Summary: When your kuru is used against your parents, your scream triggers a primal rage in Jake Sully that neither the RDA nor the Ash People are prepared to face. And, during the healing, your mother's voice is the best medicine.
✨ based on this request ✨
The air on the deck was thick with a suffocating heat rising from the burning hull. You were on your knees, your hands bound behind your back.
Quaritch stood over you, his eyes tracking the churning water below. He knew Jake and Neytiri were down there. He knew they were waiting for the right moment.
"They are playing hide and seek," Quaritch growled, his voice rasp. He looked down at you—Jake’s firstborn, the pride of his eyes—and a cruel smirk twisted his face. Then, he looked at Varang, who stood with her hand already hovering near your head.
"Let's give them a reason to show up. Make sure the father hears it." He said, putting your comm beside your face.
Varang didn't hesitate. Her hand shot out, snatching your kuru with a brutal grip.
What you felt wasn't just physical pain. It was a lightning strike to your soul. Your neural queue was the center of your very being and Varang was squeezing it like she intended to snap the connection forever.
A painfull agony radiated from the back of your skull, lancing through every nerve in your body. Your back arched, your lungs seizing as the world turned into a blur of blinding light and static.
A sound broke from your throat: a raw, high-pitched scream of pure torment that echoed across the metal deck and pierced through the crashing waves below.
Nearby, Jake was swimming through the waves, his eyes scanning for a way to break in.
Then he heard it.
It was a direct bullet to his chest. The scream of his daughter—his baby girl. In an instant, the tactical soldier vanished. Something terrifying took its place. His pupils constricted and his grip on his weapon tightened until the material groaned.
He didn't just lock in. He became a storm.
Jake exploded from the water, trailing fury. He launched himself onto the deck.
Quaritch barely had time to raise his gun before Jake was on him. He used the butt of his weapon to smash Quaritch across the face with enough force to knock him out and send him skidding twenty feet across the burning metal.
Varang hissed, tightening her grip on your kuru in a desperate attempt to use you as a shield, but Jake was faster. He dropped his gun, drew his combat knife and in one fluid motion, he was at your side.
He grabbed Varang wrist with one hand, the bones in her arm audibly creaking. He stared directly into her eyes—a look of such cold promise that the she actually flinched.
"Let. Her. Go," he breathed.
It wasn't a request.
It was an execution sentence.
Under the sheer pressure of his grip, Varang’s hand recoiled. Jake immediately shoved her back and sliced her neck with his knife. He stepped over your trembling body, shielding you from the world with his entire frame.
The battle raged around you, but for Jake, the world had shrunk to the size and were only the two of you. He collapsed to his knees, freeing your hands and searching for injuries.
You were shivering violently, your eyes were unfocused and glazed. Your kuru was bruised, the neural filaments twitching from the trauma.
"I've got you, I've got you," Jake choked out, his voice cracking. His large hands, usually so steady, were shaking as he tried to hold your head still.
"Dad," you whispered, your voice a ghostly thread. You were delirious, the pain-overload making your mind wander to the forest, to home. "I can't... I can't feel anymore. It’s so quiet, Dad... wh-why can't I?"
"Shh, baby, It's okay," Jake's heart was breaking at the sight of his fierce warrior daughter reduced to this.
"H-Hurts... Mom's help... Need mom."
He looked at Neytiri, who was running toward you. "Neytiri! We have to move!"
You leaned into his chest, your hands feebly grasping at his tactical vest. "Make it stop... please... make it stop..."
"We're going to get you home," Jake vowed, his voice hardening again as he saw more RDA soldiers approaching. He scooped you up, holding you against his heart like you were still the tiny child he’d held in the Hometree years ago. "I'm going to kill every single one of them for touching you."
He stood up, carrying you through the smoke and fire. He felt like a father who was ready to burn the entire world down just to keep your heart beating.
During the fly back to the village, he had you tucked against his chest, his thick arms acting as a living cage to keep you from slipping. His eyes never leaving the back of your head.
Every time the skimwing crested a wave, the slight jar caused you to let out a broken whimper. You weren't feeling like a fierce warrior anymore; you felt like a child again, reduced to raw nerves, needing your parents to do something to erase the hurt.
"It hurts... Dad, it hurts so much," you sobbed, your voice barely audible. Your hands were curled into claws, clutching at his back, your fingernails digging into his skin.
Jake’s jaw was set so tight it ached. He had seen death. He had seen his sons bleed. But this was a different kind of horror. Seeing you, his little warrior, so utterly broken and terrified, was a blade to his heart.
"I know, baby. I know," he murmured, his voice thick and cracking. He pressed his cheek against the top of your head, trying to absorb your tremors into his own body. "Just breathe for me. Focus on dad, okay?"
"Make it stop..." you choked out, a fresh wave of delirium taking hold. "Please don't let them break me..."
Jake closed his eyes for a second, a single tear escaping. The guilt was a physical weight. He was the one they were after. You were just the leverage. "No one is going to touch you again. I promise you, on my life."
When you reached the reef, Jake scooped you up, your head lolling against his shoulder. You were still whispering, a low rhythmic chant of "it hurts"; like a loop that was the only things that kept you awake and dissociated you from the pain.
They brought you to the healing cove, the water warm and glowing. Neytiri stepped forward, her hands hovering over your bruised neural queue.
"The connection is unstable," Neytiri whispered sharply. "The trauma is deep. She's lost in the echo of pain."
Kiri stood by your head. She didn't speak; she didn't need to. Her connection to Eywa allowed her to feel the jagged, electric static screaming through your kuru. To Kiri, your pain felt like a disharmony in a song that was supposed to be perfect.
She reached out, her fingers glowing faintly as she brushed them against your temple. "She’s so loud," Kiri whispered, her voice trembling. "Her spirit... it’s screaming, Mom. It’s like a storm that won't stop."
You flinched under her touch, your eyes flying open, in horror. "No... don't touch it... it burns..." you wheezed, your body arching in the shallow water.
"My baby, It's okay, look at me." Neytiri took your face and searched for your watery eyes. "You have to let us heal you, okay? I promise it will be alright." Your chin trembled in anticipation but you nodded lightly, letting a few tears drop.
Neytiri looked at Jake, seeing the way his hands shook as he held your legs steady and her heart broke for both of you.
"Ma Jake," she murmured, a firm but grounding command. "Hold her shoulders. She must stay still for this."
Neytiri motioned you to close your eyes and placed a hand over your heart and the other near the base of your brain, where the bruising on your kuru was dark purple. She began to 'sing' the Healing Song, her voice low and guttural at first, vibrating through the water.
As the song rose in pitch, Kiri began to weave her hands through the water, calling the glowing microscopic life to gather around your neural queue. The light intensified in a soft pulse that attempted to knit the frayed filaments back together.
But your deep breaths could do nothing against the pain of the healing.
"It hurts, dada." you whispered unconsciously, unaware of the words that came out of your mouth. Calling him dada made Jake flinch as if he’d been shot. It's been years since you have called him that way.
Jake swallowed hard and lunged forward, pinning your shoulders down with a desperate tenderness. "I'm right here, baby. Dad is here, always here."
His eyes were wet, a sight that none in your family had seen in a long time. He was the commander, Olo’eykte, Toruk Makto. But right now, he was just a father watching his child drown in a sea of pain he couldn't fight for her.
"We are trying!" Kiri cried, tears streaming down her own face. "Mother is trying to reach her, but she’s too scared. She’s hiding."
Neytiri leaned down, pressing her forehead against yours, her Song turning into a fierce, rhythmic chant. She grabbed your hand and pressed it firmly against her chest.
"Please come back to us, my baby." Neytiri commanded you, her voice cutting through your delirium. "You are my daughter, daughter of the Forest. You are my warrior. Do not let them take your spirit."
Under the pressure of her voice, your thrashing began to slow. The white-hot static in your mind started to fade into a dull ache and a kind of tickle, a sign of healing.
"We see you," Jake choked out, grabbing your hand and kissing your knuckles over and over. He leaned to whisper directly into your ear so only you could hear. "I will tear the world apart before I lost you, baby. You’re our home. Our brave, brave girl."
"Dad...?" you whispered after a few minutes. Your eyes opened, finally focusing on his and then on Neytiri's. "Mom? M-my head.. tickles.."
"Oh, my sun," Neytiri let out a half-sob, half-laugh, kissing your face with a ferocity that spoke of a thousand unspoken feelings. The tickle meaning your kuru was healing. "The fire is out, my girl. You're safe. You came back to us."
