Ellie

she’s eating you out with a messy, focused hunger, her tongue swirling with an agonizing precision that makes your toes curl into the dirt. every few seconds, she pulls back just enough to let out a muffled comment, her voice vibrating against your clit. "wow, you’re really shaking, aren’t you? i can feel your pulse jumping all the way in your toes. i didn't know i was that good, or maybe you're just that desperate."

you let out a sharp, fractured breath, your fingers knotting into her long, messy hair as you try to push her back down. "shut up, toph. please, just... shut up and finish."

the vibration stops instantly. she pulls away, sitting back on her heels with a slow grace that makes your skin scream for the return of her warmth. you find yourself let out a pathetic, high-pitched whine, your hips arching instinctively to follow her, but she stays just out of reach. her unseeing, milky eyes are fixed somewhere over your shoulder, a smug, lopsided grin stretching across her face.

"did the little lady just tell me what to do?" she asks, her tone dripping with a mock-offended sweetness that makes your face burn. "i thought you were enjoying the commentary. it helps me keep track of how close you are to melting into a puddle."

you’re practically begging now, your voice a soft, breathless wreck as you look at her. "toph, don't be mean. i didn't mean it, just... i'm so close. please."

she sighs, a dramatic, huffing sound that echoes off the jagged cave walls. she tilts her head to the side, staring blankly at a cluster of stalactites as if she’s searching for inspiration in the silence. suddenly, she lets out a sharp, clicking sound with her tongue—an oh! of realization that makes your stomach flip with a mix of confusion and dread. she remembers a specific shape, a specific weight she’s felt through the soles of her feet in the darker corners of the earth kingdom’s bustling markets.

toph reaches out a hand, her fingers twitching in the air. a few feet away, a discarded crate of iron scraps begins to rattle, the metal shrieking as it’s torn from the wood. you watch, mesmerized and horrified, as the shards fly toward her, hovering in a swirling cloud of grey. her arm muscles ripple beneath her tunic, the definition in her shoulders and biceps on full display as she begins to mold the iron with the focused intensity of a master smith. she’s sculpting, you realized, her brow furrowing as she feels the internal structure of the metal shift and smooth under her command.

the realization of what she’s making hits you all at once. the jagged edges melt away, replaced by a thick, rounded head and a long, sturdy shaft that curves slightly at the tip. 

it’s unmistakable. 

your jaw drops, a hot flush of mortification sweeping from your chest up to your hairline. "toph! how do you even—how do you know what that looks like?"

she barks out a loud, rough laugh that echoes like a landslide. "sugar tits, i don't need to see to know what people are hiding under their floorboards. i’ve felt the vibration of these things in half the inns we've stayed at. you think people are quiet? they’re not. and the shape is pretty intuitive once you realize what it’s for."

she flicks her wrist, and the newly formed metal dildo—still warm from the friction of the bend—hovers over your entrance. she uses the magnetic pull of her bending to brush the tip against your swollen folds, teasing the sensitive skin with a cold, hard contrast that makes you shiver. "this is so weird," you lie, your voice cracking as you try to pull your legs together. "toph, seriously, this is... it's weird. put it away."

toph’s smirk only deepens, her head tilting as she 'listens' to the floor beneath you. "you’re a terrible liar. your heart is hammering against the stone like a trapped sparrow. it’s practically screaming at me to keep going. why do you bother lying to a woman who can literally feel your muscles twitching?"

you start to splutter out an excuse, something about the coldness of the metal or the absurdity of the situation, but she cuts you off with a sharp, flicking motion of her fingers. the metal dildo prods firmly against your opening, the weight of it immense and uncompromising. before you can even draw a breath to protest, she slides it in—one smooth  motion that stretches you wide and fills the aching void she left behind.

a choked, jagged moan escapes your lips as you feel the solid, unyielding weight of the iron inside you. it’s different from her tongue, different from her fingers; it’s a constant, cold pressure that makes you feel utterly conquered. toph moves her hand in a rhythmic, back-and-forth motion, her eyebrows raised in concentration as she feels the resistance of your internal walls through the metal.

she starts to increase the speed, the dildo thrusting into you with a mechanical, tireless force that no human could ever match. you’re squirming against the stone, your heels digging into the dirt as you try to find a rhythm, but toph is the one in control of the pace. she begins to talk, her voice low and raspy, vibrating through the air and the floor.

"look at you, shaking for a piece of scrap metal i just pulled out of the trash. you like how deep it goes, don't you? i can feel your cunt gripping it, trying to hold onto it. you’re so wet i’m surprised you haven’t short-circuited the bending yet. give it to me, sugar tits. let me feel exactly how much you can take before you break."

you’re biting your lip so hard you taste copper, desperate to keep the loudest of your moans from bouncing off the cave walls, but it’s a losing battle. the metal is moving so fast now, hitting your g-spot with a blunt, rhythmic thud that makes your vision go dark at the edges. you’re a mess of friction and sound, your body reacting to the cold iron as if it were the most precious thing in the world.

toph leans in closer, her face inches from yours, her breath smelling of mint and earth. she can feel the tension in your thighs reaching a breaking point, the way your entire skeletal structure is vibrating with the impending release. she slows the bending for just a second, a cruel, calculated pause that makes you sob out a plea.

"you can let go, you know," she whispers, her voice a rough caress. "i’ve got you. the earth isn't going anywhere. just let it out so i can feel the impact."

the permission is what finally undoes you. you let out a long, shuddering scream that tears through the silence of the quarry, your body bucking upward as the orgasm ripples through you in violent, agonizing waves. you’re so embarrassed by the sheer volume of it, by the way you’re clutching at her arms as if she’s the only solid thing left in the universe.

toph waits until the last of your tremors has faded into a soft, twitching heat before she calmly bends the metal away. she guides it back to the scrap pile, the iron shrieking one last time as it settles into the dust. she leans forward then, her movements surprisingly gentle as she presses a soft, lingering kiss to your inner thigh, right where the skin is most sensitive.

she pulls back, sitting in the dirt with her legs crossed, a massive, shit-eating grin plastered across her face as she wipes a stray smudge of dirt from her cheek.

"see? i told you iron was good for more than just armor. next time, maybe don't try to lie to the girl who can feel your toes curling from a mile away."

𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐊 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐓𝐎 ,, neytiri's dear husband she cherished deeply. she truly loves jake, she swears she does. but this was something she couldn't pull herself out of, something so addictive.

"deep breath in, deep breath out..."

neytiri's tries her best to follow (name)'s pace, though she can't help but look up and down the metkayina's... ample body. even harder with the younger woman's soft hand resting on her core. this earned a slight huff from (name) "neytiri, your heart is fast... focus,"

a simple hum comes out of neytiri as she continues to focus on her breathing and heart pace.

(name) was the younger sister of the tsahik of the metkayina. often, (name) would come to teach neytiri instead when ronal was sick and tired with the omaticaya woman's attitude.

soon the lesson came to an end. "hm, thank you, (name)." neytiri gives a pleasant hum, shy smile gracing the older woman's lips. (name) graces neytiri with a pretty smile in return before bowing her head and leaving. as (name) left, neytiri couldn't help but stare.

a twinge of guilt nips at neytiri.

NIGHT TIME

"a-ah! yes... right there– nggghhh! it's so... d–deeppp! Ah..." (name) drools underneath neytiri, face down ass up. neytiri had her long slender middle and ring fingers plunging deep into the younger woman's warm cunny. "ngghhh, hah... so good," the metkayina woman whines, wiggling her hips.

"shhh... you don't want our mate's hearing this, right, yawne?" neytiri whispers against the crook of (name)'s soft shoulder. her other hand groping a handful of the younger woman's pert ass– god was it soft.

neytiri's eyes snap open as she wakes in a heated sweat and heavy breathing next to a sleeping jake. a dream. disappointment crosses her face. guilt sets as well.

neytiri had decided to leave her family's marui for a bit, get some fresh air. she walked along the shore line, a hand rubbing her temple. it didn't make sense, honestly. she loves jake– she is 100% sure she does, yet...

the thought of (name)'s softness... it brought so much sinful lust to neytiri's thoughts. her ears pin against her soul as she shakes her head. trying to think of everything jake had done for her.

he betrayed his race for her.

fought a war for her people.

gave her a family.

children.

yet... neytiri just sighs, thinking about her home, the forest. perhaps, eywa is forming a new path for her.

for she couldn't possibly stay away from (name)'s sweetness.

You sat next to Lo’ak, fortune fruit in hand. He eyed you with hungry eyes,

“Please.” He pleaded, and you could only roll your eyes in annoyance.

