A/N: Hi guys im back... GYULP, so anyway ignore how i've been neglecting this series and always end up giving the wrong release dates. IM SORRY FINALS R SO HARD MAN. But I'll try and post semi consistently?
Warnings: Neteyam hates humans (we know son), Canon divergence, angst, neteyam rude as hell, tension? not sexual but there is some so
Word count: 5.3k
Contains: Neteyam x reader
Chapter 3, Chapter 4
You stormed off toward the village, heat still burning in your chest like it had nowhere else to go. Each step landed harder than the last, shaking through your legs until even the ground seemed to flinch beneath you. Every step felt heavy. You didn’t care where you ended up, only that it was far. Far from him.
You cut through the long way, circling the brush and pushing past low branches that snagged at your arms, ducking under twisted roots just to keep moving. Anything to avoid the chance of running into Neteyam. The thought of his voice, accusing—made your stomach twist. His words always found their mark, like arrows.
Once you reached the tall tree where you and Swyila usually met, you climbed up and sat there, hugging your knees and waiting. The air was still, only the distant hum of insects keeping you company, until the sound of giggling drifted through the leaves.
You stiffened.
Swyila. Finally,
But she wasn’t alone.
She stepped into view with a boy trailing close behind her. His laugh was ugly in your ears, too familiar, because you knew him. One of Vyan’s friends—the same group that never missed a chance to throw words like stones in your direction. The bane of your visits to the village are those cocky idiots with nothing better to do.
Your chest tightened. Come on Swyila? Really? As much as you adored her she had a tendency to hang around with boys that didn’t deserve her at all.
You dropped lightly from the branch before they even noticed you, landing just behind him. He turned at the sound, startled, and for a split second his cocky face looked almost small. Good.
Swyila’s eyes widened when she saw you. She took a tiny step back, reading the storm in your face.
This boy was a couple inches shorter than you, so when you straightened, you towered over him just enough to make the message clear. You leaned forward, voice sharp and cold.
“Get lost.”
His mouth opened like he wanted to say something smart, but whatever he saw in your eyes made him think better of it. He stumbled back, muttered something, and slipped away into the trees.
“Heyyy!” Swyila half-shouted after him, then whipped around to you with her hands bagging against your arm. “Why’d you do that? You know you can’t keep doing that to every guy!”
You rolled your eyes, heat still thrumming under your skin. “Come on, Swyila. You know what he’s like. You deserve better than him.”
She frowned, her tail flicking. “You didn’t even give him a chance.” She pouted.
“Didn’t need to,” you muttered, crossing your arms. “Plus—” you looked down at where he had disappeared “—he’s not even that tall.”
That earned you a look but elicited a small smile from her, her face straightened again though you could tell she knew you were right. “You’re so mean sometimes.”
“I’m not mean.” You sighed, your anger cooling into something heavier. “I just… don’t get it. I don’t get why you’d waste your time with someone like him.”
Her face softened. “Hey, are you mad?”
You sank down onto the wide branch, suddenly tired. The words spilled before you could stop them. “It’s not about you” you muttered, pulling at the bark of the tree beside you. “Neteyam, he well, I went out to cool down after the ceremony night, and when I went to go practice I saw him earlier. I almost shot him and— “
“You what!?” Swyila yelled and you shushed her.
“He scared me! He was about to shoot me too!”
“Okay, okay go on” She said mumbling behind her hands as she clamped her mouth shut.
“Sorry, sorry. Anyway”
“He said I didn’t belong out here, that I was only going to get in the way. He looked at me like I was some… mistake.” Your voice tightened, frustration leaking through. “We went back and forth, I was trying to stand my ground, but he just kept pushing. I don’t even know why I let him get to me, but the way he said it. I wanted to just cry– and–”
Swyila pulled you close and just held onto you.
“Whatever, he’s such a dickhead anyway”
“Di-head?” She repeated in quiet confusion
“Doesn’t matter” You said wiping your eyes as tears began to form, you would not waste another second on him.
For a moment you both stayed together in silence holding each other. You gently pushed off of her and climbed back into your spot in the tree expecting her to leave you there. Then, with a sigh, she climbed up beside you, swinging her legs off the edge like you always did together.
The tree was quiet again, the earlier giggles replaced with the rustle of leaves, and it was just you and Swyila in your spot—the one place that always felt like it could hold the weight of whatever you carried.
“Sounds like you need to relax” She said softly patting your knees.
“Last time I tried that I basically got told I’m worthless human trash—and if I’m right it wasn’t too long ago” You said crossing your arms.
“Don’t worry I’ll find us a place far from the village to chill out where we can talk about whatever and no one will hear us.” You looked up at Swyila as she gave a warm smile.
The two of you made your way to her supposed ‘secret spot’ . Swyila got tired of walking and decided to weave through the trees. You would follow her but you weren’t good at jumping and swinging through the trees so you just walked on the ground and followed the sound of her above.
Once you made it past the last brush of leaves slapping your face, you could hear the trickle of water a small pond roughly the size of the lab with a couple rocks that formed a small hill at the side of the pond created a small waterfall you recognized the flora growing around the pond that possessed bioluminescent properties which meant that it must’ve glowed beautifully at night the trees that surrounded it created a shadow around the pond with only slivers of light reflecting off the water, it was a beautiful secluded location. You’d be sure to scold Swyila for not bringing you here earlier.
“I come here to think, or when my brothers are being too much.” She said dropping down from one of the trees. And standing beside you.
You looked around at the spot; it was quite secluded so a good place to get away.
“You bring your flings here often too?” This made Swyila's face turn a deep purple.
“Would a kiss be appropriate oeyä syulang” You said teasingly leaning in to kiss Swyila’s cheek before she burst into laughter pushing you away.
“Okay! Okay! Stop! I don’t bring them all here, just the special ones.” She said as the two of you laughed. She walked to the top of the small hill and swung her legs over it you followed and laid on the grassy part, legs swung over Swyila’s.
You leaned back against the grass, eyes on the canopy above where slivers of light broke through the leaves. The laughter between you faded into something softer, quieter.
“You know if your feeling stressed, my mother taught me that thinking and talking about all the things you enjoy helps you calm down” Swyila said resting her palms on the silky grass
“Really you think that’ll work?” You say tilting your head though she can’t see you do it.
“Just try it!” She insists, shaking your legs.
“Okay!”
“I guess, being with you, listening to the trees, the flora surrounding me, helping Mo’at… it’s the only time my head shuts up.”
Swyila hummed, leaning back on her palms. “So nature, me, and old lady Mo’at. That’s your list of comforts?”
“Don’t forget my bow,” you said, twirling a blade of grass between your fingers. “Something about it calms me. Makes me feel like I’m good at… at least one thing.”
Swyila tilted her head toward you, a sly smile tugging at her lips. “You know there’s a way you could do all of those things. Nature, me, Mo’at, your bow. At once.”
You turned to her, brow furrowing. “What are you talking about?”
“The Inknimaya,” she said simply, like the word didn’t make your stomach twist. “You should do it.”
You sat up, shaking your head immediately. “No. Absolutely not. That’s… no.”
“And in what way do all those correlate anyway!” You protested.
“Well, you’ll be out training so nature. You’ll get to see me, another plus. You get to use your bow and a part of it is collecting herbs and learning how to make salves so you’ll be with Mo’at for a time.”
“That’s..” Damn it she had a good point. “I still won’t” You said standing on your point.
“Why not?” she challenged, nudging your leg with hers. “Ir’ana, you’re good with a bow. Everyone knows it. What are you going to do, rot in the lab forever?”
“I don’t rot in the lab,” you mumbled, heat rising to your face. “I do productive things.”
Swyila snorted. “Sitting hunched over screens until your eyes cross? That’s productive?”
“…In a way,” you grumbled, refusing to meet her gaze.
She leaned closer, bumping her shoulder into yours. “Come on. You’d do amazing. And besides—Vyan’s doing it. You could get paired up.”
You groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “Don’t start with that.”
Her grin only widened. “What? You two are the same age. Makes sense.”
“I said don’t start.”
She laughed, the sound echoing through the clearing. Then her voice softened. “Tuk is doing it too, you know.”
Your head whipped around. “What? Tuk? She’s a baby compared to me.”
“She’s brave,” Swyila said with a shrug. “Besides, not everyone does their Inknimaya right away. My sister didn’t do hers until she was eighteen. Some wait even longer. It’s about when you’re ready, not a clock ticking.”
You turned your head to the side and stared at your hands, twisting the grass blade between your fingers until it snapped. The idea of it sat heavy in your chest—terrifying, but not impossible. And with Swyila’s steady gaze on you, it didn’t feel completely out of reach either.
“I know you’re considering it” she teased, giving your leg a pinch.
“I.. I won’t not consider it” You murmured. But Swyila just stared at you, guess the saying in English doesn’t make as much sense in Na’vi.
“I mean I’ll think about it”
Swyila’s face lit up at this as she went on about getting you your own bow, knife and how she could make you some new accessories, even a tweng. You quickly shut down that idea saying you could manage perfectly fine in your clothes. She pouted saying you’d get there one day as the two of you continued talking. You really enjoyed these moments just between you two. Swyila was a real friend, you were grateful for her.
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The thought of Inknimaya lodged itself in your head like a parasite. Now the idea wasn’t bad a definitely could be considered but it just felt unnatural to you. Still no matter how many times you tried to shake it off, it kept pressing deeper, whispering in the quiet moments, rising with your heartbeat every time you picked up your bow or watched Swyila move like the forest had built her for it.
At first, you laughed at the idea. You? Climbing those mountains, fighting up close, wrestling an ikran, bonding with Pandora? Truthfully you’ve never used your kuru, no matter how surprising it sounded. Regardless, the idea was ridiculous. You weren’t built for that. You weren’t Na’vi, not really—not in the way it mattered.
But then, in the quiet, you’d picture it. Being one of the people, well as close as they’d accept you. Flying on your Ikran, in the sky you’d be truly alone. Freedom. Control.
And Swyila had planted the seed so easily, as if it wasn’t impossible at all.
Still, the doubt ate at you. You thought of Tuk, of how fearless she seemed even at her age. You thought of Swyila, when she completed her’s effortlessly fearless. And then you thought of yourself, standing in the shadow of all of them, wondering if you had the right to even try.
It gnawed at you for days until one evening, sitting in your room with your legs curled beneath you, you realized you couldn’t carry it alone anymore. If you were going to decide, if you were going to risk everything, you needed one more voice. Someone who knew you—who saw you as you were, not as you pretended to be.
You needed Lo’ak’s opinion. It sounded silly but for someone who’s entire thing is being unserious, you could trust him with these kinds of things.
If anyone could understand, it would be him. Not perfect, not gentle, but honest in a way that is sometimes cut and sometimes comforting. You knew you had to find him.
You slipped from your room, you made sure to not disturb any of the scientists working on projects so you were nearly silent. You began walking to the pods but before you could make it the last few steps, a voice called after you.
“Hey!”
Spider jogged up, face brightening when he saw you. He was still catching his breath when he said, “I was thinking, maybe we could go for a walk? It’s been a while. Lo’ak has been busy. No one else wants to go anywhere so I thought you’d wanna come.”
Your stomach twisted. Any other night, you would’ve said yes without thinking. But you wanted to get this talk over and done with and the longer you put this off, the heavier it would get.
You forced a smile, even though it felt stiff. “I… can’t right now. I’ve gotta go do something first. Maybe later?”
He nodded quickly, too quickly, like he’d already expected it. “Yeah, no problem. Later, for sure.”
You hesitated, then leaned forward, hugging him. He returned it, ruffling your hair to which you pushed him off. But there was a small pause before his arms wrapped around you. You felt bad but knew you’d hangout with him later
“You’re the worst, skxawng” you whispered
Spider chuckled under his breath.
“Guess I’ll see you after.”
And just like that, you were moving past him, heading toward the pods, leaving Spider’s figure walking the opposite way as you heard the familiar sound of his room door hiss open.
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You found Lo’ak perched on a thick root near the edge of the village, one of his favorite spots to brood when he thought no one was paying attention. His knife rested across his lap, he just began throwing it around and, fiddling, lost in thought.
“Brooding again, mister mysterious?” you teased lightly as you came closer.
He looked up, a crooked grin spreading across his face. “What, me? Nah. I’m just… contemplating life, y’know.”
You rolled your eyes and sat beside him, the bark cool against your legs.
“You’ve got that stormy face again. What’s going on?”
The question stuck in your throat for a moment, but you’d come here for a reason. “I’ve been thinking about… doing my Iknimaya.”
That got his attention. His posture straightened, ears twitching. “For real?”
You nodded slowly, picking at the bark beneath your fingertips. “I don’t know if I’m ready. Or if I should even try. It feels… too big. Like it’s not meant for me. It feels unnatural” you said, twiddling your thumbs. Lo’ak was quiet for a beat, his eyes scanning your face, searching. Then he let out a short laugh, not unkind, just incredulous. “You? Not meant for this? Come on. You’re literally the most stubborn person I know.”
You frowned. “That’s not the same thing as being ready.”
“Actually, it kinda is.” He leaned back, propping himself on his elbows. “You think Dad thought I was ready for anything? Half the time I screw up, half the time I get lectured… but you know what? I still show up. That’s the whole point.”
His words settled somewhere deep inside you, though you weren’t sure you wanted to admit it.
“Listen, that's life, right? You don’t get strong from sitting around doubting yourself.”
You let out a slow breath. “I feel like if I mess up, I’ll just put my self in a worse light then I already am.
Lo’ak’s grin faded, replaced by something more serious. “Yeah. I get that.” His voice dropped, lower, steadier. “Look. I live in Neteyam’s shadow every damn day. Perfect son, perfect warrior, perfect everything. If I can get through that everyday you shouldn’t be afraid.”
The truth of it rang sharp, and you found yourself nodding. He wasn’t wrong.
“But you know what?” he continued. “At the end of the day you do it for yourself man.”
The silence stretched between you, heavy but not uncomfortable.His words kept circling, settling deeper each time.
Finally, you asked, barely above a whisper, “And if I fail?” Embarrass myself in front of the whole village, have everyone know I’ll never be good enough to be Na’vi, truly.
Lo’ak’s answer came instantly, with that easy confidence he wore like a second skin. “Then you try again. And again. Until you don’t fail. That’s what makes it yours.”
Your chest tightened, not with fear but something else—hope, maybe, or determination trying to claw its way back to the surface. For the first time, the idea of Iknimaya didn’t feel like a death sentence.
“Y’know,” Lo’ak added, leaning back with a smirk, “you’d look pretty badass on an ikran. Bet Tuk would worship you.”
“No seriously, she won’t shut up about you.”
That made you laugh, the tension cracking enough for air to slip in. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Ridiculously right, yeah.” He nudged your shoulder with his. “So? You gonna do it?”
You hesitated only a moment longer before nodding. “Yeah. I think I am.”
Lo’ak grinned so wide his fangs showed. “That’s what I’m talking about.”
“I’ll let my dad and Tarsem tell one of the teachers okay?”
The two of you sat in companionable silence after that, listening to the forest hum and sway. The decision felt heavier now, but in a way that grounded you, that made it real.
And if a tiny voice in the back of your mind whispered questions about how exactly this would happen, who would be there, what it would mean—you ignored it. For now, it was enough to know you weren’t alone in the choice.
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The morning you woke up and headed to your avatar before the sun had even risen to avoid the unnecessary questioning and commotion. Something about the forest before dawn felt like a held breath. Not tense, just heavy, you’d felt this before when you were younger walking into the forest of Pandora feeling though you didn't belong. But you pushed through the silent weight. Determined. Once you’d entered the pod and awakened in your avatar you began venturing to the village. Mist clung low to the ground, threading between roots and ferns like pale silk, and the air was cool enough that it kissed your skin instead of clinging to it. You walked with practiced ease, boots barely making a sound against the damp earth, bow resting comfortably across your back. The path ahead wasn’t obvious to an untrained eye, but you’d learned long ago how to remember the paths from your childhood, even if you hadn’t ventured much these past few days.
You weren’t lost. Is what you told yourself. You’d made it to the village but still not knowing where the Inkminaya introductions were taking place. Halfway through Lo’ak had found you claiming he knew you’d be lost without him you told him you weren’t lost. Just choosing not to announce where you were going to which he replied sarcastically as he snickered.
Admittedly, it helped your nerves that you weren’t alone.
Lo’ak moved ahead of you, tail swaying lazily behind him as he ducked beneath low branches and stepped over thick roots like they weren’t even there. He kept a steady pace—not rushing you, not slowing himself either. It was the same way he used to run with you when you were kids: just enough of a challenge to keep things interesting.
“You’re quiet,” he said eventually, glancing back over his shoulder.
You hummed. “I’m thinking.”
“Yeah, but this isn’t thinking quiet, it’s ‘I'm so nervous omg what am I gonna do’ quiet.” He said with a high pitched voice, one you were familiar with since he used to mock Tuk with it often.
You giggled faintly. “What, you want me to talk about it? Cause I could monologue all day.”
He snorted. “Please don’t.”
“And seriously did you have to wear that?” He said looking up and down your outfit, you sported a pair of brown cargo shorts, and a green thick strapped tank top along with your pack and a pair of boots. Looking back at him confused.
“What? Is this outfit supposed to be bad” You showed that you could move around perfectly fine in it, other than the fact they were human clothes they didn’t limit you in any way. He simply shrugged and gave one last glance before leaving you to your own thoughts.
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The path narrowed as the trees grew closer together, trunks arching overhead. The sounds of the forest shifted too—less insects, more distant movement. Voices, faint but unmistakable.
Training grounds.
Your grip on the strap of your pack tightened, but your steps didn’t falter.
Lo’ak slowed, then stopped, one hand resting against the bark of a wide tree. “Alright,” he said. “This is as far as I go.”
You looked at him confused. “What why?”
“Come on. You can fend for yourself past here. No?” He said tail swishing behind him.
“Yeah, sure I guess” You said, peering through the thick trees, noticing a couple faint shadows moving in the distance.
He studied you for a moment, golden eyes sharp in a way that had nothing to do with teasing or mischief.
“You sure about this? That I’ll do well?” You asked nervously.
“Yes.”
No hesitation. No wavering. He meant it genuinely. Which is a quality you respected in Lo’ak at the right times. He was always honest, even if it was the hard truth.
That earned a small smile from you. “You always were stubborn.” He added.
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“It’s not,” he said quickly. Then, more quietly, “It’s why you’ll be fine.”
The sounds of bowstrings snapping echoed faintly now. The smell of carved wood and trampled earth lingered in the air. Lo’ak scratched the back of his neck.
“They’ll be busy. If you keep your head down, no one’s gonna question you right away.”
“And if they do?”
He shrugged. “Then they’ll question you.”
You huffed a soft laugh. “Comforting.”
He stepped closer, lowering his voice. “Hey. You don’t have to prove anything to anyone today. Just… do what you always do.”
You met his gaze. “I plan on it.”
That seemed to satisfy him. He bumped your shoulder lightly with his fist—a familiar, grounding gesture. “I’ll catch you later. Try not to make my brother explode.”
“Your– huh? What?” you said believing you had misheard him. Before you knew it he left with a quick grin, slipping away into the trees, leaving you alone with the path ahead.
You didn’t wait long before moving.
The clearing opened gradually, the trees thinning until the training grounds spread out before you. Warriors were already gathered—some in small clusters, others practicing alone. Arrows flew in steady rhythms, thudding into targets carved from thick bark. The air hummed with focus.
You scanned the area quickly.
Targets. Racks of bows. A few elders observing from the edges.
No obvious leader in sight. You’d assumed they hadn't arrived yet.
You ignored the couple of stares. It wasn’t as many as you expected so that eased your conscience slightly. You continued on finding a small area with an unoccupied spot from which you could hit targets. You rolled your shoulders once, loosening them, then reached back and slid your bow free. The familiar weight settled into your hands like an extension of yourself. You finally reached the unoccupied spot near the edge of the clearing, close enough to observe, far enough to blend in.
No one stopped you.
You knocked an arrow, eyes flicking briefly to the nearest archer. Their stance was solid—feet planted, shoulders square.
You mirrored it instinctively.
Draw.
The string pulled back smoothly, tension singing through your muscles in a way that felt grounding rather than straining. You inhaled, exhaled—
Release.
The arrow struck cleanly, sinking deep into the target just shy of center.
You didn’t smile. You didn’t frown.
You simply adjusted.
Second shot.
Closer.
Third,
Dead center.
The quiet satisfaction that settled in your chest wasn’t pride—it was certainty. This was familiar. This was yours. You noticed one of the elders had noticed and began whispering to another. You ignored it, probably more village gossip. So you continued shooting, letting the world narrow to the steady rhythm of breath and motion. Around you, others trained with varying degrees of success, some arrows wobbled, others flew wide. You corrected your stance minutely, compensating for the slight shift in wind as the canopy overhead rustled.
You felt it before you heard it: the shift in attention.
A presence beside you.
“I knew it.”
You glanced over, already recognizing the voice.
Vyan stood there, bow slung over his shoulder, with a shy expression looking faintly amused. “I knew you’d be good with a bow,” he continued. You couldn’t help be a bit embarrassed at the compliment
You didn’t expect to see him here. “Vyan, yeah I’ve been practicing." You state.
“It’s– You well it’s cool, you know you look cool.” He was trying his hardest. With his friends Vyan sort of blended in but on his own you’d learned he was less talkative and on the shyer side.
“Thanks” You say dryly. “So.. didn't expect to see you here.” You said conversationally as you glanced around.
“Ah! Well I didn't expect to see you,” he shot back.
There was always a little awkwardness between you and him—Swyila always claimed it was because Vyan liked you—but he was like that everywhere, not just around you. Maybe slightly more around you. But you chose to ignore that fact. From the rare times you did get a good conversation in Vyan was actually easy company. Observant without being intrusive. Complimenting without the passive aggressiveness.
You gestured toward the targets. “You’re taking your Inkminaya now?”
He grimaced. “Ah, yeah well trying to.”
“It’s taken awhile for me to muster up the courage, I feel so weird doing it so late. My little sister’s doing it at the same time as me and it's kind of embarrassing.” He said nervously with a hand behind his neck.
“Still scared of heights?” You brought up remembering his statement from a previous conversation you two had once while you met on a path. He was trying to find his friends and you were collecting herbs for medicinal purposes.
His face light up slightly at the fact that you remembered. Then turned purple at the fact you remembered.
“Oh, yeah you remember that, it’s not a fear per say, I’m just being cautious.” He added matter of factly.
You laughed, the sound soft but genuine. “Well I'm sure you'll be fine.”
“Easy for you to say,” he muttered. “You look like you were born with a bow in your hands.”
“Hardly.”
“You say that,” he replied, glancing at your arrows,
“You know i’m pretty good with a bow too but only difference is,”
“I don’t miss.”
He said with a tilt in his voice, almost like it dropped an octave. Maybe you were meant to feel challenged by that but the fact is.
Neither do you.
But you didn’t say it out loud. You didn’t need to.
Instead, you drew again, losing another arrow without breaking eye contact with the target. It landed cleanly, splitting the shaft of the previous one.
“I– woah” He said slack jawed at your skills then flashing an impressed smile. “Didn’t take you for a show-off” He joked.
You shrugged. “You commented first.”
He shook his head, smiling. Before waiting a little to speak again. “You know, people talk about you.”
