Pictures.
[Neteyam x Scientist! human reader]
Warnings: None. Fluff. Shy, absolutely-in-love Neteyam :)
Synopsis: Neteyam had asked you about the human invention of “movies,” and you were about to show him some, but he got distracted, growing pouty when something in your room caught his eye.
Word Count: 1.2k
You were hunched over a microscope in the lab, scribbling notes and lowly muttering about the patterns of the specimen. The faint buzz of equipment blended in with the distant sounds of Pandora’s nature, a backdrop you had long grown used to.
Neteyam leaned against the lab console, tail flicking lazily as he watched you work, not once taking his eyes off you, studying the way your face scrunched with confusion, or the way you’d stick your tongue out when you were really concentrated. Earlier, he’d been talking about ‘movies,’ something his dad had told him about from Earth. He was curious, and you had promised, “Once I’m done here, I’ll show you some. You’ll like them, there are so many different options.”
You finally removed the last slide from the stage clip, signaling the end of your research for the day. You leaned back, stretching with a small yawn, brushing any fly-aways from your face. “All done,” you said, smiling at him.
It took him a second to look away from you; it was like he was fully entranced. He snapped out of it, ears pinning back in embarrassment at being caught. “Good,” he murmured after a moment, rising off the console with his usual fluid movements.
Today was the first time he’d been inside your bedroom. When he saw you walk in, he hesitated for a moment, unsure about entering such a private space, until you looked back at him with that warm smile that made his knees weak, beckoning him in with a gentle wave of your hand.
He followed you in, eyes widening slightly at the difference between your bedroom and his back at camp. His gaze roamed as you pranced over to your small couch, looking around for the remote. He was in awe of the cute foreign decorations scattered around the room, each one mysterious and special in a way he wanted to ask you about.
As you settled onto the couch, he perched beside you, arms draped over his knees, and his eyes drifted across the walls beside the couch and TV, noticing the countless photos you had hung up. They consisted of your friends, trips, and research adventures: all fragments of your life on Earth before Pandora.
His gaze froze on one image, and you noticed him growing quiet. Confused by his sudden silence, you glanced over, spotting a small pout tugging at his lips. You followed his gaze, and saw the photo of you with your old guy friend’s arm draped over your shoulders, both of you laughing at the camera.
“Your mate?” His voice was calm, but the faint sadness in his golden eyes didn’t escape you. You smiled at the way the word rolled off his tongue with such a subtle bitterness.
“Oh, him?” you scoffed at the accusation, leaning back onto the cushion, and returning your attention to the TV as you scrolled through the movies. “No way. He was just a friend from college.”
Neteyam hummed lowly, tail curling a little tighter around his calf. Glancing back at him, the small scrunch of his nose and scowl that rested on his features made you giggle, and an idea popped into your head. You wasted no time, quickly getting up, and digging through the contents of your night table for your camera. You grabbed it and began walking toward him, turning it on as you went.
“What are you doing?” he asked, suspicion creeping into his voice, as he heard the whirring sound of the camera.
“Documenting,” you said, lifting the camera as you stood in front of him, the table between you, and snapped a photo of him on the couch, the remnants of his pout from earlier still visible.
Click.
“Wait, what?” His brows furrowed, heat creeping up his neck. “Why–hey!”
Behind the camera, you were all giggles and wide smiles. Another snap, and then another. With each click, the little photos whirred and slid out from the top of the camera, landing on the table and floor in a tiny cascade. His expression shifted as he watched your happy face, softening as you continued snapping photos. He didn’t even care that you were taking pictures anymore; he would do anything if it meant hearing your laugh and seeing your beautiful smile for the rest of his life.
Finally, you flipped the camera toward yourself and walked over, plopping down next to a very confused Neteyam on the couch. You were really close. Really close. His breath caught, and he grew still beside you in anticipation. Leaning over, you pressed a quick kiss to his cheek as you extended your arm forward and snapped the next picture.
Click.
The photo printed immediately, and it was a perfect capture: you smiling, lips pressed against his cheek, his golden eyes wide, ears pinned back, and the fattest blush gracing his face. Neteyam stayed silent, frozen where he was on the couch. His mind was fixed on the spot where your lips had just pressed against his cheek, and his hand reached up, tracing the warmth you had left just seconds prior. Holy shit, he was so in love with you.
You got up, a blush of your own coloring your cheeks after your boldness, and knelt to collect the little cascade of photos that had slid to the floor and table. As you flipped through them, a warm, pouty smile tugged at your lips. The images captured a side of him you’d never fully seen before: the progression from the scowl after spotting your college friend, to the confused tilt of his head, to the gradual softening of his features. In each, he wasn’t looking at the camera; instead, he was looking behind the camera, at you, at your laugh, your smile, the way your eyes crinkled. If you looked closer, you could almost see the shapes of hearts in his eyes.
“Aww, look at your face,” you said, holding up one of the photos, voice catching in a giggle. His enamored gaze, the small tilt of his head, the way his lips curved into a small, unconscious smile in the picture: it all made him look completely undone.
Neteyam’s eyes followed each of your movements as you reached for tape from your desk, carefully beginning to pin the photos to the walls. One by one, the little prints went up, capturing each of the previous moments that had unfolded.
When the last photo was secured, you sat back down on the couch, sliding in beside him. You grabbed the remote, hitting play for the first movie you’d promised to show him. The soft glow of the screen lit your faces, but Neteyam didn’t shift.
He couldn’t take his eyes off the last photo you’d pinned, the one where your lips were pressed to his cheek. His fingers twitched against the couch, tail thudding lightly against the cushion, and the faintest, awestruck smile tugged at his lips. Even as the movie started, filling the room with light and sound, his gaze kept returning to that single picture, as if he was trying to memorize it forever.
You nudged him gently, brushing his arm as you noticed he wasn’t fully focused on the movie. “You don’t like the movie?”
“No, no, it’s not that,” he said, voice quiet, almost shy, pausing for a moment before asking, “Can we take more? After the movie?”
You smiled softly, reaching for his shaky hand. “Of course.”