“Get your own fruit you skxawng.” You chuckled, tickling him on his abdomen and earning a playful shove from the boy.

“Fine! Next time you ask me for fruit, your sorry ass will have to go foraging too!” Lo’ak fired back with a joyous smile on his face.

You had quite the dynamic with the Sully siblings.

You were somewhat of an elder sister to Tuk, Lo’ak, and Kiri. Growing up, you were always there for them—especially because you were one of the few kids close to their age.

And Neteyam? Your connection with him was something you considered special. You always thought he’d be your mate, the man who would dedicate himself to you.

Thankfully, the boy was courting you.

But you were a secret, for reasons unbeknownst to you. But you never really put that much thought into it, Neteyam will make you both official any day now.

You shaked the thought off when Tuk suddenly tackled your side. With a huff, she complains to you.

“Tsmuke!” She whined, “Help please, Neteyam won’t let me go play with Popiti!”

You could only laugh as Tuk gave you a sad little pout. You quickly spot Neteyam as he rushes over to you in search of Tuk.

“Tuk! Get back here you skxawng! Mother said you had to be home already!” He hissed, and Tuk hissed back.

“Why do I have to go home so early!” Tuk huffed as she pointed to the sky, “It’s not even eclipse yet!” 

Neteyam grabbed her by the arm, “Tuk, come on, or Mother will pluck both our eyes.”

Tuk clung onto you for dear life, and the sight almost had you hooting and hollering.

“Neteyam, just let the poor girl go.” You sighed as Neteyam eyed you in curiosity. “Just tell Neytiri we had uhm… I don’t know, something to do? Surely it wouldn’t be that much of a problem?”

Neteyam scratches his head, “You know I can’t do that, Mother said she had something to teach Tuk.”

Tuk turns to you with the cutest eyes she could muster, and you could only pat her back in disappointment.

“Sorry Tuk, you should really listen to your brother.” You offered her a sad smile, and Tuk’s ears went down along with her fighting spirit. With a defeated “okay”, Tuk goes to her brother's side and follows him with a sad look on her face.

Neteyam holds her by the back of her neck and escorts her home.

But before he could get away, you called out his name.

“Neteyam!” You yelled as you jogged towards him. His ears flick and he turns to you, head tilted as he waits for you to explain yourself.

“Will we still uhm… you know, by the creek?” You whispered, “Together?”

Neteyam slightly cringed before he answered,

“Sorry, Mother wants me to be there with Tuk too…” Your tail lays flat against the ground, eyes dropping in disappointment. Neteyam takes note of the way your mood drops, and quickly makes up an alternative.

“How about next week? Surely you and I will have some free time then.” He says with as much excitement as he could muster. You gulped and nodded in agreement,

“Okay… next week.” Neteyam bows his head, and quickly makes his exit, leaving you by yourself.

“That’s the third time he’s rescheduled…” You mumbled, the dissatisfaction clear in your voice. 

Lo’ak jogs over to you with a question in mind.

“You alright?” He worried, and you swiftly tried to brush him off.

“I’m fine Lo’ak,” You turned away, “Just… I need some time alone.” Lo’ak understands what you meant, and carefully backs away. But not before telling you to keep safe, and to always remember he’s there for you if need be.

You were thankful, but sorrow clouded your mind too much to thank him.

It was a date you and Neteyam had planned for a while, after all. And after two reschedules, you thought today would be the day you could finally spend with your loved one—you apparently thought wrong.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Neteyam gets off his ikran, eyes heavy as he slouches. His day—no, week has been nothing but endless duties. He hated to admit it, but even someone as determined as Neteyam would feel the weight of such a heavy burden. Neteyam could only power through, the fear of disappointing his parents ringing in his mind whenever he felt even a hint of fatigue.

As Neteyam aimlessly wanders through High Camp, looking for anything to do, his eyes light up when it lands on you, just weaving and doing your daily duties for the clan in a quiet corner. He hastily makes his way to you, and plops himself right by you.

“Hi.” Neteyam whispered, “How have you been?” You flinch in surprise and Neteyam giggles in response. “I trust you have been well, paskalin?”

The moment you realized the perpetrator of such a scare was just Neteyam, your tail stands up—a telltale sign that you were happy. “Do not do that again ‘Teyam, I swear…” You joked, “I nearly shrieked in surprise… If Lo’ak or Kiri had heard that, they’d never let me live it down. Something about being easily scared…” Neteyam let out his own soft laugh at your humour, his hand smoothly making its way above yours.

Neteyam attempts to inch closer to you, his eyes darting from your eyes to your lips. He leaned in closer, and so did you. But you thought about how he’d just played such a silly prank on you. Who’s to say you can’t tease him too?

As Neteyam closes the distance so dangerously close, you cut him off by placing your finger on his lips and halting his movement. Neteyam stares at you wide eyed, confusion in his eyes. With a shameless smile on your face, you whispered in a hushed voice.

“Not so fast smarty-pants,” Neteyam’s brows furrow in confusion, where did you even learn that phrase? “You don’t deserve to kiss me after pulling such a stunt, lover boy.”

Neteyam light heartedly scoffed, tilting his head as he looked at you with yearning eyes. He brings your hand close to his face with as much grace as he could, then placed a light peck on your knuckles.

“I’ll settle for this then.”

The action caught you off guard, the blood quickly rushing to your cheeks. You let out an awkward laugh, shaking your head in an attempt to calm your rapid beating heart. Your ears went as flat as they could possibly go, and you felt your cheeks get warmer as the seconds passed.

You lean close to his touch, leading you to lay on his chest as you continue to weave. Neteyam starts to mindlessly play with your hair, just twisting and twirling it however he likes. The silence felt comfortable, stable. Something you wouldn’t exactly use to describe you and Neteyam’s relationship.

A thought popped up in your head.

“When can we go out next? It’s been a while since we’ve gone on an outing together.” You innocently asked, simply longing for more time with Neteyam. Your lover spent the next minute or so thinking hard about his schedule, his duties. Neteyam then came to a conclusion—

“In two weeks, I won't have anything for a while after that.” Your nose scrunched in confusion,

“What? That long—I mean, I get you’re busy and all that but… two weeks? Surely you have at least an hour to spare or…”  You trailed off as Neteyam squeezed your hand, silently asking you to stop.

You saw the way fear flooded into Neteyam’s eyes, the way he seemed to close in on himself. Neteyam slightly pulled away, his skin no longer touching yours.

He sighed, “Please, paskalin, let’s be patient okay?” Neteyam bit his lower lip, distressed. “I’m just busy and I don’t want to fail my family or my people. I just… just a little more time, alright?” Neteyam pleaded with glossy eyes you couldn’t deny. You felt your heart clench, you couldn’t say no.

“Okay…” You yielded, “In two weeks by the lake then?” With a defeated tone, you tried to compromise instead. Neteyam smiled back with an equally defeated smile, relief apparent in his face.

“Wherever you wish, my love.”

You couldn’t pinpoint it.

Why Neteyam was so against the idea of… the idea of you?

But with such a look on his pretty face, seeing your hard working lover look so mentally, physically, and emotionally drained had you double thinking whether you should have asked or not.

The sorry look in his eyes as he stared at the bracelet you had given each other had you convinced.

You wouldn’t ask—at least not now.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Neteyam rests his head on the wall, breath heavy as he pants. He had just finished his training with his father, said exercise tiring him out more than he liked. Neteyam stares out into the distance, this heavy feeling on his chest that he couldn’t quite understand.

He feels like he had forgotten something, like he was supposed to be somewhere with someone right now. Neteyam continued to think, digging into his memories to find any trace of his original plan for today.

Then it clicked,

He had a date with you.

And even worse, this would be his fourth time cancelling if he doesn’t make it there in time. His eyes widen in a panic, and Neteyam practically bolts to his ikran. He calls for his aerial partner and quickly hops on.

He starts to think about where exactly he’s supposed to be right now.

He began to mumble, “The creek? No, we cancelled that last week… the cliff—no it’s too late for that. There would be too many bugs.” Neteyam anxiously racked his brain for anything related to your conversation a day or two ago.

“The… the lake.” Neteyam curses at himself, “I’m such a skxawng, I need to get there now.” 

Neteyam yips at his ikran to speed up, his hair going wild against the wind. He and his ikran soar high above the forest at speeds he didn’t know they could reach.

As he continues to fly at speeds he doesn't know how to control, Neteyam nearly crashes into a mountain. His eyes widened in a panic, he had to turn now. Neteyam pulls at the reins as hard as he could, just barely succeeding to save himself from a nasty crash. The sharp turn had his ikran dazed and they squawked in fury. Neteyam cooed as his ikran, profusely apologizing for nearly getting them both injured.