You paused, turning to face him. What was this about? “Oh?” You answered as if this wasn’t old news to you. You and your brother, actually all humans who were involved with the clan were talked about, and it was rarely positive.
“Yeah,” he continued. “They say you’re… different.”
You scoff. “That’s one word for it.”
He hesitated, then added, “I mean it as a good thing.”
When you heard his answer you felt sort of moved, you appreciated it. These moments that is when people spoke like this to you. Even if you didn’t belong, it always made you feel slightly better when people made comments like that; especially coming from someone like Vyan who’s constantly showered with negativity about humans. Before you could respond, something shifted.
The air felt heavier. Thicker.
Vyan’s ears flicked back, his gaze drifting past you toward something—or someone—behind you. The warmth in his expression faltered, replaced by something more cautious.
You frowned. “What?”
“I—” He stopped, jaw tightening. “I should go.”
“Go?” You turned slightly, confused. “We were just—”
“Good luck today,” he said quickly. “Really. Bye Ir'ana”
Then he stepped back, already turning away.
“Vyan?” you called.
He didn’t look back.
You watched him retreat, brow furrowed, trying to make sense of the sudden shift. A strange unease prickled at the back of your neck, but you brushed it off.
People were strange sometimes. Especially on days like this. Maybe he just got a case of nerves? But nerves so randomly wasn't likely.
You felt unease but decided to think nothing of it. Strangely you felt even more eyes on you now. Is that what made Vyan leave so suddenly? You hadn’t done anything inherently wrong or something to cause so much attention so you could only stand confused for a few seconds. You decided to refocus it wasn’t worth your time, whatever it was. So you refocused your eyes on the target, grabbing an arrow from behind your back to shoot your bow once more.
Except you couldn’t pull the arrow up. A force stopping you. Then you noticed a presence behind you, someone clasping your arm. You wondered how you didn’t notice them before, even when the person behind clearly held such a heavy presence. Is this why Vyan left? You tried to pull your arm back but it just made it worse. The hand closed around your forearm had a tight, unyielding grip. The sudden force of you trying to break free and the hand pulling you the other way yanked you off balance, your bow slipping from your grasp as it clattered against the ground. You sucked in a sharp breath, more from surprise than pain, and spun around instinctively.
Suddenly the world seemed to narrow to a single point.
Neteyam stood before you.
His grip was iron-strong, fingers wrapped securely around your arm like he was afraid you might vanish if he let go and tight enough to assure he wasn’t imagining and it really was you held in his steel grip. His expression was carved from stone, jaw tight, eyes dark and sharp, ears angled back in barely restrained anger.
“What,” he said coldly, “are you doing here?”
Your heart thudded once, hard.
You stared up at him, the realization crashing over you all at once.
Lo'ak's tease.
The training grounds.
The authority in his stance.
The way the others nearby had subtly shifted, attention drawn not to you, but to him.
He wasn’t just another warrior here.
He was leading this.
And you had walked straight into it.
“Shit.”
❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧
HOPE YOU ENJOYED!!
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OMG SO MANY PEOPLE IM GEEKING
Well yeah, that's literally the point. His death served no purpose, he was just an indigenous child who was murdered in a decades-long colonizing war and oppression after being forced to leave his home. His death represents all the innocents (especially indigenous children) who lost their home, their land, their way of life due to needless war for selfish and cruel reasons. This is the reality of things.
A/N: Guys tumblr is weird, because I posted this but apparently everyone is telling me it wasn't posted even though I could see it PUBLIC too. Anyway sorry for that but here it is, I did not write smut because I have never done it and don't want my first time writing it to be absolute shit. I can post a small draft I have but it wont be great if anyone is interested in a longer version
Warnings: Stalker/Obsessive behaviour, verbal violence, sadictic behaviour, and slightly explicit near the end.
Word count: 4.6k
pt.1
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The dorm room felt smaller than it ever had before. With every crazed breath the walls began closing in on him as he paced between the scattered pages and the sprawl of mechanical parts. He could still see her in his mind, the way she had crouched at Gomez’s desk, fingers hovering over her papers so perfectly she was the harmony among the chaos. He tried to imagine what he hadn’t seen her eyes darting nervously to the bathroom door in fear he’d return. He’d hated how still she’d gone, the faint flush on her cheeks betraying a storm of thoughts he couldn’t read, and yet he couldn’t bring himself to step forward then. He hated that she had seen it all, that she had glimpsed into the private catalog of her existence he had so carefully hidden, and that she hadn’t recoiled. Not even once. She hadn’t screamed or ran away; she had simply continued, leaving him a small slip of paper that shouldn’t affect him as much as it did. Just that realization whirred something in his industrial chest he didn’t have the words to name.
Issac’s hands hovered over the edge of his desk, fingers brushing the scattered notes as if touching them could somehow restore order to the chaos thrumming through him, His mind was flying faster than he could keep up with. He stepped back, then forward, pacing again, the sound of his boots on the floorboard like drums in an empty cathedral. In the corner of his eye, he caught a small stack of objects, neatly arranged yet fleeting in the haze of obsession clouding his vision. He made up his mind, he’d go. But he would let himself be seen. He made his way towards the dorm door grabbing a heavy jacket which he draped over himself.
The door loomed ahead of him. Issac stilled, his hand hovering just shy of the handle, listening. The low hum of pipes in the walls. The shuffle of feet far down the hall. Laughter, muffled, from some other dorm.His gaze slid toward Gomez’s desk, the empty chair, her textbook still upside down where she’d left it. It mocked him in its silence, a reminder of how close she had been, how her presence lingered like static in the air. He shut his eyes for a moment and almost imagined her still there, sitting patiently, waiting for him to speak. His chest squeezed at the thought, gears whining faintly, mechanical rhythm stuttering out of pace.
He turned back toward the door, jaw clenched. His mind was spinning with desire and dread. Desire to see her, to follow where her note had led him, to seize the chance she had given. Dread that the instant he appeared, she’d see him for what he was and recoil.Maybe she was testing him to see if he was insane, a disgusting freak with an obsession maybe that would be the last piece of evidence she’d need to rid him from Nevermore. His hand hovered on the iron handle, the hesitation stretching thin enough to snap. A breath shuddered out of him, sharp and shallow, and in the space between thought and motion, he pivoted—just once—toward the clutter of his work. But it wasn’t because he’d decided not to go. His fingers hovered, then closed around a single object. No second-guessing. No pause. One last thing, he told himself. A safeguard. A promise. He shoved the object in his pocket, then he moved, slipping into the corridor before he had time to regret the decision.
The forest greeted him with a familiar breeze. This place could be regarded as yours and his place seeing how many times he’d ‘visited’. Mist clinging to the roots of gnarled oaks, pine-scented air damp with secrets. Shadows swallowed him whole as he stepped beneath the canopy, boots crunching over fallen leaves with a rhythm that seemed too loud in the hush. And then he saw it: the faintest flicker of movement ahead, the glimmer of her blouse caught in the moonlight. His heart jolted violently against its casing, wires pulling taut as though every nerve in his body had been wired directly into the sight of her. She had worn it—one of her favorites. For him. His throat worked soundlessly, breath snagging like he’d been struck. This couldn’t be a ploy, though Issac kept his guard up.
He froze in place, muscles locked, staring from behind the oak as if one wrong blink would shatter the illusion, the dream. The clearing held its breath along with him, every shadow sharpened, every rustle of leaves deafening. Slowly, carefully, he moved a few paces closer, staying tucked in the dark. He didn’t dare step fully into her sight. Not yet. The want clawed at him, raw and ravenous, but hesitation lingered, poisonous. What if he hadn’t prepared her enough? What if she thought the note, the pictures, the devotion—they were all too much? His fingers tightened around the object in his pocket as he pulled it out slowly, the one he’d taken at the last second, and the weight of it steadied him. A token. A tether. A promise he’d already made in silence.
Still, negative thoughts haunted him, curling at the edge of his mind like smoke.
The forest smelt perfect, the ground moist from the last rainfall, it was your favourite time to visit it late at night, quiet, though the dark was unsettling, it was also relaxing. Though tonight there was a silence that felt heavier than usual, you boiled it down to just your nerves having you on edge. You pulled your cardigan tighter, fighting the damp chill, though it wasn’t the cold that made you shiver.
Your footsteps slowed as you stepped into the clearing. Moonlight spilled faint and silver across the grass, painting everything in ghost-light. You stopped, scanning the dark edges of the trees. Waiting. Listening. Nothing. Not a crunch of leaves, not a whisper of boots. Just your own breath, shallow and uneven.
Maybe you were early. Maybe he was late. You sat on the fallen log anyway, hands clasped in your lap to keep them still. The forest pressed in around you, quiet and patient, but with every passing minute your chest grew tighter. Twenty minutes? Thirty? An hour, no. But regardless it was hard to tell, time felt cruel in moments like this. Still, nothing.
Your throat burned with the weight of questions you couldn’t ask. Was he upset with you? Was this punishment? You thought back to the last time you saw him, the flicker of emotion that crossed his face—something unreadable, sharp, and almost pained. Maybe you had imagined the warmth. Maybe all those little gestures, all those hidden treasures he left behind, were just… games. You hugged yourself tighter, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.
Finally, with your heart leaden, you stood. The forest felt colder now, less like a comforting cool and more like it was mocking you. You turned toward the path back, swallowing the lump in your throat, trying not to let disappointment root itself too deeply. Maybe he hadn’t meant it. Maybe you weren’t supposed to matter.
And then you saw it.
Nestled at the base of the oak you’d passed a hundred times before, half-swallowed by shadow, something small caught the moonlight. A box. Not large, but deliberate. Carefully placed. Your breath hitched as you crouched down, fingertips brushing over its surface. The small black box was warm. You frantically looked around the tree up, down even behind you but you couldn’t see or sense a single presence. The edges of the box smoothed by handling, as though he’d held it just moments before deciding to leave it here.
Your chest tightened in a different way now—no less painful, but laced with something else. Hope. Confusion. Fear. He hadn’t forgotten. He hadn’t abandoned you completely. This was a message, the kind he couldn’t say aloud. You cradled the box carefully in your hands, heart hammering.
If he wasn’t here, then this was him. His presence. His voice. His tether to you.
And despite the ache still pressing at your ribs, you couldn’t stop your fingers from trembling as you traced the lid, terrified and desperate to know what promise he had left for you inside.
Issac returned to the dorm, boots echoing softly against the hall, and found Gomez slouched in the arnmchair, hair mussed, clothes disheveled, a faint perfume of Morticia clinging to him.
“Where’s Y/N?” Gomez slurred, trying to sit up straighter.
“I told her to wait here. I didn’t know getting a book would take so long.” Issac looked Gomez up and down clearly not believing his pathetic excuse.
“Soo was she here?” Gomez said, trying to find his balance. Issac’s lips curved into a smile, eyes with a slight shine.
“She was.” he said softly, voice silk over steel. Gomez froze, the haze of intoxication doing nothing to mask his unease.
“Uh… I—what—?” Issac just tilted his head, that smile widening, patience and menace entwined.
The next day halls of Nevermore were full of students rushing to class but none of them concerned as he Issac passed her, a fleeting glimpse between lockers and scattered students. He had expected, maybe even hoped, that her gaze would meet his, that she would step forward with a word or a glance acknowledging him, his presence, the silent tether that had formed between them. But she didn’t. Her eyes skimmed over him, distant, polite, careful not to linger, and for the first time since the morning his anticipation faltered, his chest tightening, mechanical heart stuttering in panic.
That she had avoided him so deliberately ignited a sharp, acrid heat in his mind. That’s fine, he told himself, forcing the mask of cold detachment back into place. Just patience. I can wait. But the words felt hollow even as he spoke them to himself. The quiet tension hung between them like a blade suspended, invisible yet still. Every step he took after her down the hall was calculated, measured, as if following a rhythm only he could hear.
By the time the quad opened before him, she was already there, seated on the low stone bench near the fountain, arms crossed over her lap, shoulders tight. Her head was down, hair falling over her face, and her gaze avoided him entirely. This was no coincidence. He stopped some distance away, scanning her like a predator, every flicker of movement magnified in his mind. How could she sit there, unbothered, pretending like their night in the forest—though it could barely be considered ‘their night’. He’d given her his heart, she wore the necklace. He saw the familiar glimmer so why ignore him? Had his devotion meant nothing?
The quiet patience he had promised himself evaporated. He felt the rise of something hotter, more jagged in his chest, wires stretching and gears grinding against restraint. Every beat of his mechanical heart was a hammer striking against the cage of his ribs. What is she waiting for? The thought twisted into obsession. Does she not care? Does she not understand? I’m willing to give her everything, and this is what I receive in return?
He took a slow step forward passing by her to see how she’d react, forcing himself to breathe, though each inhalation came jagged and shallow. She flinched imperceptibly, and that small reaction—the one tiny acknowledgment of his presence—was enough to set his nerves alight. He clenched his fists, nails biting into the palms, trying to ground himself. But it wasn’t enough. The sight of her, so distant and unreadable, while he was consumed by everything he’d left for her the night before, was unbearable. I gave her my heart, he thought, a jagged edge to the idea. And she pretends I’m nothing.
By the time Botany rolled around, he had carried the simmering fury through the morning, cloaking it in a fake image of his regular quiet demeanor. His partner for the project—some werewolf jerk—sat across the table, busy with sketches, notes that looked nothing like what they were working on and just random scribbles of nonsense. He could barely focus on his own work. Every diagram, every observation in the margins of his notebook seemed to hum with irritation. He was willing to give her everything. His attention, patience, a piece of himself he kept reserved. and yet she was impossibly distant.
Why won’t she meet my eyes? He fumed silently, tapping the edge of his desk with his pen in a rhythm in an attempt to calm his nerves. Does she not know? Does she not feel it? I’ve done my part. I have given her pieces of myself she can’t even imagine. And yet she acts as though none of it matters.
He watched her, saw the way her hands hovered over the page, her pencil lifting and lowering without direction, speaking with Gomez even occasionally giggling that action alone could send Issac into a fury. His chest constricted further, wires whining faintly. Every small gesture, every careful movement of hers, felt deliberate, teasing, a cruelty in its very innocence. I gave her my heart. She should respond. She should acknowledge it. She should see.
The quiet in the room made him feel even more suffocated, more desperate. Every tick of the clock, every scratch of pencil against paper, screamed at him in a cadence of frustration. His mind spun, imagining her thoughts, her possible indifference, her polite avoidance. And it drove him mad.
I’ve done my part. I gave her everything. And this is what I get back? The thought curled in his mind, sharp and alive, a living thing. He leaned back slightly in his chair, jaw tight, eyes dark as they tracked her every movement. He wanted to call her out, demand that she acknowledge him, demand that she respond to the devotion he had given her without question. But instead, he bided his time, letting the silence stretch, letting his fury coil like a spring ready to snap. Every second of her avoidance was a strike against him, and yet… he would wait. He would wait, because he could, and because she belonged to him whether she realized it yet or not.
But Issac never considered that perhaps he was the reason she stayed distant, that she longed to speak but feared his reaction. From the periphery of the quad, one could almost see him, shoulders stiff, jaw tight, eyes shadowed with the illusion of anger, a face meant to draw her forward yet just made her fear rejection even more. She couldn’t read him; she saw only the cold, the scowl, and the silence. So she kept her distance, and his plan, one that he was sure made perfect sense, just spiraled into miscommunication.
3 days.. 3 days of this hell, and it just kept getting worse. Three days of her silence, her averted eyes, her careful distance, and Issac felt every second like a wire wound tighter around his chest. Each morning he woke expecting her to finally break, to come to him, to say something— to crawl to him and apologize. To finally realize that she belongs to him. But instead she drifted past him like a ghost, polite and empty-eyed, her presence an ache rather than a balm.
He’d passed her in the hall more than once. Each time, his gaze found her instantly, hungry, waiting, but she refused to look at him. She dropped her eyes to the floor, to her books, to the nearest door. Anywhere but him. That’s okay, he told himself. She’ll learn where she stands. She’ll come. She has to. But as the days dragged, patience soured into something sharper.
By the third day, his thoughts had begun to fray at the edges. I gave her my heart, he thought savagely, fingers tightening on his pen until it creaked. I’ve made it obvious to her that I'm willing to give her everything. And this is what I get back? He stared at the neat rows of his notes, though he’d written nothing for minutes. His mechanical chest pulsed with irregular beats, each one a jolt of irritation, of want. She’s nothing without me. Pathetic. She needs me. The thought came unbidden, then sat heavy in his mind.
A flicker of guilt followed, like an angel on his shoulder, an echo of a softer voice, one that wondered if perhaps he was the reason she avoided him. Maybe she wanted to speak but didn’t know how. But Issac crushed it under pride as quickly as it surfaced. Why should I go to her? That would be low. That would be beneath him. She had to come to him. Last week she came to the dorm to drop something off for Gomez, he remembered bitterly. Then the minute she’d seen him she’d left. She’s doing it on purpose. She wants me to suffer. For a small second Issac relished in the idea. The idea of her doing this out of sadistic intent sent a hot pulse through him, a twisted thrill. The idea of you and him sharing a terrible quality excited him. Though he was still upset. He should be the only one allowed to do things like this, he’d teach you that soon too.
By the 4th day, his frustration had evolved into something jagged and intoxicating. He tracked her from the quad, watching as she crossed the lawn with her friends, her laughter a sound he couldn’t quite hear but still felt. He imagined the weight of her silence aimed directly at him, a deliberate blade she pressed into him just to see how he’d flinch. The thought both enraged him and made him shudder with something else entirely. It’s only okay when I do it, he thought, jaw tight.
Classes blurred. He sat at his desk, his partner rambling about their shared assignment, but Issac barely registered a word. His eyes stayed on her, three rows over, her pencil gliding over paper, head bent low. Every innocent tilt of her hair became a provocation, every shift of her body a silent dare. Why does she tempt me so? Why does she play at innocence when she knows what she does to me?
And then Professor Orloff spoke. “Y/N, Issac—the two of you please.” for the first time in days she had met his gaze, not with desire, but with fear.
As Issac approached the desk you at his side though a respectable distance away Professor Orloff spoke “I need you two will stay late to clean the shelves and beakers tonight. I trust you two to be more responsible than the others .” Issac noticed your face went slightly pale at his side.
Isaac nodded slowly. His mechanical heart gave a single thud, his chest humming like they’d been struck.
He turned his head slowly, deliberately, letting his gaze lock onto her face. Looking down there was a small instant, he saw her eyes widen, her breath hitch, as her cheeks flushed faintly. She looked away almost immediately, eyes dropping to the ground.
And Issac smiled. Not kindly. Not softly. A slow, devious curl of his mouth that promised nothing good. He returned to his desk, letting the smirk linger, feeding it with every ounce of tension from the past three days. She’s mine. She knows it. And she loves it.
She stayed rigid as she walked back to Gomez who began nosely asking what had happened, hands clenched on her pencil, but he could see it, the tiny tremor in her shoulders, the blush blooming across her skin. Every little reaction fed the satisfaction building in his chest.
The classroom faded. All that remained was her and him. The shelves to clean, the beakers to polish, the night ahead stretching like a taut wire between them. And Issac, after three days of silence, three days of restraint, felt his smirk sharpen to a blade.
You dreaded the bell because it mean’t you’d have to head to the greenhouse. When you arrived you didn’t even greet Issac who was already there. After getting into a rhythm of stacking, placing and cleaning the classroom was pretty quiet except for the faint clink of glass as you moved between the shelves. The smell of earth and fertilizer still clung to your hands from touching pots and cleaning off dirt, but at least this part of the responsibility, sorting jars and wiping the benches was simple enough that you could ignore Issac. You kept your eyes low, kept your breathing even. You could feel him across the room. His presence, like a shadow stretched too long, watching you.
Issac waited for you to speak to acknowledge him in any way. But you didn’t. You pointed instead—at the shelves, at the jars—silently gesturing to where things went, never once meeting his eyes. And every time he tried to catch your glance, you turned away again, like you hadn’t even noticed him.
Isaac’s jaw clenched. What is she doing? Why won’t she speak? His fingers twitched around the rag in his hand. I have to do everything myself, don’t I? Take everything into my own hands. The thought slipped out as a whisper, low and barely audible:
“I always have to do everything.”
You didn’t even react. You just bent to pick something up from the desk, a stray beaker, a little cracked around the rim. That was the moment he moved. One step, then another. Quiet as a ghost until he was right behind you. His figure loomed and his shaodw fell over yours, long and heavy.
You froze when you felt him there, his nearness like static on your skin. “Can you… move?” you asked, voice barely above a breath. Not mean, more nervous than anything.
That broke something in him. His hands came down on either side of the desk, caging you in. Not touching you, not yet. His eyes burned into yours as you whipped around to find arms at either side of the desk.
“So that’s all I am to you?” His voice was low, hoarse, trembling with control. “I’m nothing? You’re just gonna ignore me? After what I gave you?”
You turned, startled, looking up at him. “Isaac–”
“After what I thought you liked me?” he went on, voice rising a notch. “I thought you understood. I thought…” He cut himself off, teeth gritting.
“I–” you tried, but the words slipped away.
He leaned closer, eyes wide, almost fevered. “Do you even know how much I did for you? How much I–” He stopped again, searching for the right word, as if “love” tasted wrong on his tongue. “I cared about you more than anything. And I thought you cared too. For a fleeting moment I thought I meant something to you!”
You blinked at him, your heart hammering, the beaker still in your hands. “What? Isaac, I–”
“Oh, don’t play stupid.” His laugh was short, humorless.
“I know what you’re doing. You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? You like to see me like this. You want me to suffer.” His breath came faster now, his smirk twisted. His hands now grabbing at your wrist in anger.
“You probably love it. I’m so pathetic to th–”
“I thought you were mad at me!” you burst out, the words tumbling before you could stop them. “I thought you were angry, so I didn’t— I didn’t want to—”
He blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I thought you were mad at me,” you said again, softer. “I thought you didn’t want me around. You looked at me like you hated me, I thought you were mad about what happened and the necklace.”
Silence stretched. His fingers flexed against your wrists, knuckles pale. Something flickered behind his eyes—a flash of doubt, of hurt—but it vanished as quickly as it came.
“I…” you started, but his gaze pinned you again.
Then he moved.
It wasn’t gentle. It wasn’t planned. One second you were speaking, and the next—his mouth was on yours.
Your breath caught in your throat. Everything in your body jolted, stunned. His hands were still around your wrists, holding you there like he wasn’t sure if you’d stay. Like he didn’t trust himself not to pull away.
The kiss was fierce. Tense. It wasn’t practiced or perfect, his lips pressed hard against yours, unrelenting, as if every second he’d spent angry or distant was unraveling all at once.
You didn’t kiss him back at first. Not because you didn’t want to—but because you didn’t believe it. Like your mind was still trying to catch up to what your heart had been begging for.
But then…
Then you exhaled, shakily, and he let your wrists free from his grip and you brought your hands up trembling slightly to his chest, curling into his shirt like an anchor. And you kissed him back.
Softly, at first. Then all at once.
His grip loosened, sliding from the table to your waist, pulling you closer like he couldn’t stand the distance anymore. His lips slowed—less desperation now, more ache. Like he was tasting something he thought he’d never be allowed to have.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His breath mingled with yours—fast, uneven. His hands still holding at your waist like he was afraid you’d disappear.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly, voice low and rough. “I just… you’re so—”
“Shut up,” you breathed, cutting him off with your mouth on his.