"Your mom and Kiri... they brought you back, baby girl. And we are not losing you again."
And they stood to Jake's words.
They didn't let go of you. Even as your eyes drifted shut from the exhaustion of the healing, they remained there, anchored to you, like silent guardians who would never truly sleep again until they knew terror and pain had left your soul.
hi, i was wondering if you could write a toddler!reader avatar, where she’s a big mommas girl and she like loves neytiri and she realizes neytiri doesn’t like spider so she decides she doesn’t like spider either until he helps her with something and she starts to like him. idk if that made sense 😭 if it didn’t feel free to ignore this
You are definitely Neytiri‘s daughter, there’s no mistaking it in the way you cling to her whenever you can, your tail curling around her leg when you toddle beside her.
You love your mama fiercely and grumble when someone gets to close while you’re cuddling, mumbling an adorable 'my mama' as Neytiri chuckles at your possessiveness, especially when it’s directed at Jake.
"What do you mean no touch? She was my wife before she was your mama." Jake retorts after having just received a small hiss from you when he tried to touch Neytiri.
"No, my mama. Daddy no touch." You poke your tongue out at him as your mother chuckles and keeps working on your hair.
"You heard your daughter." Neytiri smiles, seeing Jake’s dumbfounded expression.
You mimic Neytiri in many different ways, loving the things she does, repeating things she says, even disliking the same things she does because what upsets your mama, upsets you in return.
That’s the reason you also don’t like Spider, it’s not that he ever did something to you for you to not like him, but Neytiri just can’t get herself to accept him. He’ll always be a sky-person to her, hence your dislike towards him.
No matter how nice he is, you’ll always glare at him the same way your mother does, watching him closely whenever he’s around your siblings.
Jake crouches down beside you and snaps his fingers in front of your face, pulling your fixated gaze away from Spider, who’s fooling around with your brothers and sisters. "Don’t you want to join them, babygirl?"
You hesitate for a moment and when you see Spider again you shake your head, making grabby hands for Neytiri when she approaches you both. "Mama."
She instantly lifts you into her arms, running her finger along your nose, making you giggle as Jake straightens himself.
"She’s too much like you for her own good." He smirks, receiving a halfhearted glare from her in response before she simply turns and walks off while whispering to you softly.
One day, you reluctantly let Neteyam and the rest of your siblings drag you with them towards a pond where your older brother often fishes and to your dismay Spider is there as well but you try to ignore him, keeping close to Neteyam as you clutch your favorite wooden toy in your hand.
After you spend some quality time with them, you now watch them splash in the water from your spot on a large rock, babbling to your wooden Ikran.
Since the rock is slightly slippery from the water, you couldn’t keep your grip on it anymore at some point, slipping into the water before even a sound can escape you.
You haven’t learned to swim yet and are now flailing in the water, your siblings seeming not to notice what’s happening as they are too busy shouting and splashing each other.
As you start to choke on the water, you feel two hands pull you back over the surface by your armpits, starting to cough as your lungs try to get free from any water that bothers you.
"Whoa, Y/N. Are you okay? Here." You recognize Spider's voice, feeling him pat your back to help you breathe again.
Your siblings now have gathered around you, Kiri wiping the water from your eyes as you start to calm down again, your body shaking from shock.
You then focus your gaze on Spider, realizing he was the one to save you from nearly drowning, suddenly wrapping your short arms around his neck to cling onto him, surprising not only him but your siblings as well.
Neteyam and Lo'ak share a confused look while Kiri and Tuk smile at your interaction with Spider, all of them knowing that a few hours ago you would have hissed at for even being near you.
Spider continues to pat your back awkwardly, still shocked that you’re actually holding onto him. "It’s- it’s okay."
Ever since that day, you start to grow a liking to him over time, feeling grateful yet are still wary of him sometimes and even Neytiri seems to dislike him a bit less, but just a tiny bit.
You’re still a mamas girl through and through but now show a twinge of your father’s personality as you slowly begin to accept Spider.
prompt: the sully family’s middle daughter, long overlooked, fights alone through pain. After nearly losing her, they finally see her and love her fully.
pairings: sully family x reader, jake sully x daughter!reader, neytiri x daughter!reader, sully kids x sister!reader, middle child!reader
warnings: angst, bloody wounds, family angst, hurt/comfort, whump, themes of war.
notes: this was requested by @ray-of-faith11
All your life has been a sequence of standing in the place between. Between brothers and sisters, between peace and war, between a forest that loves you and a family that never quite feels like it was meant for you.
The disconnection began when you and your brothers started to grow up. Jake had begun to shut you out of everything.
Your mother, never really there for you, always focused on your siblings. The only person whose connection to you had not severed was Tuk, and still, you knew that the day would come—because it always did.
It happened with Lo’ak, it happened with Neteyam, it happened with Kiri, and it happened with your parents.
You sit silently slouched over some weapon crafting material, hands skimming the string, testing it. Your father sits just a few feet away, helping your brothers and Kiri craft their own bows. “Dad, can you help me?” you murmur, “i cannot attach the string to the—”
“Y/n— can’t you wait? I’m helping Kiri.”
“Okay,” you say evenly, nodding even though he is not looking. “And when you are done?”
“Sure.” He says, voice rough, lips tight.
One minute passes, then two, he seems to forget that you’d even called out for him in the first place. So you figure it out yourself.
Even Tuk’s glance, soft and slightly knowing, can’t erase the hollow ache curling in your chest. You bury it under the weight of your work, under the sound of strings snapping into place and wood being sanded smooth.
Tuk comes from behind you, hands already on your shoulders, peeking over them to see your work. “Y/n…can I tryyy?”
“Not now, Tuk. I am not finished.”
“Are you having trouble?”
“No.” You say, quicker than you should have. Tuk’s frown is instant, tiny hands loosening around your shoulders.
You set the materials aside and take her little hands in yours. “I am busy.”
“Okay,” she whispers.
Your mother crosses into the large space of your home, eyes skimming briefly over you before focusing on other things.
When her eyes land on Tuk, they narrow slightly. “What did you do?” She asks you immediately, your shoulders tense as everybody looks up from their laps, all eyes falling over you.
“Nothing, I am just crafting the bow—she would not leave me alone.”
“She should not have to. Do not treat her as if she is a burden. Let her try.” Your mother says.
You can only sigh, handing Tuk the crafting materials sharply. “There,” you murmur.
Your mother gathers whatever it is she needed and remains outside, close enough to hear everything being said inside. you take the components of your unfinished bow back immediately and continue to work.
Only, Tuk does not complain this time, she just watches your hands as they skim wood and sometimes tug at the strings too hard.
“You are doing it wrong.” She teases.
“I am not,” despite everything, you smile.
“Seriously, Neteyam showed me-“
“I said I am not!” You snap, your voice cutting louder.
Instantly, your fathers voice echoes across the space. “Hey!” The single word cracks through the air like a whip.
You freeze, Jake is already on his feet, anger flaring quick and hot. “Don’t you talk to her like that.”
Everybody freezes. Tuk flinches slightly beside you. Your chest tightens, legs pulling in at your side. “I told her that I was busy.”
“She’s a kid!” He snaps, stepping closer. “Your sister. You don’t yell at her because you’re frustrated.”
“I did not- I am not frustrated.”
“But you did, and yes you are angry!” he yells, voice rising. “And you’re taking it out on your siblings.”
Something inside of you twists like a vault, sharp and sudden. “I just wanted to finish something without being interrupted,” you murmur, hands shaking slightly as you try to focus.
Before he can respond, a new voice cuts through. “What is happening here?” Your mother stands at the entryway, and before you can say anything, your father steps up.
“She snapped at Tuk.”
“No-” you sigh, “she kept getting in the way of things. I was just trying to finish my bow!”
“So you raise your voice at her?” Your mother asks.
“Yes.”
“She just wants to learn, is that a crime?” Your father chimes in.
“I am learning too!” You snap. “I just want to finish my work!” You stand now, breathing heavily.
“Y/n, apologize. Now.” Your mother crosses her arms, waiting.
You shake your head and crouch to gather your things, brushing past your parents carelessly and moving toward the doorway.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Jake asks, but you ignore him., continuing to move.
You find yourself sitting stiff on a smooth rock, fingers still pulling at the stupid string that got you here in the first place.
The noise inside the marui fades slowly, piece by piece, until it is replaced by the low hum of night insects and the distant rush of water.
Jake steps outside, arms crossed, jaw tight. Staring out into the darkness as if it might offer him some answers.