His attention gets stolen as he sees a familiar silhouette of a girl near the coast of the lake—you. No doubt it was you, because the only person who could catch his attention like that was you. The closer he got, the more he noticed. Your ears were pinned back, and your tail seemed still. His brows furrowed at the sight of you looking so down, and it killed him that he was the reason for all this sadness.

He and his ikran gently landed, trying not to scare you. Your ears twitched at the quiet sound of their landing.

You knew he was here, you knew it was him. But you didn’t want to turn around, you didn’t want to hear any of it.

“Paskalin,” Neteyam breathed out, “Please look at me.” He bit his lip, anxious and worried. You didn’t let up.

You looked out onto the horizon as eclipse neared. You watched as the sky slowly darkened, as the forest grew silent. You held back your tears well, an act you had unwillingly practiced through all the times Neteyam had been unreliable for the past year.

You exhaled in exhaustion as you turned to Neteyam, “Can you just—” You could’ve shouted, screamed, yelled—but you did none of those. You bit back the venom in your voice, too tired to argue. “Just… don’t apologize, ‘Teyam.”

His face softened as he stepped closer,

“Just hold me, be with me right now. That’s all I ever really ask for.” Neteyam nearly let out a sob seeing you so dejected. He changed his pace and rushed to pull you into his arms, engulfing you in a warm hug.

“I love you, I’m so sorry yawne, Oh Eywa I’m so sorry…” He whispered as he peppered kisses all over your face. You sighed into his touch as the day’s activities that weighed on you seemingly disappeared.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

Kiri and Lo’ak excitedly come up to you with good news, they weren’t grounded anymore. And that only meant one thing—a group hang out!

It excited you to no end, and you could only giggle when Lo’ak started rambling about the different places you all could sneak out to. It didn’t take long until Lo’ak and Kiri’s eyes light up when they both thought of a place.

“The old shack!”

“Near the cliffs!”

They both shrieked in unison, unaware that the other was going to help with their own suggestion. Their eyebrows furrowed together, and they turned to each other with an offended look on their faces.

“Oh come on, we go to the shack all the time Lo’ak, how about a change in scenery hm?” Kiri sassed, Lo’ak rolling his eyes in response.

“Please, what are we even gonna do at the cliffs? Jump?” Kiri gasps in shock and hits her brother on the shoulder. With a pained “ouch”, Lo’ak hisses at his sister in retaliation.

“And this is why you’re single.” Kiri said as she stuck out her tongue, and Lo’ak could only mumble something about Kiri being single too.

You wholeheartedly laughed—you hadn’t done that in a while.

“Okay, tweedledum and tweedledoo, how about we pass by the shack on the way to the cliffs? Would that work for you two skxawng’s?”

The siblings gave your suggestion a lot of thought, and nodded in satisfaction. You were all about to start preparing for your little outing, until a thought popped up in Kiri’s head.

“What about Neteyam?” Your ears perked up a little in confusion, before you realized. Lo’ak looked a little confused too, before he cursed,

“Oh shit, right, what about Neteyam?” He turned to you, and you felt your stomach churn.

How could you forget about your own suitor? Your future mate?

“I—uhm, wasn’t he busy?” You managed to say, and Kiri could only shrug.

“Dunno, he hasn’t really been the same lately. Always so busy, that guy.” Kiri exhaled with a rather sad expression on her face, and the mood considerably dropped. Lo’ak pats his sisters back, trying his best to uplift the three of you.

“It’s fine, ‘Teyam’s always busy.” Lo’ak huffed with a sad smile on his face, “How about we invite Tuk instead?”

Kiri cringes at the idea, raising her brows in confusion.

“Tuk? Seriously?” Lo’ak nods, “That’s a first. You usually hate it when she comes along to our hangouts and stuff.”

He shrugs, “Well, we can’t be uneven and sad. Besides, you haven’t made up with Spider yet so we can’t exactly ask him.”

You stopped Kiri, shushing her before she could add her two cents of how stupid Lo’ak’s reasoning was and went ahead to go get Tuk. You visited the Sully tent, happy to find Tuk laying bored on her hammock.

Her eyes light up when she sees you, “Tsmuke!” She squealed.

“Shh!” You shushed Tuk, “Me and your siblings will sneak out any minute now, wanna come?” 

Excitement twinkled in her eyes as she started doing little jumps, “For real? You’ll let me come?”

You winked, “Only if you don’t tattle.”

Lo’ak helps Tuk onto his ikran and you take off to the skies.

For the next 10 minute ride, Kiri starts giving you weird looks. Even when you were all at the shack, she never stopped giving you short glances. You could narrowly tell she wanted to say something but opted not to.

Well, Kiri was never one to hold back on such things.

“She’ll tell me eventually,” You thought.

As you reached the cliffs, Kiri watched from a distance as Tuk ran away from Lo’ak, leaving you alone with her. The air in the cliffs felt different, and it had Kiri thinking. Thinking about a whole lot of things.

“Look… what’s up with you and Neteyam?” The question caught you off guard, your ears twitched and your tail started to whip around. You turn to Kiri with a maintained expression.

“What do you mean?”

Kiri sighs, “I’m not stupid, I could always tell you both liked each other. I know it for a fact—he’s my brother and you’re my friend, it would be stupid of me not to notice.” She paused, “And lately? Neteyam has been… withdrawn, to say the least. I haven’t seen him actually take a break.”

Kiri looks at you with a pointed look, “I hate it when he does that, and I know you do too.”

You shift your weight as Kiri continues, “So why aren’t you there to scold him like you usually are? You’re always the one keeping my workaholic of a brother healthy when it comes to things like this, and it’s getting kind of freaky that you’re not.”

You fight the urge to roll your eyes and scoff,

“You should ask him that, it’s not like I’m the one who’s always busy.” Kiri slightly flinches from the venom in your voice, and takes note of what you had just said.

“...I see.” Kiri responded with a saddened face, “Sorry about him then, whatever he did.”

You nod, “Thanks.”

A little while after your rather… awkward conversation with Kiri, you and your little group sneaked back into High Camp before eclipse hit. The ride back was filled with unsure and apologetic stares from Kiri, and you couldn’t exactly blame her. She didn’t know why you and Neteyam seemed distant, and yet she still felt the need to apologize to you. A small smile made its way to your face every time she looked at you with those sorry eyes.

After much effort, you all managed to get in without much suspicion by inserting yourself during the community dinner.

Neteyam's eyes light up when he finally sees your familiar figure nearby and approaches you with a slight scowl on his face. His hand rests on your shoulder,

“We didn’t go to the cove today.” He stated, and you hummed in acknowledgement. His lips pursed in worry, “I’m sorry I forgot, I—I thought you’d remind me or something.” Neteyam stuttered with an anxious voice, he didn’t know how you’d react.

You felt a mix of emotions as you slowly realized you had forgotten about it too. Quickly composing yourself, you answered,

“It’s alright.” 

His ears perked upward in surprise, “You’re… not mad?”

“No, ‘Teyam, it's fine. I forgot about it too so I can’t blame you.” You were too calm, too casual about this. Neteyam thought you were going to start shouting or start another argument. He sighed in relief, a weight taken off his shoulder.

“Oh, okay…” Neteyam trailed off before continuing, “Do you want me to keep you company while we eat?”

You zone out for a split moment, immediately snapping yourself out of it as soon as you realized you were practically staring holes into Neteyam’s skull.

“...yeah, sure.”

As you both sit there in silence, a thought pops back into your head. Your past conversation with Kiri an hour ago or so the reason why you thought about it once more.

“...’Teyam?” Neteyam slowly turns to you, still chewing his food. He hums and waits for you to ask away.

“Have you told them yet?” Time freezes as you and Neteyam stare into each other's eyes, trying to decipher what the other feels.

His gaze shifts, and you could see the discomfort in his face.

“I—no, I didn’t.” Neteyam scratches at his nape, “Mother has a lot on her mind and I don’t want to bother her with anything more.” He cleared his throat.

You felt a little offended, was that what he thought of your relationship as? A bother?

Neteyam holds your hand, caressing them with an honest look in his eyes.

“Just… a little longer, okay? It’s just not a good time right now.” He tightened his grip, “I promise I’ll tell them. In due time, paskalin.” Neteyam explained with a soft and gentle voice.

“When is it ever a good time? When I decide I’ve had enough?” You held back an angry sigh by biting your inner lip. You couldn’t say the words you’ve been meaning to say—you just couldn’t.