The kiss was sharp and sudden, and he didn’t even try to finish his sentence. You felt him melt into it hands gripping tighter, lips pressing harder, like he’d been waiting for something like this and he’d finally had it.
He grabbed your hips and lifted you so you were sitting on the desk you let out a giggle against his lips which made him smile into the kiss. Your fingers threading into his hair, tugging him closer. He let out a noise from deep in his chest—something raw and wordless—as the kiss deepened, mouths moving fast now, all urgency and heat.
You couldn’t tell who reached first, or who gasped louder, or when the line between frustration and want disappeared completely.
His hands were everywhere, your hips, waist, face—like he couldn’t decide where to touch first and couldn’t stand not touching at all. Soon enough his hands made their way to your shoulders, as he tugged your blazer down. You broke the kiss just long enough to look at him, both of you flushed and out of breath, and the look in his eyes–
Gods.
Like you were the only thing in the world. He gave you a sympathetic look which you just ate up his eyes darted towards your top blazer discarded nearly falling off the desk. When you nodded hastily his eyes grew with anticipation.
You kissed him harder. And this time, neither of you held back.
A/N: Guys this new season got me out of my writing slump. I'm so obsessed with Issac but he has NO FICS, so I took it upon myself to write one and I have more ideas just flowing. Tirea Kame is also being worked on guys I swear i've got drafts up to Ch.14 so anyone waiting for that IM SO SORRY ;(
Warnings: mentions of stalking, invasion of privacy, slight sadistic themes if you squint
reader can be whatever outcast you want her to be not specified!
Word Count: 3.9k
during Morticia and Gomez's time at Nevermore!
pt.2
Issac was an organized chaos. Scattered pages of blueprints, gear, levers, and quills all over his workspace. But it was his and he knew where everything was. One thing he was very adamant on doing was cataloging, work, personal projects, even you. You had even earned yourself your own spot in his dorm room drawer, filled to the brim with photos, trinkets, and sketches whether they be objects you’ve touched or used, even your favourite flower, picture of your favourite place, favorite scent. Everything. This level of devotion was something he was especially proud of.
He made sure no one knew of his silent obsession, not his sister, professor, not even his roommate, his only friend. You of course were oblivious, not even aware of the fact you had a silent shadow that followed you, sketched you, practically studied you. Issac loved this thrill of watching from afar without your knowledge. One might argue that it was an invasion of your privacy but it was all in good graces was it not? Issac was utterly infatuated with you. Even if you yourself had no clue that he was. You yourself were quite reserved only with a small inner circle of which included his sister Francoise, you getting along with her just made him more obsessed.
So when your project with Gomez came up his whole world was thrown upside down.
Botany which Issac noted among his catalog of information as one of your favourite classes had an upcoming assignment where Professor Orloff had chosen partners to get you to ‘interact with new people’ Issac shifted uncomfortably in his seat though not that anyone else could notice, he held his breath without even realizing, he hoped that maybe you’d be paired together. He entertained the idea hundreds of times when the assignment had been announced he’d impress you with his knowledge of all your favourite plants, maybe ‘wow’ you with his skilled phytology skills, even offer to go out and immerse yourselves in the forest to get more accurate specimen descriptions when in reality it was just to walk with you privately just the two of you, intimately with no one else around.
His expectations were squashed when you weren’t just paired with some random, but his roommate Gomez, his one friend. Though he imagines it would’ve been worse if you were with someone he didn’t know he’d have to learn about them who they were to you, Gomez was hopelessly infatuated with Morticia. As Issac wished he was with you. They were constantly at the others side, which gave him some comfort knowing that you weren’t partnered with someone who could potentially develop any form of romantic attraction to you. Still he couldn’t deny the twinge of jealousy that gnawed at his mechanical chest, like barbed wire tightening around it. His partner barely acknowledged him by the looks of it. He'd have to carry all the weight in this assignment, like many other occasions, not that he minded working alone, but he didn’t give any specific attention to the thought at the moment.
So you could imagine Isaac’s surprise when he opened the dorm door and saw you — sitting on his bed, legs crossed, hair falling effortlessly around your face. Cascading like a waterfall perfectly fit for you. You weren’t looking at him, not yet. Your eyes were distant, thoughtful, like colored caverns he could fall into and drown without complaint. You sat without a care in the world oblivious to all the malevolent, disgusting, intimate thoughts he’d had of you in that very spot, obsessive plans he’d formulated just to see you for an extra second. Yet you sat silently as you always did except you looked even more beautiful invading a space meant for him.
Then it hit him
His breath hitched. His bed. His room. His collection only feet away.
When your eyes finally met he didn’t even bother speaking to you his eyes simply darted to under his bed where boxes of his journals peaked out, many filled to the brim with blueprints, tinkered items, but also drawings of you he had one designated for you specifically that oblivious to you layed sprawled out poking out from under the rickety old oak bed luckily the sheets covered most of it but not nearly enough if he kept staring you’d soon notice his eyes returned and met yours again this time you cheeks had reddened slightly giving them a rosy color, as you tugged on your skirt. You must've mistaken his panic for him checking you out that admittedly he did look back. This interaction was the absolute opposite of what he imagined your first encounter to be like awkward silence and erroneous glances. He tried to come up with something, anything to say but his mind moved faster than it could comprehend itself. That’s when you took it upon yourself to break the silence yourself.
“Issac? Is it? I’m Y/N. I’m Gomez’s partner, he actually just left to grab something so.. uhm- I’m here with reason.” You slightly stuttered not too noticeable but Issac had been watching you for a while and familiarized himself with your body language and demeanor enough to give away that you didn’t want him to believe that you were here with bad intentions which was seemingly ironic.
“Ok.” Was all he could muster, ‘I know’, ‘No problem’, ‘I knew that’ or anything along those lines would sound strange and no matter what else he thought of sounded unnatural in his mouth though now any of those might’ve sounded better. He answered simply but after letting the word marinate in his mind he sees how it may have come off as rude.
He walked towards her menacingly at least that’s what it would seem to anyone, Issac didn’t mean to look so rude when approaching her he wasn’t used to carrying himself kindly around people. Even with Gomez though his roommate didn’t seem to mind, he himself was supposedly used to Issac’s silent demeanor; he knew his mechanical heart ran cold. So when he approached the bed he saw you shrink back silently not in fear but just a precaution you still held your gaze staring into his eyes. For some reason Issac could not return the look he was used to staring at you while you were oblivious to his watchful eye. Now when you were so close to him he wasn’t sure what to do he then spoke.
“You’re on my bed.” He said flatly, his words broke you out of your focus as you looked down at the bed and back at him.
“Oh, oh- I’m sorry I- I didn’t know Gomez didn’t tell me which was his, he left before we could set up I just assumed this was his side.” You said lifting yourself up off his bed closing the space between Issac’s towering figure and yours you were just two steps away from him. He must’ve noticed because he backed up as soon as you stood up. He could’ve said something like ‘It’s fine’ let you know that it wasn’t your fault, you didn’t know, you couldn’t do anything wrong in his mind. But he was so blinded by panic that he wasn’t listening to what was coming out of his mouth.
“Stay away from my things.”
The words came sharper than intended. You flinched—not dramatically, just the smallest recoil. He knew you did that often when getting scolded by a teacher or getting into an argument with a friend. He’d assumed it was a reflex from his learning about you; he knew that your mother wasn’t the kindest in the bunch which is why he made sure the last parents day to conveniently place spikes near her path just to slow her down enough that she’d have one less day to pester you. But that small flinch was enough to make his chest tighten with immediate regret. Before he could fumble out an apology, his eyes caught the slip of paper sticking out from beneath the bedframe.
His stomach lurched. One corner of your face stared back at him from the photograph.
In two strides, he was there, boot nudging it further under before your gaze could follow his. But as he straightened, your attention had already shifted elsewhere— walking toward the half-open dresser near the foot of his bedside.
“What’s in here?” you murmured absentmindedly, pulling at the handle.
The blood drained from his face. He couldn’t move fast enough. You tugged just enough for a drawing to peek out and a photo attached, the sketch, unmistakable in its likeness to you.
The drawer slammed shut with a violent crack, the wood nearly splintered at the force. His hand caught it so close to yours that your knuckles nearly got crushed between wood and rusted metal of the old thing. You gasped, stumbling back.
“That’s mine.” His voice was low, strained, too sharp. “Why are you so intent on touching my things?”
Silence stretched. Your apology came quietly, barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry. I’m really- I am.. I didn’t mean to.”
His throat bobbed. He should say it’s fine. He should tell you it wasn’t your fault. Grab your hands in his hold them tight and apologize let you know that he shouldn’t have snapped at you. But the words jammed in his mouth like a gear stripped bare. Instead, he turned away from you, crouching down to straighten the stack of books by his desk, pulling them into neat, rigid lines. The motions were precise, mechanical—anything to stop his hands from shaking. He could feel your entire demeanor shift, so much for first impressions. From the air in the room he could tell his first encounter with you had dropped his likability down so far you didn’t just dislike him, you were afraid of him. He thought of apologizing but couldn’t muster up the courage to turn and see you look so shaken. He grabbed a book and nearly dropped it. He took his hand into his other to stop the shaking. From the corner of his eye he spotted you at Gomez’s desk trying to write something from a book but he saw the quill tremble in your hand before you gave up and began just reading the book. He too was shaking, all his planning, all his hopes to swoon you over treat you better than anyone had ever—were crushed, it would take him a perpetual amount of time to make up for this. That was if you would even speak with him anymore you’d probably avoid him at every turn now.
The two of you sat in shared silence for a good while before Issac let out a long sigh and grabbed some clothes from his wardrobe before entering the bathroom. He saw you look up at him before closing the door behind him. Maybe a long cold shower would calm him down and he’d muster up enough courage to apologize to you.
You sat there stiff, chewing on the inside of your cheek. The sound of the lock clicking made your chest loosen just a fraction, though the muffled rush of water in the pipes only reminded you that you were still trapped in this room with his looming presence—just separated by a thin wall.
God, why was he such a jerk? Gomez had promised his roommate was just shy, maybe a little awkward, he even giggled about some stupid thing mumbling something about ‘especially around you’. Rude definitely but shy? That guy was anything but shy—he snapped like a whip the second you so much as breathed near his things. Gomez is a liar. A smiling, charming liar who probably thought throwing you in here with Issac would be a nice quiet change of pace .
You sank back on the bed, dragging your fingers through your hair. Where was Gomez anyway? He said he’d be back to help set up, but no, he left you here to fend off his stormcloud of a roommate. Issac didn’t even talk unless it was to scold you, as though words only existed for him to weaponize. Every attempt you made to be polite crumbled the second he opened his mouth. Even though this was the first time the two of you had ever even spoken and the conversations, which barely could be called conversations, consisted of you apologizing and him snapping at the thought of you finding out he had some ‘secret diary’ or something.
And, okay—yes, maybe you’d been on his bed, but how were you supposed to know whose side was whose? The whole room was a battlefield of paper stacks, tools, blueprints, half-built contraptions scattered without rhyme or reason. Organized chaos, maybe, but definitely chaos.
You groaned quietly into your palms. Why did every exchange leave you feeling like you’d just committed some unforgivable crime? You weren’t scared of him exactly, but there was this tightness in your chest whenever he turned those sharp eyes on you. Frustration, guilt, something in between.
Your gaze drifted toward his desk, to that drawer you’d almost opened. He’d slammed it like there was a ghost inside it ready to escape. What could possibly be in there? Something personal, obviously—but personal didn’t usually mean dangerous.
The pipes groaned, signaling the shower had fully started. You bit down on your lip, conflicted.
And then, annoyingly, your mind betrayed you—flashing the image of his face up close, the way his lashes framed his eyes when he refused to meet your stare. He wasn’t bad-looking. He was actually kind of—ugh. No. Absolutely not. Not with any attitude like that. But still, you had to squint at your own thoughts to even recognize them. Cute? Maybe. But cruel too, sharp-edged and impossible.
Still… curiosity tugged at you harder than reason.
Quietly, you slipped off the bed and padded over to his desk. You pressed your ear toward the bathroom thankfully the water still running—before curling your fingers around the handle of that same drawer.
This time, you pulled.
The drawer stuck for a moment before sliding open with a reluctant groan. You were anxious for a second. The stupid old furniture in this school creaked unnecessarily loud. You glanced toward the bathroom door, heart hammering, but the sound of running water still spilled steadily into the room.
At first, it didn’t seem too unusual, a couple sheets of papers, little scraps of sketches. You thumbed through one absentmindedly, expecting diagrams or some strange blueprint. But no, this wasn’t just engineering nonsense that you saw all elsewhere throughout the room. These were… softer. More personal.
The first sheet was a sketch of eyes, carefully shaded, ink bled deep into the page. The charcoal smudged to make shadows. Pairs of them, over and over. Something about the shape tugged at the back of your mind, familiar in a way that made your skin prickle. You told yourself it was a coincidence.
Then came faceless girls. Dozens of them. Hair falling in thick strands across shoulders, always styled differently, but always strangely… close. You frowned in confusion, lips pursed, holding the page up to the light. That fall of hair, it did look an awful lot like your own.
The second drawer you peeked into smelled faintly of pine, cut with something warmer—vanilla. Your chest tightened, confused. That scent was yours. The perfume you kept tucked away, the candle burning in your dorm window. You hesitated before picking up a folded sheet of parchment.
A flower blueprint. Your flower. The lines bent and curled in metal, every petal shaped with an impossible patience. The next drawing nearly stole your breath away—trees. Old, gnarled, carved in painstaking detail. And you knew them. You knew them, because you’d sat beneath them more times than you could count. That was your spot in the forest. You had chosen that spot the first day you arrived at Nevermore, it was your getaway. A place hidden away only you knew about—except that's what you believed up until now.
The air felt thinner as you sifted deeper. Trinkets, little scraps and objects you hadn’t realized you’d even lost. A ribbon. A snapped-off button. A pencil cap you used to chew on. The smallest things, catalogued and kept.
And then—photographs. At first just blurry corners of buildings, campus pathways. Then a classroom window. Then the Botany greenhouse door. And finally—your throat caught—your profile, caught in motion, unaware of the camera’s eye.
It was like stepping into cold water all at once, the shock crawling up your spine.
You should’ve been terrified. You should’ve slammed the drawer shut and backed away before you saw anything else, stop invading his secrets before you regret it. But instead your fingers hovered over the photos, tracing the corner of one like it was glass.
Because buried under the fear was something else, something heavier and worse. A realization unfurling slowly, like smoke winding around your ribs:
No one had ever noticed you like this. Not this closely. Not this carefully. Not this much.
The memories hit sharper now—catching Issac’s eyes lingering across the classroom, brushing it off because you thought he was staring at something else; realizing how often your paths crossed between classes, though his schedule shouldn’t have overlapped with yours. Little things that seemed like coincidence but maybe weren’t.
And instead of recoiling, instead of feeling hunted… your stomach twisted in a way you didn’t want to name. A little laugh broke out of you, too soft and too nervous, and it sounded dangerously close to delight.
You wanted to be disgusted. You wanted to be afraid. But you weren’t.
Because as much as you hated to admit it, one thought pressed sharp and undeniable in your chest:
By the time Issac had finished showering he’d put on a sweater and whatever pair of pants he grabbed, not that he’d been paying attention to it specifically. He decided that once he’d get out he’d apologize to you, it was never your intention to do anything to upset him. You were curious he knew that.
He made his way out the room to find you still at Gomez’s desk but in a different position than before, almost as if you’d rushed back into the seat. He also noticed that your textbook was upside down, you could hardly read anything properly with it like that. His gaze met your face which was focused on the paper in front of you though it didn’t look like you’d made much progress at all. Gomez was still not back. Issac decided to place his stuff down before finally turning around to your direction. He walked a little bit closer to you enough that you’d look up from your page. You seemed nervous, eyes darting across his face multiple times. He assumed it was because you were afraid of another outburst. He let in a soft inhale.
“I… shouldn’t’ve snapped at you.” His voice was quieter this time, stripped of the sharp edge it usually carried. “It wasn’t your fault.”
You blinked up at him, clearly surprised by the admission. He shifted his weight, fingers tugging at the cuff of his sweater like he wasn’t sure what else to do with his hands.
“I don’t like people in my things,” he added quickly, almost defensive again. His jaw tightened, then relaxed. “But—you didn’t know. So. Don’t… worry about it.”
It wasn’t a sweet apology. It wasn’t even particularly nice. But compared to his usual coldness, it felt like a concession, a piece of himself he didn’t hand over easily.
You didn’t say anything back. Understandably he thought, he had just bursted at you and an apology was the bare minimum. Still he was upset you didn’t give him any approval back. But he pushed away his sadistic thoughts. You did give him a nod of recognition which he accepted, for now, he’d work to get you to be kinder to him. You just didn’t know what he meant to you yet. He turned around back to his side of the room.
“Gomez doesn’t seem to be coming back, I'm just going to leave.. We can work on it another time somewhere else.” You said grabbing your things.
‘Somewhere else’ your words made his throat tighten he knew he couldn’t say anything, not now. He simply turned to let you know he’d heard you no nod just silent acknowledgement. When you packed up your things you purposefully left a small pen one you used frequently. You opened the door to leave, giving Issac a quick goodbye. To which he didn’t respond and just remained absorbed in his blueprints clearly very intent on organizing them at the moment. When the door closed and your footsteps disappeared. Issac turned to the desk, he had already noticed the pen you left, he decided to keep it till you realized it was missing, maybe then you’d come back. His throat still tight at the thought of you and Gomez working together, in the library, your dorm or anywhere else alone. Though he pushed down the thought, he’d find some way to slowly push Gomez out of the picture.
He noticed the dresser slightly ajar which is when he began to panic he was 110% sure he had closed it all the way. He shouldn’t have trusted you enough to leave you and your curiosity unattended. He cursed to himself all his papers were in slightly different places. You had definitely seen everything. Issac nearly pulled a piece of his hair out of his head, you were gonna report him worse, get him expelled if you brought in this evidence. He should’ve noticed how nervous you were, your upside down book, no notes, and nervous demeanor. As Issac was about to think about leaving, maybe chasing after you—though it would be an all time low just begging you not to say anything, his sister needed him here and he could not bear the thought of you thinking he was a disgusting creep. When he noticed a small sheet of paper with a heart on the outside and a small kiss mark, his heart pounded nearly jumping out of his throat, his face reddened. He never saved this.. He opened the small piece of paper
“I’ll be by the old oak tree tonight. I don’t mind you watching. ♡”
Issac’s hands trembled as he stared at the words, the kiss mark burned into his mind like a brand. His first thought was that this was a trick, some cruel joke, but the handwriting was yours, he knew it as well as his own blueprints. You knew. You’d seen everything. And instead of screaming, instead of running, instead of damning him for the twisted catalog he’d built of your life, you left him this. ‘I don’t mind you watching.’ His pulse roared in his ears, metallic heart hammering so violently it rattled in his chest. The drawer, the sketches, the photographs—all of it, and you hadn’t turned away. You weren’t disgusted. You weren’t terrified. No, you’d left him a heart. A kiss. An invitation. His lips parted, ragged breaths leaving him as he pressed the note to his chest, clutching it like it was a lifeline. Perfect—you were perfect, too good for him, too good for this world, and yet you were giving yourself over to him willingly, acknowledging the darkest parts of him and not running. He could hardly stand under the weight of it, hardly thinking straight. Desire and devotion tangled in his veins until he thought he might combust, until the only thought left circling in his skull was you, you, you.
Sorry for the delay of Tirea Kame, I’ve been writing chapter 5 AND 6. So if stuff starts taking longer it’s mainly because I want to start posting 2 chapters every week. Also working on a shorter work still Neteyam x reader. So sorry guys.
Also with school starting in mid September, my first week on campus is in a couple days so a little nervous.
You were sitting cross legged on the woven mat inside your small space, fiddling with a little box of trinkets you had collected from the human settlement. Norm had left behind some of the most random things, and you often found yourself absentmindedly playing with them when you were bored. Tonight you had a metal tin, some brushes, and a small notebook.
Neteyam had been lingering nearby, curious as always. He was usually calm and patient, but tonight he kept shifting, watching you from the corner of his eye like he was trying to figure you out.
“What are you doing?” he asked finally, his tail flicking slowly against the ground.
You looked up, caught a little off guard. “Oh… nothing serious. I was just… well, I was thinking about ASMR.”
Neteyam tilted his head, his ears perking with interest. “ASMR? That is a human word?”
You laughed softly, brushing your fingers over the tin to make it produce a soft tapping sound. “Yes. It is something humans do to relax. We make certain sounds, like tapping or whispering, and it gives this nice tingly feeling. It helps people sleep or calm down.”
He blinked at you. His expression was somewhere between fascinated and skeptical. “So… you hit things softly… and whisper… and it makes you feel better?”
The way he said it made you laugh harder. “Basically, yes. I know it sounds silly, but it works.”
Neteyam leaned closer, his braids falling over his shoulder as he narrowed his eyes at the tin. “Show me.”
Your lips curved into a small smile. You had not expected him to ask. “You actually want to try?”
“Yes,” he said immediately. “I want to understand why humans do such strange things. And if it really helps them rest.”
You bit back another laugh, but your grin widened. “Alright, mighty warrior. Sit down. But you have to stay still.”
He lowered himself onto the mat with a grace that only a trained warrior could have, his tall frame folding neatly in front of you. His ears twitched and his amber eyes watched your every move.
“Okay,” you said softly, almost in a whisper, which already made him frown in amusement. “Rule number one. I will talk quietly, like this. It helps the brain relax.”
“Why are you whispering?” he whispered back, his voice exaggeratedly low, which made you cover your mouth to hide your laugh.
“Because that is how it works,” you whispered even softer. “Just… trust me.”
He gave a slow nod, his tail swishing against the floor again, but he tried to keep his face serious.
You picked up the metal tin first, tapping your nails gently against it. The sound was sharp but rhythmic, echoing slightly in the quiet room.
Neteyam blinked. “That sound… is not unpleasant.”
You smiled. “That is the point. It is simple but calming. Like rain.”
You kept tapping, switching patterns, sometimes faster, sometimes slower. He tilted his head like a curious ikran, eyes half closing without him realizing.
Next, you took one of the brushes, the soft bristles gliding against the surface of the tin. It created a hush like wind through leaves.
His ears flicked, his tail stilled. “That sound reminds me of the trees at night. When the breeze moves gently.”
“That is exactly why people like it,” you said in a whisper.
You brought the brush closer, very gently brushing it near his arm. He stiffened at first, then relaxed when the bristles traced over his blue skin. His eyes widened slightly.
“It tickles,” he whispered, but his smile betrayed that he was enjoying it.
You laughed under your breath. “It is supposed to. Soft touches. Gentle sounds. That is ASMR.”
For the next few minutes, you switched between tapping the notebook, flipping its pages slowly, brushing sounds, even running your fingers lightly across the mat to create a quiet scratching noise.
Neteyam, who had started out skeptical, was visibly sinking into comfort. His shoulders loosened, his tail rested limply against the mat, and his eyelids grew heavy.
At one point, you whispered, “Neteyam, how do you feel?”
His eyes opened halfway, amber glowing with warmth. “Like I could sleep. Like… nothing is heavy right now.”
Your heart softened at the sight. Seeing the ever responsible, always alert Neteyam actually letting go and relaxing because of something as simple as ASMR felt almost magical.
Then, with his usual playful streak that came out only when he felt safe, he whispered back, “Your human tricks are strange… but I like them.”
