#x avatar reader

[vampiresheepgyts]

FIRST MANGKWAN AVATAR READER X NETEYAM : PART FOUR

Aged up Neteyam as always . Part 3 Here .

The boy’s middle finger was the first thing you noticed, not the insult, not the defiance burning in his golden eyes, but the fact that there were five digits curled in that gesture. Five. Like your own. Like no Na’vi should ever have.

Your grip tightened on your spear, knuckles straining against the handle. The boy, tall, lean, with a familiar sharpness to his jaw, stood his ground, shoulders squared like he expected a fight. Behind him, the girl, younger, fiercer, bared her teeth, her hand already on the hilt of her knife. The third, smallest of them, barely more than a child but was about the same age as the younger boy, crouched low, eyes darting between you and the trees like he was calculating escape routes.

There was something wrong about their faces. Not just the hands. The slope of their brows, the set of their eyes, like looking into a warped reflection. You exhaled sharply through your nose, the scent of sweat and damp earth filling your nostrils. "Who sired you?" you growled, voice rough as gravel.

The oldest boy laughed, bitter and sharp. "Who the fuck are you to ask that?"

"And what the fuck’s your name, smartass?"

"Ateyo te Suli (Y/N)’itan. What’s it to you?"

The name hit you like a thrown spear to the chest. Air left your lungs in a rush. Thirteen years. Thirteen years of exile, thirteen years of imagining this moment, of dreading it, and here he stood, taller than Neteyam now, eyes blazing with the same defiance that had once been yours.

The girl, your daughter, snarled, stepping forward, her knife half-drawn. "You deaf or just stupid?" she snapped.

"You two, what the fuck are your names?" You demand. "Intomba Te Suli Neteyam’ite and Eywe te Suli (Y/N)‘itan." The girl, who you now know as Intomba, answers for both her and her twin brother. "Who are you, asshole?!"

You exhale sharply through your nose, fingers twitching. Eywe’s ears flick back nervously as he watches your hands, clearly calculating whether you’ll swing at them first or just gut them where they stand. But you don’t move.

"(Y/N) (L/N) of the Mangkwan clan."

Intomba recoiled like she'd just bitten into rotten fruit, her nose wrinkling in visceral disgust. "Ew. Fucking ew." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, as if the words themselves left a bad taste. "You're—ugh— ash and stone?" Her lip curled, revealing sharp canines. Your canines. "No wonder Mom never talks about you!"

Ateyo's expression twisted into something between amusement and pity. "Intomba, you're being rude."

"I don't care!" she snapped, her tail lashing behind her. "I'd rather be sired by a skxawng than a Mangkwan!" Her golden eyes flicked over your frame, taking in the scars, the piercings, the unmistakable bulk of your body, built for survival, not harmony. Her nose wrinkled again. "And you're huge. Like some kind of… overgrown rock!"

Then the forest behind them shifted. Leaves rustled, branches parted, and Neteyam stepped into the clearing, his golden eyes scanning the scene with practiced alertness until they locked onto you. His entire body froze mid-step, his breath catching audibly. Thirteen years hadn't softened the sharp angles of his face, only deepened the shadows under his eyes, the tension in his jaw. His lips parted slightly, but no sound came out.

Neteyam's fingers twitched at his sides, his knuckles pale against the dark blue of his skin. His gaze darted to Ateyo, then Intomba, then Eywe— measuring, calculating, before landing back on you. His voice, when it finally came, was barely above a whisper. "… You." The word carried the weight of a thousand unspoken things, betrayal, grief, fury, and something else, something raw and unresolved. His tail flicked once, then stilled. "You came back."

Eywe, though, was already shifting, his small frame trembling slightly as he stared up at you, amber eyes wide with something that wasn't quite fear— curiosity, maybe, or recognition. His fingers curled and uncurled at his sides, his ears flicking forward, then back again, indecision written in every line of his body. Then, without warning, he darted forward, fast as a river snake, colliding into your chest with enough force to knock the breath out of you.

You barely had time to react before your instincts kicked in, dropping your spear and crouching down just in time to catch him, arms wrapping around his small frame. His hair, wild and tangled, smelled of damp earth and sunlight, and as you ran your fingers through it, you felt the coarse texture— and the unmistakable streaks of white woven through the dark strands, like moonlight caught in shadow.

Eywe buried his face against your shoulder, small hands clutching at your vest, fingers curling into the fabric like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go. His breath hitched once, twice— then he exhaled sharply, his entire body relaxing against yours. You felt Neteyam's stare burning into the back of your skull, but you didn't turn, didn't dare move. Not yet. Not when Eywe was clinging to you like you were the only solid thing in the world.

"Sempu…"

The word was muffled against your shoulder, small and wet, but it cracked through the clearing like thunder. Eywe’s fingers dug into your vest harder, his breath shuddering unevenly against your skin. His shoulders trembled— not the quick, suppressed tremors of fear, but the full-bodied shaking of something deeper, something raw. Then the first sob broke loose, punched out of him with a ragged gasp.

Your throat tightened. "I’m here," you murmured, voice low and rough, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of his head, fingers threading through his tangled hair. "Shh. I’m here, baby boy."

The pet name slipped out before you could stop it, foreign on your tongue after so many years, but Eywe only curled tighter into you, his next sob muffled against your collarbone. His tail lashed once, wild, uncontrolled, before wrapping around your wrist, clinging like a vine. You could feel Neteyam’s stare, heavy and unreadable, but Eywe’s weight in your arms was grounding, his tears hot against your skin.

