruel enough to let him suffer without reason. That you were still you.

Your throat closed.

Every memory of your mother crashed into you all at once. Her voice when you were young, sharp but proud. Her hands guiding yours when you first learned to hold a blade. The nights she sat beside you after raids, silent but present, her approval something you learned to crave even when it came wrapped in violence. She had shaped you, honed you, turned you into a weapon for a world that demanded blood. For so long, you had believed that was love.

And then there was the forest.

Eywa’s presence had not demanded anything of you. She had not asked you to prove yourself through suffering. She had simply been. Open. Vast. Gentle in a way that had undone you completely. And Neteyam, standing at the threshold between those worlds, had shown you that softness was not weakness. That choosing life did not mean abandoning strength.

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers brushed against the shaft of an arrow at your hip.

The movement was instinctive, almost unconscious, driven by something older than fear. Varang noticed immediately. Her eyes flicked downward, then snapped back to your face, sharp and assessing. Slowly, her lips curled upward, the beginnings of a smile spreading across her features.

“Oh?” she murmured, amusement threading her voice. “Is that how this ends?”

Her tone made your stomach twist. She thought she knew you. Thought this was another test she had already won.

You did not answer her.

Your hand closed fully around the arrow, grounding yourself in its familiar weight. You lifted it free, every motion deliberate, your mind screaming even as your body moved with lethal precision. You nocked the arrow and raised your bow, the wood pressing solidly against your palm. When you drew the string back, the tension sang through your arms, steady and true, just as she had trained you.

The arrowhead aligned with Varang’s skull.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

Then she laughed.

It was not warm. It was not amused. It was sharp and jagged, a sound that scraped against the stone walls and echoed back at you in fractured pieces. She threw her head back, laughter spilling from her in a wild, unhinged cackle that made your skin crawl. To her, this was still a game. A performance. Proof that you were reaching for threats you could never follow through on.

“You think you could do it?” she taunted, eyes gleaming as she looked back at you. “You think you have it in you to kill your own mother?”

Your vision blurred.

Tears welled despite your best efforts, streaking down your cheeks, but your arms did not waver. You tightened your grip. Drew the string back another fraction. Your muscles burned, not from strain, but from restraint. From holding yourself together when everything inside you was screaming to break.

Killing her would end it. The war. Her grip on your people. The fear that had ruled your life.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because it meant acknowledging that the woman who raised you had become something that needed to be stopped.

Varang’s laughter faltered.

She saw it then. Not hesitation, but resolve. The way your shoulders squared. The way your breathing slowed, forced into control. The way your eyes locked onto hers, glassy with tears but unflinching.

The sound cut off abruptly, her expression twisting into a snarl.

“You would dare,” she hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.

She saw herself. Varang saw the child she once was, ruthless and determined. You were a spitting image of her, red painted smeared across your face and all. Her pride was crushed by her bruising ego, hating the fact that you were her. Only better. Smarter.

Your chest felt like it was caving in. You wanted to scream. To beg. To rewind time to before any of this had ever happened. But instead, you held her gaze, silently letting her see the truth she had refused to accept.

You had already lost her.

For a long, terrible moment, neither of you moved.

Then Varang’s jaw clenched. With a sharp, furious sound, she shoved Neteyam away from her, releasing his kuru with a violent yank. The forced connection snapped, and Neteyam cried out as his body collapsed forward, palms slamming into the stone as he gasped for breath, pain tearing through him in one final wave.

“Run,” Varang snarled.

You did not hesitate.

The bow fell from your hands as you surged forward, dropping to Neteyam’s side and hooking an arm under his shoulder. He was unsteady, disoriented, but he moved with you, trusting you even now as you hauled him to his feet.

Behind you, Varang’s voice rose, sharp and furious, echoing through the chamber like a curse.

“This is not over!” she screamed. “You hear me? The war is not over!”

You did not look back.

The Ash village erupted into chaos as you burst outside. Smoke hung thick in the air, stinging your eyes, and the ground beneath your feet was slick with ash and blood. Returning warriors froze at the sight of you fleeing together, shock rippling through them before shouts broke out.

Hands reached for you.

Someone grabbed your arm, fingers digging in painfully, and you twisted free with a sharp cry, slamming your elbow back into their ribs. Another lunged for Neteyam, and something feral snapped inside you. You shoved them away, claws raking across their face as they stumbled back, cursing.

Your heart thundered in your chest as adrenaline flooded your veins, fear and determination blurring into something singular and unstoppable. You fought your way forward, dragging Neteyam with you as more Ash warriors closed in, torn between loyalty and disbelief.