You grinned. “I will take that as a compliment.”
When you started softly tracing your fingers across his hand, tapping gently against his skin, his ears twitched in delight. But then he chuckled low, trying not to laugh too loudly.
“What?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
He leaned closer, his whisper playful. “It tickles too much. You are trying to make me laugh, not relax.”
You snorted. “No, that is part of it. Some people laugh because it feels so… tingly.”
“I think you are enjoying this more than I am,” he teased.
“Maybe,” you admitted with a smile. “But only because seeing you melt like this is rare. You are always so tense.”
Neteyam tilted his head, his smile softening. “Only because I must be strong for everyone. But here…” He closed his eyes briefly, the corners of his lips curving in peace. “…it feels safe.”
That made your chest warm. For a moment, you just let the silence settle, except for the light tapping sounds you made.
Eventually, you switched to whispering random things, as ASMR videos often did. “Neteyam is the strongest. Neteyam is the calmest. Neteyam has the fluffiest braids—”
He cracked an eye open, giving you a mock glare. “Fluffiest?”
You laughed, pressing a hand over your mouth. “Sorry, sorry. I had to.”
He chuckled too, shaking his head, but the sound was lighthearted. “You are lucky this is relaxing, otherwise I would chase you out for that insult.”
“Oh please,” you teased. “You love it.”
The rest of the night passed in quiet sounds, soft whispers, and warm laughter. By the time you stopped, Neteyam was leaning against the wall with his eyes closed, half asleep, his breathing slow.
You whispered, “Neteyam?”
He hummed lazily, not opening his eyes.
“Do you want me to stop?”
“Do not stop,” he murmured, voice heavy with drowsiness. “This is… good.”
Your lips curved into a smile, your heart strangely full. Watching him so relaxed, trusting you with his guard down, felt more intimate than anything else.
When he finally drifted into sleep, you set down the tin and brush quietly. For a moment, you just watched him, his face calm and softened, his braids falling around his shoulders.
You whispered softly, even though he could not hear, “Goodnight, Neteyam.”
And maybe, just maybe, you thought you would be doing a lot more ASMR sessions with him in the future.
A/N: Really short Chapter, didn't want it to be to much because it wouldn't flow nicely, so its not as long as the first part lol. Nevertheless I hope you enjoy!!
Warnings: Mentions of blood, sharp objects (knife's, needles), Mentions of graphic death's
Pt. 1
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The Tower wasn’t exactly home, but it had become something close.
Two months of adjusting to its endless glass windows, the faint hum of JARVIS in the walls, and the constant buzz of Avengers rushing in and out had worn the strangeness down to something almost ordinary.
The welcome had been awkward. Tony was the first to speak up welcoming you to the tower though his only pressing concern about your arrival was that he’d have to reprogram the security system to recognize your face. Other than that he didn’t speak to you much. You met Natasha 3 days into living in the tower when she let you know you were using your room. You apologized but she didn’t seem to mind seeing as though she had a 3 week long assignment in Russia so wouldn’t need it; she reassured you that by the time she was back Tony could arrange her different sleeping arrangements which made you feel better.
Now it was like second nature. The mornings where you woke up expecting silence, only to hear Tony’s voice echoing down the hallway, were fewer now. You no longer jumped when Sam would visit and knock on her door or when Natasha brushed past you in the kitchen. You'd learned where everything was, who kept which snacks in which cabinets, and that Clint had an annoying habit of somehow hiding in the walls. You were sure he was watching from the vents. Though he denied it everytime. How else would anyone know where you hid your favourite snacks?
But most of all, you learned to breathe again.
And that was mostly because of Steve.
He had been the first one you trusted—really trusted. Not in the shallow way you pretend to when you’re scared of being alone, but in the deep, instinctive way that told you he was safe. He didn’t push. He didn’t prod. He simply existed like a solid tree, tall and true planted amongst the chaos he never fell or waivered, and somehow you found herself reaching for that steadiness more than you ever meant to.
You’d even found a routine of helping the Avengers. At first, it was small things: helping them carry boxes down to storage, sitting during meetings as they went over reports, making notes, you even kept Steve company, listening when he explained old war stories in his careful, measured voice. Then it was bigger: helping Tony organize the shared spaces of the Tower, creating systems that only you and Steve seemed to appreciate. You caught yourself laughing more than you had in years, not because life was suddenly easy but because the comfort of the Avengers made it feel possible.
Little by little, you'd even started letting fragments of your past slip through the cracks you usually kept sealed shut. Never the full story, never the one name she couldn’t bear to speak, but pieces. Enough that Steve knew Hydra had taken you family from your. Enough that sometimes, late at night, when your breathing went shallow and panic pressed against your chest, Steve was the one you sought out in the kitchen, knowing he wouldn’t ask questions you weren't ready to answer.
He just sat with you. That was enough. Someone to trust. Steve was always there with a shoulder to lean on and an ear to lend
Until the day he came back from a mission, and everything shattered.
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The Tower door hissed open, and you caught sight of him, shield slung across his back, hair damp with sweat, uniform torn at the shoulder. His jaw was set, the way it always was when something rattled him. You’d been waiting in the lounge with a half-read book, pretending you weren’t watching the door for him.
“You’re back early,” you said, closing the book a little too quickly, setting it aside. You often waited for Steve to get back from missions. You felt more at ease when you knew he was back safe, you wouldn’t trust anyone else’s word, you'd have to see him yourself to be sure.
There was something in his tone, something that set your nerves humming. He dropped the shield against the wall and crossed the room, sitting on the armrest across from you. For a second, he looked like he wasn’t sure where to start.
“Did you… know him?” he asked suddenly.
Your stomach dropped. “Know who?”
“The guy I fought today. He—he moved differently. Like he wasn’t just another Hydra agent. Like he… mattered.”
Your throat tightened, but you forced yourself to shake your head. “I don’t know who you mean.”
You hesitated before asking.
“What did he look like?” You couldn’t hide the trembling in your voice when you asked, you feared the worst. If it was him it means he was still at Hydra’s whims they hadn’t let him out for a long time. The Avengers must be a big enough threat that they plan to send him to eliminate them.
Steve studied you for a long moment, then said quietly,”Long hair, couldn’t see his face he wore a mask, black face paint too so I couldn’t see his eyes”
You began to shake. No. Hydra had lots of Super soldiers, the odds that it was him.. Not as slim as you’d like to imagine. Steve’s next words rang through your ears like a blade scraping against bone.
“He had a metal arm.”
The words slammed into you like a fist.
Your chest locked up, air sticking halfway in your lungs, vision narrowing until all you could hear was the blood rushing in your ears. The room tilted. The walls pressed in. That image of the arm flashed behind your eyes, cold, merciless steel dripping with blood that had once been your family’s.
“No,” you whispered, shaking your head harder, as if that could erase it. “No, I… I- don’t”
But you did.
–
Your voice had been nothing but a broken thread when you whispered, “Please… please.”
The soldier’s shadow loomed, the muzzle of his gun pressed cold and merciless against your chest. You couldn’t look anywhere but his eyes, icy, flat, unblinking. Why did you do it? The words scraped from your throat, small and desperate, more a sob than a question. You feared turning your eyes away from him, the walls painted with splatters of blood, your father’s, your mother’s all mixing together into a puddle of dark red liquid slowly seeping into the rug in the parlor. You stared into his eyes hoping to find anything, some sliver of recognition. Why did you do it? You asked again.
He didn’t answer. Didn’t even blink. Instead, the click of metal filled the air as he cocked the gun. For a heartbeat, you accepted it, you were going to die here, on this floor, beside the blood of the people you loved.
But the shot never landed. The blast tore through the wall just past your head, close enough that your skin stung with dust and smoke. Your eyes flew open, confusion tangling with terror. The icy blue eyes you’d been staring at waivered for a fraction of a second, if you blinked you’d miss it but the eyes of the cold blooded assassin shook for just a second. Recognition. A sliver of the human left in his mind.
"Why?" you whispered, weaker now.
This time, his response was brutal. The butt of the gun cracked against your skull, white-hot pain exploding behind your eyes. The world tilted, faded, but you fought to stay awake. Through the ringing in your ears, you caught the sharp static of Russian voices in his comm,
“Все готово, солдат?” The voice sharp and uncaring.
He stared down at you, unreadable, then muttered one word into the comm. “Готово.” Done.
And he turned away.
You lay there, barely conscious, vision blurring as he stepped over your little brother’s body without a second glance. Something inside you splintered at the sight, and then the darkness swallowed you whole.
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Your body jolted back to the present, breath ripping through your lungs. The memory burned behind your eyes, so vivid you could still taste gunpowder in the back of your throat.
Steve’s expression shifted instantly, panic flashing across his features as he leaned forward. “Hey, hey, it’s okay. Breathe. You’re safe. It’s just me. You’re safe.”
But you couldn’t breathe. Not properly. Your hands clawed against the couch cushion, searching for grounding that wasn’t there, until Steve’s voice broke through the haze again, gentle but firm.
“Look at me. Just look at me.”
Your eyes locked on his, blue and steady, anchoring you. Nothing like the cold, heartless, icy blue eyes of the soldier. His eyes were warm and caring, like the embrace of the ocean. His hand brushed yours, not forcing, just there. Slowly, painfully, the world tilted back into place, though the trembling in your body refused to stop.
“I…” You tried, but the words cracked in your throat. “I can’t. I can’t talk about it.”
“You don’t have to,” he said quickly. “Not now. Not until you’re ready. Just… don’t keep it inside forever, okay? Whenever you’re ready, I’ll listen. Always.”
Tears burned your eyes. You managed the faintest nod. “Okay.”
Steve exhaled, tension draining from his shoulders. “Good. Because I’ve got somewhere I need to be tonight, but I don’t want you thinking I’m walking away from this. From you. I’m not. You hear me?”
Your lips trembled, but you whispered, “I hear you.”
“Good.” He stood, sliding the shield back onto his back. For a moment, he hesitated, like he wanted to say more, then settled on a small, reassuring smile.
“I need to leave tomorrow to go on a follow up mission”
Your eyes darted like you didn’t want him to leave. He recognized this
“Don’t worry I'll be back soon. Get some rest, alright?”
You nodded, though the hollow ache in your chest said rest would be impossible.
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The Tower felt wrong. You hadn’t slept the entire night. You were alone on your level, Tony and Bruce in the basement working on a project. Clint was nowhere to be found. Steve, Natasha and Sam out. You hated being alone, you’d gotten so accustomed to being surrounded by others that now the silence was too quiet. Too heavy with shadows.
You lasted all of fifteen minutes before whispering into the air, “JARVIS?”
“Yes, miss?”
Your voice shook. “Can… Can you give me a ride to Steve?”
“Captain Rogers did not authorize your accompaniment.”
“I don’t care,” you snapped, surprising yourself with the sharp edge in your voice. “I can’t stay here alone. Please.”
A pause, then JARVIS replied, “Very well. A car is waiting downstairs.”
Relief crashed through you as you grabbed your jacket and bolted for the elevator.
The city blurred past the car windows as it hummed across bridges and avenues. Your fingers twisted nervously in your lap, heart racing. You kept whispering to yourself that Steve would be fine, that you just needed to see him, to remind yourself he was real. You had to admit the noise and bustle of the city did distract you. Then you heard something you were not familiar with.
An explosion hit.
A thunderous boom rolled across the skyline, rattling the glass. The car jolted slightly as debris rained down in the distance. Your eyes flew wide, heart leaping to your throat.
“Jarvis—”
“I have identified the blast site,” JARVIS interrupted calmly. “Captain Rogers and Agent Romanoff are within proximity.”
Your pulse spiked. You leaned forward, staring out the windshield, and sure enough, you caught sight of smoke curling above the rooftops. The car screeched to a halt as twisted debris blocked the road ahead.
“I’m afraid this is as far as we go, miss,” JARVIS said apologetically.
You shoved the door open before he could finish. “It’s fine. I’ll go on foot.”
Your boots pounded against the pavement as you ran toward the smoke. Around the corner, you caught sight of them: Steve, shield raised, exchanging blows with a man who moved too fast, too sharp, too familiar. Natasha darted in and out of the fray, red hair a blur.
Your lungs constricted. Every instinct screamed to run, but your legs locked. Instead, you ducked behind the corner of a shattered building, pressing yourself against the cold concrete.
From there, you could see him.
The glint of metal where his arm caught the light. The exact nightmare you had spent years trying to bury.
And suddenly, the air in your chest was gone again.
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The world felt like it was still shaking when Steve finally found you. Smoke clung to the air, the faint acrid sting of fire making your lungs ache, and his silhouette appeared through it all—shield at his back, chest heaving, eyes searching.
“Y/N?” His voice cut through the chaos. Relief. Frustration. Fear. He jogged over and stopped short, staring at you like he didn’t quite believe you were standing there. “What are you doing here?”
You swallowed, fingers curling into the hem of your shirt. “I… I couldn’t stay in the tower. I just—Jarvis– I drove– he drove and I just– it was too quiet– and..”
“Hey it's okay I’ve got it..” The hard lines in his face softened. He wasn’t angry, he was worried. “You shouldn’t have been anywhere near this,” he said, quieter this time. Still, he held out a hand and helped you up. “Come on. Let’s get you back.”
The car ride back to the Tower was silent, but the silence weighed differently on each of you. Steve kept glancing at you like there was something he needed to say but wasn’t sure how. By the time you were inside the Tower, settled into the quieter corner of one of the common rooms, he made sure you were curled up in your favourite armchair and brought you a cup of hot tea that he knew calmed your nerves. You could tell he was coaxing you making sure you were relaxed before speaking, you let him. Once he believed you’d settled down, that's when he finally spoke.
“Can I ask you something?” His tone was gentle, but there was an urgency beneath it. Just as you expected.
You hesitated, nervous already, but nodded. “Okay.” Preparing yourself for the question you were sure was to follow.
He leaned forward slightly, elbows on his knees, studying you with that piercing kind of honesty only Steve Rogers could carry. “You do know him, don’t you?”
Your chest tightened, panic clawing at the edges of your composure. For a second you thought about lying, denying it again, but the look in his eyes, earnest, desperate for truth, made the words stick in your throat. You drew in a shaky breath, forcing yourself to be steady, for him if not for yourself.
“Yes.” The word cracked like glass.
His jaw tightened. “What’s his name?”
“They called him…” You faltered, throat dry. Your mind dragged you back to icy corridors, Russian voices, the name like a curse etched into your memory. “They called him Зимний солдат. The Winter Soldier.” The name resurfaced. One you promised never to utter again. It felt like swallowing shards of broken glass, the feeling of scratching, and cutting at your throat.
Steve’s gaze didn’t waver. “His real name.”
A chill ran through you. “I don’t know,” you whispered. “He doesn’t have one. We just called him Soldat.”
“No. It’s–” His voice sharpened, but not at you, at himself, at the situation. He straightened, and let out a deep sigh almost as though the weight of this revelation was something he had to stand against. “He has a name.”
Your stomach flipped, fear prickling your skin. He must have seen it, because he immediately softened, reaching a hand toward you like he wanted to steady you. “Sorry. I just… I think I know him.” His throat worked as he swallowed, words heavy with emotion. “Anything you can tell me. Anything. Might help me figure it out.”
For a long moment, you just stared at him, torn between dread and the silent warmth of trust the two of you had built these last few months. Finally, you spoke, your voice low but certain.
“He’s their perfect soldier. He’s supposed to be like you.”
Steve blinked, stunned. “Like me?”
You nodded faintly. “Super-soldier. Weapon. He doesn’t get to choose who he is. They… they built him into something they could control.” Your chest ached as you admitted it aloud. “I was supposed to be his underling. Train beneath him. But I failed. I wasn’t strong enough, ruthless enough. I couldn’t handle the serum. Even with everything that happened, I was lucky. They didn’t treat me like they did him.”
Steve's eyes narrowed slightly, not with suspicion but with focus. “What do you mean? How did they treat him?”
Your nails dug into your palms. The memory of it was jagged, cutting even now. “They’d brainwash him. Every time he disobeyed, every time he questioned who he was… they erased him. Wiped his mind clean. So they could start anew.”
Steve froze. The silence stretched long between you, his expression shifting, shock, sorrow, rage. All those emotions yet you respected how he still kept calm for you. He was strong. “Wait.” His voice was hoarse, raw. “So.. he doesn’t remember?”
Your lips trembled, but you forced yourself to nod. “Most of the time, no. They break him down until there’s nothing left but the orders. Then they put him back together again. Over and over.”
His chest rose and fell, and you could see the war in his eyes. For a moment, the indestructible Captain America looked like he might splinter under the weight of what you’d just given him. But then he looked at you again, and all that storm turned into something steadier.
“Thank you Y/N” He exhaled a shaky breath.
“You don’t understand how much this helps.” His voice was quiet, but steady. His hand reached across the space between you, warm against your trembling one. “You’re very brave, Y/N. Braver than you think.”
Your throat tightened. No words came out.
And then he pulled you into him. His arms wrapped around you with a strength that didn’t suffocate, it held. You sank into him, trembling, silent. The tears didn’t come, but the pressure in your chest eased for the first time in hours.
Steve pressed his chin lightly against your hair. “We’ll figure this out. Together. For both of us.”
You didn’t answer, but you let yourself believe him. Just for now.
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Hope you liked it reminder my requests are open and lmk if you wanna be tagged in any of my works!! (ˆᗜˆ˵ )
A/N: I promised I'd compensate! I had so much fun writing this chapter I just couldn't stop so it's a bit hefty. lol
Warnings: Neteyam hates humans (as always), Canon divergence, angst, neteyam rude as hell
Contains: Neteyam x reader
Word count: 5.2k
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3,...,Chapter 5
The night carried on in a blur of music, laughter, and firelight, but you felt the weight of something pressing against your chest every time your eyes searched for Neteyam. The Omaticaya were celebrating, the air thick with song, but your focus was elsewhere—always drifting back to him. You felt bad for being so rude when he’d bumped into you so you wanted to get him alone to apologize. But every time you looked you found him speaking with people, with his father or both. It was difficult to find him alone.
Each time you tried to approach, he seemed swallowed by responsibility. You only wanted to speak with him to say sorry, you couldn’t deny that if the conversation were to shift to small talk you wouldn’t even mind. Just as you tried to find him alone you had to avoid Vyan at the same time. Swyila wanted you two to talk seeing as he was obviously interested in you. But you begged her to distract him, when she found out it was to talk with Neteyam she had a coy look on her face. You stared at her condescendingly and made it obvious that you had no ulterior reason other than just to apologize and ask how he’s been. He was your childhood friend after all.
She simply nodded clearly, not taking your words seriously. But as long as she was helping you you’d let her believe what she’d like. She distracted Vyan by staying by his side and guiding him to other girls the whole time he was still searching for you. When you were out of his line of sight you could properly keep an eye on Neteyam.
When you'd finally caught him he was standing still, away from the crowd, he turned to you with cool eyes and looked almost like he was trying to find a way to get away. When you’d walk towards him his posture had straightened but not in the way you did when you wanted to impress the person coming up to you. Almost in an intimidating way like he wanted you to notice how much of a burden your presence seemed to be. Still you approached him.
“Hey! Neteyam, I just wanted to come and apologize for—” You began speaking before being cut off abruptly.
“I can’t talk right now.” No hesitation, no softness, just a wall. You froze, the words sinking into your stomach like stones, before forcing a smile and stepping aside.
“Right, sorry. Talk to you later?”
He barely even nodded before walking away from the corner. ‘Oh.’
You just stood there and leaned against the trunk of the tree that was near you. That was not what you had expected at all.
“Phew!” You’d heard the voice come from your side. You turned to see Vyan looking around cautiously.
“Finally got away from Sywila.” He said with a breathless laugh.
“She was really trying to get me to talk to these other girls, even though I've kinda just been looking for you all night.” He said the purplish hue climbing his neck. You just continued staring at him.
“I thought I’d missed my opportunity when you were talking to Neteyam, but he left.” He said with an awkward smile.
“Yeah.. He left” You said, staring in the direction where Neteyam disappeared.
“I hope I didn’t interrupt something” He said looking at you snapping you back.
“No, no you didn’t” You slowly started getting you thinking straight. How could Neteyam do that, he was most definitely not busy. Vyan stood awkwardly in front of you, clearly not sure what to say. You decided to put your frustration with Neteyam aside.
“So what did you want to talk about?” You said, turning to Vyan. Who lit up at the question.
The two of you began talking when you spotted two familiar figures behind Vyan. You tried to not make it obvious as you peaked behind his shoulder.The frustration you felt when you saw Neteyam had claimed a different corner of the ceremony. ‘Definitely not busy’ You thought. But that’s not what pushed you over the edge. It was when he was approached by Tsi’at who curled her snake-like arms around his, that lying twisted girl had bullied you more times then you could count when the Sully’s left and of course her thirst for power was still as strong as when you were teenagers. She was still trying to sink her teeth into Neteyam knowing he’d reached the age where he’d soon need to become Olo’eyktan. It made you seeth with anger. Not jealousy but anger. How could he lie and then get completely cuddly with someone you knew he hated. When you were young Neteyam made it obvious he was not interested in Tsi’at seeing as she was just after power and title that came with knowing him. It angered you. You had to excuse yourself, to which Vyan didn’t argue at all, just meekly waved goodbye. You stopped your way back to your pod where you fell asleep on the cold tile of the shack not even bothering to place yourself back in one of the beds. You wanted to get back home as soon as possible and just sleep. Maybe you’d cool down after that.
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You tried, you really did to hold it in and forget, and it worked. For three days.
The morning felt heavier than most, the sunlight bleeding into the hut like it had claws. Sleep hadn’t come easy—every time you shut your eyes, the image of Neteyam's rude demeanor and hate for you and you only seemed to replayed itself like some cruel little loop. You tried to tell yourself it didn’t matter, that it wasn’t jealousy—it was just the sting of being dismissed. The sting of realizing maybe he hadn’t been avoiding you out of duty last night, but because he really didn’t want to talk to you.
Pushing the thought away, you sat up, dragging your hands down your face. A walk would’ve been nice, but it was still too early; the forest was alive with predators at this hour, and you weren’t in the mood to test your luck. Which left you with only one option. The one you always reached for when everything felt like too much.
Your avatar.
You found yourself creeping into the link pond before you could even second-guess it. The sterile hum of the equipment wrapped around you like an old friend as you slid into the pod. No one was awake yet, not Spider, none of the scientists, so it felt like slipping into a secret. You
When you opened your eyes again, everything was sharper, louder, more alive. The dirt under your feet, the shift of branches outside, even your own heartbeat felt amplified. You stretched your long arms, flexed your hands. You were sore once you’d gotten up. You remembered that you’d been in so much anger that day you let yourself sleep on the floor. Maybe next time just unfold the bed. Mental note made. You stretched, still wearing the same clothes as yesterday but you didn’t care you hung your satchel and reached for the bow Spider had left leaning against the wall. Borrowing it had become a habit.
Archery had turned into your outlet; it was a place where you could pour all your tangled thoughts into the curve of the string and the release of an arrow. And today, you needed it more than ever.
So you slipped out, silent and careful, heading toward the patch of forest you’d long claimed as your practice ground. It was too far from the circle the one you claimed with the sully’s as well as the one you’d been to just a few days ago to visit them.
Why does he have to be like that? you thought bitterly, ducking under a low branch. I’ve spent years trying to prove myself here. Years. And what do I get? One of the people I trusted the most treated me just like the clan would when they were gone. Not exactly the ‘I missed you I expected’ Just a cold shoulder like I’m some disease that wandered too close to the clan.