Ateyo made a sound—half scoff, half sigh—before shuffling forward, arms crossed tight over his chest, his golden eyes narrowed like he was debating whether to spit at you or bolt. His fingers flexed, then curled into fists, jaw working silently before he muttered, "Fuck it," and shoved himself against your side, stiff as a board. His hug was more of an awkward lean, his forehead pressed roughly against your shoulder, but his breath hitched just once, sharp and quiet, betraying him.

Intomba let out a strangled noise, half disgust, half outrage, her tail flicking like an agitated viper. "You cannot be serious—" She jabbed a finger at Ateyo, then Eywe, who was still burrowed into your chest. "Both of you! He’s literally the worst!" Her voice cracked, high and furious, but her eyes— sharp, golden, so much like yours— darted between you and Neteyam, searching, uncertain.

Neteyam hadn’t moved. His fingers twitched at his sides, breath uneven, his gaze locked on the way your hand cradled Eywe, so gentle, like he was the baby again you never got to held, never got to see his first steps, never got to see his tsaheylu to the Tree.

His voice, when it came, was low, soft, but carried the sharpness of a blade. "Intomba." Just her name. Just that. No anger, just quiet, but she recoiled like she’d been slapped, her ears flattening against her skull.

Her tail lashed once, twice, before she snarled, "What?! He— he left us—!"

Neteyam didn’t raise his voice. "He is your father." Her mouth snapped shut, lips trembling, before she turned away with a muffled curse, arms crossed tight over her chest, her shoulders stiff with barely-contained rage.

Eywe’s sniffles and Ateyo’s quiet exhale against your shoulder filled your ears. Then Neteyam took a step forward, just one, hesitant, uncertain, his fingers flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them. His throat worked once, twice, before he managed, his voice rough, "… You stink of ash."

And then he was walking toward you, slow, measured, his golden eyes burning with something unreadable, something that made your voice stutter in your throat. His fingers reached out, hesitated, then curled into a fist before dropping back to his side. His jaw worked silently before he exhaled sharply through his nose and muttered, "… Damn you."

And then he was pressing his forehead against yours, his breath hot against your lips, his fingers gripping your vest so tight the fabric strained under his touch. His entire body trembled, just once, before he stilled, his exhale ragged against your skin.

You didn’t move. Didn’t dare. Not when Eywe was still clinging to you, not when Ateyo was pressed stiffly against your side, not when Intomba was glaring daggers at your back, not when Neteyam’s breath hitched just once, quiet, raw, before he whispered, "… Damn you."

And then his lips were on yours, rough, desperate, tasting of salt and fury and thirteen years of grief, and you couldn’t help but kiss back, couldn’t help but pull him closer, couldn’t help but—

Intomba gagged loudly. "EW. GROSS."

— WRITER’S NOTE !

I might do oneshots of baby Intomba and Eywe but I have no ideas for it if y’all wanna see that hit up my inbox

I’m planning on Eywe being like a mini male Kiri ig

[vampiresheepgyts]

FIRST MALE SARENTU AVATAR READER‼️‼️

If anybody wants to request this reader feel free to‼️I’d love to do something with this version of reader :)

The pod seals with a hiss of pressurised air, swallowing you whole. Mercer's face flickers behind the reinforced glass, sharp cheekbones catching the sterile light, mouth twisted in something too tight to be called a smile. His thumb jerks upward in a mockery of encouragement. You don't return the gesture.

Synaptic fire erupts behind your eyelids as the connection initiates, a familiar agony that never dulls. Your spine arches against the restraints, fingers clawing at nothing. For three terrible seconds, you are nowhere, neither human nor Na'vi, just raw nerve endings screaming into the void.

You blink awake into the Sarentu's body, slowly waking up on a med-bed. The room smells like antiseptic and something earthy, probably the salves they slathered over your wounds. The ceiling tiles are wrong, too clean and a groan escapes your lips before you can stop it.

A human doctor leans into your line of sight, his beard streaked with grey, eyes tired but alert. "Welcome back," he says, like you've just returned from a vacation. "Can you wiggle your fingers for me?"

You flex your hands, foreign hands, Na'vi hands, and watch as the five, long blue digits twitch obediently. The sensation is both intimate and alien, like wearing a stranger’s skin. The doctor nods, satisfied. "Good… now your toes."

The command feels absurd when your feet are so different now, the arches higher, the joints more flexible. You curl them against the cool metal surface. Every movement is a question unanswered, whose body is this really? The doctor scribbles something on his datapad, oblivious to the war inside your chest.

A monitor beeps softly in the background, counting breaths that don’t feel like yours.

The doctor pauses, tilting his head as if reading your silence like a diagnostic report. "Does the Avatar feel natural?" he asks. Your thumb lifts, but the gesture tastes like ash in your mouth. He exhales, shoulders loosening. "Excellent. We’ll proceed then."

A holo-projector flickers to life above the bed, displaying a grainy surveillance feed: Na’vi figures darting through a dense canopy. The doctor taps the image, freezing a frame where one stares back. "Former TAP subjects," he says. "They escaped from cryopods, we need them recovered. No one else can get close."

The doctor’s voice drops to a murmur. "Mercer wants this handled quietly." He doesn’t say what happens if you refuse. He doesn’t need to. The doctor taps his datapad again, pulling up a dossier. "They’ll trust you," he says. "Because you’re going to tell them you’re the last Sarentu to get out of cryostasis."

"And if they don’t believe me?"

The doctor glances at the door, too quick, too calculated. "Then you improvise." His fingers hover over the sedation controls, casual as a gambler resting his hand on a holstered pistol. "You’ve got twelve hours before Mercer sends in the dogs. Make them count, yeah?"

[vampiresheepgyts]

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