Of course it doesn’t. He exhales through his nose, long and controlled, but the tension doesn’t leave his shoulders.
“Daddy?” The voice is small.
He turns, already softening. “Hey baby girl.”
Tuk steps closer, hands clasped behind her back the way she does when she’s thinking too hard about something.
“What’s up?” He asks, crouching a little so that he’s closer to her height.
She doesn’t answer right away, just looks at him—studying. Then, she speaks, “do you love Y/n?”
The question lands wrong, too direct, and too easy. Jake blinks, caught off guard. “What kind of question is that?”
Tuk shrugs, it is not her usual, playful shrug—this one is careful. “You always say you love us, all of us.” She says quietly.
“I do.” He answers immediately. “Of course I do.”
“But…” she hesitates, eyes dropping for a moment before lifting again. “you don’t talk to her the same, that’s it.”
That hits harder than anything that was said inside. Your father’s expression tightens. “Tuk-“
“You sometimes get bad at her faster,” she continues, words a little quicker now, like she’s afraid she won’t get them out otherwise. “You always listen to Kiri, sometimes Lo’ak, and Neteyam.”
He flinches, barely.
“But you don’t really listen to her.” She finishes with a sharp exhale, as if she’d been holding those very words for decades.
A long pause stretches—then, finally, “I am trying to keep this family together.” Jake says, voice lower.
“Everyone is under pressure, baby…I can’t-“
“Maybe Y/n is as well.” Tuk interrupts, almost a whisper. “You just don’t look.”
That stops him completely, here he is, learning about his middle child from his youngest, learning things he should have already known.
“She tries really hard, I can see it. Nobody else does.”
Jake looks away then, out into the trees again. Trying to avoid what’s sitting in front of him. “I know,” he says after a moment, but it does not sound as certain as it should.
Tuk steps closer, tiny hand reaching for his, he lets her take it. “Maybe you should tell her, daddy.” she says.
He glances down at her. “Tell her what?”
“That you love her.”
Tuk says it so simply, like it should be easy. Jake’s throat tightens slightly, his grip on her little hand shifting.
“I think she forgot.” Tuk adds.
That one lands deep, for a second, he doesn’t speak at all. The sounds of the forest fill the space between them, thick and alive, but it does nothing to ease the quiet weight settling in his chest. “..yeah,” he murmurs. “I’ll talk to her.”
Tuk nods, satisfied in that small way of hers. “Okay.”
She squeezes his hand once before letting go and walking back inside.
Your father stays where he is, still staring into the dark.
You remain silently seated on the same forest rock, fingers curled in the moss, legs dangling—your bow is finished beside you.
Nobody has come looking for you, and that’s all you can think about. Not the bow you finally built, just the fact that your own family forgets you like a story with a torn page.
You are always the one to watch as they share the love you were once a part of. The realization creeps in, you lean forward, your elbows resting on your knee caps, palms squeezing against your eyes.
You gasp sharply, then your cries escape like a weight you didn’t even know you had to bear, now it’s melting into soil. Your hands move away, letting the tears escape—your face is washed in secrets kept too deep, a baptism of everything you cannot say.
Your mind drifts once again, you, as a young girl- held in the arms of your parents, or you, curled up with your siblings, or- “whatever,” you murmur.
You hop off of the large stone, taking your bow, moving quietly through the forest. You test the bow by drawing it as far as possible and piercing right through a woven target—a forgotten one.
You spend the long night hours walking about the forest, drowning yourself with work, it’s not even close to dawn, and you’re still tired. Eventually, you go back to the village on your own, your kelku is quieter than usual when you step inside, not empty, just wrong.
It is the kind of quiet that feels like everyone is aware of something, but no one knows how to touch it. For a brief second, a few heads lift, then they go back down too fast.
You don’t say anything, you just move to your space, set down your bow carefully, and pick up whatever work is closest. Something unfinished, something that gives your hands a purpose so your mind doesn’t have to.
No one stops you, not your mother, or your father, not even Tuk. But your siblings notice the way your tail is unmoving. None of them bother to speak.
The silence stretches, it follows all of you into the night. Sleeping doesn’t come easy, despite your obvious fatigue.
The space feels too tight and too empty at the same time. between breathing, shifting, the faint sound of your family settling in—but none of it reaches you.
So you get up quietly.
By the time morning comes, you’ve already been working. Your hands move without thinking, sharpening, tying, adjusting. Anything that keeps you from stopping.
Anything that keeps you from feeling.
“You’re up early.” Jakes voice.
You don’t look up. “I couldn’t sleep.”
Your father watches you for a moment longer than usual this time, like he’s trying to figure something out—but he says the wrong things.
“You can’t keep doing that.”
He almost reaches for you, almost softens—but that quickly turns into authority all over again.
Your hands still slightly. “Doing what?”
“This,” he gestures vaguely, frustration already creeping in. “Running off every time something doesn’t go your way.”
“I didn’t run.” you cut in sharply, the words quicker than you intend. “I just left.”
Lo’ak, leaning against the doorway, snorts. “Left, ran, whatever. You’re too old to keep acting like this. Everyone else has real things to worry about.”
Your hands freeze on the bow. “Real things?” Your voice is louder now, shaking slightly. “Is it a real problem that I exist here, and you all ignore me?”
Lo’ak shrugs, too casual, almost bored. “Maybe if you weren’t so sensitive-“
“Sensitive?!” You snap, standing up, heat curling in your chest. “I am not sensitive! I am tired! Tired of being invincible to you all. Tired of being treated like I’m nothing until I explode!”
Jake steps closer, tension rolling off of him. “Y/n. I am trying-“
“No!” You yell, spinning to face him. “You’re trying for everyone else! You listen to Kiri, you listen to Neteyam, but not me!”
Kiri, standing at the doorway beside Lo’ak watches closely, eyes rolling. “Well maybe if you weren’t always running away or sulking, people would notice you more.” She says.
The words hit like a whip. Your chest tightens, everything twists inside. “I am done” you murmur, voice low but trembling. “Done trying to matter to people who don’t see me.”
Jake opens his mouth, frustrated, angry, but no words land. You brush past him, Kiri and Lo’ak, ignoring the shocked looks, the unspoken guilt, the tension in the room.
Without another word, you move towards the doorway, shoulders rigid. You don’t even stop to grab anything, you just make your way out.
“Y/n-“ Jake calls after you.
But you don’t stop. The hut is suddenly emptier than it’s ever been.
You don’t notice the hours passing, moving through the forest in a quiet rage, letting the night swallow your footsteps. By the time night is a blue smear over the horizon, your limbs ache, your hands smell of wood and bowstring, but you feel somehow more yourself than you have in weeks.
Your family is seated, together in the hut, spending quality time with one another. Jake’s voice breaks the silence in a soft whisper. “Tuk told me something. Last night.”
Your mother stills, moving closer so that your siblings do not hear. “What?”
Jake hesitates, but not for long. “She thinks Y/n might have forgotten that we love her.”
Neytiri inhales sharply. For a moment, she cannot speak. Her jaw tightens, her ears lowering slightly, the weight of it settling in her chest all at once.
“She did not forget,” Neytiri says at first—quick, instinctive, but it doesn’t sound certain.
Jake looks at her then, really looks—and realizes she’s already further ahead than he is, already understanding what this means.
Your Mother sets the materials in her hands aside, more abruptly than she intends. “All this time..” she murmurs, almost to herself. “She stands there, and we let her.”
Neytiri shakes her head, already moving toward the entrance. “We will not let that be the truth she carries.”
There is urgency in your mom now, emotion pushing through control. “We can remind her now.”
Your father nods, solemn.
The forest still breathes when they leave. Not peacefully, but alive.
Not peacefully—but alive in that quiet, watchful way it gets after conflict. The air is thick, holding onto the last echoes of raised voices, of things said too sharply, too late.
Jake and Neytiri move quickly through the trees, their pace urgent, focused on you. Not the village, or the others.
“She went east,” Neytiri says, voice tight, already scanning the ground, the branches, the smallest disturbances.
Your mother stills, but her body does not fully obey her. Her hands tighten around nothing, fingers curling as if they are trying to hold onto something that is no longer there.
The sounds of the forest blur for a moment, fading beneath something older, something softer.
A memory, it comes uninvited. You are small again. Much smaller than the others ever seemed to be. Your limbs all softness and curiosity, your steps uneven as you try to follow her through the roots of the forest.
“Ma’ite,” Neytiri had called gently, glancing back at you. “Stay close.”