The memory of ceremony night burned sharper than you wanted to admit. The way Neteyam’s eyes had met yours, just for a second before he crushed any hope of a conversation like I was a waste of time. No smile. No warmth. Just that wall he always seemed to put up around you.Though it seemed that he’d fortified since you’d last seen him. You’d bear it when you were younger you could understand why he wasn’t exactly fond of humans, but now it was like you were diseased. If he despises you this much in your avatar you're happy you didn’t see him that day, the sight of you might have sent him into shock. And then, of course, the sight of him with Tsi’at right after.
Your fists tightened at your sides. ‘Maybe I was stupid to think he’d ever treat me differently. He doesn’t care if I try. He doesn’t care if I’ve been here all this time, learning their ways, trying to fit into a world that will never really be for me. To him, I’m still just human. The one thing he’s never forgiven.’
You adjusted the bow on your shoulder, jaw clenching.
Fine. If he wants to shut me out, so be it. I don’t need him. I don’t need anyone. I just need—
Your breath left in a rush as you pushed through a thicket into the small clearing you always used. The circle of space, hidden by trees, already felt like a place where you could relax, your small get away. —I just need this, you finished in your head. The tension in your chest eased the tiniest bit at the thought of the string biting against your fingers, the arrow flying, having full control of something.
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Neteyam moved like a shadow between the trees. Silent, light footed, skilled making it so that he wasn’t detected. His bow in hand, the early morning stillness pressing against his ears. He had left early in the morning to hunt, just as he would when he was younger, this gave him a place to vanish, a silent retreat. This was supposed to be his escape, the one place that never demanded more than silence and focus. Out here, it was just him, the forest, and the hunt. No expectations. No clan staring at him to be the perfect son. No humans to remind him of everything he had lost.
His jaw tightened as he thought of the accident, how even now the faint ache in his shoulder burned whenever he drew the string too long. A reminder carved into his body. A reminder of them.
And she was there last night, he thought bitterly, losing a slow exhale through his nose. Trying again. Always trying. Like my attention is hers to take if she just pushes enough. His ears flicked back at the memory of her voice, hesitant but hopeful, and his response, short, cold, intentional. Good she should know where he stood. He hadn’t wanted to see her expression afterward. He hadn’t wanted to care.
He gripped the bow tighter. Humans can’t stop breaking things. They don’t belong here. They don’t belong near us. And yet… his siblings welcomed her. Why even occupy his mind? He can ignore Spider, but she was always there when he was younger. She was always with Kiri, running with Lo’ak even playing with Tuk. Even his parents tolerated her. She was becoming part of the circle he’d once claimed for himself.
Neteyam stopped, pressing a hand to the trunk of a tree, forcing himself to breathe slower. The forest whispered around him, alive with distant calls and movements. This is mine, he reminded himself, lifting his bow and scanning for tracks. This place. This hunt. This silence. My time to think for myself.
With that, he bent low, following the trail of an animal through the underbrush, his every step measured. Out here, at least, he could keep control.
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Neteyam climbed the tree tall enough to vantage from, and just close enough to shoot his hunt. He perched himself and crouched in the branches, the wood groaning softly beneath his weight as he drew his bowstring back. Below him, a yerik grazed in the clearing, its slender frame glowing faintly with bioluminescent freckles. The shot was perfect, straight through the shoulder, clean, quick. Just as everything should be, perfect, clean and quick. He steadied his breathing, the forest holding its silence with him.
Just as he exhaled, ready to lose the arrow, another one sliced out of the shadows. It whistled past, missing the yerik by a good couple feet. The beast bolted, crashing into the underbrush with a spray of dirt and leaves. This frustrated Neteyam when he realized that he’d not let his arrow go.
Neteyam’s head snapped toward the sound, muscles coiling tight. In one smooth motion, he twisted, bow drawn, eyes sharp. Whoever it was, whoever ruined his hunt, was about to regret it. No one in the clan visited this place, his circle
But then he froze.
A groan echoed up through the trees, frustrated and raw.
“Go the right way!” She seemed to yell to her bow
From between the brush, a tall figure stumbled into view. Blue skin, yes, but not the right way. Not the same way.
“Go out and practice it’ll calm you down, bullshit”
He recognized the human profanity his father used it often when fighting with Lo’ak. As well as the white tank top, the green shorts, human clothes. The way she moved, not entirely at home in the body.
Of course.
Neteyam’s stomach sank with irritation as recognition hit. Her. The one person he’d come out here to escape the thought of. He rolled his eyes so hard it almost hurt, his grip loosening on the bowstring. Great. Just what he needed, her shadow stretching even here. Humans just had to burden him at every turn.
He shifted in the branches, meaning to slip away unseen, but then her head snapped up so fast it was inhuman. As ironic as that sounded
Their gazes collided faster than a lightning strike. Her mismatched eyes locked to his silhouette in the canopy, unflinching, certain, as if some instinct pulled her straight to the sound. His chest tightened. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t luck. That was… predator sharp.
Before he could even process it, she drew her bow, string taut, arrow glinting in the light. His breath stuttered—reflex made him move. He dropped low, twisting against the bark just as her shot hissed past, close enough he could feel the air break against his cheek.
Neteyam’s pulse thundered, a jolt of fear racing down his spine. Not because she’d almost hit him, but because she’d found him so easily. His quiet maneuvering technique seemed to have no effect. His outline had been swallowed in shadow, silent, invisible, but she had tracked him as if he had been standing in the open.
His ears flattened against his skull, jaw tight as he caught his bow before it fell off his back. He swallowed hard, staring down at her through the branches, unsettled despite himself.
Soon the feeling of surprise and fear had been twisted into and even more burning frustration.
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You shoved your hand down against your hip, fingers closing around the rough wood of your bow. The motion was sharp, angry—like the weapon itself was to blame. You dragged it up and across your chest, fumbling with the string until it bent to your will.
“Go the right way!” you hissed under your breath, tugging hard as the string snapped taut.
Another mistake. Another wasted arrow. Your teeth clenched.
“Go out and practice, it’ll calm you down. Bullshit.”
A sound in the canopy broke you out of your daze, no one else came here, and you knew for a fact Spider did not wake up early enough to follow you here. You whipped your head around. Held your breath, bowstring still trembling against your fingers. Your eyes scanned the canopy, narrowing at the faint outline you had caught, that flicker of movement. You could only see the faint glow of the eyes but that was enough for you to determine its position in the canopy
Someone else here? No one ever came by here..
Your lips parted as you raised the string higher, tightening it again out of instinct. Whoever it was had nearly cost you your shot—so they could deal with an arrow at their feet. But then the figure shifted, the leaves parting just enough for his face to emerge. The face that had been plaguing your thoughts had decided to show up in your special place. His face just added to your frustration
The forest was alive around you, but all you could hear was the pounding of your own heartbeat. Branches shifted as he moved like the forest belonged to him, like the earth bent to make room for his steps. His bow was steady in his hands, his eyes already sweeping for the yerik he’d lost.
You opened your mouth before you could stop yourself. “Neteyam.”
His name cracked the air, soft, almost hesitant, but it was there. For a moment, he gave nothing back. He didn’t look, didn’t even flinch. It was like the sound of you hadn’t even touched him, like your voice was no more than wind slipping through the leaves. It boiled your blood, who was he to ignore you like this?
The silence cut deeper than it should have.
Your chest tightened. Right. You weren’t supposed to want him to answer. You weren’t supposed to care. You were supposed to be angry. To be fed up. To not let him walk all over you again.
You straightened your spine, let your hands curl into fists around your bow until the wood bit into your skin. Fine. You weren’t going to beg for his attention. Not again. You wanted an answer a clear one.
“Why’d you ignore me yesterday?” you asked, the words sharper, harder, thrown into the air like stones.
Still nothing. Like you hadn’t even spoken he just began walking away unbothered. He didn’t even bother considering your question.
It burned in your chest, hot and rising. “Hey!”
Before you could second-guess it, you drew your bow, let the string snap, and your arrow buried itself into the bark of the tree he was passing. The thunk echoed through the clearing, sharp and deliberate, and only then did he stop.
His head turned. His eyes cut toward you. “Why are you here?”
The dismissal hit you like a slap, but you forced your voice steady. “I always come here to practice.”
His jaw tightened, his shoulders rising in irritation. “This is me and my siblings’ spot.”
You stared at him, hardly believing what you were hearing. “Yeah?”
“Well, I don't know if you cared to remember, I hung out here too.”
The corner of his mouth twitched into something colder than a scowl like just hearing you speak was irritating him. He rolled his eyes, sharp and uncaring. “Thanks for scaring away my hunt.”
Your hands shook with how fast the words rushed out. “You startled me! How was I supposed to know it was you? Or what you were here for?”
That did it. His face hardened, and when he spoke, his voice came low and sharp. “Yeah, and you think that almost killing me is a good idea, right?”
You scoffed. You wouldn’t let yourself back down. Chest heaving, and your voice trembling with anger. “What was I supposed to do? You would’ve done the same!”
That stopped him. For a long, heavy moment, the only sound was the echo of your words and the rustling leaves. His breath came uneven, eyes unreadable. But then he turned, as if you weren’t worth another second, as if your voice didn’t even matter. Like he didn’t care to feed into the conversation any further, wasting his precious time, you couldn’t believe him.
“You’re not gonna apologize for yesterday?” you demanded, your voice breaking into the silence.
No response.
“Seriously? You just ignore me and think that’s okay?”
Finally, his back stiffened. His words came flat, almost careless. “Just because my siblings like you doesn’t mean I need to.” He spat at you like you were a pathetic feeble thing worth none of his time.
It was like the ground tilted beneath you. Your lungs felt crushed, like the air had been torn out.
“That doesn’t give you the right to be rude!” you shouted nearly tearing up, the sound bouncing back at you from the trees.
He turned then, irritation flashing across his face. And that was when you saw it. His shoulder. The wound. A jagged scar where a bullet had once torn through, you could tell you’d seen this injury on other warriors when you went to visit Mo’at. Your breath caught, your anger stumbling into something else.
But before you could say anything, his hand came up, almost reflexive, as if to hide it. His eyes hardened again. “Stop bothering me.”
Then he turned, and with each step, the distance between you grew heavier, until it felt like he was dragging the last pieces of you with him into the shadows.
You stayed rooted where you were, bow trembling in your grip. For five years you had borne the weight of the clans' silence, their sharp words, the way they had chosen to hate you. For five years, you had bared it because you thought maybe, just maybe, beneath it all, there was still hope. Something left when the Sully’s would return a faint memory of the boy you once knew. The boy you had called a friend. The boy you had loved.
But no. To him, you were nothing. Less than nothing.
You wanted to feel bad slowly and you began to piece together why he was acting so coldly when you realized that. It wasn’t your fault you’ve been nothing but kind to him, He couldn’t remember that? The nights you spent collecting plants to make new medicines just because he’d asked for them, planning elaborate trinkets to indirectly gift to him.
No. The only thing he could remember was that you were human, the people he despised.
The air in your chest grew too heavy to hold. You drew another arrow, set it against the string, and let it fly. Straight into the sky. A cry without sound, a flare of anger with nowhere to go. The string snapped against your wrist, the pain blooming across your skin as the arrow vanished into the canopy.
Your knees buckled. The earth caught you as you sank, bow limp across your lap. Not crying. Not letting yourself break. But you couldn’t stop the way your body curled in, small against the weight of it all.
The forest closed back in around you. And for the first time in a long time, you felt completely, utterly terrible.
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The forest was too quiet.
Neteyam’s jaw clenched as he searched, eyes scanning every shadow for movement. He’d been so close to that yerik. Its tracks were fresh, its scent still in the air, but it was gone. The human had distracted him again, arrow sharp and loud, her voice cutting through his focus like a knife. He refused to think about the look on her face, the way her words had cracked with something that almost sounded like hurt.
He wouldn’t think about it.
Then the sound came. A low, fragile whimper, threading through the silence. His ears flicked toward it, muscles going rigid. He moved slow, bow lifted, steps silent. The noise came again, weak and pained, pulling him forward.
When he saw it, his chest tightened despite himself.
The yerik was on the ground, legs trembling, eyes wide with the kind of fear prey always held when death was too close. But what stopped him wasn’t its fear. It was the arrow. Buried deep in its chest. Not his arrow. Not even with a traditional Na’vi print.
His grip tightened on the bow. He scanned the trees, every nerve bristling, waiting to catch a shift of leaves, the whisper of someone running. But the forest gave him nothing. No footsteps. No scent. Whoever had lost the shot hadn’t wanted to be found. Or was never here
It didn’t matter. The yerik was suffering.
Neteyam stepped closer, dropping into a crouch. His fingers brushed over the creature’s trembling flank, feeling the uneven rise and fall of its ribs. His voice dropped low, soft in the language of his people. A prayer, steady and practiced, though his chest ached with the heaviness of it.
“Oel ngati kameie, ma tsmukan, ulte ngaru seiyi irayo. Ngari hu Eywa salew tirea, tokx 'ì'awn slu Na'viyä hapxì.”
He drew his blade, clean and swift, and ended it with one strike. The forest fell silent again, save for the last rustle of the yerik’s body sinking into stillness. He pressed his forehead to its side, whispering thanks, even as his jaw clenched around the weight in his chest. He hated this. Hated that it hadn’t been a clean hunt. Hated that it hadn’t been him who took it down the way it should’ve been.
Hated that he thought, even for half a second, of her.
By the time he carried the body back, the muscles in his arms ached, but he welcomed the strain. At least it was something he could control.
Lo’ak was waiting outside the maori, leaning against a tree, smirk ready as always. But when he saw the way Neteyam dropped the kill at his feet, the smirk faltered.
“How was it?” Lo’ak asked carefully, tone lighter than his eyes.
Neteyam didn’t answer. Didn’t even look at him. He just untied the ropes, straightened, and let the silence speak.
“Guess it went well” He said looking between Neteyam’s expression and the yerik.
Lo’ak studied him for a moment, then sighed. “Mom and Dad need you. Tsahìk’s tent.”
Neteyam wanted to sigh, he’d just gone to relax, was rudely interrupted and now has to return to his duties, this morning had been anything but calm. He gave a nod to Lo’ak and turned without a word. The weight in his chest pressed heavier with every step. He didn’t want to face his parents. Not when he felt this raw, this frustrated, this feeling, something he couldn’t put a finger on, felt stronger than anger and burning frustration. Something he couldn’t control, he hated that.
The flap of the tent opened before him, the familiar scent of herbs wrapping around his senses. His mother sat with his grandmother, grinding leaves, her eyes flicking up as he entered. His father sat beside her, posture stiff, gaze heavy.
“Neteyam,” Neytiri said, her voice calm but firm. “Come.”
Neteyam sat cross-legged at the edge of the firepit near his mother, bow resting against his knee, the smell of herbs and medicine heavy in the air. The kill he had dragged back earlier still clung to him—blood on his forearms, bark dust under his nails. The others would celebrate the meat, yet all he could think of was the arrow that hadn’t been his. The clean shot that had pierced the yerik before he even lost his own string. It had felt like a taunt. Like a shadow breathing down his neck.
Not to mention returning to Lo’ak grinning carelessly while trying to hide the fact he’d just finished stuffing his mouth with roasted fruit.
Now he sat in the flicker of firelight, shoulders stiff. Neytiri moved quietly to his side, her presence grounding, though her eyes searched his face like she could read every thought. Jake stood opposite, hands clasped behind his back, posture straight. Mo’at stirred a clay bowl, humming softly, before setting it aside.
“Grandson,” Mo’at said, voice low but firm, “it is time.”
Neteyam lifted his chin, waiting.
“You will begin leading the young warriors next week. A fine group has been chosen. They will look to you for guidance. For strength.”
The words should have sparked pride. Instead, Neteyam only felt the weight of them pressing on his chest. His throat worked, but he did not answer.
Jake shifted closer, studying him. “You’ll do fine,” he said, tone brisk but not unkind. “They need someone steady. Someone who understands discipline. You’ve already proven yourself.” He paused, eyes narrowing as he added, “Don’t let nerves eat at you. You’ve trained for this.”
Neteyam’s gaze dropped to his hands. His fingers curled, almost unconsciously, against the ache in his shoulder where the old wound throbbed. The bullet scar burned faintly under his palm. He said nothing.
Neytiri’s head tilted, her expression soft, worried. “Neteyam,” she murmured, “what troubles you ma itan?”
He shook his head quickly, too quickly. “Nothing. I am ready.”
Mo’at’s eyes lingered on him longer than the others. The old tsahìk had lived through more lies than he could imagine. She did not call him out, but the silence stretched long enough that his skin prickled.
Jake cleared his throat, cutting through it. “You’ve got this. You hear me? You’re not just my son, you’re a Sully. You’ll lead them the right way.”
“Yes, sir,” Neteyam said, almost by habit.
Jake’s jaw tightened. He had hated that word ever since the day Neteyam bled out in his arms, breath rattling, life slipping away while Lo’ak screamed for help. That day had changed him. He had promised himself he wouldn’t let his boys feel like soldiers first, sons second.
“Don’t call me that, please you don’t have too” Jake said, voice rough.
Neteyam blinked, startled. His lips parted, but no sound came.
“Sorry dad”
The tent was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Neytiri’s eyes softened further, her hand brushing her son’s knee like reassurance. Mo’at still said nothing, though her gaze cut sharp and knowing, like she could see the unspoken words lodged in his throat.
Neteyam swallowed hard. The weight of their love pressed differently than their expectations. It hurt in another way, because it reminded him how much he was holding back. How much he couldn’t say. The way the arrow had nearly grazed his cheek today. The way someone else’s skill had stolen his kill before he could even breathe. The way her eyes had locked on him in the shadows, sharper than any hunter he’d faced.
He wanted to tell them. He wanted to let the words spill out. But his jaw only tightened, and he forced a small nod. To let them know he was ready.
Jake’s shoulders eased at gesture, and he clapped his son’s arm with a small smile that didn’t quite hide his concern.
Mo’at’s sharp eyes flicked from the hand Neteyam still held against his shoulder, to the unreadable storm in his gaze, before returning to the fire. Neytiri’s hand lingered on her son, protective, loving, unwilling to let go.
And Neteyam sat there, spine straight, face calm, while the weight inside him pressed heavier than ever.
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The long part of na'vi is the na'vi prayer meaning - I see you Brother and thank you. Your spirit goes with Eywa, your body stays behind and become part of the People.
Ma itan - My son
Also I made neteyam a really big grudge holder what can I say.
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A/N: I'm so terribly sorry this chapter took so long! But I wrote it like 2 years ago too so it was kinda cringe I had to basically re-write the entire thing and still don't like the outcome so I hope it's good enough.
Contains: Neteyam x reader, spider/reader's mother is described to have Heterochromia, innacurate Na'vi language?
Warnings: Canon divergence, Neteyam still hates humans, cringe as much as I tried to fix it ;(
Word count: 4.2k
Chapter 1, Chapter 2, ..., Chapter 4
You sat cross-legged on her bed, a small pile of clothes scattered around her.
“Ugh” you groaned, falling onto your back the bed covered in all types of tops, shorts and tanks but for some reason you couldn’t find a single thing that worked. Maybe you were thinking too hard, just wear whatever you like. But another side felt that you just had to be presentable; you didn’t want to feel weird or out of place. That was kind of ironic seeing as though you were human so you’re whole life on this planet you felt weird and out of place.
You could just not show up, put together some elaborate excuse to skip the ceremony. You started thinking of possible excuses.
‘Max needs me in the lab’ That wouldn’t work Max never had a problem with you going out to the village so it wouldn’t make any sense.
‘You were sick!’ That wouldn’t work either, who conveniently gets sick right after being invited somewhere?
Your brows pinched together. You could just not show up, no one would oppose it if you really didn’t want to go, but you didn’t want to let Tuk down. You were so worried the Sully’s had forgotten you you didn't stop to think that maybe they were thinking the same. You wouldn’t do that to her, and if that meant going through the awkward stares and whispers you could do it.
Well you could avoid the stares if you went in your avatar.. You stared at the ceiling before getting up and pacing around the room, one foot tapping restlessly against the metal floor.
You can’t say you didn’t think about it. In fact the thought had been eating at you for nearly an hour. You could show up in your avatar, though it didn’t guarantee a judgement free night you’d be slightly less noticeable which would bring you some comfort. But every time you leaned toward that decision, guilt tugged at your stomach. Spider didn’t have one. You felt bad nearly every time you went out with your avatar, you had just gotten it less than a year ago; and never used it that often. You didn’t want him to feel lesser just because you could be closer to being Na’vi and he couldn’t. When Spider was definitely more deserving of it. His whole life he admired them, he dressed like them, he even picked up Na’vi faster then you.
You scrapped the idea and grabbed one of the shirts off the pile and held it against yourself in the mirror, only to drop it with a groan. “Ugh. Nothing works.”
A sudden knock rattled the window that made you jump.
Outside, a tall shape crouched awkwardly against the glass, yellow eyes peeking in with a mischievous grin. Lo’ak.
You rolled your eyes and crossed your arms. “I’m not opening the window”
You said turning around and picking up a tank top off the bed and laying it next to some shorts to see how it pairs.
You could hear muffled pleads coming from through the window “Come on pleaseee” He said, smushing his face up against the glass.
You turned around with a displeased look “Are you serious don’t do that! Use the door!”
“I like the view better here,” he teased, voice muffled through the glass. You pinched the bridge of your nose. It's been 5 years yet he still acts like he’s 14 years old. As much as it pains you to admit it was funny.
“Just go around, and I’ll let you in before you grease up my window.”
With a dramatic sigh, Lo’ak disappeared from sight. A few seconds later, the heavy door swung open and he ducked in, hanging one of the temporary breathing masks loosely around his neck.
The moment he stepped inside, his ears flicked back and he looked around with exaggerated expression. As if something so unbearable was bothering him
“Dude,” he muttered, almost hunched in half to fit under the ceiling. “Is the lab smaller than I remember, or did you guys shrink it on purpose? I feel like I’m duck-walking in here.”
You burst into laughter, covering your mouth as he exaggerated the movement, pretending to nearly bump his head on every hanging light.
“This isn’t funny, I feel like I'm crawling” This just made you giggle even harder before he gave you an upset look to which you promised to shut up
“What happened to your room” He said staring at the numerous piles of clothes
“Ugh do not even start, I’m stressed” You said, pushing a pile of shirts aside.
Lo’ak’s sharp gaze flicked toward the bed. “Stressed… over that?” He gestured at the clothes.
She nodded reluctantly. “I don’t know what to wear.”
He looked around the room in disbelief. He didn’t even have to speak. His expression screamed ‘you can’t be serious’. He scanned the floor and the piles were all separated by type.
“Don’t mess anything up I have a system” You said pointing an accusing finger at him.
“I can tell, system looks like its being held together by a thread”
Lo’ak stepped closer, picking through the pile obviously not listening to what you said. He held up a faded green top, his tail flicking lazily behind him. “Hmmm. Maybe this one.”
You snorted. “That doesn’t even fit anymore.”
He tilted his head, smirking. “Awh, bummer. Pretty sure someone, you know very well would’ve loved to see you in it, though.” He said, batting his eyelashes like a schoolgirl.
Your eyes narrowed, and you lunged for the shirt. “Shut up. I don’t like him anymore.” She tugged at the fabric, but he easily kept it just out of reach, grinning like a menace.