 Your voice wavered,

“Okay… okay. Just,” You inhale a sharp breath, “Tell me when you plan to.” You turned away from Neteyam’s piercing gaze, trying to hold your tears back.

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆♱⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

You and Neteyam haven’t talked in days, and now, he all of a sudden wants you to meet up with him near the creek. The very same creek where you both fell in love and confessed your feelings to each other.

It felt a little weird to you. Neteyam wouldn’t call you for no reason—he just wasn’t like that. A little voice in your head told you that this wasn’t good, and for the first time in your life? You agreed. You had a really bad feeling about this.

You felt the grass tickle your feet as you dragged yourself to the creek. As you turn a corner, you start to see a familiar silhouette.

“Neteyam?” You called out.

His head tilts towards you with a troubled look on his face. You struggled to understand what emotion he was trying to convey, but brushed it off as he advanced to you.

With a confused tone, you asked, “Why are we here?”

Neteyam’s face turns stern, “You need to stop.”

Your face twists, “What?” you questioned with an annoyed tone. You could see Neteyam hold back an irritated look.

“You need to stop being so obvious. Someone’s going to find out at some point if you keep being so open about us.” He explained, “You know I’m not ready.”

“Neteyam, please I’m struggling to understand—” Neteyam gives you a sharp look, his eyes narrowed and angry. He huffs,

“What don’t you understand? I said I’m not ready.” You scoffed in bewilderment as he continued, “I—It’s like you want people to find out. I don’t know why I have to keep telling you this but I’m not ready!”

You backed away and shrugged, “Oh yeah, not ready you say.” You stomped, “Neteyam we have been together for the past two years. What are you so scared of? What is there to be ready for?!”

He sighs and rubs the bridge of his nose, his other hand on his hip. The audacity of this man to be annoyed at you.

“Look, I’m just not ready.”  He clicked his tongue before continuing, “How many more times do we have to repeat this conversation before you stop?” He harshly spat out.

You just stared at him in disbelief, the anger that had lain dormant for the past year ready to blow out of proportion. You gulped and turned away, your face blank and unbelieving.

As you attempt to storm away, Neteyam tries his best to catch up with you.

“What, where are you going?” His forehead creases in confusion, “Hey!” Neteyam yelled as he grabbed your arm, pulling you back. He saw your eyes start to water, and he held both your arms in an attempt to comfort you.

“Please paskalin, I’m sorry okay? You know I’m just, I can’t worry my family while they’re so busy—”

You forced his hand off you, “No Neteyam, I’m done!” You shouted from the top of your lungs, eyes closed as tears threatened to escape. Neteyam looked taken aback, his ears pinning to his scalp in fear.

“What?—”

“I am done with you.” You pointed at his chest and pushed him back, “I am done with you and your excuses,” You felt your voice crack, “I am done with you and your constant brushing me off!”

He pushed your hand away as gently as he could, and tried to reach out to you.

“What are you so scared of, huh?” You watched as he stared at you with tired eyes, “What is it that scares you so bad, it gives you a peace of mind to treat me this way?” Your voice shaken as you felt a lump in your throat.

Neteyam doesn’t answer and just gives you a solemn look.

“Tell me, ‘Teyam. What has you so scared that you’re making me wait this long?” He tried getting a hold of you once again, and you could only push him back in anger. “Answer me!”

He looked down in shame, unable to give you a proper answer. You were met with silence, and you could honestly say you didn’t expect much anyway.

“You tell me Oel Ngati Kameie, but we both know that’s a lie. You can’t even look at me right now Neteyam.” You wheezed as you hiccuped and sobbed, just letting your pent up emotions out. “You won’t even tell me why our relationship is like this. How can I expect you to be anything but a liar?”

“I—I…” Neteyam stuttered, he didn’t know what to say, or rather, how to. He felt the words at the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn’t bring himself to say them.

“Every day I wake up and think, ‘Today is the day that Neteyam finally lets up.’, and every day I get proven wrong.” You whispered, your voice broken. 

“Is it me?” You pointed at yourself, “Is it me that makes you want to keep us a secret? Am I not good enough for you? Is that it?” You trembled.

“No, no—It’s not that I just…” Neteyam tried to explain, but you interrupted. 

“Then just tell me!” You shrieked as your breath slowed. You looked him straight in the eye with a piercing gaze. 

“If you explain everything to me right now, I'll forgive you. I will forget all the excuses you threw in my face, all the nights I spent crying and wondering whether you truly loved me or not. If you tell me right now, I'll forget it all.”

You gave him one last chance, and you truly would forget it all. You would've let it go, if he would just explain. 

Neteyam opened his mouth and closed it. He wanted to explain so badly, to just tell you why he was doing all this. But alas, his fear seemed to be stronger than even his love for you. 

You stared at the bracelet on your arm. The memories of you and Neteyam had hit you all at once—all the love and effort put into such a simple gift. Cherished moments flashed in your head, one by one the plagued your mind in seconds.

You thought of all the loving memories you had made together, the joy and love you shared with one another. The times when he made you feel like someone, when he lifted you up when no one did.

Then you thought of all the times he’s made you feel even less of a person, when he had you doubting yourself. Crying late at night all alone with nobody to run to, because the only person you’d trust with your heart was the reason why you were crying in the first place. Moments where he made you feel silly for wanting the bare minimum.

Your eye twitched, was it all really worth it when the bad outweighs the good?

In a fit of rage,  you took off the bracelet he gave you and threw it in his face with a yell. Neteyam flinched as it made contact with his body, a tear leaving his eye. He stared up at you with fear filled eyes. Even now he was scared, and you still didn’t understand why.

“Fuck you. Fuck you and your lies, fuck you and your insecurities, and fuck you and your stupid secrets!” You wiped away your tears and sniffled, “I’m done.” 

You walked away, ready to leave everything behind—ready to leave everything you had with him behind. With each step you felt a weight leave your shoulders. But your heart lightened yet still felt heavy at the same time. 

You left Neteyam standing alone as a soft drizzle of rain started setting the mood.

Neteyam lets out a sob as his heart begins to break into pieces he knew he could never pick up alone. He was ultimately torn—he couldn’t choose between you or his fear. The boy is left behind with just him and his thoughts eating away at him. Neteyam tries to clench his fists, but lets go. He didn’t have any energy to, anyway.

She sat cross-legged in her family’s canopy, arms folded across her chest, tail flicking with visible annoyance. Tìyawn Trr had never been a holiday she cared for, and this season’s enthusiasm from her clan only deepened the crease between her brows. The idea of ritualized romance, carefully timed confessions, and coordinated gifts made her stomach twist. She preferred the quiet connections, the ones unspoken, free from pressure, free from expectation. Watching everyone drown in sentiment made her feel strangely distant, like a spirit moving through a world too tangled in its own threads.

Despite her irritation, her family prepared for the occasion with their usual energy.

Neytiri stood near the far wall, fastening a decorated collar of painted seeds around her throat. Its patterns shimmered faintly whenever she moved, catching the sunlight spilling from the canopy entrance. She hummed under her breath as she worked, the notes soft and melodic. Jake hovered beside her, adjusting the small knife strapped to his hip with an expression torn between admiration and impatience.

“You look incredible, baby,” he said, stepping back to admire her fully.

Neytiri’s lips curved into a warm smile. “You say this every Tìyawn Trr,” she replied.

“I mean it every Tìyawn Trr,” he insisted, drawing a laugh from her.

Kiri rolled her eyes so hard she nearly saw the back of her skull.

Tuk bounced around the pod with uncontained energy, her tiny hands full of beads and feathers she had collected to make gifts. She held up one brightly colored feather toward Kiri, eyes shining. “Do you think Lo’ak will like this?” she asked.

“He will pretend he hates it,” Kiri replied dryly, “but he will keep it forever.”

Tuk squealed with delight, sprinting off to add the feather to her growing pile of treasures. Her braids swung wildly behind her, beads clicking like little stones in a stream.

Neytiri turned toward Kiri with a knowing smile. “You could make gifts too, ma ’ite (my daughter),” she said gently. “Even small ones.”

Kiri lifted her chin, unimpressed. “For who? You know I do not celebrate this holiday.”

Jake let out a small snort. “You say that every year, kiddo.”

“Because it is true every year,” she snapped back, though her voice carried no real heat. Her frustration felt older, deeper, threaded with emotions she refused to name aloud.

Tuk hopped back into view, practically vibrating. “Mom, Dad, when will you leave? You said you were going on a date!” The word spilled from her tongue with pure delight.

Jake laughed, slinging an arm around Neytiri’s waist. “We’re leaving in a moment, Tuk-Tuk. Let your mother finish looking perfect.”