For a terrifying moment, it felt like the entire village was turning against you.

Then a piercing screech cut through the chaos.

A nightwraith dove from the smoke-filled sky, landing hard nearby as its wings flared wide. Lew’eyn was already leaning down from the saddle, his expression frantic as he held out a hand.

“Now!” he shouted.

You shoved Neteyam forward, scrambling up after him as Lew’eyn hauled you both onto the nightwraith’s back. Claws scraped at your legs as warriors tried to grab you, but the beast surged upward, wings beating violently as it tore free from the ground.

The village fell away beneath you.

Varang’s scream followed you into the air, raw and furious, carrying long after the Ash Nation shrank into a smoldering blur below.

Neteyam slumped forward, breath still uneven, and you wrapped an arm around him without thinking, holding him upright as Lew’eyn guided the nightwraith higher. The wind tore at your face and braids, cold and sharp, but you barely noticed.

Slowly, Neteyam lifted his head. His eyes met yours for just a moment, filled with awe, disbelief, and something dangerously close to heartbreak. You saw it there, the realization settling in. That you had chosen him. Not just him, but everything he represented. The forest. A future that was terrifying and uncertain and free.

Without a word, he reached forward and took the reins, his hands steady despite everything, guiding the nightwraith toward the distant glow of the Hallelujah Mountains.

You were tainted. And the thrum in your chest didn't help you figure out whether if it was the forest or the ash that had done so.

taggies: @ycmagishis @moonlitpagess @wolfiemarley @unlikelycrownduck @capsshinyshield @kaumauloa @hehehehehehehaaaaaaaa @hyunjinshairband7 @hawksilpollo @antriimx @torchbearerkyle @fyodorslave @melolord14 @thiam--tw @fyodorslave @simply-natalia-us @ami-s-k @cciessuzi @arkhamknight-47@10nana01 @jbrnthalwife @lilyed777 @lovinhim @disc0biscuits @supernuts @l0vleylizzie @myirruee @creepyknightweirdo @heartsforgr4ci3 @addiibugs @rielunderthecloak @rayndr0p @any-maybe

🔥Time to wake up🔥

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar fire and ash #jake sully #colonel miles quaritch #avatar series #avatar 2009 #avatar rda #varang #ash clan #fire and ash #recom miles quaritch #artists on tumblr #comic art #comic strip #original art #my art #no ai used #no ai art

Part of Your World- pt.2

Neteyam x MerNa'vi!Reader (the little mermaid inspired fic)

-you who has always been fascinated by the surface, saved a land boy's life which led to you choosing between family and love.

word count: 2.4k

part 1 -> part 2 -> part 3

a/n: alot of new characters this chapter. im a bit busy this week so part 3 may take a while to edit and post. about a week. 2 weeks at most.

Chapter 2- What Comes After

Among the arching coral and bioluminescent seaweed, a song echoed through the reef. Light and carefree, girlish in nature.

There you sat, on the lip of your family kelku's opening, skilled hands dancing through strands of hair weaving vibrant plants into careful braids.

From deep within the kelku—a giant coral cave, ribbed with texture— your sisters looked on, some with a curious gaze and others with a knowing one.

"What is going on with her?"

"Something good must have happened"

"Did she finally accept a courting?"

The younger three—Sa'ira, Neyan, Ko'ra—whispered to each other, itching to solve the mystery of their youngest sister's sudden whimsy.

"Hush you skxawngs! She will hear you," the second eldest, Tsalma, hissed in a strained whisper.

"It is so sweet.." Ka'maya sighed wistfully, an easy smile painted on her lips.

Vira, the eldest, let out a soft chuckle at her sisters' shenanigans, eyes shifting back to you as you finished off the last braid.

Her ears flickered at the familiar sound of a strong tail beating through the water.

"Rewon lefpon ma aysìte." (pleasant morning daughters) He emerged from a deeper extension of the kelku, voice rough but soft, lacking the commanding tone reserved for clan meetings and scolding reckless hunters.

A chorus of greetings replied back.

Your ears perked up at the sound, fingers plucking a flower similar to the one you stuck behind your ear. You lifted from your seat and glided towards the group.

"Kalxti sempu(hello dad)," You placed the flower on his green beaded chest piece, right above his heart, and pecked his cheek.

Stunned, his eyes followed as you circled him once playfully before leaving, swimming into the reef, your humming trailing along with you. The olo'eyktan was no stranger to his daughters' affections, but something about the easiness of the waters around you felt different. It made him curious.