“Oh really? Could’ve fooled me,” Lo’ak said, waggling the top like a trophy.
You finally yanked it out of his hands, face heating but not from embarrassment—more from irritation. “I said shut up.” She shoved it back into the pile and dusted her hands off like the matter was closed.
Lo’ak chuckled, clearly pleased with himself. Then, more casually, he glanced at her. “Y’know… maybe you should stop overthinking this. How about a walk around the lab? It's getting stuffy in here. Also might clear your head.”
You hesitated, glancing back at the mess on your bed. A walk wouldn’t hurt.
“Fine,” you finally said, brushing your hair back. “I’m not staying out for too long and if you piss me off I'm not letting you back in.”
Lo’ak’s grin widened. “Deal.”
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The two of you left the room and discarded the piles of clothes by just shoving them all into a dresser, you’d deal with them when you’d get back.
You made your way to the door and Lo’ak hung his breathing mask and you grabbed yours.
You slipped your mask on as the door hissed open, the rush of humid air immediately wrapping around you. The two of you stepped out together. The grass crunched under your boots, the glow of the lab spilling in pale light behind you as you walked along its edges. Lo’ak stretched his arms wide like the open space finally gave him room to breathe, his eyes flicking between the sky and the trees pressing in on the compound.
The walk began in silence. You weren’t sure whether to wait for him or speak up. Ultimately you decided to start first.
You glanced at him, adjusting the strap of your mask. “So… how was it? You know, being with the Metkayina?” You didn’t really get the opportunity to get a full story from him when you and your brother had gone to see him and Tuk.
“At first? I hated it. Everything was weird—the water, the way they stared at us, they were rude. I understood how you felt when being around the village now.” ‘Ouch’ you thought but let him continue.
“But after a while, it wasn’t that bad. Guess I got used to it. I miss it but not as much as I missed the forest”
Lo’ak’s mouth tightened. “Quaritch came looking for us,” he said, like the word itself was sour.
The name made you flinch. Even now, the thought of being tied by blood to that man, that thing, turned your stomach.
Lo’ak kept walking, eyes on the dirt. “We fought him. Big mess. And then… he was just gone. Haven’t seen him since.” His voice dipped for half a second, a beat too long, like something had been left unsaid, but he pushed forward. “Anyway, after that, we all kind of realized… We missed home. Missed the forest. So we came back.”
You glanced at him, feeling that gap in his story like he wasn’t showing you the full picture. He was holding something back, you could tell. But you didn’t ask.
He ran a hand through his braids, ears twitching. “Being back here feels… good. Even if I’m not as great at climbing and balancing as I was”
You nudged his arm lightly. “You’ll get it back eventually. It’s like.. muscle memory or something. Doesn’t just disappear.”
“No seriously, yesterday a 6 year old climbed up the side of Ayram Alusìng faster than me” He said as if he’d never been so defeated in his life. It made you laugh. You were happy that Lo’ak was back, you’d always missed these conversations.
It was your turn to speak now, the words already pushing at the back of your throat. “While you guys were gone, I helped Mo’at sometimes. Tried to keep busy.” You glanced down at your hands. “And I’d go into the village, too. But” You always felt bad when admitting what happened when the Sully’s left because you felt it was your fault people felt this way not yours “I stopped going as much after you all left. People weren’t… exactly nice anymore.”
Lo’ak’s brows pinched, his voice dropping. “Jeez… I’m sorry.”
You shook your head quickly, brushing it off before it could sink into something heavier. “It’s fine. I live with it. People can say whatever they want.”
He didn’t look convinced, his mouth pulling tight like he wanted to argue, but instead he just muttered, “Still sucks.”
“I guess” you laughed dryly, way to kill the mood, you thought, when it hit you. You could steer it somewhere else.
“Come on,” you said suddenly, tugging at his arm. “Let me show you something.”
Lo’ak raised a brow, clearly skeptical, but let you lead him back toward the lab.The door hissed open Lo’ak went to grab a mask hanging near the door but you told him he didn’t need to this room already had Pandoran air. When the door opened, cool air washed you hadn’t come here for a couple weeks so it was damp and cold when you got in.
“Is this a trap.. I’ve seen you human ‘movies’. This is where you kill people” Lo’ak said the room did kind of make you feel uneasy. You just snickered at his response which put him even more on the edge. Which was just fun to see in itself
Seeing as only the non-operational avatars were kept here. Peoples whose avatars were no longer in use, or their humans had died. Except for Grace’s which was kept in the lab for Kiri to visit.
You tiptoed over the desk you as you keyed in the security panel. Inside, the room was dim and sterile, humming faintly with machines.
And there—resting in its pod—was your avatar.
Lo’ak froze, his eyes widening. “Whoa.” He took a step closer, his ears twitching in disbelief. “That’s… you? Wait.” His head tilted. “You’ve got… two different colored eyes.”
You shrugged, a little sheepish. “Yeah. One green, one amber. But it’s not really my avatar. It was my mom’s.”
He blinked, then looked back at you. “For real? That’s… wow. You two look a lot alike.”
Your hand brushed against the cool glass of the pod. “While you guys were gone, I worked with Max on… experiments. We figured out a way to modify the genetic bindings on avatars so they could be transferred. The theory was simple enough, but the application—” You wanted to let out a laugh but the sleepless nights you worked on it and nearly lost it was nothing funny. This was all you had left to remember your mom. Among a couple of her things you were afraid to work on its genetic composition at the risk of killing the avatar.. “Not so much.”
Lo’ak’s ears flicked back. “So how’s it work?”
“Genetic compatibility,” you explained, slipping into the science like second nature. “The neurolink and avatar genome are coded with mitochondrial markers from the original host. Normally, anyone else trying to use it would face complete rejection. But because my DNA is closer to my mom’s than my dad’s, the match ratio was high enough that Max could re-sequence the pathways. We used recombinant splicing to re-code the markers. Basically… we tricked the avatar into thinking I am her.”
You grinned despite yourself. “Something like that. And honestly? It only worked because of dumb luck. Anyone else would’ve… well, it wouldn’t have ended pretty.”
He leaned closer to the glass, studying the face that mirrored yours. His voice dropped, quieter. “Still. You really do look like her.”
Your chest tightened, but you didn’t look away. “Yeah. I guess I do.”
Lo’ak tapped the glass of the pod with his knuckle, giving you a sideways look. “You know what I’m gonna say, right?”
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t.”
He ignored you. “You should show up in this.”
You blinked, startled. “What? No. Absolutely not.”
Lo’ak grinned like he’d expected that answer. “Oh, come on. You’d rather show up and have everyone look at you, This will definitely calm the crowd. You can’t say you didn’t think about it once!”
You looked down and shrugged “I didn’t.”
“Liar.” He pointed at you, tail swishing with amusement. “You can’t tell me you’ve never thought about coming with it, you wanted to show me so you could get a second opinion” he jerked his head to the pond and back at you.
Your throat tightened a little at that, because… yeah, you had thought about it.
“Okay I did but not for your opinion.” You said plainly you hated when Lo’ak was right even the statement itself felt strange.
“You’ve gone out in it before. I know you have. So just do it this time too. What’s the difference?”
You sputtered, caught off guard. “That was different!”
“How?” he challenged, leaning forward. “You already know how it feels. You know people have already seen what you look like in it soo.” He said with a shrug. “What’s really stopping you?”
You stared at your reflection in the glass, the mirrored version of you inside the pod. Taller. Blue skin. Bioluminescent freckles.
“…Well,” you said slowly, “I can’t deny that.”
“Exactly.” His grin widened in triumph. “See? You already know I’m right. Don’t even try to fight it.”
You let out a long sigh, dragging your hand down your face. “Fine. I’ll… show up in it. But only because it makes sense. Not because you’re convincing.”
“Ha! I’ll take it.”
Still, doubt crept back in. You shifted your weight. “The problem is, I don’t even have anything to wear. What am I supposed to do—show up in a hospital gown?”
Lo’ak snorted. “I could bring you something. One of Kiri’s tops or Tuk’s and you—”
“Absolutely not,” you cut in before he could finish. “I’m not ready for that I mean, I just don’t feel comfortable yet..”
He threw up his hands, mock-offended. “Hey, I’m just trying to help.”
“I know.” You glanced back at the locker in the corner, a little smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll just borrow some of Grace’s old clothes. They’re still here. I’m sure something will fit well enough.”
Lo’ak gave a thoughtful nod. “Yeah. That works. Might even look kinda cool, you know?”
“You don’t have to lie to make me feel better” You said going through the locker
“Really? Thank god makes this so much easier” He let out a dramatic sigh and you threw a shirt at him”
He began laughing. “Wow. Real smooth.”
Lo’ak chuckled, then his ears twitched toward the forest, listening. “I should probably head back. Help with the prep before Dad starts yelling.”
He made a mock choking motion, grabbing at his throat and rolling his eyes dramatically, tongue half-out.
You just rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“Don’t quit your day job,” you shot back.
He winked and stepped toward the door, but paused, looking over his shoulder at you. “Seriously, though. Think about it. Showing up in your avatar—it’ll make things easier. And maybe… kinda fun, too.”
You looked back at the pod, your reflection split between your human body and the taller one behind the glass. The thought sent a strange thrill through you, equal parts terrifying and tempting.
“…We’ll see,” you murmured.
Lo’ak just grinned like he’d already won. “That’s a yes. Later, ‘Yol’aw’ ”
“Hey!” You said but he was already out the door. God please don’t let that name resurface
The door hissed shut behind him, leaving you alone with the quiet hum of the lab and the reflection that didn’t quite feel like just your mom anymore.
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You made it back to the lab after hanging out with Lo'ak. You left a note for Max letting him know you’d be out, not that he’d mind at all. You packed a couple of your things beforehand and brought some clothes from the locker. You left it all there so that it would be there when you stepped out and went into your pond. Walking up in this avatar always felt strange. You would get dizzy easily, seeing as though the DNA link wasn’t 100% you’d often have these little faint spells or dizziness but you never thought much of it.
You tugged at the edge of the white tank top, frowning a little at your reflection in the mirror. Grace’s old clothes had been shoved in a trunk for years, but the green cargo shorts and simple tank were the least dusty pieces you could find. Practical, at least.
Still, you couldn’t shake the awkward weight of it. You didn’t always feel too confident in your avatar. As if you felt bad for impersonating the people, you had to admit Lo’ak being supported did make you feel a little better after all his father was also an avatar before fully becoming na’vi. Even though you knew it was the best way to blend in, you couldn’t help the knot in your stomach.
You’ve got to go. You belong just as much as anyone else. You started walking you could spot Spider a couple of feet ahead of you. You were gonna try and catch up to him but wouldn’t want to remind him of your avatar. So you just took your time.
By the time you made it to the clearing where the crowd was gathering, voices and laughter filling the humid air, you were already regretting the idea. Every glance felt heavier, like people saw straight through you.
“Ira!” a familiar voice called.
You turned, relief washing over you when you spotted Swyila weaving her way toward you. Her bright smile eased some of the tension in your chest. Out of all the people here, she was one of the only girls you’d ever truly trusted. She would help you gather stuff with Mo'at. She even offered to teach you skills she learned while doing her Inkminaya. You always opposed and said she should focus on herself to be ready but she always answered
‘Best way to learn is by sharing with others’
You appreciated that from her if not for her you’d never learn that you were quite skilled with a bow. She even offered to let you have hers but you declined.
‘Keep it, I won’t ever use it as much as you’ You’d told her she still helped teach you how to sneak around quietly in the trees, hang from vines. The most fun you ever had in your avatar was with her.
“Thank god you’re here I almost died all alone” The two of you giggled and she looked over your shoulder. Her eyes widened.
“Look! Vyan’s waving at you,” she teased, nudging your arm.
You blinked and turned, catching sight of one of the boys across the way raising his hand. Heat climbed into your cheeks instantly.
“Ha no. nope see he’s waving at you.” You denied
Swyila gave you a look, playful but firm. “Nope. It's you. Don’t even try it.”
“He’s not—” You stopped mid-sentence when Vyan’s hand lifted higher, his grin aimed squarely in your direction. Your stomach twisted. “…oh spirits. It is me.”
Swyila laughed as you gave a nervous little wave back, your movements stiffer than you meant. Vyan’s smile widened, and then—of course—he gestured for you to come over.
You groaned under your breath. “He’s calling me over. Great. Just what I need.”
Swyila was practically glowing with mischief. “Go on. What’s the worst that could happen?” Plenty, you thought grimly.
“Terrible things.” Okay maybe not that bad but you were incredibly nervous, you hated being around Vyan’s friends. He was nice, kind, and strong too but his friends hated humans and weren’t embarrassed to be open about it.
“Come on move!” Swyila was practically shoving you
“Stop, no! No!” You said trying to lean back to stop her movement when she randomly let go and pushed with all the force she could muster. ‘Where was this strength when we were sparring!?’ You thought but before you know it you were flying forward before you pulled yourself together before falling flat on your face
“Hey! I’ll go okay!” You turned to Swyila who had an apologetic look on her face but also looked like she wanted to burst out laughing at the same time.
You bit your tongue. You know she meant well she was just a little bit energetic. A little bit was probably an understatement but.
You turned and before you could take a few steps.
You bumped into someone. Hard.
“Nari tspenge ngeyä kxeste!” you snapped instinctively, your voice sharp with embarrassment.
The figure turned, and your words lodged in your throat.
It was Neteyam.
For a split second, he just stared at you, brows drawn together, his expression unreadable. His gaze flicked over your face like he was trying to piece together a puzzle he didn’t recognize. He looked older, well of course you idiot he is older. But something about his face looked withdrawn. He didn’t just age physically but like he did emotionally too.
Then he said quietly, “Sorry.”
You blinked, stunned by the softness in his tone. Something about the way his eyes lingered made you realize—he didn’t know if it was really you. The avatar body threw him off. Your eyes were human, but everything else, everything else looked Na’vi, He didn’t stare long enough to notice that you had eyebrows as well as bigger eyes, less broad nose. He looked like he was tired. He also looked better ‘looks’ wise than he had in years. But something behind his eyes. Like something had happened when he left.
“Neteyam,” you said, testing his name on your tongue.
His posture shifted instantly, his confusion deepening. He looked at you hard, as if willing the truth out of your features.
“…So it is you,” he murmured at last.
You gave a small, awkward ‘ha’, the sound strangled in your throat. “Yeah.”
The air between you hung heavy, stretched taut like it was holding its breath. He didn’t move, didn’t blink, just looked at you. It was enough to make your pulse trip over itself.
Then, across the clearing, someone called his name. His shoulders jerked slightly, like the sound had snapped him out of a trance.
His jaw worked, but he didn’t finish the thought. Instead, he gave a curt nod and turned away, weaving back into the crowd with a stride that felt almost too quick. He didn’t seem as excited to see you as you did him.
You stood frozen in place, eyes following the line of his shoulders until he disappeared from sight.
“Oh. My. Eywa.” Swyila’s voice broke the spell, and you whipped around to see her staring at you, wide-eyed, her hands clutching her own arms in disbelief. “Were you just talking to Neteyam?”
You swallowed, your gaze drifting back to the path he’d taken, your chest still tight. “…Yeah.”
Swyila practically squealed, slapping your arm. “Ira!! He’s barely talked to anyone since they came back!”
“I’d barely call what just happened talking” You added.
“He didn’t even say hi to Tsi’at when she came to greet him yesterday!”
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your eyes were still fixed on the space where he’d been, your mind replaying the look on his face. The uncertainty. The recognition. The way his voice had hardened, something almost sour when he realized it really was you.
You didn’t feel what you expected to feel.. The weight you felt suddenly felt even heavier.
❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧❦❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❧❦❦❧
Nari tspenge ngeyä kxeste - Watch where your going! (rough translation)
Ayram Alusìng - Hallelujah Mountains
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A/N: Request from an Anon for a Tony stark one shot, I'm working on chapters 3-4 of Tirea Kame and this kinda slowed it down but they should be posted for tomorrow and tuesday!!
Contains: Tony x reader
Warnings: Alcohol consumption, minor language, tension if you squint really hard, mentions of injuries
Word Count: 4.8k
---
The lab smelled of oil, solder, and burnt coffee grounds—the perfume of genius at work. Sparks spun in the air briefly from a welding torch before Tony flipped his faceplate up, goggles pushed to his forehead. He stared at the android clearly unsatisfied with the work.
“What do you call this?” He said staring at the two plates "Artisanal duct tape? I've seen straighter lines on a heart monitor, you know what. Give me that.” He said snatching the welder from the android as it let out a mechanical whir.
“Be lucky I’m not using you for spare parts alright.” He said turning up the heat on the machine. He flipped down the mask and fixed the robot's mistake. He felt his watch buzz with a notification from the front door. Probably press who didn’t understand privacy. So he decided to just ignore it as always. He lifted his faceplate once more to get a better look at thread, half his hair sticking up as if the static was having a field day.
“Sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S.’s smooth voice cut through the AC/DC faintly humming from the speakers, “there is someone here to see you.”
Tony didn’t even glance up from the tiny servos he was threading together. “Im sorry, didn’t I say no interruptions during lab time? This is sacred space. Ring a bell, J?”
There was the barest pause. “Happy has already opened the door.”
Tony froze, soldering iron suspended mid-air. Then he set it down very carefully, like he needed both hands free as if turning to an invisible audience to show how outrageous this was.
“Oh, did he? Well, guess who’s about to get a very serious talk about personal boundaries and respecting my precious me-time?”
He got up and grabbed a towel from his desk and cleaned off his hands as he spoke. “Hint: it rhymes with Sappy.”
“I’ll be sure to remind him sir” J.A.R.V.I.S. spoke once more.
“Yeah you will” Tony added finally looked up, ready to lay into whoever thought barging in was a good idea.
“Alright who’s busting my chops”
And then he saw you.
“Oh. It’s you.” He blinked once, twice, processing, then covered it with a too-smooth grin. “How’re you doing? Still miss me after our little rodeo at the Expo? You know you were the first person to turn down a night with me” You rolled your eyes at his comment still just as full of himself.
“Hey on the plus. Love what you’ve done with the whole… get up. Do they make you wear that or is it by choice because, I can certainly tell you’re not in the fashion industry”
“It’s nice to see you too Tony” You added, treading slowly over all the discarded pieces of scrap wildly thrown across the floor.
“Look. I’d love to catch up, really, but—” he spun in his chair, sweeping a hand dramatically at the organized chaos of blueprints, wires, and glowing holograms. “As you can see. Very busy.”
You gave a nod staring at the chaotic mess he called his workspace.
“Like Santa’s workshop if Santa were cooler and made weapons of mass destruction.”
“I can see that,” you said, stepping further inside anyway.
Bold. He liked bold. He didn’t like admitting that, so instead he leaned back in his chair, folding his arms with that classic shrug posture that meant I’m humoring you. “Great. You’ve passed the observation test. Anything else, or…?”
You drew in a slow breath. “I came with a business proposal.”
That earned you a raised brow and a short laugh, sharp as glass. He turned in his chair again, this time letting his hands flap outward in disbelief like he was appealing to a camera crew.
“Of course you did. Because why wouldn’t you crash my lab for a PowerPoint? Let me guess—new missile design? A shinier Jericho? Hate to disappoint, but in case you missed the conference, I’m out of the weapons game. I’ve turned a new leaf.”
He tapped his chest twice, your eyes ventured to the glow coming out of his shirt. His voice was dripping mock-sincereity, followed by a half-bow like the words deserved applause.
“I know,” you said evenly.
That stalled him. Just for a beat. He tilted his head, lips quirking like he wasn’t sure if he was being mocked. “Then why are you still here?”
“Because your suits—your Marks, as you call them—might I add, under government law are still classified as weapons. So it’s not really a new leaf you’re turning, more like flipping the old one over.” You stared at him knowingly, this is the first time you’ve seen Tony Stark shut up for more than 5 seconds.
“Are going to need more than what you have access to. Materials. Systems. Enhancements. I’m offering you that.”
“I’m aware that you’re a billion dollar investor with more the enough money to continue this by your own means but with my help I can get you access to resources that might not be as easy to obtain. You see I run a materials business and you’ve worked with me before so you know I can get you what you need.”
That pulled him up short. His posture sharpened. He swiveled the chair around to face you fully now, no more half-listening act. “Hold up. Time-out.” He made a “T” with his hands, then pointed at you, accusatory but amused. “Rewind back just a bit. How do you even know what they’re called? Better yet how do you know what I need”
You let out a small scoff that ‘you’ made it obvious enough to you that Tony was still as cocky as always.
You didn’t flinch. Just smiled faintly as you pulled a slim device from your pocket. With a flick, a holographic projection shimmered in the air—schematics, faint blue, eerily close to his own.
“Oh, J.A.R.V.I.S. let me in on your little project. You know for a man with the most advanced AI technology it’s surprisingly easy to get into.”
For once, Tony Stark was actually speechless.
He stared, first at the projection, then at you, then up at the ceiling with both palms raised like Really? Really? “J?”
“I regret to inform you, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. replied smoothly, “that my firewall was… breached. Some internal files appear to have been temporarily leaked.”
Tony dropped his hands, mouth opening and closing like a fish for half a second. Then he let out a defeated laugh, running both hands through his already-messy hair. “Okay. You broke into my AI.” He jabbed a finger at you, pacing now, gesturing wildly not only was Happy in for an earful but J.A.R.V.I.S. too.
“Wow, you know what. Governments, hackers, whole militaries couldn’t crack you—yet you ‘forget’ to mention she did? JARVIS, little heads-up next time.”
“My apologies sir” J.A.R.V.I.S. duly noted his scolding.
“You shouldn’t even be here,” Tony said to you.
You just raised an eyebrow. “And yet here I am.”
That made him stop pacing. He turned, squinting at you like you were a puzzle piece he hadn’t decided whether to force into place or throw across the room. Then slowly, deliberately, a smirk curled across his face. “Okay. Impressive.”
“Thanks,” you said, snapping the hologram off before he could get greedy. You set a sleek folder down on the corner of his workbench, brushing a pile of bolts aside. “Here’s my proposal.”
He eyed it, tilting his head like it might explode. Then he spread his hands, that trademark Tony Stark shrug, and let his grin widen. “A proposal, huh? Wow. Didn’t even take me out to dinner first.” He let the words hang, looking to see what reaction the joke would pull from you. He was cocky, that's for sure.
And despite yourself, you smiled. Because under all that sarcasm, you could see the spark—the one that meant he wasn’t going to dismiss you outright.
For Tony Stark, that was already a yes.
Tony didn’t usually let people hang around his workshop. In fact, most of the time, he went out of his way to get them out ,politely if it was Pepper, less politely if it was anyone else. But somehow, you were still there. His workshop was his own sacred place where he could think and bring his ideas to light. Meetings bled into late-night coffee runs, whiteboards filled up with schematics that had both your handwriting and his scattered across them, and somehow you became part of the ecosystem of Stark Industries without either of you realizing when it happened. It first started with just making plans of what materials would be needed in what amounts and how often replacements would be necessary. Which materials were on the usable, and definitely not list. Then it turned into you providing your own insights. How to avoid the suit from freezing up, adding heaters and replacing the easily meltable metals to similar, sometimes better alternatives. Then you started being around more often.