“She always looks perfect,” Tuk insisted.

Neytiri brushed Tuk’s cheek with a tender thumb. “Irayo (thank you), my tsmuke (my child).”

Kiri sat back on her palms, scrunching her lips at the overly sweet display. “Are you both truly leaving just to share a meal together?” she asked. “You could eat right here. Quietly.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “It’s not just a meal, Kiri.”

Neytiri added, “Connection must be tended to, even for long-bonded mates.”

Kiri groaned. “I understand connection. I do not understand why it must be celebrated like this.”

Her tone faltered for a breath.

She averted her gaze, pretending to adjust a loose bead on her armband. There was truth beneath her irritation—an ache she never voiced. Everyone around her seemed to fit into the rhythm of Tìyawn Trr with ease. Everyone understood the language of shared gifts, silent promises, stolen glances. She watched her brothers find partners who pulled laughter from them, watched her parents grow deeper into their bond with each passing year, watched Tuk glow over every little moment of affection.

Yet she always felt on the outside of that.

Present, but not part of it. The truth pressed against Kiri’s ribs with a weight she refused to acknowledge. She fixed her gaze on a loose fiber in the floor mat, picking at it absently, hoping the motion would ground the restlessness clawing through her chest. Neytiri watched her with a softness that held no judgment, only concern tempered by understanding. Her mother opened her mouth to speak, but Tuk bounded forward, tugging urgently at Neytiri’s waist-cloth.

“Where are you and Dad going?” Tuk demanded, bouncing on her toes with a mix of excitement and impatience.

Jake grinned, slipping an arm around Neytiri’s shoulders once more. “It’s a surprise, baby girl.”

Tuk gasped as though he had revealed a sacred prophecy. “A secret date!”

Jake laughed. “The best kind.”

Before Kiri could roll her eyes again, footsteps clattered outside the entryway. Neteyam stepped into the pod first, tall and composed as always, though a faint weariness clung to his shoulders from the morning hunt. Lo’ak trailed behind him with Spider, who still had paint smudged across his face from Tuk’s earlier decorating attempts. The boys’ laughter carried into the space long before their bodies entered, filling the canopy with high spirits that clashed directly with Kiri’s mood.

She straightened, preparing to slip out before they noticed her, but Tuk tugged her wrist. “Kiri must stay,” Tuk insisted. “She is watching me.”

The invisible chain of responsibility locked around Kiri’s ankle. Babysitting duty kept her rooted in place even as her entire spirit screamed for distance.

Spider spotted her first, weaving past Lo’ak to drop onto the mat beside her with his usual dramatic flop. “Kiri, hey,” he said gently, nudging her knee. “What’s going on with you?”

Lo’ak snorted before she could answer. “What’s going on? She is pouting because she’s lonely. You know she gets like this during Tìyawn Trr.”

Heat flared beneath Kiri’s skin, her tail snapping once in irritation. “I am not lonely,” she hissed.

“Sure, sure,” Lo’ak teased, wiggling his eyebrows. “That’s why you’re sitting like a wilted fern.”

Neteyam chuckled, giving his brother a shove hard enough to make Lo’ak stumble. Spider stifled a laugh into his palm, and the combined sound pricked Kiri’s already raw nerves.

Neytiri stepped in with a stern look. “Enough. Do not tease your sister on this day.”

Her sons nodded meekly for a heartbeat.

Lo’ak ruined it on the next breath. “I am just saying—if Kiri had someone to give gifts to, she would not be snarling like a viperwolf.”

Kiri surged to her feet, fury crackling down her spine like electricity. “Say it again,” she growled, stepping toward him, her jaw tight and her eyes blazing. “Say it again, Lo’ak te Suli, and see what happens.”

Lo’ak lifted his hands defensively, still grinning. “Hey, I am just trying to help. Maybe she secretly wants—”

Kiri’s entire body snapped with tension, like a bowstring pulled too far. “I will tear everyone's tails off,” she spat.

Neteyam cleared his throat, failing to hide a smile as he knelt to empty a woven satchel onto the floor. A mountain of gifts spilled out; small carvings, braided cords, polished seeds, painted chimes. His Tìyawn Trr offerings had clearly come from half the young hunters in the village.

Lo’ak let out a low whistle. “Look at all that. Neteyam is drowning in affection.”

Spider smirked. “Even he is doing better than Kiri.”

That broke her last thread of composure.

She stormed away from them, her braid whipping behind her like a snake. Anger beat through her veins in a hot rhythm—anger at Lo’ak, at Spider, at the stupid holiday that made everything feel sharper, more exposed. Anger at herself for caring at all.

Jake watched her retreat, his smile fading into parental disappointment. He turned his attention to the boys with a sharp glare.

“Way to go,” he muttered. “I told you not to tease her.”

Spider shrank slightly. Lo’ak winced. Even Neteyam sighed.

Jake shook his head and stepped toward the exit. “I’ll go find her.”

He disappeared into the walkway, following the path Kiri had taken with an urgency only a father carried. Kiri heard his footsteps before he called out, the tone of his voice pitched low with concern. She stopped near a wide branch overlooking the glowing forest and stiffened when she sensed him getting closer.

“Baby girl,” Jake said softly, breath steady but warm, “hold up.”

“I do not want to talk,” Kiri replied sharply, refusing to face him. Her tail twitched in agitation, betraying the frustration curling inside her. “Just leave me.”

Jake reached out and caught her wrist before she could retreat deeper into the foliage. His grip was gentle, never forceful, but firm enough to remind her she was not alone in her spiraling emotions. He guided her toward a broad branch draped with moss and settled onto it, patting the space beside him until she reluctantly sat. Her legs dangled over the side, toes brushing stray leaves while her shoulders remained high with tension.

Silence stretched for several breaths. The forest murmured around them, filling the space Kiri refused to fill with words. She kept her eyes on the distant glow of the bioluminescent vines below, jaw tight, expression unreadable even to him.

Jake drew a slow breath, placing one hand on the bark beside him. “Kiri,” he began, voice softened by memory and affection, “you know it is alright if you do not celebrate Tìyawn Trr.”

She did not look away from the forest floor, but her ear flicked in acknowledgment.

He continued, “You do not need to give gifts. You do not need to receive gifts. You do not have to feel excited about today just because everyone else does.” His voice dipped lower, threaded with reassurance. “You show love every single day. You protect the ones who matter to you in ways that do not need decorations or braids or songs. That is still love.”

Kiri’s head lowered slightly, though she kept her expression guarded. A small nod slipped from her, reluctant but genuine.

Jake smiled faintly at the movement, encouraged. “On Earth,” he said, leaning back against the trunk with a sigh, “there was a holiday kind of like Tìyawn Trr. Valentine’s Day.”

Kiri glanced at him sideways, curiosity cracking through her irritation for the first time. “What was it for?”

“It was… well, basically the same idea,” Jake explained, scratching his cheek with a sheepish grin. “People gave gifts to the ones they cared about. Flowers. Chocolates. Cards with drawings of fat babies holding bows.”

The confusion on Kiri’s face almost broke his composure entirely.

He chuckled. “Trust me, baby girl. You would have hated it too.”

Her lips twitched. Not quite a smile, but close.

Jake continued with a shrug. “I never celebrated it. Not once. I never got gifts. Not as a kid, not as a teenager, not even as an adult before I met your mother.” He lifted his eyebrows dramatically. “Zero. None. Not a single person ever gave me a Valentine’s gift.”

Kiri let out a genuine laugh. The sound shook loose the tightness lodged in her chest and softened her entire posture.

Jake smiled fully then, relief evident in his eyes as he nudged her shoulder gently. “See? You are already doing better than I ever did.”

Her tail uncrossed from around her leg, settling against the branch. Her gaze softened slightly as she looked down at her hands, fingers tapping quietly against one another.

The smallest hint of calm replaced the earlier storm in her chest, settling into her bones like the first breath after a long cry. Jake watched that shift in her posture; the way her shoulders loosened, the way her jaw unclenched, and his face softened with quiet relief. He leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to the crown of her head, the gesture full of affection that required no holiday to justify.

“Come on, kiddo,” he murmured, helping her rise from the broad branch. His hands guided her up with fatherly care, steady and warm, though she didn’t need the assistance. She let him hold her anyway; accepting comfort from him felt easier than fighting it.

He stepped back once she stood firmly on her feet. “I’ve got to get back to your mother before she thinks I ditched her,” he said, amusement coloring his tone. Neytiri’s wrath was a force even he respected.

Kiri nodded, her voice quiet but steady. “Go ahead. She will not wait long.”

Jake grinned. “Exactly why I should run.”