"What has gotten her in such a mood?" he hummed.

"Is it not obvious, sempu?" Vira teased. "Our prrnen(baby) is in love"

"Love..?" The words left him in a subtle gasp. It took a lot to shake the strong clan leader, a hardened warrior—but this…the realization that his itetsyip(little daughter) was in love rendered him speechless.

the fact that these exchanges are like a month tops apart in Quaritch's memory makes me feel kinda ill

#when your entire existence is centered around emotionally manipulating volatile young men #monsters talks avatar #avatar #avatar series #avatar 2009 #avatar the way of water #jake sully #miles quaritch #spider socorro #quarjake #spideritch #quarspi #we're nothing to each other

𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬

╰⇢ Ao'nung/Neteyam x Fem!Reader

“I shouldn’t be jealous. You aren’t even mine…”

Summary — You had one goal when moving to your new town. Graduate and get the hell away from everything. But what are you supposed to do when old (and new) feelings start surfacing?

Contents/Warnings — really bad jokes/humour (but it’s mine so…), swearing, light angst, fluff, mentions of drinking and partying, sexual jokes, college/university au, modern au, human au, smau, lowercase texting, written portions, fem pronouns, use of y/n (as limited as possible)

Notes — erm don’t have high expectations that’s all i’m gonna say this was one of those 3 am ideas that i lowkey just wanna do for fun

(chapters marked with a “🖋️” contain written content)

Status — Ongoing !

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

#avatar #avatar the way of water #avatar twow #avatar x reader #avatar x you #neteyam #neteyam x reader #neteyam x you #aonung #aonung x reader #aonung x you #avatar series #avatar smau #avatar imagine #— 𝐂𝐨𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐥 𝐂𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 #𓂃 𓈒𓏸 jayd’s masterlists #@𝐜𝐱𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐫

Oeyä Yawntu

Masterlist

Part 1

His hand curls around the branch as he overlooks the area, knowing that hidden beneath the covering is the heart of his personal world. There beneath the dangling diamond like leaves of the tree, your favoured tree, is the girl he had left behind 10 years ago.

The half-breed like himself, the evenge, the girl who was promised to him as a child. A match destined by Eywa herself, the Great Mother had always planned for him to return to you.

He left when he was 15, he returned when he was 26 ready to become the clan leader. Ready to take the tuté he had been waiting for as his own, as his future mate.

⋆‧°𓏲ּ𝄢 the tainted.

pair: neteyam x fem!mangkwan!reader

warnings: kuru torture / mommy issues / being tied up / mentions of death / war

wc: 6k

the poison, the poisoned, the tainted.

click here to be included in a taglist!

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

These were your people.

They trusted you.

You had a duty to perform, a role to play, and you would play it to its devastating, heartbreaking conclusion.

A few warriors nodded. Others leaned forward, listening intently, eyes fixed on you.

The words settled over the cavern, heavy and final.

It was a perfect plan for an ambush, a plan that would lead to a massacre of your own people. Every detail had been considered. Every movement calculated.

It was also a beautiful, intricate lie.

You were committing treason with every word that left your lips, and the shame of it burned like acid in your throat. You swallowed hard, forcing the guilt down, forcing your voice to remain steady.

Just as you were about to give the signal to move, to seal the fate of hundreds, a chilling silence fell over the warriors.

It was sudden. Unnatural. As if the air itself had been sucked from the cavern.

Your breath caught.

You turned, a knot of dread tightening in your stomach, to see Varang striding towards you.

She reached your side and placed a hand on your shoulder, the gesture seemingly maternal, almost gentle.

Her nails dug into your skin like claws.

“My daughter has a brilliant mind for strategy,” she announced, her voice dripping with a venomous sweetness that made your blood run cold.

The warriors stirred uneasily.

“But she will not be leading the war party today,” Varang continued, tightening her grip just enough for you to feel it. “I will.”

Varang’s hand remained on your shoulder for a beat longer than necessary.

The cavern held its breath.

Varang raised her voice.

She laid out the plan.

She did not stumble. She did not hesitate.

Every word was correct.

The warriors murmured their approval, low and controlled. Heads nodded. Weapons were lifted with renewed purpose. This was the plan they trusted. This was the plan that would work.

And it was no longer yours.

No one looked at you.

You stood where you were, rooted to the stone, your limbs heavy, useless. The cavern felt larger now, emptier, like something vital had been torn from its center.

Then you felt it.

Her grip closed around your arm, iron strong, fingers digging into muscle. The sudden contact made you flinch despite yourself.

Varang did not speak.

You knew where she was taking you.