Of course, it started simple. Just making plans of what materials would be needed in what amounts then a few tests on the materials your company provided, and how often replacements would be necessary. Which materials were on the usable, and definitely not list. Then it turned into you providing your own insights. How to avoid the suit from freezing up, adding heaters and replacing the easily meltable metals to similar, sometimes better alternatives. Then you started being around more often. You often proved him wrong or suggested alloys that were better than what he initially planned for. He’d try to tell himself that the only reason you were right is because materials and what not were right up your alley.
Every time you were right, you gave him that smug little look that drove him up the wall — and every time, he’d roll his eyes so hard you thought they might get stuck.
And yet, he didn’t tell you to leave.
He’d never admit that your smarts proved even beyond just those bounds.
“Don’t get comfortable,” he’d say, gesturing vaguely with a wrench in hand, voice casual but eyes sharp. “This isn’t a permanent invite.”
You’d only smirk, sliding another tablet of data across the workbench. “Relax, Stark. I’m not trying to take your spotlight. Just… raise the bar a little.”
He’d shoot you that patented Tony Stark look — chin tilted, one brow arched, lips curved in that cocky almost-smile. The kind that meant he was half-annoyed, half-entertained, and maybe just a little impressed. “Cute. Keep talking like that and you’ll have to start paying rent down here.”
But the thing was… you weren’t just all talk. You knew your field, you saw gaps he’d missed, and sometimes you asked questions that made him rethink an entire design. He liked that. He liked that maybe too much.
Pepper noticed it first. She walked into the lab one afternoon to find you and Tony knee-deep in equations, arguing heatedly over arc reactor efficiency. She lingered at the doorway for a beat too long, then gave a small, knowing smile. When you’d leave to fetch a tool, blueprint or far enough that you were out of ear shot he’d catch it and immediately made it clear, “Don’t start, Pep. It’s not like that.”
You hadn’t even realized he’d noticed her smile when around you two until much later.
It wasn’t just the work, though. Slowly, the conversations started to stretch past blueprints and schematics. You’d stay long enough to see him pull his head out of the tech fog, and suddenly you were both laughing about some news headline, or debating who the best classic rock band was, or rolling your eyes as Tony dramatically recounted some tabloid rumor.
One night, you’d been stuck waiting for a system test to finish. The hum of machines filled the silence, dim light flickering over scattered tools. You sat across from him, exhausted but wired from too much caffeine, and asked without thinking:
“Do you ever stop?”
Tony glanced up from his work, goggles pushed into his hair, grease streaked across his cheek. “Stop what?”
“Being… this.” You gestured around at the chaos of half-built tech, the sarcasm practically radiating off him. “You never just… shut it off?”
For a moment, he looked like he might laugh it off. Make some quip about genius never sleeping. But instead, he leaned back, arms crossed loosely, and actually thought about it.
“Not really,” he said finally. “If I stop, I start thinking. And that’s… not always a fun place to be.”
You didn’t push. You didn’t need to. The honesty in his tone said more than the words themselves. You only gave him a quiet nod, as if to say I get it.
He noticed that, too. “Now come on pass me the data sheet, I don’t pay you to sit around and make small talk” You looked up at him as you slid him the binder filled with the data sheets.
“You don’t pay me at all”
“Ah, not true I pay for the materials you bring” He quipped back scanning the pages to find the one he wanted.
You stopped spinning your chair. “You don’t pay me for the work I help with. Admit it you would’ve never gotten this far without me”
“Uh, not true I definitely could’ve” He said pulling out the sheet and laying it on the copier near the desk he mumbled something about ‘maybe not as quickly but still’
“Huh? Say something?” You asked
“I didn’t say anything, I have no clue what you’re talking about.” He’d turn his back to you and you’d laugh, he was very prideful. But the longer you’d stay the more you’d see his sarcastic shell start to crack.
Little by little, the two of you carved out a rhythm. The kind of rhythm where he’d toss you a prototype and trust you not to break it. Where you’d roll your eyes at his theatrics but secretly admire the brilliance behind them. Where late nights in the lab stopped feeling like work and started feeling like something else.
And maybe — though neither of you would admit it yet, especially Tony — were starting to like that something else.
You had to say you were surprised when the following week you’d showed up to the lab. You found the box sitting on the workbench, sleek and black, definitely not the kind of packaging Stark Industries ordered for parts.
Before you heard footsteps behind you. And the creak of the swivel chair.
“What’s this?” you asked, eyeing him suspiciously.
Tony didn’t even look up from the tablet he was tinkering with. “Open it.”
You did, carefully lifting the lid — and froze. Inside was a dress. Elegant, perfectly tailored to your size, the kind of thing that probably cost more than your rent for a year.
Your brows shot up. “You. Anthony Edward Stark. Got me a dress?”
That finally got his attention. Tony glanced over, expression unreadable, and shrugged like it was no big deal. “Yeah, well, I kinda thought about our conversation last week. And I don’t exactly pay you to hang out down here and babysit prototypes. So consider this… back pay. I don’t like owing favors.”
You blinked at him, still holding the fabric like it might vanish if you let go. “This isn’t payment, Stark. It’s—”
“—a dress,” he cut in smoothly, lips quaking into that half-smile. “Don’t overthink it. Just wear it tonight. Then we’ll be even.”
You wanted to roll your eyes, but the heat creeping into your cheeks betrayed you.
The music thumped low in the background, a steady heartbeat that seemed to sync with your own, though admittedly you were feeling it a bit more than most. Glasses clinked, laughter ricocheted off the high ceilings, and everyone seemed to float around in their perfect little orbits. You clutched your drink like a lifeline, wobbling slightly as you scanned the room.
Tony, on the other hand, looked effortless. Cocktail in hand, one foot casually propped against the edge of the bar, eyes half-lidded as he watched the crowd without really watching anyone. That man had never looked uncomfortable in a crowd, and tonight was no exception. His gaze found yours almost immediately, a little spark of recognition lighting his eyes as he spotted you.
He excused himself and made his way to you, eyes widening just slightly as he took you in.
“Wow,” Tony said, a playful half-smile tugging at his lips. “That dress looks amazing. Whoever picked it… clearly has a real sense of style.”
You tilted your head, a teasing grin forming. “I don’t know… he’s kind of a sarcastic narcissist. Big ego. Probably drives everyone a little insane.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, leaning in slightly. “Oh? Really now? I’m shocked.”
You laughed, waving a hand. “Mhm, and I mean, come on, he probably has that ‘I know i’m right’ smirk on half the time and expects everyone to agree with him. And don’t get me started on his suits that he’s oh so proud of…”
Tony held up his hands in mock surrender. “Okay, okay! I get it. You’ve made your point.”
You chuckled, shaking your head. “Glad we cleared that up.”
He grinned, gesturing toward the balcony. “Come on, let’s step outside for a bit. Get some air… maybe save the dress from any accidental confetti explosions.”
You laughed again and followed him, letting him lead you to a quieter corner away from the party chaos.
The party was humming all around them, laughter and music spilling from every corner of the Stark penthouse. You nursed a drink, enough to make your words loose but not enough to make you a danger to yourself—or Tony, at least. He leaned casually against the balcony railing, scanning the crowd, a glass in hand.
“You’re really taking your time with that,” he said, nodding toward your drink.
“I’m pacing myself,” you replied, a little slur in your words, though you caught it and shrugged it off. “Someone’s gotta make sure the hors d’oeuvres survive.”
Tony raised an eyebrow, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Wow, how heroic of you. Saving canapés, one disaster at a time.”
You laughed, tipping your glass slightly. “It’s a rough job.”
They drifted out onto the balcony, a quiet corner above the chaos. The city lights stretched below, a blur of movement and neon, and the music became nothing more than a distant pulse. Tony took a sip of his drink, glancing at you.
“You know,” you started, leaning on the railing just a little, “I like our talks.”
Tony cocked his head, smirk widening. “Oh yeah? The ones about titanium alloy shells, warp cores, and reverse polar-?”
“No,” you said, cutting him off, with a laugh. “The actual ones. The ones where I feel… relaxed. And I think you do too.” You tipped your head back, the breeze tousling your hair. “The change of pace over the past couple months has been… really nice. Different for sure.”
Tony’s smirk faltered slightly, his brows knitting as he considered your words. He didn’t answer at first, just leaned on the railing, silent. A scoff finally escaped him, but it was softer than usual, almost thoughtful.
“Huh,” he muttered.
You grinned, nudging him gently. “You know. Even genius billionaires can admit how they feel every once and a while..”
He shook his head, half amused, half exasperated. “I’m way too sober for this,” he said, a hand running through his hair. “Too sober for you to be getting all sappy on me.”
You laughed, the sound carrying over the balcony. “I know. That’s why it’s funny”
Tony raised an eyebrow. “You think this is funny, huh? I’ll remember this.”
For a few minutes, neither spoke. The city sprawled below them, lights twinkling like stars, and the music from inside felt impossibly far away. You let yourself relax fully for the first time that night, leaning slightly against the railing. Tony stayed beside you, his usual bravado softened, just letting the quiet stretch out.
“You ever think about just… stepping back sometimes?” you asked after a while, words slurring just slightly. “I mean, life’s all rushing, rushing, and it’s nice to slow down.”
Tony considered that, taking a slow sip of his drink. “You mean slow down without me making a sarcastic comment every thirty seconds?”
“Exactly,” you said, smiling. “Just… being. No prototypes, no explosions, no impossible tech problems.”
He let out a quiet laugh. “You’re asking a lot from me.”
“I know,” you said, tilting your head. “But that’s why it’s nice. You get to just… exist, just for a moment. No expectations. No Tony Stark. Just Tony”
“What is there supposed to be a meaning there? Don't get all Shakespeare on me.” He said but you gave him a serious look.
He remained quiet for a moment, then smirked softly. “Alright… I can do that. You’re lucky we're not inside. Otherwise, I’d never admit it.”
You laughed again, the kind that makes your chest ache with happiness and relief, and he chuckled along, the sound low but genuine.
They stayed leaning on the railing, watching the city lights, the party a distant hum behind them. No sappy confessions, no drama, no awkward flirty leaning-in—it was just simple, warm, and real. You felt lighter than you had all evening, and Tony, surprisingly, seemed to be enjoying it too.
Eventually, you slumped slightly against the railing, letting out a soft sigh. “Thanks for this,” you murmured.
Tony glanced at you, eyes softening under the dim balcony light. “Don’t thank me. Just… enjoy the moment before someone trips over a canapé again.”
You laughed, and he smirked, shaking his head. “Way too sober for this,” he muttered again, but this time it was almost a compliment.
And for the first time that night, the world felt… quiet. Safe. Simple. The two of you stood side by side, just existing in a small bubble of calm above the chaos, and it was enough.
Nearly a year had passed since that night at the party— Tony had faced Obadiah’s betrayal and come out swinging, made the world aware that Iron Man was real, and even survived the whirlwind that came with the press and government scrutiny in the months after. Finally Stark Tower now stood as a monument to those victories—and lessons learned.
Inside, Stark Industries had merged with your company, Pepper officially at the helm as CEO, bringing stability you didn’t always expect from Tony. It seemed that the minute you believe that something has calmed down a new problem would arise soon enough. Agent Coulson had come hoping to recruit Tony to help capture the Norse god who’d stolen the tessract and Tony was more than skeptical about the ‘boy band’ as Tony expertly named it. So you made sure to let Agent Coulson know that you’d do diligence and convince Tony to help.
You walked into the lab, the familiar hum of machinery and the scent of solder and motor oil greeting you like an old friend. Tony was crouched over a half-finished Mark suit, sparks flicking against the polished metal as he adjusted some intricate wiring.
“So,” you started, stepping carefully around a cluster of tools. “Phil told me…”
He froze mid-turn, looking up at you with one eyebrow raised. “Great. You call him Phil too?”
You smirked. “Sorry I wasn't aware that I’m not allowed to be on a first-name basis now.”
He mumbled something along the lines of ‘his first name is agent’
Tony shook his head, but the corners of his mouth twitched, betraying a small smile. “So you’re here to convince me to.. What?”.
“I don’t care what they need,” he added after a pause, tossing his hands up as if to dismiss the entire conversation.
You leaned against the console, watching him fidget with the data pads. “Then why are you digging into that guy they’re hunting?” you asked gently.
Tony froze mid-scroll, blinking at you. “We need to set some ground rules about you getting into my stuff.” he admitted, voice sheepish.
You gave a small, patient smile. “I just want to make sure you’re making the right call. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”
Tony glanced at you, his usual smirk softening. “Yeah… yeah, I know.”
You sighed and continued on, your voice steady, even if your nerves weren’t.“And I know you’re stubborn as hell, but… you’re also the one who can make it happen. You’ve done so much already. People believe in you, Tony. And I believe in you too.”
“They can’t do it without your help” You said stroking his ego hoping that maybe that would give him the push he needed.
He exhaled sharply, leaning back against the workbench. “I hate that you know I have a weak spot for you, and you play to my ego far too well.”
You laughed, the sound echoing lightly in the lab. “Well I had a good teacher and maybe that’s why I’m here, because I know you’re relentless and need the push.”
Tony shook his head, a reluctant grin spreading across his face. “Damn it. You’re too good at this.”
You stepped closer, gesturing toward the tools and suits. “Look at what you’ve built here, Tony. You’re not just some guy tinkering in a lab. You’re the guy who can change the world. And maybe… maybe it’s time you let yourself do it again.”
He let out a low chuckle, scratching the back of his neck. “Alright… alright. Fine. But only because you’re the relentless one.”
You scoffed, letting the moment hang between you. “You’d better be, Tony Stark. The world’s counting on it. I’m counting on it. On you.”
And for the first time in months, he didn’t argue—he just went back to his work, sparks flying, but a new fire burning in his eyes.
The battle had been chaos incarnate. The city shook, buildings demolished as alien ships rained destruction, and the Avengers fought tooth and nail to hold them back. You remembered the moment Tony had lifted the nuke into the portal, risking everything to end the invasion before it spread beyond New York. In that moment you were terrified that all the effort you made to get him to fight would end in his death. The explosion had been blinding, the heat immense, and when the dust finally settled, the alien threat was gone. The immense relief you’d felt when Tony returned to the Tower, tired and filled with bruises, scraps and minor interior damage. You were just thankful he was alive.
Now, he lay in the medbay, a few bandages covering minor burns and bruises, the faint hum of medical tech filling the quiet room. You stepped inside, your presence soft but steady.
“Hey,” you said gently, perching on the edge of the bed beside him.
He looked up, giving you a tired but genuine grin. “Hey… didn’t think anyone would visit after a fight like that.”
You let out a dry laugh “Well then you probably shouldn’t look out your window because the press might start climbing the building just to get a word with you.”
“Ouch. Just tell them I’m dead, that’ll settle them down”
“You’re impossible,” you said with a small laugh, brushing a stray lock of hair from his forehead. Your fingers lingered a moment, and then you leaned down just enough to press a tiny, tender kiss to his forehead.
Tony closed his eyes, savoring the gesture, letting out a small chuckle. “If that’s my reward for nearly dying I'll do it more often” You gave him a glare.
“Next time you do something like that a knock upside the head is what you’ll be getting”
“Dually noted” He responded sarcastically.
You settled down next to him more fully, not lying flat but easing onto the bed so your shoulder rested near his. The two of you sat in silence for a while. Before you broke it.
“Told you we should’ve added a space component to the suit,” you teased softly, a prideful glint in your eye.
“Oh god,” he groaned, turning his head toward you, “I nearly died and you wanna have you ‘I told you so’ moment now?”
The two of you laughed, the sound light and warm in the quiet medbay. For a few moments, there were no world-ending battles, no aliens, no threats—just the two of you sitting side by side, comforted by the easy closeness that had grown between you. When you first met Tony. This was the last thing you’d expected from a cocky, genius billionaire. But now.
A/N: My first request! I was initially gonna just post a preview but I finished Chapter one so I just decided to post it. First chapter is really just and intro to get to know reader's backstory, also Bucky doesn't show up yet. The next chapter will hopefully have some more. But I'm happy how it turned out so I hope you guys like it!
Warnings: PTSD Elements, References to captivity/trauma, Mild anxiety/panic attack symptoms, Implied medical experimentation, Tension and Distrust. Use of Y/N. NOT PROOFREAD! Bucky doesn't show up yet sorry! • ᴖ •
Pairings: Bucky x Reader
Word Count: 4k
Pt. 2
People say memories fade. But they don’t. They stay, lying, waiting to resurface.
The room was cold and dry, the kind of air that slowly settles into your skin, makes your shoulders stiffen, and leaves a faint ghost-like touch across your body. The hum of fluorescent lights gives you a dizzying headache. The throbbing continuously boring into the back of your head. What made it worse was that the room was a dust magnet. It looked like a place that’s been shut too long, until every breath of it felt like you were stepping into an old building. Just like the dust, the silence weighed heavy. They hadn’t tried to make it feel welcoming — the walls were bare, the bed too narrow, the air seemed to smell strangely of bleach. No care put into a room for a supposed ‘Recovery Center’. Still, it was better than some of the rooms you’d seen on the way in. You weren't a long-term patient; hell, you weren't even sure you’d stay longer than a few days. You just had to come here to get it over with, the longer you stayed silent the longer it came back the gnawing feeling of dread, staying in silence too long would bring back the memories you fought to suppress. You told yourself you wouldn’t need this place for months on end, that you could live with the constant nightmares. Believing that if you didn’t bring it up the memories would be too far buried in the back of your subconscious. Too far to hurt you. But the longer you kept silent the longer you sat and thought the worse they got. The truth was it was eating you alive, You sat in front of the computer for hours before you finally decided to press the information link, you found out that the S.H.I.E.L.D recovery center for Hydra ‘assets’ was a good 2 hour drive west of downtown far out enough the not arise any suspicion. You hated it here. They clearly didn’t make much of an effort to keep their ‘patients’ comfortable here, that much was obvious. Even when being escorted the man made sure to avoid any eye contact and only spoke once to call your name. It didn’t matter you weren’t here for comfort, you were here for release. Maybe after getting everything off your chest you’d finally be able to lead a normal life. You nearly scoffed at the idea. The constant fear of being found out, the trauma, memories of what they’d done, everything you lost. Your life would never be the same, let alone normal.
The thought twisted in your chest, leaving you staring at the blank wall opposite the bed, lost in the noise of your own head. You almost didn’t hear the faint knock at the door — three short taps, hesitant, as if whoever was on the other side wasn’t sure they should be here. Before you could answer, the handle turned.
You recognized the face that stepped inside. How could you not — the face of the blonde man before you had been drilled into your mind for years. His name had been through all sorts of conversations spit on, praised, dragged through the mud, spoken of so highly it deserved its own mantel. But above all it was the ideal, they wouldn’t accept anything less. Hydra made sure of that. Captain America was their golden standard, their original miracle. Every injection, every test, every grueling, torturous training session came with his name thrown in your face, a constant reminder of what you were supposed to become. He was the benchmark, the impossible shadow to live under along with their other ghost. Their perfect soldier, their obedient killing machine. You were meant to be his partner, his underling taking care of tasks they couldn’t risk sending their precious creation on. You were essentially just expendable. Even once you were “free,” you couldn’t escape him. The golden boy you were meant to live up too. News reports, history books, museum walls — his face followed you everywhere.
As he stepped inside, his presence filled the sterile room like a sudden shift in air pressure. One thing they didn’t lie about was the way he carried himself they’d tarnish and slur how proudly he presented himself ‘The perfect American soldier’ the symbol of patriotism. You hated when these conversations would arise because in the end you’d be the one hurt as if taking out their anger on you.
The door shut with a click and a hiss of the heavy locks. He didn’t speak right away. He shot a quick glance to the mirror in the room. No doubt someone watching from behind.
He finally broke the silence. “You didn’t provide any documentation when you arrived. I’d like for us to introduce ourselves to make you feel more comfortable sharing with me what you know. But I don’t even know your name.” His voice was calm, steady, nothing like the Hydra scientists who used words as weapons.
You were sure to find a way to get an appointment with Steve Rogers himself, if you provided a false name and documentation you’d surely be flagged by their system and wouldn’t even be eligible. You used what little knowledge of bypassing security systems to knock down a patient and file yourself in. The screen still showed the patients information except they’d receive a convenient email saying that they’d been rescheduled for admission another day. Which is where you appeared in their place.
Thankfully the receptionist who signed you in really seemed to hate her job so she barely made the effort to skim over your report to ensure that you matched the description and appearance of the patient scheduled. You didn’t care, whatever got you through.
But it was now clear that you’d been found out.
“So you clearly had an urgent reason to be here so if you could tell me who you are we can talk” He continued, keeping his voice neutral still standing near the table
You stayed silent, the weight of your past pressing down too hard to find the right words. You knew that whoever was behind the glass would absolutely search for your profile. But you didn’t care anymore. Let them know who you are. They’ll see that your valuable and maybe.. Hopefully keep you safe from any certain someone looking for you. After what felt like an eternity, you whispered, “Y/N”
He watched you speak. Keeping his calmed composure. When he was told someone had bypassed their patient list. He was sure it was the work of some expert extremist group who had ties to Hydra. But when he found you sitting knees tucked to your chest sitting at the small in the middle of the room, he knew he needed to go in with and open mind. Fury had told him he should be cautious but something about the way you sat silently with eyes as expressionless as a veteran who’d watched people die around him. He knew what survivors guilt looked like, just one look at you and he could see it practically oozing out of every pore. He nodded slowly, the name hanging between the two of you like fragile glass. “Thank you, so … You clearly have something you think is important enough that you need to share it with me.”
Your throat tightened instantly, like invisible hands clenching, cutting off your breath. You opened your mouth
“I-.. I’ve” You spoke with a shaky breath as if a ghost was stopping your voice from escaping. deep breaths, take your time ..
“I was a Hydra experiment” As soon as the words escaped you saw sterile rooms, injections upon injection, every needle pierced your flesh accompanied by an unkindly burning sensation. Tests upon tests.
“They.. I was a soldier, but I wasn’t. Supposed to be. I’m a failed.. I didn’t.” You tried your hardest to speak as clearly as you could but every word came out followed by a shaky breath, your pulse spiked rapidly. The fear that shocked you felt like the torturous training you’d been through.
You tried your hardest willing yourself to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. A wave of nausea crashed through you, your vision blurring.
Suddenly, a flash seized your mind and the memory pulled you back as if reliving the past—dark brown hair slipping messily over cold, unblinking blue eyes that bored straight into your soul. The weight of the his stare was unbearable, a storm of silent accusation and something deeper you couldn’t quite grasp. His arm, steady and merciless, this is what many saw before they’re death. You felt the cold barrel of a gun pressed against your chest, freezing every breath. Time seemed to slow, each second stretching endlessly, the air thick and suffocating around you. No words were spoken, only the raw intensity of a moment that would haunt you forever. This is where most lives ended. But why not yours? Why did those murderous, unforgiving icy blue eyes falter? For just a moment, why you? When all the others had already been taken care of, why hesitate for you?
You clutched your stomach, fighting the rising bile. A soft touch landed on your shoulder, tentative and warm. You flinched, shrinking away the delicate touch made you feel uncomfortable in this state. You looked up to find Steve hands up in surrender. He looked at you with pity. How pathetic you must look, utterly defenceless. You stared back up at him as tears pricked the corners of your eyes.
Steve’s voice was gentle. “Take your time. I’ll be right outside.”
The door clicked shut, muffling his footsteps as he moved into another room. You could hear faint voices—too low to make out, but firm. You guessed they were talking about you. You didn’t know who was there with him. You tried to calm yourself, the empty room and faint voices didn’t help much, it felt strangely like a situation you’d been in before.