He moved toward the walkway before pausing to shoot her a pointed look over his shoulder. “Keep Tuk out of trouble while we’re gone.”

Kiri rolled her eyes so dramatically her beads clicked. “I always do.”

Jake raised an eyebrow. “Do you?”

“Yes,” she insisted, though her tail flicked with a guilt he noticed instantly.

He barked out a short laugh. “What you really mean is that she gets out of trouble on her own.”

Kiri crossed her arms and looked at the ground, unwilling to admit he was right. Jake’s grin widened as he took a step backward toward the exit.

“Also,” he added, pointing a finger at her, “no sneaking out to see them.”

Heat surged up Kiri’s neck and blossomed across her face in a vivid flush that even the dim forest light couldn’t hide. “Gross, Dad,” she snapped, shoving at his chest with far less force than her tone implied. “Do not say things like that.”

Jake laughed openly now, unbothered by the way she swatted at him. “What? I’m just saying—you should not mope on Tìyawn Trr. Not when you have them.”

Kiri’s ears flattened, her blush deepening until her freckles glowed against her skin. “Stop talking,” she hissed, trying to maintain the edge in her voice. “You sound ridiculous.”

Jake only smiled wider. “I sound correct.”

Her glare sharpened, but the heat in her eyes revealed more embarrassment than anger. The momentary stillness that followed said everything: she cared far more than she ever admitted. The thought of you—the mere mention of you—softened her in ways nothing else could.

Jake took a few steps backward, his grin refusing to fade. “Be kind to yourself today,” he said gently. “Eywa knows you deserve joy.”

He disappeared into the walkway before she could argue.

Kiri remained outside for several more breaths, letting the quiet of the forest settle her. The air tasted cooler beneath the canopy, rich with the scent of moss and the distant hum of glowing insects. A thin breeze brushed across her cheeks, carrying with it the rustle of leaves far above. The lingering sting of her brothers’ teasing faded slowly, replaced by the steadier rhythm of her own thoughts. Her father’s words had soothed more than she wished to admit. By the time she turned back toward the home tree, her heartbeat had returned to its familiar calm.

She stepped into the family’s pod with quiet footsteps. The space looked different without her parents; lighter, more chaotic, and more alive with youthful energy. Jake and Neytiri were gone, their absence marked by the faint scent of Neytiri’s floral oils and the missing weight of Jake’s weapons near the entrance.

Tuk played near the back wall, surrounded by a halo of beads, feathers, and half-finished gifts. She hummed happily, unaware of the earlier tension. Neteyam sat cross-legged nearby, sorting through the mountain of offerings he had received. His expression hovered between amusement and exasperation as he attempted to categorize each gift into neat piles.

Lo’ak and Spider lounged beside him, leaning against a woven support beam while they whispered to one another about their earlier scolding. Lo’ak gestured animatedly, dismissing half of Neytiri’s lecture, while Spider clutched his ribs from laughing too hard.

Tuk looked up first.

Her entire face brightened as she scrambled to her feet, beads clattering across the mat. “Kiri!” she squealed, barreling into her with a force that nearly knocked Kiri backward. Tuk wrapped her small arms around Kiri’s waist, squeezing her tightly before pulling back to beam up with adoration.

“You came back!”

Kiri smoothed Tuk’s hair with a sigh that could not hide her affection. “Of course I came back. I had to check on you.”

Tuk leaned closer, lowering her voice dramatically. “Sa’nok (mom)  scolded the boys,” she whispered, eyes widening with exaggerated fear. “It was so scary.”

Kiri huffed a laugh and glanced toward Lo’ak and Spider. Tuk’s terrified reenactment made them look far more pitiful than they deserved. She stuck her tongue out at them in childish triumph, her eyes narrowing with mock menace.

Lo’ak rolled his eyes so hard his entire head tilted. “We apologized already,” he muttered.

Spider crossed his arms, echoing the tone. “Yeah, we get it. We were mean.”

Neteyam did not look up from his sorting, but the smirk tugging at his lips made his stance clear. “Your timing was bad,” he said, shaking his head. “Very bad.”

Lo’ak scoffed, stretching his arms overhead. “We apologized, didn’t we?”

Kiri crossed her arms, arching a brow. “Those were apologies?”

Spider threw his hands up. “Fine. Sorry for teasing you, Kiri.”

Lo’ak chimed in quickly. “Sorry for saying you’re lonely.” He paused, his grin creeping back. “Even though you were.”

Neteyam shoved him with his foot, almost knocking him sideways. “Lo’ak,” he warned.

Lo’ak groaned dramatically. “Alright, alright! Kiri, I am sorry. Truly. We are skxawngs (idiots).”

Kiri exhaled slowly. The apologies were far from graceful, but they were sincere enough, wrapped in the brothers’ usual clumsy affection. She nodded once, accepting the offering.

“Good,” she said. “Try not to be butts for at least an hour.”

Spider saluted. “No promises.”

Lo’ak snorted. “Absolutely not.”

A reluctant smile threatened the edge of Kiri’s mouth, though she kept it hidden behind an eye roll. The tension inside her loosened another small degree. Their banter, however irritating, felt familiar, almost comforting.

Tuk tugged on her hand again, pulling her toward the play area. “Come sit with me! I made gifts for everyone!” The pride in Tuk’s voice warmed the air, softening the last traces of Kiri’s mood.

Kiri let herself be guided, though her mind lingered on her father’s last words. You have them.

Her ears warmed, betraying the direction of her thoughts before she could stomp them flat. Tuk tugged her eagerly to sit, and Kiri’s attention shifted to the tiny gift her sister pressed into her palms—a small, woven wrist-band decorated with feathers dyed a soft indigo. Tuk’s clumsy knots stuck out in uneven loops, but the feathers fluttered lightly in the air, catching the warm glow of the lantern fungus overhead.

Kiri blinked in surprise. The rush of warmth that filled her chest caught her off guard. “Tuk,” she breathed, fingers brushing the soft feathers. “This is beautiful.”

Tuk’s grin widened until her cheeks lifted her lower braids. “I made it for you because you always braid mine! So I wanted to make you something you can wear.”

Kiri laughed softly, a sound gentler than her usual tones. “Irayo, tutee (thank you, little one),” she said, fastening the band around her wrist with careful movements. “I will wear it tonight.”

The joy radiating from Tuk could have powered the bioluminescent lights in the entire Home Tree. She launched herself forward and pressed a quick kiss to Kiri’s cheek before bouncing off to gather the rest of her gifts.

Kiri’s heart softened further. She helped Tuk tie ribbons, adjust feathers, and pack small offerings into tiny pouches. Her irritation faded into a calm rhythm as she focused on her sister’s excitement. The small motions steadied her; braiding twine, sorting beads, handing Tuk leaves dyed in bright colors.

A sound pierced the moment.

A strange call echoed just outside the canopy entrance, sharp and slightly off-key, unlike any forest creature. Kiri stiffened, her head snapping toward the opening. Tuk, Lo’ak, Neteyam, and Spider remained entirely focused on their activities, oblivious to the noise.

The call came again but longer, louder, unmistakably artificial.

“What is that noise?” Kiri asked, brows knitting.

Neteyam looked up briefly from the pile of gifts at his feet. “Probably just a stray pa’li wandering near the roots,” he said, uninterested. “Ignore it.”

Kiri frowned. That sound did not belong to any pa’li. But she eventually let Tuk tug her back to the feathers and beads, returning to her task with lingering suspicion.

A flicker of movement near the entrance caught her eye.

Kiri glanced up instinctively.

Her breath hitched.

You crouched just outside the woven doorway, half-hidden behind a curtain of vines. Mud streaked your legs and a few leaves clung stubbornly to your shoulder. You held a large leaf over your head as if disguising yourself, but your grin completely ruined the attempt at stealth. Your eyes sparkled with mischief as you waved both hands, trying desperately to catch her attention without alerting anyone else.

Kiri slapped a hand over her mouth to stop the laugh rising up her throat. The sight of you—dirty, disheveled, thrilled with your own antics shattered the last remnants of her sour mood. She shook her head pointedly, mouthing, What are you doing?

You rolled your eyes dramatically and gestured emphatically for her to come outside, pointing to yourself, then the path, then your heart, as if performing a theatrical pantomime of longing.

Kiri snorted behind her hand.

She formed a quick sign back: I cannot. Tuk.

You widened your eyes into exaggerated, pleading circles, pure puppy-dog desperation. You clasped your hands under your chin and tilted your head, projecting the most pathetic expression she had ever seen on a living being.