You had nodded quickly, too quickly, determined. Always determined.
A root caught your foot, you stumbled forward with a small cry, hands scraping against the ground. Not hard enough to truly hurt, but enough to startle you.
Neytiri had turned at the sound, but not fully. Because Neteyam had called for her at the same time. “Mother, look!”
Something about his voice.. pride, excitement, it pulled her attention. Just for a moment Just long enough that when she looked back, you were already pushing yourself up.
You did not cry, or reach for her. You were just quiet.
Your little hands brushed the dirt off your palms, clumsy but practiced, like you had already learned that no one would always be there to do it for you.
Neytiri had stepped toward you then. “Are you hurt?”
You shook your head quickly. “No.”
She remembers that now, the way you did not look at her when you said it. The way your shoulders stayed slightly hunched, like you were holding something in.
But Neteyam had spoken again, tugging at her attention, and the moment passed as easily as breath.
She had let it pass.
The memory snaps away just as quickly as it came. Jake nods, jaw set. “She couldn’t have gotten far.”
But there’s something unsettled in his tone.Because deep down he knows you could.
They move faster, the forest parts around them, familiar, guiding—but something feels off. It all felt too quiet and too still.
then a high, distant sound. Your father freezes mid step. Your mother turns sharply toward the sky.
The scream of something tears through the air. “Move!” Jake tries to warn the villagers from where he is, but it is too late. The missile hits.
The explosion rips through the village behind them, a violent bloom of fire and sound that shakes the ground beneath their feet. Light flashes through the trees, unnatural and blinding.
Creatures flee and everything alive reacts. “No!” Neytiri’s voice breaks into something raw, already turning back. Jake doesn’t hesitate this time. “Go!”
They run.
Back at the village, it’s chaos. Flames devour the edges of huts. Smoke coils thick into the sky. The sound of sky peopl weapons cuts through everything—sharp, mechanical, wrong.
People scatter, some fighting, some trying to pull others to safety. And then you arrive at the edge like a shadow.
Silent. still and watching. Your chest rises and falls once, then you lift your bow. Everything else disappears, you move along the outer edges, slipping between trees, using darkness and smoke like armor.
Your arrows fly, clean and precise. A Sky Person drops before they even understand what hit them.
You don’t stop, you shoot many more. Your movements are sharp, controlled—every shot intentional.
There is no hesitation here, no second guessing, no waiting for someone to notice you. This is where you exist.
Inside the chaos, Jake is commanding, pulling people back, redirecting fighters. “Fall back! Move the children now!”
Your mom is already ahead of him—faster, deadlier. Every arrow she fires finds its mark, but neither of them sees you.
You’re too far out like always. A sky person turns, weapon lifting. You draw faster, but the release is too slow. The crack splits the air, you don’t even register the sound properly.
Just the impact, it hits your side hard enough to spin you. Your breath vanishes instantly as you’re thrown off balance, crashing into the ground. The world tilts, blurs.. your bow slipping from your grip before you can snatch it back.
For a second, you feel nothing. No pain, just ringing silence. Then, it comes. Your body folds slightly, a sharp, broken inhale tearing through your chest as something hot and deep ignites in your side.
Your hand moves instinctively, it presses—just enough pressure, but it is wet. You look down, your hand is dark, shaking.
Your jaw clenches tight, you force yourself up, every movement slower now, tighter. You pick up your bow again, and you keep fighting.
You don’t let yourself stop, you don’t even let yourself think. You move through the pain, through the heat, through the way your body is starting to feel heavier than it should.
You hit another demon, another target. Another breath you almost lose. By the time the sky people retreat, you’re barely steady.
But you’re still standing, so it doesn’t matter. You leave before anyone can see.
The village slowly regathers itself. Smoke drifts through what remains. The fires are being put out. Voices are lower now.. shaken, exhausted.
Jake moves quickly, checking everyone. “Tuk?”
“I’m here!” She says, running into his arms. He pulls her in, relief flashing across his face.
Lo’ak, Kiri, Neteyam. He checks them, one by one—everyone is safe and alive. “Where’s Y/n? did anybody see her?" he asks suddenly.
There’s a pause, a long one. Your siblings exchange hesitant looks. Neytiri’s head lifts slightly, eyes closing. “She is not here.” She sighs.
Jake’s chest tightens. “Damn it-” They don’t wait this time, they move to leave again—to find you.
Another distant rumble sounds, not as close.. but enough to make them pause.
Your father looks back. The village is still vulnerable, still recovering. There are injured villagers, children crying.
Not safe, your mother sees it too, Jake’s pull back, his silent choice to stay. He exhales sharply, jaw tightening.
“We secure the village first,” he says, voice firm but strained. Your mother doesn’t argue.. and they turn away.
You come back alone, the village is different now, of course it is, it is quiet, and cold. Your steps are slower, but still steady, your hand never leaves your side, pressed tight and holding everything in.
You move toward your hut, walking in on just your family. You hold yourself together, not crying, whimpering, not even a limp. You just walk to your space and set your things down.
Night falls so fast. The sounds of the village dims into something mute and distant. Soft footsteps, the crackle of what little fire remains.
Inside the hut, your family settles again. Slow and careful, as if everyone is pretending things are normal.
You sit in your hammock, unmoving. Your hand is still pressed to your side and it hasn’t left. At some point, the others lie down. One by one, the shift of bodies, the quiet murmurs, the slow rhythm of sleep beginning to take hold.
No one looks at you long enough to notice that you sit holding yourself together with just your palm. Besides, they are all sleeping.
You lay down gently on your side, knees drawn in slightly. the ache in your side grows sharper and hotter, gnawing at you until it’s unbearable. Try to ignore it at first, thinking you can will it away, thinking no one needs to see you like this.
But it only spreads, twisting deeper, coiling into panic. A strangled gasp escapes, sharp and sudden. You bite your lip, trying to keep it back, but the pain wins. “Dad…!” The cry is desperate, high, cracking in your throat.
It cuts through the quiet of the night, and it shakes your small body. You press your hand harder, sobs breaking through as your body trembles uncontrollably. “Dad, please…”
“Daddy I didn’t mean to- earlier. Dad, I didn’t!” You cry, wondering if he’s hearing you, if he’s awake. “Dad?”
“Yeah?” His voice is thick with sleep, but awake.
Your sobs tear free uncontrollably, raw and unfiltered.
“Y/n..” he murmurs, the sound of him moving fast reaches your ears, the thud of his feet against the woven floor, the rustle of his body as he reaches for you.
Your eyes flutter for one second and he takes your wrist immediately, uncovering the wound. “Oh my- why did you hide this, baby?!”
“I don’t- I’m sorry! I- I thought you’d be angry!”
He frowns deeply, the sounds of your cries rouse your siblings and mother awake, they hesitate for a moment.
“What’s going on” Lo’ak says groggily.
“Who is crying?” Kiri says.
Neteyam is the first to join Jake’s side, hands reaching for your face. “Stay with us.” He says firmly.
You cry, squeezing your father’s arm. Your mother rushes over, brushing carefully past Neteyam and gripping your shoulders, forehead against yours.
Your body is still shaking, breaths breaking apart as pain pulses through your side.
But the pain doesn’t just sit in your side—it pulses through everything, sharp and consuming, stealing the air from your lungs in broken pieces. Your fingers clutch at your father’s arm like it’s the only solid thing left in the world.
“stay with me,” Jake says, but his voice is different now, not sharp, not impatient. It’s unsteady.
He is afraid.
His hands hover for a second like he doesn’t know where to touch without hurting you more—then one settles against your cheek, grounding, warm. “Look at me. Y/n.”
You try but your vision blurs, tears mixing with the haze, but you force your eyes open just enough to find him. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to make you mad.” Your voice fractures under the weight of it.
that’s what breaks his heart. “no, hey,” he shakes his head quickly, pulling you closer without thinking, like he’s trying to hold you together himself. “You’re not- I’m not mad. I’m not mad at you.” His voice drops, rough, thick. “Never.”
Your breath stutters again, body curling tighter despite the pain.
Beside him, Neytiri is already moving, fast, precise, hands firm but gentle as she inspects the wound. The moment her fingers press near it, her expression changes.
Fear. “She’s losing too much blood,” Neytiri says sharply, but her voice trembles at the edges. “Why did you not come back sooner? Why did you not tell us?”
You don’t answer because you honestly can’t. Because the answer is sitting right there between all of you, unspoken but louder than anything.
Because you didn’t think anyone would notice.