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Steve closed the door gently behind him, the soft click echoing down the sterile corridor. He leaned against the cold wall, rubbing the back of his neck as a slow, heavy weight settled in his chest. Natasha sat at a nearby desk in front of a small portable laptop, arms crossed, her expression unreadable but sharp — her eyes flickering between stern expression and something else unreadable. Fury’s presence was a constant shadow in the room, his stare heavy, always calculating.
The silence between them wasn’t comfortable; it was filled with unspoken questions, guesses, and the quiet gravity of what they’d just witnessed.
“So are we gonna talk about what the hell that was?” He said looking at Steve
“She had a PTSD reaction,” Steve said finally, his voice low but steady. “That kind of trauma doesn’t come from fabrications. I’ve seen it in veterans.” His eyes were tired but resolute, his conviction clear in the lines of his face.
Natasha let out something like a scoff, the skepticism clear in her tone. “Or maybe she’s hiding something. Trauma or not, we can’t take everything at face value.” She glanced toward the observation window, her gaze sharp as a hawk’s, scanning the woman inside. “You shouldn’t put aside the fact that she could be using her trauma to manipulate us, make us lower our guard..”
Steve shook his head slowly, meeting her gaze with quiet conviction. “No. Something about her… she’s not lying. I can tell.”
Fury’s eyes narrowed, the ever-present edge of suspicion sharpening. “Romanoff, what have you found? Any trace of a real identity?” He didn’t really need to wait for an answer; he already knew Natasha’s skills were unmatched when it came to digging through shadows.
Natasha tapped rapidly on her laptop, the faint glow illuminating her focused expression. The room was heavy with anticipation, every second stretching like the breath before a storm. “Full name, Y/N Kane. Used to be a medical student before things went sideways.” Her voice steady as she continued reading “Her firm was compromised. Apparently some power hungry nobody was itching for some extra cash, tipped Hydra that they had a doctor working on the serum. The doctor just happened to be mentoring Y/N at the time she must’ve been taken during that.”
Steve exchanged a glance with Fury, both men feeling the silent weight of history closing in around them.
Natasha’s fingers hesitated as she scrolled deeper into the files, the air thickening with unspoken tension. “Weird..” She tried to scroll down to see if there was any more information following, eyes widening. It’s like any trace after that had most definitely been wiped. Hydra not wanting anyone reading up on loose ends.The bottom of the page is what shocked her as the screen revealed more. She spoke the last line of the government documentation “Y/N Kane.” She looked up at Fury and Steve with a more concerned than confused expression "Deceased.”
There was a stillness that fell over them. As if allowing the words to sink in— a moment suspended in disbelief. “Eight years ago,” Natasha murmured, voice barely above a whisper.
They all turned slowly to look back toward the observation window, the reflection of the woman inside mirrored in their eyes. She sat there, unaware of the truth that had just been uncovered. The knowledge of who she was — or wasn’t — hung between them like a fragile thread ready to snap.
The air was still heavy in the cramped conference room, the fluorescent lights hummed overhead as the trio gathered around the sleek black table. The air was thick with unease, their earlier conversation lingering like smoke in the room. Fury’s brow furrowed deeply, still staring at the woman across the glass. She seemed to have calmed down still, if you looked close enough you could see her shaking. His fingers drummed a slow, deliberate rhythm against the surface.
Steve had pitched the idea of keeping her in an empty room in the tower, she clearly wasn’t gonna budge here. Treated like a prisoner, probably not much better than she was with Hydra. No way she’d spill in a cramped concrete room.
Steve stood by the window, arms crossed but his posture tight with resolve. Letting the question bounce around in their thoughts. Natasha leaned back in her chair, eyes sharp and unyielding.
Fury was the first to speak up.
“We can’t just bring her into the Tower,” Fury said, his voice low but edged with steel.
“She’s clearly an imposter. Someone sent to sabotage us from within. We’re talking about people who hide in the shadows, who lie without blinking.” His glare swept across the room, landing on Steve. “We have to be cautious.”
Steve met Fury’s gaze evenly. “How do you know she’s an imposter? We don’t have any proof of that.” His voice was calm but firm, refusing to back down.
Natasha’s smirk deepened, a playful edge in her tone as she chimed in, “Well, we kinda just read her obituary.” She tapped the laptop lightly, eyes gleaming with dry humor.
Fury grunted, clearly unimpressed.
“Whatever. Imposter or not, she’s sitting on valuable intel. If she’s willing to talk, we can’t afford to turn her away.” Steve added
Fury just contemplated, folding his arms with quiet conviction. “Listen. If we bring her in, keep her close, we can find out the truth for ourselves.”
There was a pause—a charged silence where each of them weighed the risks and the hope tangled within the woman’s fractured story.
Finally, Fury exhaled sharply, his decision made.
“I’ll allow it, Captain, but any slip up. Danger to the team or S.H.I.E.L.D in any way.” He spoke with the tone that made it clear he was serious
“You will be accountable.” Steve stood up straight. He was confident he was doing the right thing.
“She stays under watch. No exceptions.” Steve nodded and Fury shot a look back at the woman who was now staring at the glass. “Don’t make me regret this”
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You sat in the chair, waiting. The room felt too familiar — cold, empty, the kind of silence that pressed on your chest. Somewhere beyond the walls, muffled voices traded in hushed tones. You weren’t a super soldier, but years trapped in a Hydra bunker as nothing more than a lab rat had taught you things. You could read body language, distinguish footsteps, hear the subtle shift in someone’s breathing. You knew when to speak, when to stay silent, and exactly how to avoid trouble. Even a few of your senses had heightened one of them being sound. You couldn’t make out exactly what they were saying but enough to tell when they – however many of them are in that room – began arguing.
The voices outside sharpened for a moment. An argument. Heated enough that it bled through the walls, before fading again into that suffocating stillness. That was always worse. Silence meant they’d found something, and you couldn’t tell if it would save you or destroy you.
Your hands tightened in your lap. Pathetic — that’s what you felt like. You didn’t even have the courage to call out. You’d given them enough to confirm you’d been a Hydra prisoner, but not enough to convince them you carried anything worth trusting. All you could muster was a panic attack and plenty of untrustworthyness. So you sat there, waiting for their verdict, the air growing heavier with every second.
Soon you heard the hiss of the heavy door once again, you flinched like it was a reflex. Because it was.
When Steve entered the room beyond was colder, quieter. You sat there, elbows on the table, your fingers knotted together in a white-knuckled grip. Your eyes darted to him briefly, then back down again. If you stared at him any longer he’d surely notice the fear in your eyes. You were desperate for someone to believe you, you wanted to help, so no one else would end up like you. The heavy door closed behind Steve, the click of the locks loud in the silence.
He didn’t sit right away. Instead, he stood at the edge of the table, studying you with a kind of patience you weren’t used to. His voice, when it came, was low — not sharp, not accusing. It made you feel less uneasy like you weren’t wrong for feeling this way. Understanding.
“I know you’re scared,” he finally spoke.“And nervous. That’s… okay. You’ve been through a lot.”
Your jaw tightened, eyes flicking up to his, searching for the catch in his tone, but there wasn’t one. He was being genuine
“I’m not asking you to trust us right away,” Steve continued, finally taking the seat across from you. “But staying here, in this room, isn’t doing you any favors. We’ve got a place — the Tower. It’s secure, private. You’ll have space to breathe… and if you want to talk, we’ll be there to listen.”
You looked up at him. He was being genuine. Captain America was nothing like what you were taught during your time at Hydra. They made him out to be some prideful American soldier, haughty and conceited. But when he spoke it was with care and patience, the kindest anyone has been to you.
You blinked slowly, the words settling in your chest like something you didn’t want to admit you needed. The Tower. With them. Avengers. You just know the minute their brand had dropped Hydra would be seething at the mouth, you're surprised they haven’t sent out their ‘weapon’ yet. You hated when they called him that. But he didn’t know any better either. Part of you bristled at the idea — you’d been in cages before, no matter how pretty the walls looked. But there was another part, quieter, that whispered about warmth. Safety. A locked door that kept danger out for once. You’d be surrounded by people who would genuinely protect you for once.
“You can take your time. But I'd just like you to know that the sooner we can get this information the better.” He spoke.
You understood what he meant he didn’t want to make you uncomfortable but also get the information sooner rather than later. You were sure to try your best to tell as much as you could.
Steve didn’t push. He just waited, eyes steady, giving you the space to wrestle with the thought. The seconds stretched into a minute, the hum of the vent the only sound.
Finally, you let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.
“…Fine,” you said, the word tasting strange in your mouth. “I’ll go.”
The faintest curve pulled at the corner of his mouth — not quite a smile, but close enough.
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The ride to the Tower was quiet at first. You’d expected him to take the passenger seat, to put as much space between you as possible, but instead Steve slid into the back with you. He didn’t sit too close — just far enough that you had room to lean against the window if you wanted. You appreciated that more than you thought you would.
The city blurred past in streaks of headlights and neon. Steve sat with his hands loosely clasped, watching you from time to time but never staring. Eventually, he broke the silence.
“You from around here?”
You shrugged. “No, not really. It's been a long time since I’ve actually… been anywhere.”
He didn’t press, just nodded, like he understood more than you’d said. That loosened something in your chest, enough for you to add, “Grew up in Norlisk, for most of my life. My father was an Englishman who moved to Russia. Wanted better opportunities of medicine” I spoke slowly trying to get comfortable, Steve was surprisingly very easy to talk to.
“Moved around after that. Not by choice.”
Steve’s jaw ticked slightly, his gaze shifting to the window. “Hydra?”
The name made you shudder, but you pulled yourself together because you were stronger then that, then them and what they put you through.
“Something like that.” Your fingers tugged with the seam of your sleeve, debating whether to say more. You almost mentioned him — the Winter Soldier — how you weren’t the only one Hydra toyed with, but you knew if you talked about him so soon you’d just dive back into the rabbit hole. Then you’d never be able to get anything out. That in itself was a whole other wound you weren’t ready to open. But you swallowed the words. Not yet.
Instead, you said, “When you’re somewhere like that for long enough, you learn to stop counting the years. Days blur together. Faces too.” You glanced at him, testing his reaction.
He didn’t flinch. “I can’t say I know exactly what that’s like,” he said quietly, “but I know what it’s like to lose time.”
Something in his tone, the way it carried a weight you recognized from a familiar face. You did talk to him, Hydra would put you together hoping that his demanor would rub off onto you and that you’d work. Training, testing, sometimes you were even caged together. He’d never speak but the longer you stayed together. The softer he got. He wouldn’t hurt you as much during training, even speaking in more than just 2 word sentences. That when they separated you two instead of the perfect weapon corrupting you. You were corrupting him making him soft, questioning, they made you watch as they wiped everything from him.
The night before he’d asked you “Do you ever ask yourself ‘Who you really are?’” and at the time you gave him no answer and he just stared. Wondering. Thinking.
That was the longest thing he’d ever said to you. After that you never spoke again. Until.. Well...
“We’re here” Steve said as the car turned off. Waking you out of your thoughts.
You turned back to the window, the hum city filling the silence that once was. You got out of the car and stared at the building with a giant ‘A’ as the logo. Then for the first time in years, you’d felt like you were safe.
But you'd see how long that would last.
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Thanks to @screechingdreamercollectorsblog for the request, I had so much fun writing it, and hope it did your idea justice so far!
I plan to post chapters every Thursday!
Also like if anyone knows how to make those image banners look better and not so pixelated PLEASE teach me (ᵕ•_•)
A/N: Thank you so much for all of the love on Chapter 1!! I was seriously not expecting any of that. Huge thanks to everyone who reblogged. Im super grateful to everyone who enjoyed it.
Warnings: Neteyam is kinda anti-human, Aged up characters (if it wasn't obvious already) Mild Language, Canon-divergent elements, Neteyam still got shot.
Chapter 1...Chapter 3,
Word count: 2.2k
You were practically buzzing at the thought of seeing the Sullys again.
It had been too long since those afternoons with Kiri — wandering the fields, trading quiet thoughts about Eywa and how every piece of the world was connected. You’d always felt that same pull toward the forest, that same peace in its stillness. You couldn’t wait to see her.
Grabbing your mask, you slid it over your face, the hiss of oxygen filling your ears as the seal locked in place. You slung a small pack over your shoulder and bolted from your room.
You burst from your room, eyes flicking briefly to the row of dormant avatar bodies. Maybe… you thought, before shaking the idea away and pressing on. As you ran where you nearly collided with Norm’s 9ft avatar. Neatly swerving underneath his arms.
“Whoa! Watch yourself, bug!” he called after you, but you were already halfway out the door.
The nickname barely registered. Clearly one of your brothers' nicknames for you had resurfaced. You’d be sure to show him your ‘gratitude’ when you see him.
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By the time you reached the front gates, you spotted Spider leaning casually against the railing, his usual grin plastered across his face.
He was wearing his tweng again, of course. You wondered if your outfit was appropriate. Spider had always been more comfortable in Na’vi clothing than you were — he’d tell you he felt more freedom when wearing it or something along those lines. You’d tried it a few times, but never without feeling a little self-conscious, It just gave you an unnatural feeling you weren’t really Na’vi so what place did you have wearing their clothing.
But you did adorn your wrists with bracelets that you and Kiri had made. Even a small armband Neteyam had made for you on your birthday once, you could’ve fainted when he gave it to you and said it was for your birthday. He never gave Spider anything so you were sure it was a sign. Until he made sure to add that Kiri told him it would be a ‘nice gesture’ of course.
He wouldn’t come up with that on his own. Back then it gave you butterflies that he even considered the idea. Still you wore it you thought maybe he’d see it and remember. If he even cared to remember you anymore.
“Ready?” Spider asked, snapping you out of your thoughts and pushing off the rail as soon as you approached.
“Yeah” You nodded, though your stomach fluttered with that mix of excitement and nerves. It had been so long since you’d last seen the Sullys — long enough for the possibility you had been forgotten, no longer an important part of their worlds. Seeing as their world was much bigger now.
You asked Spider where exactly we were going to meet them. He said that Lo’ak had told him to meet at the tree circle — the one you’d claimed as kids, where the roots dipped into a perfect ring and the filtered glow of the light made everything feel warmer.
The thought of it pulled a smile from you. You could still picture Kiri there, cross-legged in the grass, explaining some new discovery about Eywa while you listened, remembering how excited she’d get when you’d provide your own insight.
You even remember fooling around with Lo’ak and Spider chasing each other through the forest of course Lo’ak was the winner every time seeing as though his long legs provided a much larger advantage when it came to chasing you and spider. Even the faint memory of Neteyam being sent as a watchful eye from Jake to ensure Lo’ak wasn’t causing trouble; you'd remember seeing him perched in a tree watching to make sure his brother wasn’t causing a ruckus.
You admired that responsibility he carried, like he himself hung the stars in the sky. You still did appreciate it now he always made sure the boys wouldn’t rope you into one of their ‘adventures’. You do have to admit it saved you from a lot of lectures.
As you and Spider set off toward the forest, the familiar scents of the air and the rustle of leaves wrapped around you like a welcome back. Every step closer made your pulse quicken — As much as you’d hate to admit you had stopped leaving the lab when the Sully’s left.
Only visiting every once and a while to keep Mo’at company and help her collect herbs, she’d often complain that the girls she had been mentoring were not of much use seeing as they had a tendency to leave and go frolic with friends and neglect their duties. Among them was Tsi'at, not as though you were surprised. You tried to ignore that and focus on now.
The forest had missed you. and, if you were lucky, so had they.
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When you finally broke through the last stretch of bushes, the tree circle came into view — still the same warm, calm atmosphere just as in all your memories. But it was… empty? No familiar faces, no distinct voices. Just the sound of leaves shifting above you.
You slowed, scanning the roots and trunks, then glanced over at Spider.
“Are you sure, he said here?” you asked Spider, trying to keep your tone casual but feeling that slight edge of worry.
Did Spider get the wrong place?
Misinterpret what Lo’ak said?
Had they forgotten?
or did they just not show up?
Spider looked at you like you’d just questioned his ability to breathe. “Yes, he said here.” He gestured around the clearing. “This tree circle. Exactly.”
You were about to reply with a sarcastic jab at your brother when the faintest rustle overhead made you freeze. Your eyes flicked up — too quick — and your pulse spiked.
Spider noticed, his hand instinctively going for the knife strapped to his side. “What is it?”
“I hear something” You said standing close by Spider’s side, two humans in a pandoran forest was not the ideal situation.
Before you could answer, a low groan came from above, it made you jolt but it was followed by a voice you’d know anywhere.
“Tuk! You ruined it!”
Your brows furrowed, scanning the branches until you spotted movement.
“What?!” Tuk’s voice shot back, a mix of indignation and laughter. “It’s not me! The leaves keep moving, it's so much quieter under the water.” She said with a ‘hmph!’
Lo’ak dropped down from the branches with an exasperated shake of his head, landing with his usual effortless grace. His eyes found yours instantly, and that grin, the same one that always spelled trouble — spread across his face like second nature.
You blinked, the shock melting into something warmer, brighter.
“Oh my god,” you breathed, a smile breaking before you could stop it.
Spider lowered his knife with a scoff. “Told you they’d be here.”
“Ira!!” Tuk yelled excitedly jumping down from the trees she was grown now 14, the same age you were when they’d left, except at that time she wasn’t much bigger than you now she must’ve been nearly twice your height.
“Tuk!!” You exclaimed back, getting enveloped in a sea of blue, you really underestimated how strong she’d gotten. “Okay, okay!” You said giving her a pat on her arm where she finally let go realizing she was probably overly excited. For that you couldn’t blame her you were too.
You turned to see Lo’ak and Spider practically jumping on each other. This gave you a strange pang of nostalgia. You were really happy they were back. Once the boys were done, whatever they were doing..
Lo’ak and Spider practically wrestling each other in some half-playful, half-competitive reunion. A pang of nostalgia settled in your chest—it had been too long.
When Lo’ak finally broke away from Spider, he spotted you and grinned in that annoyingly familiar way. “Still short, huh?”
You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “You literally grew a whole foot, Lo’ak. I didn’t shrink—you just got taller.”
He chuckled, not bothering to deny it, before you glanced past him, scanning the area. “Where’s Kiri?”
Lo’ak’s expression softened. “The Metkayina tsahìk wanted to keep her for a while. Said her connection to Eywa seems stronger near the ocean. Thought it’d be good for her.”
A small smile tugged at your lips. “So she’s staying?”
“For a bit, yeah.” He shrugged. “She’s finally getting the recognition she deserves.”
You nodded, warmth curling in your chest despite the twinge of sadness. At least Kiri was where she belonged, even if it meant she was far. She’d be back soon enough you were happy that she was doing something she loved atleast.
Trying—and failing—to sound casual, you asked, “And… Neteyam?” You were just curious, no ulterior motives. Just wondering, it’s strange that he wasn’t here, he wasn't still with Kiri.. was he? When you snapped out of your thoughts you noticed that he shot a look at Spider, then back at you. Your scowl was immediate. “What?” you demanded.
“Nothing,” Lo’ak said far too innocently. Tuk tilted her head, in confusion. “He’s.. preparing for the ceremony tomorrow.”
You didn’t pry any further.
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The 4 of you hung out and swapped shared stories but an afternoon was not nearly enough to discuss what had happened over the course of 5 years. Time felt like it flew by before you knew it eclipse was nearing and you were so excited you forgot to bring a spare for your mask. You couldn’t stay any longer
Tuk spoke up as you were getting up to leave “You two should come.”
“To the ceremony” She added
You turned to Spider.
“It’s just a welcome back for us, don't worry you guys are practically family no one will mind you being there.” Lo’ak tried to convince you to show. You weren’t sure of that.
Ever since the Sully’s left the Omaticaya were less afraid of being openly ‘hateful’ to humans in their village. This also contributed to the fact that you didn’t visit much after they left. Afraid of the Na’vi you age judging eyes.
But you’d learn to tune them out. They had nothing positive to say anyway and most of them were just jealous that humans were closer to Toruk Makto’s kids then they were.
“We’ll see what we can do” You said to Lo’ak and Tuk who gave a slight smile.
“We really want you there” Tuk added
“I’ll try my best to show Tuk” You added, you couldn’t let her down.
“We’ll see you guys tomorrow?” Spider said looking between everyone and everyone nodded as you said goodbyes, you wish you could stay longer.
Maybe tomorrow you’d go out into the village to show everyone what you’ve gotten since they left.
You and Spider watched them disappear into the trees, Tuk still waving enthusiastically until she vanished behind the brush. The forest swallowed their voices, leaving only the hum of insects and the faint glow of the eclipse creeping in between the branches.
Tomorrow, you thought. Tomorrow.
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Back at the Sully’s home, the glow of the evening light painted the marui in warm tones. Tuk bounded inside first, for a newly 14 year old she was filled with child-like excitement. Dropping to the woven floor with the energy of someone who had far too much to share.
“We saw Ir’ana and Spider today!” she blurted, tail swishing behind her. Lo’ak following close behind trying to watch Neteyam’s expression to the names, he wasn’t as enthusiastic to see them as they were which is why he chose to not accompany them.
“They’re gonna try to come to the ceremony tomorrow.”
Neteyam, crouched in the corner cleaning his bow, stilled for a fraction of a second. His eyes flicked toward her, then to Lo’ak, who was lingering in the doorway. “You went to see them?” His tone was neutral, but Lo’ak swore she saw something quick — curiosity maybe? — flash in his eyes.
Lo’ak smirked, dropping his gear by the wall. “Yeah. We thought we’d surprise them.”
Neteyam’s jaw worked as if he was chewing over a thought, but he only said, “You know you shouldn’t get too comfortable with them, they could’ve changed” His voice was sharper than it needed to be.
A hand on his upper shoulder as if feeling the ghost of his last memory of humans.
Tuk huffed. She knew why Neteyam was acting like this. “It's just Ir’ana.. They’re the same as always”
Neteyam didn’t answer. Instead, he looked back down at his bowstring, pulling it taut and testing the tension. Still, his ears twitched faintly, betraying that he’d heard every word.
Before anyone could push further, Jake’s voice rumbled from behind them. “Neteyam.”
He straightened immediately
“Sir- Dad” He corrected himself. His father told him to follow him as the two made their way outside.
Jake stepped inside, giving his eldest a steady look.
“Tomorrow’s ceremony isn’t just about us being back. You need to start stepping up again — teaching the new warriors, getting involved with the clan.” His gaze was pointed.
“If you want to take my place one day, people need to see you as a leader. That means showing up. Not just training alone.”
Neteyam’s eyes dropped briefly to the floor, jaw tightening. “I understand.”
“You’ll do well, take it easy”
Jake clapped a hand on his shoulder before moving past him, conversation over in his mind.
But Lo’ak caught the faintest flicker in his brother’s expression — the kind of look that said his thoughts weren’t on the new warriors at all.
Not that Neteyam would ever admit it.
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One last big big thanks to @netexyy for all the motivation I appreciate it so much!!
Did you notice in the trailer Neytiri's paint melting off is actually in the fire clans warrior paint? Or am I crazy
My theory is that this is the war paint she’s wearing:
Could be she’s trying to look like she’s part of the ash clan to go undercover or something, maybe rescue her kids or even Jake. It almost looks like she’s crying in that image so perhaps they failed and that’s why Neytiri is saying they will find another way 👀