Kiri’s ears sank under the weight of her own helpless fondness. Her resolve wavered with humiliating speed. How could anyone expect her to refuse you when you made your face look like that?

She held up a finger, signaling one moment.

You nodded eagerly.

Kiri waited until Lo’ak resumed bragging to Spider about a gift he hadn’t actually received, waiting until Tuk became fully absorbed in organizing a mountain of beadwork, waiting until Neteyam bent over a delicate carving with full focus.

Her steps grew light, as quiet as drifting seeds.

She slipped through the side opening of the canopy, careful to avoid the rustling vines, and eased herself out into the forest air before anyone noticed her absence.

A single breath later, she reached you.

Her cheeks warmed despite the cool breeze, and she crossed her arms to hide the fluttering in her chest. “Must you announce yourself like a wounded yerik?” she whispered sharply, though a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. “You will get me in trouble.”

You grinned.

Exactly the look that always unraveled her far faster than she wanted to admit. Your grin glowed with triumph, wide enough to reveal the faint dimples that always made her chest tighten. Kiri tried to glare, but the edges of her mouth kept betraying her.

“You will not get in trouble,” you whispered, stepping closer. Your voice carried the confidence of someone who had already decided the course of the evening. “Your parents have a soft spot for you. They always have.”

Kiri narrowed her eyes in immediate disagreement. “That is not true. They treat me like everyone else.”

“You really believe that?” you asked, tilting your head with amused disbelief.

“I know it,” she insisted, crossing her arms to hide her growing fluster. “I do not get special treatment.”

Your expression said sure, whatever helps you sleep, and Kiri’s ears twitched in irritation.

Before she could argue further, you reached forward and gently caught both her hands. The contact stole the breath from her lungs. Your palms were warm and slightly rough from earlier work, grounding and steady in contrast to her quickening pulse. You gave her hands a soft tug, guiding her toward the walkway that spiraled down the great trunk of Hometree.

Kiri stumbled forward, startled. “Where are you taking me?” she demanded, though her tone lacked any true bite. “What are you doing?”

“To the forest,” you said simply, squeezing her fingers. “It is a surprise.”

“A surprise?” Her ears angled backward, part suspicion, part panic. “For what reason?”

You cast her a smile over your shoulder. “Because I want you to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Kiri huffed, exasperated. “I told you, I do not celebrate Tìyawn Trr.”

“I know,” you replied, slowing your pace enough for her to walk beside you instead of being dragged. “I noticed the holiday sours your mood every year.”

Kiri stiffened. Her instinct told her to deny it, to hide herself behind arguments and dismissive comments, but you continued before she found the words.

“I do not like seeing you unhappy,” you said. Your voice softened, losing its playful edge. “So I thought… maybe I could brighten your night.”

The walkway dipped into a darker passage wrapped in hanging vines. Glowing insects drifted lazily through the air, scattering tiny sparks of blue light. The forest breathed around you both, steadying your footsteps with its familiar pulse.

Kiri’s heart stumbled. “Why?” she asked quietly, unable to stop herself. “Why do you care so much?”

Your hand tightened around hers.

“I care because you deserve joy,” you said gently. “Even on a day you do not like. Maybe especially on a day you do not like.”

Kiri felt heat bloom beneath her skin. The words curled around her ribs, warm and unsettling in their sincerity. Small irritations clung to her like loose petals—anger at Lo’ak and Spider, annoyance at the holiday, frustration with the world, but your presence chipped away at each one with alarming ease.

She tried to hide the shift in her chest, but her voice betrayed her—softer, quieter. “You did not have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” you said, your tone unwavering. “You matter to me, Kiri. You always have.”

Her breath faltered. For a heartbeat, she looked at you with full vulnerability; wide eyes, parted lips, confusion tangled with longing.

The forest opened into a clearing bathed in blue-green light, the ground soft with moss and faintly glowing fungi. You released her hands only to step ahead and face her fully, your smile gentle now, stripped of earlier theatrics.

“I brought you somewhere quiet,” you said softly. “Just for us. No teasing brothers, no crowd, no pressure.”

Kiri swallowed, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What are you planning?”

Your fingers brushed the small pouch at your hip, the one she hadn’t noticed before. The gesture made her stomach twist with anticipation.

“If you wish to know,” you said, your eyes brightening with warm mischief, “you have to sit with me.”

Kiri’s pulse thudded beneath her skin, loud enough she felt it in her fingertips. Her gaze drifted from your smile to the glowing clearing behind you.

Her chest tightened, overwhelmed by a sudden, impossible truth: she wanted to sit with you. That desire pulsed beneath her ribs with a warmth she had no name for. It frightened her. It thrilled her. It wrapped itself around her heart like a vine blooming in secret.

You guided her deeper into the forest with a gentle tug to her hand, moving at a pace slow enough that she could bolt if she chose, but she didn’t. The canopy overhead thickened, filtering starlight into thin ribbons that painted her skin in silver. Kiri’s curiosity swelled with each step. Every breath of air held more bioluminescence, more electric quiet, more intention she was still afraid to understand.

A bend in the path opened into a clearing she had never seen before.

You stepped aside, revealing it fully.

Kiri froze.

The patch of forest had been transformed into a glowing sanctuary. Vines braided with luminescent moss hung from low branches like constellations brought down to earth. Clusters of hand-tied flowers that were dyed deep violet and pale pink were arranged in sweeping arcs along the roots. Polished river stones formed a winding spiral across the ground, each one etched with patterns familiar to the Omatikaya: shapes of unity, protection, chosen connection. Tiny lantern fungi lined the perimeter, their soft blue light glowing like breath.

Her hand flew to her mouth, covering the tremble of her lower lip. Her eyes widened, shimmering with a mixture of disbelief and awe.

You smiled so widely it nearly broke her. Your joy radiated outward, warm and bright, striking her chest with a force that left her breathless.

You began to speak before she could gather herself. “I decorated it over many nights,” you said, rubbing your palms along your thighs as you stepped closer to her creation. “The vines took the longest because I kept choosing the wrong patterns, and the stones… well, that spiral took forever. I redid it three times.”

Kiri still didn’t speak. She couldn’t. Her throat felt thick, swollen with emotions she wasn’t prepared for.

You kept talking, nervous energy spilling into words. “I wanted it to feel peaceful for you. I know Tìyawn Trr never sits right with your heart, so I wanted a space that wasn’t loud or crowded or full of gifts you didn’t want.” You gestured helplessly to the glowing sanctuary. 

Kiri’s fingers pressed harder against her lips.

You continued, face warming as you gestured to the vines overhead. “It took days. I had to work when everyone was asleep or out on hunts. Neteyam almost saw it once. So did your grandmother.” You laughed, rubbing the back of your neck. “Spider definitely saw. I had to blackmail him with—well, never mind that part.”

Kiri’s eyes softened despite herself.

You waved toward a long, smooth log at the center of the clearing. Moss grew along one side, glowing faintly where you had shaped it into cushions. “Come sit with me,” you invited, voice quieter now. “Please.”

Kiri lowered her hand from her mouth. Her fingers trembled. Her lashes fluttered as she took in every detail—the flowers, the stones, the deliberate care woven into every corner of the clearing. The sheer devotion behind it knocked the air from her lungs.

She stepped toward the log, drawn not by your request alone but by the undeniable truth humming beneath her skin: she wanted to be close to you.

Her body lowered onto the moss, still dazed, still silent. The forest held its breath around her. Even the glow from the vines seemed to soften, as if dimming itself to honor the moment.

She did not notice the first atokirina drifting down.

The sacred seed spiraled slowly toward her shoulder, landing with the lightest kiss of weightlessness. Then another descended, brushing your hair. A third settled between your knees like a blessing.

Eywa watched.

Eywa always watched Kiri, but now the forest responded with unmistakable purpose. A cluster of glowing seeds floated downward in a gentle flurry, circling both of you before settling across the clearing like falling stars.

Kiri’s breath hitched as she finally saw them.

“Eywa…” she whispered, eyes widening in reverence.

You looked up, startled, then back to her. The glow of the atokirina lit her face in warm silver, softening every line of her usually guarded expression. Awe trembled behind her eyes, raw and luminous, as if the forest itself had peeled back the layers she hid beneath.

Kiri blinked rapidly, snapping herself out of that vulnerable daze. “They are just Tìyawn Trr superstitions,” she muttered, lifting her chin in forced dismissal. “Seeds fall everywhere on this day. It means nothing.”

Your quiet laugh broke through the tension like a warm breeze. “Ma Kiri, if you wish to believe that, I will not argue.” Your smile lingered, tender and teasing. “But Eywa seems fond of you tonight.”