Neteyam’s hands stay steady on your face, his forehead pressing briefly against yours. He speaks low, urgent, “You’re okay. You hear me? You’re staying.”
Lo’ak is frozen a few feet away, guilt hitting too late, too hard. He doesn’t speak at first—just stares at the blood on your side like he doesn’t understand how it got there.
Kiri’s arms wrap around herself, her earlier words hanging between you two like something rotten. She looks at you now and her voice comes out smaller than ever before. “Y/n,”
From the other side, tiny hands grab onto your arm. “Y/n…” Tuktirey whispers, already crying again. “You’re gonna be okay, okay?”
Your grip tightens weakly around your father’s hand. “Dad…” you whisper again, softer now, like you’re slipping somewhere he can’t follow. “ I tried to be good. To fight back.”
His entire expression crumples. Something inside Jake gives way completely. “Hey- no, no, no,” he breathes, shaking his head. “You don’t have to try to earn that. You hear me? You never should have.”
His voice cracks fully, openly now. “I love you.”
The words come out like they’ve been trapped for too long. “I love you. I’m sorry I didn’t say it. I’m sorry I didn’t show it-“ his grip tightens, almost desperate, like if he lets go you’ll disappear, “but you don’t get to leave thinking you had to fight for a place in this family. You already have one. You always have.”
Your breath hitches. For just a second the pain dulls under something else, something warmer.
Neytiri moves, pressing cloth firmly to your wound, her hands steady even as her voice softens when she leans close to you. “Stay with us, ma’ite. stay.”
“Sa’nu..” you sigh, eyes softening just briefly. Your body trembles again, but this time your hand doesn’t just clutch your side. it shifts, weakly, until it presses against your father’s.
Around you, everything is different now. The silence that once ignored you is gone. replaced by voices, by hands, by urgency, and by a fear of losing you.
By love that came too late. but not too late.
You wake up wrapped in comfy sheets and the same clothes you were shot in. Herbal smoke drifts in the air like the song of a new day, the sun casting gold streaks across the hut.
Your entire family is asleep around you, you stir faintly, reaching for the bowl of water, but it drops from your weak hands.
You wince slightly as your siblings and parents stir, your father is alarmed and stands too quickly, “Y/n.. baby, you okay?”
“Yes. I need water.”
He stands, scooping up the bowl and filling it with water. He puts the bowl to your lips and tilts it slightly, filling your mouth with water.
When you’re done drinking, you look down and notice the bandaging at your middle. “How long have I been sleeping?”
“Three days.”
“Three? I should be okay to walk.” You try to stand, but Jake physically holds you back, guiding you down gently.
“Not yet. We’ll work on that together, okay?”
“Why? I mean, three days..”
“Yeah, three days of sleep.”
Your siblings and your mother are already awake behind your father.
Your mother is already closer than she’s ever been without you calling for her. Her eyes aren’t scanning the room, not checking on anyone else—they’re on you entirely. There’s something unsettled in them still, something guilty, but something else too.
She’s not looking away this time.
Tuk is the closest to you already, fingers brushing your arm softly. “I told you that you would be okay.” She smiles.
“I didn’t think it was that bad,” you say.
Your mother steps closer now, slow, like approaching something fragile. Her hand lifts, hesitates for the briefest second—then rests against your hair, smoothing it back from your face.
The gesture is so soft it almost hurts more than the wound. “You do not decide that alone anymore,” she says quietly.
No sharpness or correction. Just the truth.
Behind her, Lo’ak finally speaks, voice rougher than usual. “That was.. stupid,” he mutters.
Neteyam shoots him a look.
“What?” Lo’ak adds quickly, but it’s weaker now. “Not- not like that. I just mean-” he exhales, frustrated with himself, then finally looks at you. “You should’ve said something.”
Kiri shifts beside him, arms uncrossing slowly. “We didn’t make it easy,” she admits, quieter than you’ve ever heard her.
That one settles deeper and no one rushes to fill the silence after that.
Your father’s hand squeezes your shoulder slightly. “We’re gonna do better,” he says.
You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
Tuk leans into you more, her head pressing gently against your arm. “You didn’t forget, right?” she murmurs.
You blink. “Forget what?”
She tilts her head up at you, eyes wide but certain. “That we love you.”
The question hangs there—but it doesn’t feel as heavy as it did before. Because now you have something to measure it against.
You glance around the room again. At your father, who hasn’t let go. At your mother, who hasn’t looked away. At your siblings, who are still here—with you, not around you.
Your fingers tighten slightly around Tuk’s hand. ““No,” you say, voice quiet, but steady.
Their love has never been forgotten, just hard to see. Your father exhales, something in him easing at that. He leans forward just slightly, pressing his lips briefly against your forehead—careful of the bandages, careful of you.
“We’ll make sure you don’t have to wonder again,” he murmurs.
And this time, it doesn’t feel like something you have to earn.
Weeks of healing and your families tentative care pass, your father helps you walk, your siblings bring you refreshments without you having to ask, and your mother stays by your side.
She sings to you your songcord at night, she rebraids your hair when she notices that they need fixing, she steadies you when your nightmares become too much to handle, and for once—she isn’t choosing someone else entirely over you.
You are theirs, and they continue to make sure that you see it and feel it. You are no longer standing in between, you are finally, undeniably held.
꒰ 切島鋭児郎 ꒱ › kirishima is terrified of hurting you. mdni.
pro hero! kirishima x fem! reader. öral ⇢ m! receiving
eijirou kirishima is the perfect boyfriend in every conceivable way. he remembers your coffee order. he brings you back little trinkets from patrol routes that made him think of you. he ties your shoes for you because he doesn’t want you tripping over your laces. he guides you through crowds with his hand on the small of your back. he’s respectful, he’s kind, he’s your rock.
and he’s the perfect gentleman. he’ll kneel at the foot of your bed, broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart, ruby eyes dark with reverence that almost makes you feel shy. he’s meticulous, tracing every dip and curve of you with his tongue until you’re a writhing, whimpering mess, clawing at his spiky hair and the sheets.
he gets off on it, you know he does. he lets low groans out against your skin, his hips rut against your mattress, and he dons a blissed-out grin when he finally emerges, face glistening and eyes heavy-lidded with satisfaction. he loves it. he loves pleasing you.
but the second the tables turn, he pulls away from you so quickly it gives you whiplash. your lips will trail south, pressing soft open-mouthed kisses against his toned abs. your fingers will slip beneath the waistband of his boxers, intent on returning the favor he so eagerly bestows upon you. and without fail, he’ll stop you.
he’ll thread his fingers through yours, stopping their descent, and cup your chin, angling your face up towards his to capture your lips in a kiss that’s meant to distract you.
the first time you tried to sink to your knees in front of him, he’d looked absolutely horrified. his eyes went wide, his sharp teeth biting into his lower lip as he pulled you back up, stammering something about how you’re a goddess and he should be the one on his knees.
you’d laughed it off then, thinking it was just some ‘manly’ notion he had. but it kept happening. and after six months of frustrating one-sidedness, the novelty has worn off, replaced by gnawing insecurity.
you’ve endured months of him eating you out with fervor and gently redirecting your hands every time you try to touch him.
you’re starting to believe the worst. that he can’t get it up around you. that you don’t turn him on, that he finds you so unappealing that he’d rather focus solely on your pleasure than face the embarrassment of his own lack of it. the thought makes you sick to your stomach.
kirishima comes to your apartment tonight looking exhausted. he’s had a grueling twelve-hour shift that involved a building collapsing and too many civilians to carry to safety. he’d swung by his own agency just long enough to shower and change, and now he’s here, collapsing onto your sofa with a heavy sigh.
his hair is slightly damp, devoid of its usual sharp spikes and gravity-defying gel. it falls in soft, red waves around his shoulders, making him look softer, more vulnerable. he’s in a pair of grey sweatpants and a loose graphic t-shirt. all you want to do is curl up in his lap and never let him go.
“long day?” you murmur, settling beside him and running your fingers through his damp hair. he hums, leaning into your touch like a starved animal.
“the longest,” he sighs, turning his head to press a kiss into the divot of your palm. “i missed you.”
the words are a balm to your bruised ego. you shift, straddling his lap and wrapping your arms around his neck. “i missed you too, ei.”
you begin peppering soft kisses against his jawline, trailing down to the column of his throat. his skin is warm, and you can feel his pulse fluttering beneath your lips. he sighs, his hands come to rest on your hips, holding you close.
you rock against him. you want to feel him, want that reassurance that he does want you. you’re rewarded almost instantly. you can feel him growing hard beneath you, a thick pressure against your core that sends a jolt through you.
but then his huge hands tighten on your hips, stilling your movements. “slow down baby,”
you pull back, looking down at him. his eyes are squeezed shut, his jaw clenched. “what’s wrong?” you ask, sounding so much smaller than you’d like.