Your shared quarters lay deeper within the mountain, carved from the stone long ago. A place that was supposed to be private. Safe.

She shoved you inside and turned, sealing the entrance behind her with a heavy, final sound that echoed through the chamber.

It was raw.

Fury simmered just beneath the surface, sharp and volatile. Betrayal cut through it, clear and unmistakable.

“You thought you could deceive me,” she said quietly.

The softness of her voice was worse than a shout.

She took a step toward you.

Then another.

"They are not evil, mother!" You hiss, but her loud snarl makes you feel small.

She drew one blade up and laid it flat against your kuru. The cold of the metal against the delicate tendrils made your stomach lurch, every nerve in your body screaming danger.

“You are infected,” Varang hissed, her voice low and vibrating with barely restrained rage. “The forest has tainted you. Its softness. Its lies.”

Her grip tightened.

The blade trembled in her hand.

She lowered the blade.

“My own daughter,” she whispered, her voice raw, cracking under a weight you couldn’t name. “My own daughter has betrayed me.”

“The forest is ours,” she cried. “We will take what is ours by blood and fire.”

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

“Neteyam.”

Soon after, the Omaticaya took to the skies.

A chill crawled up his spine.

“AMBUSH!” Neteyam yelled, his voice raw as he ducked his ikran sharply downward, the world tilting violently as fire hissed past where he had been moments before.

The sky erupted.

You weren’t there.

Instead, he saw Lew’eyn.

“Where is she?” Neteyam shouted, his tail lashing, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

He wasn’t fast enough.

꣑ৎ ｡°‧⭑.ᐟ

You were there.

“You were right,” you breathed, your voice shaking. “She’s beautiful.”

A low growl sounded behind you.

“Choose,” Varang snarled. “Your people. Your mother. Or him.”

Varang’s blade never wavered.

“You beg now,” she said quietly. “After everything you have done.”

Neteyam lifted his head just enough to look at you.

That was what finally broke you.

Varang’s grip tightened on Neteyam’s kuru, and he cried out sharply, his body folding in on itself as the pain surged anew.

“Enough,” she snapped. “This ends now.”

The blade shifted, just slightly.

Her smile was slow and terrible.

“That,” she said softly, “is exactly what I am asking.”

Then you looked at Neteyam.

Your choice burned in your chest, searing and inevitable.

Inside the ruined heart of the Ash village, Varang leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper meant only for you.

“Go on,” she said. “Choose.”

Your breath shook as you opened your mouth.

And the world seemed to tilt, everything you had ever been and everything you might still become hanging on the next word you spoke.

Your hands were shaking.

When he looked at you, it was not with fear.

That shattered you.

Your throat closed.

And then there was the forest.

Your breath hitched.

Your fingers brushed against the shaft of an arrow at your hip.

“Oh?” she murmured, amusement threading her voice. “Is that how this ends?”

Her tone made your stomach twist. She thought she knew you. Thought this was another test she had already won.

You did not answer her.

The arrowhead aligned with Varang’s skull.

For a heartbeat, the world went silent.

Then she laughed.

“You think you could do it?” she taunted, eyes gleaming as she looked back at you. “You think you have it in you to kill your own mother?”

Your vision blurred.

Killing her would end it. The war. Her grip on your people. The fear that had ruled your life.

And that terrified you more than anything.

Because it meant acknowledging that the woman who raised you had become something that needed to be stopped.

Varang’s laughter faltered.

The sound cut off abruptly, her expression twisting into a snarl.

“You would dare,” she hissed, venom dripping from every syllable.

You had already lost her.

For a long, terrible moment, neither of you moved.

“Run,” Varang snarled.

You did not hesitate.

Behind you, Varang’s voice rose, sharp and furious, echoing through the chamber like a curse.

“This is not over!” she screamed. “You hear me? The war is not over!”

You did not look back.

Hands reached for you.

For a terrifying moment, it felt like the entire village was turning against you.

Then a piercing screech cut through the chaos.

A nightwraith dove from the smoke-filled sky, landing hard nearby as its wings flared wide. Lew’eyn was already leaning down from the saddle, his expression frantic as he held out a hand.

“Now!” he shouted.

The village fell away beneath you.

Varang’s scream followed you into the air, raw and furious, carrying long after the Ash Nation shrank into a smoldering blur below.

Without a word, he reached forward and took the reins, his hands steady despite everything, guiding the nightwraith toward the distant glow of the Hallelujah Mountains.

You were tainted. And the thrum in your chest didn't help you figure out whether if it was the forest or the ash that had done so.

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