Kiri scoffed, though her ears betrayed her by dipping in a shy twitch. “Eywa is always near me. That does not mean she approves of… this.”

You decided not to press the point. Instead, you motioned toward the glowing sanctuary surrounding you both, your expression shifting from playful to earnest. “Do you like your surprise?”

Kiri’s breath wavered. Her eyes swept across the clearing again; the carefully braided vines, the spiral of stones, the soft glow of lantern fungi, the flowers you had tied by hand over the course of many nights. Gratitude surged through her so quickly it almost hurt. She tried to speak, but her throat tightened.

A few false starts left her lips silently parting and closing before a rush of words tumbled free in a single breath.

“You did not have to do this,” she said, voice thinner than usual. “Truly. I do not deserve this kind of effort. I did not even get you a gift, and you spent so many nights working out here—why would you—how did you—”

The rambling spiraled faster, her emotions flaring in every direction at once. Her hands fluttered helplessly in her lap, trembling slightly. She looked overwhelmed, grateful, guilty, and touched all at once.

You angled your body toward her, the corners of your mouth curved in a soft, steady smile. “Kiri,” you murmured, interrupting her flood of self-criticism. “You never need to get me anything. Your presence is a gift. Being near you is enough.”

Kiri’s breath hitched sharply, as if your words cut through every protective shell she carried. Her eyes darted briefly to the forest floor, unable to hold your gaze without her heart stumbling.

“I still feel—” she began, voice strained by emotion she couldn’t swallow fast enough.

You reached into the small pouch tied at your hip before she could finish her sentence, your fingers brushing the carved strap within. With a smooth motion, you pulled out the gift and placed it gently in your open palms.

Her head snapped upward, eyes wide as she stared at your hands. The gift lay across your palms—a carefully crafted tool belt woven from flexible bark fibers, reinforced with thin strips of cured leather. It was dyed a soft green that mirrored the moss she loved collecting samples from. Along the outer edges, you had sewn tiny pockets and loops for her blades and gathering tools. Several compartments were engraved with spiraling patterns of roots and leaves, carved with careful hands over many nights. It was beautiful, but it was also practical, useful for wandering, for studying, for healing, for doing the things that made Kiri feel like herself.

Her breath stilled. She reached out with trembling fingers, tracing the carved grooves along the belt. Warmth bloomed beneath her touch. “You… made this?” she asked, voice cracking under the weight of disbelief.

You nodded, watching her with gentle apprehension. “I noticed you always balance your tools in your hip wrap,” you said softly. “You drop them often, and it frustrates you. This will carry them for you. Everything in one place.”

Kiri swallowed, her throat tight. Her eyes shimmered as she lifted the belt closer, weaving her fingers over the compartments as if memorizing each detail. “You carved these patterns,” she whispered. “You learned the curve of the roots. You matched the moss shade.”

Atokirina drifted down from above, settling lightly into her hair and across her shoulders. Their glow illuminated the subtle shake in her hands. She didn’t brush them away; she didn’t even seem to notice them anymore. They clung to her like blessings, like confirmation, like a quiet pulse of Eywa herself.

Her voice trembled. “This is not a simple gift.”

“It isn’t,” you replied, your tone steady with truth. “It is a piece of my heart. A way to help you carry the world you love. A way to walk beside you.”

Kiri’s gaze snapped to yours, wide and raw with emotion too deep for words. Tears gathered at the corners of her eyes, shimmering like stars caught on the edge of breaking. Her chest rose and fell rapidly, breath uneven, overwhelmed by meaning she never expected to receive.

You parted your lips to explain further, to tell her why you had labored so long, why you had chosen each detail with care, why you had poured so much of yourself into this gift.

Kiri refused to let you finish.

She surged forward without warning, hands rising to cradle your jaw as her lips claimed yours with fierce, trembling urgency.

The kiss crashed into you like a wave, sudden and unhesitating. Her mouth was warm and uncharted, moving against yours with a hunger sharpened by years of unspoken want. She kissed with the wildness of the forest, the raw, sacred swell of emotion too powerful to hold inside her chest for even one more breath.

Her lips pressed hard against yours at first, as if afraid you might vanish if she didn’t anchor herself to you. The pressure drew a soft gasp from you, which she swallowed eagerly, molding her body closer. Her thumbs stroked along your cheekbones, trembling with devotion and fear and relief all tangled together.

The kiss deepened gradually, shifting from desperate to deliberate. Her lips softened, moving in slow, searching strokes that explored every angle of your mouth. Each pass grew more confident, more tender, as if she was learning you by touch alone. Her breath spilled warm across your lips between motions, mixing with yours in a quiet rhythm that bound you together.

Your fingers rose instinctively to her waist, pulling her closer, guiding her into the curve of your body. She melted against you with a soft, almost startled sigh, the sound vibrating against your mouth. Her hand slid from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair, pulling you deeper into the moment. Her nails grazed your scalp, sending shivers racing down your spine.

The atokirina encircled you both, drifting in slow spirals, bathing the kiss in pale, shimmering light. They clung to Kiri’s braids, to your shoulders, to the space between your bodies.

Kiri broke the kiss only long enough to press another to the corner of your lips, then another to the edge of your mouth, whispering against your skin with a breath that shook. “Oel ngati kameie (i see you),” she murmured between kisses, “Ma tsngawnu (my darling).”

You replied by drawing her back into you, your lips meeting hers again with equal devotion. Her breath caught, and she kissed you deeper  with a reverence that made your knees weak. Her tongue brushed yours softly, exploratory, hesitant in a way that made your heart lurch. You matched her pace, patient and warm, letting her guide the depth and rhythm. She exhaled a quiet, trembling moan into your mouth, raw and vulnerable, as if the kiss unraveled a knot she’d carried for seasons.

Her forehead rested against yours when she finally pulled back, lips swollen, breath ragged. Her eyes glowed with emotion so intense it nearly buckled your knees. The atokirina continued to fall gently into her braids, weaving themselves into her hair like threads of divine approval.

“Kiri…” you whispered.

Her voice shook, full of courage born from years of silence finally breaking. “You do not understand,” she murmured. “This gift… this place… you.” She cupped your cheek again, tracing your lower lip with her thumb. “You pulled joy from a day I have always hated.” Her eyes softened, pupils widening with affection she no longer tried to hide. “You gave me more than a gift. You gave me a place where my heart feels seen.”

You smiled at her, a soft curve lifting your lips as the glow of the atokirina danced across her flushed face. “Then my job is finished,” you murmured, brushing your thumb lightly along her cheek. “If I could make your Tìyawn Trr feel even a little less terrible, that is enough. Maybe the day no longer sucks for you?”

A spark of amusement flared in Kiri’s eyes. She scoffed loudly, though her grin betrayed her. “Do not push your luck. This holiday still sucks.”

The sound of her laugh—full-bodied, genuine, finally freed from the bitterness of the day pulled a warm laugh from your chest as well. “Even if Eywa blessed us?” you teased, flicking a glance toward the glowing seeds tangled in her braids.

Her lips quirked into a smirk. “Yup.”

Your laughter echoed softly through the clearing, mingling with the hush of the forest. The air felt warmer now, sweeter, as if the sanctuary had exhaled in relief. You reached toward her, taking her hand with fingers still trembling from the kiss you shared. 

“Come,” you said, giving her hand a gentle tug. “We should return before Lo’ak starts shouting that a nantang ate you. Your siblings have surely noticed your absence by now.”

Kiri groaned, rolling her eyes so dramatically that her entire head followed the motion. “Great Mother, Lo’ak will never let me hear the end of this. He will probably claim he rescued me.” She squeezed your hand reluctantly. “Must we go back so soon?”

Her voice softened on the last word, her reluctance slipping through in ways she couldn’t fully hide.

You squeezed her hand in return, your smile reassuring, warm. “We can come back later, if you want. This clearing is yours now. It will always wait for you.”

Kiri glanced around at the glowing sanctuary once more; the vines you had woven, the moss shaped into cushions, the spiral of stones carved by your hands. Her chest rose in a deep inhale, a breath filled with hope and love.

“I will come back,” she said, her voice low but sure. “With you.”

Her admission warmed your chest, sending a quiet thrill through you. The forest seemed to answer her promise: another cluster of atokirina drifted down, catching in her braids, clinging to the tips of your fingers.

Kiri ignored them this time, stepping closer until your shoulders brushed. She lowered her voice, softer than the glow surrounding you. “You made this night… bearable. That is rare for Tìyawn Trr.”

You chuckled. “I will take bearable as a victory.”

Kiri bumped her shoulder against yours. “Do not get arrogant.”