“mhh just give me a second,” he grits out, eyes still closed
something inside you snaps. you scramble off his lap, standing over him with a frown etched across your lips. “is there something wrong with me?” you ask, your voice shaking
his eyes fly open at your tone, wide with alarm. he sits up straight, holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “whoa, whoa, hey. it’s not you. it’s never been you.”
“then what is it, ei?” you hate how sad his name sounds coming out of your mouth, “because i’m starting to think you’re just not attracted to me.”
he’s on his feet in an instant, crossing the space between you. he looks so devastated “no. god, no, don’t ever think that. you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen. i want you so much it hurts. that’s . . that’s the problem.”
you stare at him, completely lost. “that makes no sense.”
he runs a hand through his soft hair, pacing your small living room. he looks so, so conflicted. “it’s my quirk,” he finally says, his voice barely a whisper. he stops pacing and looks at you, his expression so vulnerable it makes your heart ache. “i’ve always been insecure about it, you know? but this is different. i’m scared of it. i’m scared of hurting you with it.”
you blink. “your quirk? ei, what are you talking about? you’re not going to hurt me.”
“i don’t know!” he bursts out, “i have this irrational fear, okay? i’m convinced that if you . . .touch me. .” the thought alone is enough to make his cheeks rosy, “. . i’ll lose control completely. my quirk will activate without me meaning for it to! and my dick will get really hard, like hardening quirk hard, and i’ll hurt you . . i’d never forgive myself.”
you stare at him, mouth agape. you’re trying to process his words, to wrap your head around the sheer absurdity of it. “you’re serious?” you finally manage to say.
“yeah,” he says, looking miserable. “i think i’ll enjoy it too much and end up hurting the person i love more than anything. and i can’t. i just can’t.”
you can’t help but laugh. it’s not funny, not really, but the relief you feel is so overwhelming it’s all you can do. he’s not rejecting you. he’s not unattracted to you. he’s just . . an idiot. a sweet, well-meaning idiot who loves you so much he’s terrified of his own body.
“oh, ei,” you sigh, stepping forward and wrapping your arms around his waist. you press your face against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “you’re so silly.”
he stiffens, but then his arms come around you, holding you tight. “so you’re not . . mad?”
“i’m not mad,” you say, pulling back to look up at him. “i’m going to prove you wrong.”
he looks wary. “or you’ll prove me right”
“we’re going to start small,” you say, a slow smile spreading across your face. “i’ll only suck your tip. that way, at most, i’ll get a little cut on my lip.”
he hesitates, his ruby eyes searching yours. you can see the conflict within him: his desire versus his fear. he’s so pent up from hero work, from months of denying himself. and you’re looking at him with so much trust, so much love. the thought of your lips wrapped around him, your eyes watering as you look up at him . . . it’s too tempting. it’s a fantasy he’s had for months, one he’s ruthlessly suppressed.
“okay,” he breathes. “okay. but if i start hurting you please stop. immediately.”
“deal,” you agree, taking his hand and leading him towards your bedroom.
he sits on the edge of your bed, looking like he’s about to face a villain and not a blowjob. you kneel in front of him, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his sweatpants, and he tenses, but he doesn’t stop you. you pull them down, along with his boxers, and his cock springs free.
he’s huge. impressively big. it’s your first time seeing all of him, and you can’t help but stare. he’s thick and long, with a prominent vein running up the underside. the tip is flushed a deep, angry red, already beading with precum.
you reach out and wrap your hand around his base, and he stiffens, a sharp hiss escaping his teeth. but he doesn’t push you away. you take your sweet time, leaning in to press soft, wet kisses against his length, starting at the base and working your way up. his hips buck and a soft whimper escapes his lips.
he’s so sensitive. you’ve barely touched him and he’s already falling apart.
you reach his tip, and you can’t resist. you stick out your tongue and swirl it around the head, lapping up the salty precum. he nearly cums on the spot. his whole body jerks, and he lets out a strangled moan, his hands fisting in the duvet beneath him.
“fuuuck,” he gasps, his voice ragged. “oh, fuck.”
you smile, then take his leaking tip between your lips. you suck roughly, taking him even deeper so his tip bumps against the roof of your mouth. it feels so good, the weight of him on your tongue, the sounds he’s making. he’s petrified, you can feel it in the taut line of his muscles
“careful, baby,” he murmurs, “oh, god, careful. mghh, feels so good.”
you ignore his warning. you take him into your mouth inch by inch, bobbing your head. it’s all so lewd, so intimate. the wet sounds of your mouth on him, the way his breath hitches, he’s so close, you can feel it in the way his thighs are trembling. in the desperate sounds he’s making.
“i’m . . i’m gonna cum,” he warns, his voice breaking. “baby, i’m gonna cum. you should hah pull back. .”
he expects you to listen, to pull your lips off and let him finish himself off. it’ll be safer that way. but you have no intention of stopping. you want to taste him, to swallow him down, to prove to him once and for all that he’s incapable of hurting you.
you keep sucking, keep bobbing your head, taking him deeper and with a loud, broken cry, he cums. his whole body stiffens and he spurts hot, thick ropes of cum into your mouth. it’s so much. you swallow it down greedily, your eyes never leaving his.
he’s panting, chest heaving, when you finally pull off with a soft pop. he’s so sure he’s somehow cut open your tongue, shattered your teeth, done some irreparable damage.
you smile and stick out your tongue, showing him that you’re perfectly fine.“see?” you say, your voice a little smug. “i told you it’d be fine.”
he pulls you up into his arms, crushing you to his chest. “i love you” he murmurs into your hair, voice thick with emotion. “so much”
you just grin, already thinking of ways to get him to let his guard down even more. you have a feeling it won’t take too much convincing
Summary: You join the RDA young after the world figures out your ability to shapeshift. They offer you a new life- so why does everything feel wrong?
Warning(s): Mention of pain and discomfort when shapeshifting, the RDA
Note(s): So, I saw Avatar: Fire and Ash, and wanted to at least write a little something set in that universe. This section of the story happens before the events of the movie, so there is no spoilers in this one! Sorry that this isn't beta read. Part Two here!
You join the RDA because they make it sound like the only place you’ll ever be safe.
They find you young- young enough that the world hasn’t finished deciding what to do with someone whose body refuses to stay singular. Your ability to shift shape is treated like a miracle in press releases and like a liability in private. Governments argue over jurisdiction. Scientists argue over ownership. The RDA steps in with contracts already written, hands already extended, voices smooth and confident.
We know how to use your gifts. We can protect you. Pandora needs people like you.
You're young enough that fear still sounds like reason when it wears a calm voice and a tailored suit. Young enough to mistake a leash for a lifeline.
Afterwards, they show you carefully curated footage: Na’vi warriors painted in blood-red war stripes, arrows piercing armor, humans dragged screaming into the trees. They speak of Pandora as if it is a mouth full of teeth- hostile atmosphere, lethal fauna, a planet that wants you dead. They say savage like it’s a diagnosis.
“This is why we need people like you,” someone says gently. “People who can survive where others can’t.”
They frame it as responsibility. As prevention. As protection. They tell you that without the RDA, more people will die- scientists, workers, families who just want a future off a dying Earth. They tell you the Na’vi don’t understand progress, that they won’t negotiate, that they answer every attempt at peace with violence.
By the time they ask if you’re willing to help, the room feels smaller. The choice feels narrower. Outside these walls are governments arguing, crowds speculating, strangers who would love to decide what you deserve.
You nod before you realize you’re doing it.
You skip entire layers of training because your body can already do what machines struggle to replicate. Where others learn procedures, you are the procedure. You’re sent ahead of survey teams, ahead of engineers, ahead of anyone whose life costs more to replace. You walk into environments that would shred unmodified lungs. You stand in atmospheres that make others choke and panic. You adapt, cell by cell, instinctively, efficiently.
They assign you handlers.
Not friends- handlers. People who know your resting heart rate better than your favorite color. People who smile while watching your vitals scroll across transparent screens, fingers hovering over emergency overrides they’re always a little too ready to use. Doctors who talk about you while you’re still in the room, using third-person pronouns like you’re furniture that might break if handled wrong.
“Stability looks good today,” one of them says while you’re still shaking from a shift.
“Let’s see how far we can push it next time,” another replies.
They don’t say human when they look at you. Not really. They say asset. Adaptive. Exceptional. Your ability to alter your body, to rewrite bone and skin and organ density, is something they can catalog and deploy. You become a collection of graphs and projected tolerances. A list of acceptable losses.
They house you in white rooms with glass walls- clean, sterile, impossible to hide in. People watch you constantly, smiling without warmth, offering praise that never quite reaches their eyes. You’re commended in reports and quietly avoided in hallways. Conversations stop when you enter. Someone always finds an excuse to leave.
You learn quickly which version of yourself makes them most comfortable. Smaller changes. Cleaner ones. Nothing that reminds them you can become something they can’t predict.
Years pass like this. Not marked by birthdays or milestones, but by evaluations and clearance upgrades. You grow taller. Stronger. More precise. You learn how to hold a form longer, how to suppress the tremor in your hands afterward, how to smile when someone congratulates you on a successful test that nearly killed you.
That’s what the briefing says, over and over, in clipped sentences that echo long after the screens go dark. But the first time you see it- really see it, not through filtered feeds or drone cams- you feel something loosen in your chest, a tension you didn’t even realize you’d been carrying for years.
They release you into a controlled zone: a section of forest fenced with invisible containment fields, watched by drones that hum softly overhead like mechanical insects. The air is still toxic by human standards, but survivable for you. It slides into your lungs rich and damp, thick with scents that your old training has no names for. The ground beneath your feet gives subtly, alive and faintly warm, as though it recognizes the weight you carry and chooses not to resist it.
Light pours down through leaves larger than any sail you’ve seen, filtering through in fractured rays that scatter gold, green, and emerald in impossible patterns. Every shade feels alive, shimmering as though the canopy itself is breathing. Bioluminescent fungi pulse softly along roots and tree bases, reacting to your movement, glowing brighter as if startled into life by your presence. Air is heavy with the smell of sweet sap and rain-soaked earth, layered with something floral, electric, a scent that clings to your skin and curls deep into your lungs. It doesn’t just fill your senses- it anchors you.
You slow without meaning to, each step hesitant, reverent. You almost forget the RDA, the cameras, the commands. Even the warnings fade, leaving only the forest and its quiet, deliberate rhythms.
A small creature darts across your path, limbs spindly and iridescent, skin shimmering in impossible colors. It pauses, regards you briefly with eyes that feel aware, and vanishes into the underbrush without fear, without hesitation. A cluster of glowing insects rises from the moss like liquid fire, hovering, weaving in tight spirals, then scattering silently like sparks from an unseen flame.
Vines curl and uncurl lazily along the trunks of trees, not threatening, just alive. When you place a hand against the bark, you feel a faint vibration beneath your palm, a rhythm that reminds you unsettlingly of a heartbeat.
Your comm crackles.
“Vitals are clean,” someone says. “Asset appears stable. Proceed.”
You don’t want to.
For the first time since joining the RDA, you feel something loosen inside your chest. The planet isn’t hostile- it’s aware. Watching, yes. Measuring you the way you were taught to measure it. But not with hatred. The world breathes. The forest hums. Everything is connected in a way Earth forgot how to be.
This is when doubt takes root.
If this place is savage, why does it cradle life so carefully?
If the Na’vi are monsters, why does the land itself feel… gentle?
You feel a tug, faint at first, then stronger, pulling you forward, deeper into the forest, as if the planet itself is curious about you.
The deeper you go, the more the magic of it reveals itself. Seed pods, small as teardrops, float through the air, drifting slowly as if suspended in water. When they brush past, they release tiny clouds of light, glimmering like dust made of stars. You step near a shallow pool, and the water reflects not just your image, but faint trails of bioluminescence winding through the roots beneath. Tiny creatures swim in it, transparent, their bodies pulsing with soft neon, leaving streaks of light as they move.
Even the air moves with a purpose here. Breezes curve around your face like caresses, carrying scents that make your lungs ache with longing. Every step releases a whisper of life from the forest: leaves shifting, vines twisting, insects skimming the ground in quick flashes of luminescence. The forest doesn’t just exist- it sings, a song too intricate and layered for your ears to fully catch, but somehow impossible to ignore.
You try to describe it later, in the sterile white rooms of the RDA, but words fail you. They hear only “complex,” “reactive,” “ecology”- terms too clinical to capture the shimmer of light on leaves, the tiny sparks of color dancing in pools of water, the pulse of life beneath your hand.
“Don’t anthropomorphize,” a handler warns. “Pandora is dangerous. You just haven’t seen it yet."
Later, as you wade through bioluminescent marshes while analysts murmur excitedly in your ear about data returns, you start to notice what the RDA doesn’t log.
Bulldozers carving through the forest without pause for nesting grounds. Biologists who protest vanishing from assignments. Words like containment mutating quietly into elimination on spreadsheets no one talks about aloud.
You hear it before you see it- not gunfire, not the mechanical hum of drones- but the quiet rhythm of planning.
Late-night briefings you’re not supposed to attend, doors left half-open because no one thinks the freak will understand the numbers. Atmospheric processors scaled beyond “research.” You watch maps light up with projected blast zones that don’t care about villages, only about yield.
Hunting units shift from defense to retrieval. And one name keeps surfacing, spoken with irritation, obsession, almost a hiss:
Sully.
Circled. Annotated. Spat like a curse.
Jake Sully and his family aren’t just enemies. They’re obstacles. Symbols. Proof that Pandora can’t be tamed while they’re alive.
They speak of final pushes, decisive measures. They speak of fire, of scorched earth, of burning Pandora until nothing remains to resist.
You watch a recording where someone laughs while replaying footage of a burning stretch of forest. A scientist flinches but says nothing, you can only watch as command signs off anyway.
One night, you overhear a strategist mutter, almost conversationally, “If we burn enough forest, they’ll come to us.”
A few people laugh.
You stop sleeping after that. The forest haunts your dreams even when you aren’t on Pandora- the heat of the fires, the screams of animals you never see, the laughter that feels like knives in the dark.
They start pushing your abilities harder. Asking if you can approximate indigenous physiology. If you can blend. If you can infiltrate. The way they look at you changes- less amusement, more hunger.
That’s when the word freak finally slips out.
Not shouted. Not angry. Just casual.
“Careful,” a tech mutters when you pass, “thing like that could turn on us.”
Thing.
Something cold settles into you then, slow and absolute. You understand, all at once, that no matter how useful you make yourself, you will never be included, only deployed. You aren’t a person here. You’re a contingency. A failsafe. A leash they haven’t figured out how to tighten yet.
That night, you don’t wait for permission.
You don’t pack. You don’t plan. Planning assumes time, and time is something the RDA only ever gives you until it decides to take it back.
You choose a body the RDA fears and covets in equal measure. You easily pull the image from memory: blue skin under bioluminescent light, height and grace and strength not born of machinery. A body that belongs here.
Your body answers before your mind can hesitate.
The first sound is bone.
They stretch with a sound like ice cracking under pressure. Pain spikes- sharp, electric- as your spine lengthens, vertebrae re-spacing themselves with brutal precision. You bite down on your sleeve to keep from screaming as your ribcage expands, lungs reshaping to drink deeper air. Your heart stutters, then resumes with a heavier, slower beat.
Your hands convulse. Fingers lengthen, joints re-aligning, nails thickening into something harder. Your skin burns- burns- as pigment floods outward, human tones drowning beneath blue, faint stripes surfacing like memories you never lived.
A tail forces its way into existence at the base of your spine and you sob despite yourself, because nothing has ever hurt like this and nothing has ever felt more right.
Your face is last, cruel in its patience.
Your jaw reshapes with a sickening pull. Your nose flattens, cartilage folding inward. Your eyes widen, darkening, pulling in light until the room seems suddenly brighter, sharper, unbearably detailed. When your ears crawl upward along your skull and taper to points, you nearly black out.
When it’s over, you lie there shaking, too large for the cot, breath dragging in slow, powerful pulls you don’t know how to control yet. The room smells different now. Everything does. Metal. Fear.
Your fear.
You catch your reflection in the steel wall.
A Na’vi stares back.
Not perfect. Not born. Something about the posture is wrong, the stillness too practiced- but close enough. Close enough to vanish into the forest. Close enough to survive.
By the time the alarms realize something is wrong, you’re already in the forest, feet sinking into living soil, the network of Pandora thrumming beneath you like a heartbeat answering your own.
When you burst from the controlled zone, the RDA is already regrouping at the edge of the forest. They shout orders, curse your name, curse the trees- but their bullets are useless here. Pandora itself seems to fold around you, carrying you further into its depths, hiding you in plain sight.
Hours stretch into days.
You no longer measure time by hours or meals, as you once did in the white rooms. You mark it by the life around you: blooms unfurling in colors you’ve never seen, petals glowing faintly under Pandora’s filtered light; insects that glitter like liquid gemstones, wings flickering with iridescence as they dart between leaves; birds tracing arcs of faint light across the canopy, feathers reflecting bioluminescent patterns even in daylight. Every step, every breath, reminds you that the planet is alive- and that it wants more than extraction. It wants preservation.
Your body aches. Muscles tremble with exhaustion. Lungs burn against air still thick with unfamiliar gases. But you keep moving, because stopping isn’t safe, and because the forest is teaching you, whether you notice or not.
You watch the animals.
A small herd moves through a clearing- slender-legged, striped in shifting blues and greens, heads bobbing as they sniff the ground and nuzzle plants. Their antenna-like whiskers probe the soil, sniffing, tasting, and nudging one another as they graze on thick, spongy moss and low shrubs. They drink from a clear, shallow stream with slow, deliberate sips, eyes constantly flicking for danger. You mimic them, kneeling to sip from the same pool, letting the cool water wash the dryness from your throat. You bite at leaves, nibble fruits your human instincts would have ignored, and find your stomach forgiving.
Nearby, a larger creature lopes cautiously through the underbrush, six legs moving with smooth, deliberate rhythm. It grazes on thick ferns and low shrubs, alert to every movement and sound. You copy its careful steps, testing plants, finding solid ground, learning without knowing the names of anything you touch or taste.
You move lightly over soft moss, climb with careful precision, stepping where no trace remains. Nights are spent tucked in bioluminescent groves, fungi glowing faintly beneath you, seeds drifting like lanterns above, casting the world in quiet, shifting color. Sleep comes in fragments, but even in dreams the forest pulses beneath your skin, a constant, gentle thrum.
A few more days pass, and you begin to realize that berries, leaves, and whatever edible roots you can find won’t be enough. Your body- long, strong, shaped for speed and endurance- demands more. You feel the hollow ache in your stomach and the way your muscles twitch with need.
That afternoon you watch a predator slip silently through a stream, its body low, eyes scanning the water. With a sudden lunge, it strikes, claws plunging into the shallow flow, lifting a wriggling fish with precision. It doesn’t waste a second. Teeth clamp down, and the fish disappears in a flash.
Something clicks inside you.
Hunger strips everything down to what matters. It sharpens your thoughts in a way the sterile RDA rooms never could, cuts through training manuals and protocols until only instinct remains. You sink into a crouch at the water’s edge and watch, really watch.
The predator doesn’t rush. Its limbs brace against slick stone, weight distributed with careful precision. It waits, motionless, letting the water settle, letting the fish forget it is there. When it strikes, it isn’t strength that wins- it’s timing. Rhythm. A patience so complete it feels like part of the river itself.
You feel your body mirror the lesson before your mind names it.
Your fingers sink into the cool current, tail twitching for balance. You mimic the predator, diving your hand toward a darting fish, fingertips brushing scales, heart hammering. The fish slips. You try again. And again. The forest hums around you, water splashing over stones, insects flickering along the banks, sun filtering through towering leaves.
The water ripples around your hands, darting fish slipping through like quicksilver. No matter how carefully you move, no matter how patient you are, your fingers are too soft, too human and too Na'vi in equal measure. Hunger gnaws at you. You can’t wait.
You flex your hands, and instinct takes over. Nails thicken and sharpen, lengthening into curved claws, hard and precise. The transformation is subtle but powerful; muscle and bone shift to support the new form. The cool water presses against your claws, and suddenly, you are no longer merely trying- you are predatory, efficient, alive in a way you haven’t felt since leaving the RDA.
You dive your claws into the stream, and with a swift, practiced motion, you pin a wriggling fish against a submerged rock. There’s a dull thunk as you deliver the final blow, the fish still under your grip. Cold and slick in your hands, it’s the first kill you’ve taken in this body, in this new life.
"Thank you." you murmur softly.
You gather dry twigs, small sticks stripped from the low branches, leaves that crumble to dust between your fingers. You strike stones together, a sharp clang against another, sparks spitting briefly into the air. Your heart pounds. Sparks fall uselessly onto damp moss. You try again, rubbing sticks, grinding them together with raw strength, but nothing catches. But Pandora is not a kitchen. The forest has no patience for convenience.
The fish is lying there, cold and unyielding. Hunger twists in your gut, muscles trembling from exertion, lungs still burning from long days of running. You can’t wait. Fire isn’t coming.
You bite. Scales scrape against your teeth, fins crack under your jaw. The flesh is cold and slick, metallic on your tongue, sharp with the taste of water and living stone. Your stomach tightens in protest, a reflex from a body that remembers sterilized meals and approved rations. Then it eases.
Every bite is messy, real, and for the first time in days, satisfying.
In the next few days, the trees begin to thin. The canopy lifts, and sunlight spills across your face in unfiltered waves, warm and blinding. You haven’t felt this warmth on bare skin in years. The ocean’s salt and tang tease your senses first as a scent, faint and foreign, carried on a wind sharper and clearer than anything under the forest canopy. Somewhere ahead, the cry of distant creatures and the flash of gliding shapes over the water tell you: the coast is near.
Paring!: (Soft?)Yandere! Sully family (plus spider) x Human!Reader
T/W: Mentions of violence, blood, death, possessiveness, obsession, maybe insanity???
A/N: YEAY!!! So this will be before the things of atwow, but i am just going to add spider since it makes a lot more sensein my pov but if you guys want i can do a atwow version, instead!!! Tysm for requesting and please keep asking!!!
Like spider, you couldn't be put in cryo, so you were forced to stay, you were a little younger than spider, but both of you still running around the place
But unlike spider, you really didnt like wearing the mask as much, so you stayed inside a little bit more than spider did
So since you and spider were close, he started to get over protective of you, staying by your side, getting snappy when people come to closs
So spider was the main connection you have with the sully family, he introduced you to Loak, who instantly liked you, going on rides on his ikran, or just letting you hold his tail to keep up (they really all do)
Then loak would take you to Neteyam and Kiri, again both of them really liked you, neteyam teaching you how to shoot a bow, carefully tailing behind you when running around on trees and things like that
Kiri talks to you about her connection with ewya and her stronger connections with the forest, she loves when you guys just talk and weave certain things
Tuk found out when she went to go find kiri and found you, jumping and being happy in general to have another friend to play with!
So the kids knew that Neytiri woukdnt like you as much, so they introduced you to jake first! Jake adored you! He saw you as him when he first came here, but now he can properly protect you! He was pretty stern with you going out, he knows your sad! But he just cant let you get hurt!
Overtime when they finally introduced you to Neytiri, which actually.. Liked you much more than they expected
They all take turns spending time with you, its always oldest to youngest
If ANYONE LITERALLY ANYONE, makes fun of you, they will ruin their lives, so lets put it in like perspective
Lets say some na'vi kids were making fun of you, bruising your skin, cutting you on accident on purpose, who knows
Spider finds you first, him already telling loak, him telling kiri, kiri telling neteyam, so on and so on..
When jake and Neytiri gets word of this, they dont let you out of their sights for a while, jake being pretty powerful in the clan, he spreads either rumors or banishes the kids parents
Loak and Neteyam ALSO spread rumors about the kids if they try to train or just in general, since kiri has a string connection with ewya, she would use plants and animals to not kill but get them paranoid, scared of the forest that they think they know so well
+Neteyam, Loak, Spider would ruin weapons, sabotage them flying, or just beat their ass because they can
Tuk probably would just tease or make fun of the kids, she wouldnt really know whats going on, but shes really snappy and sassy with people when they want you to go with someone else while you guys are spending time together
Sometimes the family (nit with tuk) would either lead the people or their 'targets' to a dangerous place, leaving their dead bodies and blaming it on either animals, sky people, or just a natural disaster
Even if you want to leave, they wont let you, they will all show different emotions so fast its SCARY, the anger, sadness, reluctance, confusion they will all feel when you try to leave
Punishments is they put you on like a high tree, if you cant climb well, if you can they would leave you 'alone' but there always watching you anyways
They put you in their type of clothing, willingly or not
Tey see you as a part of their family, not a pet, but they will try to at least keep you as one to make you stay.
