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Cheater, Cheater Pumpkin Eater - Jake Sully

Jake Sully is slowly—and painfully—coming to terms that he's fallen out of love for Neytiri during a midlife crisis. His new point of devotion? Kiri's best friend, you.

Tags- SMUT, angst, breeding kink, Pervy old Jake Sully (no… fr), cheating, Divorced dad with a concerning age gap girlfriend core!, age gap, power imbalance, unreliable narrator, choking, belly-bulge

A/N- Remember when I said I was limiting myself to 10k at most… yeah I don’t even know why I bother! I always go past it! That being said, its been awhile since I wrote something that actually made me feel kinda grossed out (In a good way???). It became more of a character study on Jake Sully with smut tied to it. I was gonna make this some hot sexy haha DILF jake, instead its a lot more uh… angsty then I originally was gonna make it. Still, enjoy! (RIP Neytiri I cried making your scenes).

Jake Sully loved his wife.

Once upon a time he'd trace the silvery marks stretched across her belly—Neteyam's, Lo'ak's, little Tuk's—Every stripe, every scar. Neytiri had given him everything: children, purpose, a second life stitched from the echos of his first—and he loved her for it.

God knows he did—loved the tilt of her smile, the way her eyes caught amber. Loved her even when she hissed at him, because the fury only made her more beautiful.

Loved.

When had it slipped into the past tense?

"You said you could protect this family."

His heart had stopped. Right there, that moment—was that the final nail? Or was it when Neteyam had died? Was it when he'd dragged them all from the forest to this reef that would never be Neytiri's home? Maybe he'd been building the coffin for years, failure after failure. Peeling bark, sanding frames, measuring their marriage with rulers that kept coming up short.

“I was wrong.”

It came so quietly her ears pricked forward, straining to catch it. His gaze left hers—couldn't hold it, not anymore—and settled somewhere past her shoulder, on nothing.

He was wrong about protecting them, her and pandora—himself. He wasn’t strong, and he wasn’t the fortress they needed. He was just an alien playing soldier, tracing fatherhood and pretending protector.

Playing.

"Jake—" She reached for him with her good hand, fingers stretching across the space between them, but he was already rising. His knees popped. Everything hurt these days.

"M' gonna sleep in the community huts," he muttered, rolling up his mat.

Neytiri went still. Hurt flickered across her features. "...Jake."

But pride locked her jaw. She wouldn't apologize, and he didn't expect her to. What would she apologize for? For being right? For knowing—long before he did—that he couldn't keep them safe?

He killed their baby boy. He did. Not her.

His eyes burned. He shook his head, blinking hard, and folded the mat against his arm. "Look, we're both—" The words seemed heavy. He swallowed. "We're both tired. Maybe sleeping apart'll do us good, yeah?"

He scratched behind his ear, a nervous habit from his first life. "I'll uh—I'll be over there."

And he walked off, and she watched.

.

The commune space was nicer than he'd expected—and emptier than he probably wanted. Because if there were bodies in the dark, or a distant snore, he could make up scenarios then, stories.

A husband exiled by his wife. Exhausted parents fleeing noisy children for one fucking night of peace. Maybe a couple who hide their love in this place of rest.

Small frictions to explain why he was here instead of home.

Jake shifted against his hammock. The entrance flapped open.

Then a figure stepped through, hammock bundled under one arm. You crossed to the hooks with practiced ease, smoothing the fabric flat. Bioluminescent freckles traced constellation-paths across your skin, mapping the shape of you in the dark.

You. Y/n.

He knew you from the periphery—always near Kiri, heads bent talking and giggling about god-knows-what. The two of you were a mystery to him, honestly. But why would a kid like you be sleeping here, in the communal space instead of home?

Jake sat up slowly. You startled, eyes flaring wide before finding his in the dark.

Confusion first. Then something gentler.

A smile.

"JakeSulli...?" Your gaze swept the empty hall. "What are you doing here?" You lowered yourself onto your hammock, right across from him.

Jake couldn’t quite manage a smile, not yet at least. He settled for a tug of his lips instead and hoped you didn’t find it impolite.

"Was gonna ask you the same thing." His eyes drifted past your shoulder to the scatter of belongings you'd brought: woven basket sagging with fruit, a bundle of shell ornaments wrapped in cloth. Personal items you’d bring when you weren’t planning on going back. "You get in a fight with your old man?"

You followed his look. Your ears flattened against your skull, He knew it immediately. He fucked up.

"I..." The pause stretched. "I don't have parents, JakeSulli. They died defending the tulkun. Hunters killed them both, long ago."

Shit.

Jake’s breath hissed between his teeth. "Agh—fuck. Sorry, kid. I didn't—" He bit the inside of his cheek. Can't do a damn thing right.

"You don't have to apologize." The sweetness in your voice nearly killed him. When was the last time someone spoke to him like that? Long, he thinks. Neytiri used to sound like that, before the sky-people came back and took everything.

"Really," you continued, and your smile returned into something careful. "It happened a long time ago, I thought you knew?"

He shook his head, and his smile was sheepish. "I guess I should've, huh."His gaze drifted past you, towards the far ends where someone slept. "You hang out with Kiri so often…" The words trailed off. He scrubbed a hand across his jaw. "Makes me a bad best friend's dad."

You frowned then, just before you could stop it—childish for a girl who’s reached her second birth, you knew. But it came so naturally, just as your arms folded into each other. "We're fighting right now."

He laughed until his gaze drifted sideways and the sound died in his throat. “Fighting?” He exhaled through his nose. Kiri would kill me for prodding around her business.

He shouldn’t ask. He asked anyway.

“About what?”

You picked at the thread of your sleeping mat, nose scrunching. The gesture made you look younger than you were. "She's always with that pinkskin now. I want to go to the reef—we can't. Why? Because he can't go." You rolled your lips thinly. "I've become second to her."

Something shifted in Jake's expression. Softened. A problem this simple—this normal—felt like a gift. He wished all his troubles could shrink to fit inside a young womans wounded pride.

Jake's mouth twitched.

He wished—

No. Don't.

He rose carefully and crossed to where you sat.

Be a dad, Jake. You can do this. At least with this one you don't have any problems. He settled beside you on the mat, hesitating until you glanced up and shifted to make room.

In the low light he could see the tattoo clearly now—the dark line that curved from your left brow along the edge of your jaw. And the other one too, sprawling across your shoulder, far too elaborate to have been completed in one sitting.

"I can't really speak for Kiri, you know how she is, hell you probably know her better than me." He paused. "But… she cares about you. Course’ she does." His hand hovered before settling on your shoulder—an awkward touch. "She just hasn't seen him for a long time, not since he was kidnapped."

Your frown deepened. For a moment he thought he'd mistepped—said exactly the wrong thing. But then you looked up at him, and your eyes were wide, the clearest green he'd ever seen.

"Really…?" You sighed, gaze dropping to your lap. "Now I feel like a jerk."

"No reason to think that. Talk to her, Y/n. Kiri'll understand."

You nod. Silence settled between you—surpsingly not awkward.

"If you don't mind me asking…" You tilt your head, studying the older man through lowered lashes. "Why are you here?" Your teeth catch briefly on your lower lip.

His shoulders lock. For a moment you think he might deflect, but then his breath left him. A surrender. "Neytiri and I got into a fight. And like a coward, I ran away." The last word tasted bitter. Again.

He expects an uncomfortable frown, maybe a shy and pitiful apology, but instead you laugh. Warmth threads through it, and he knows then it's genuine.

He blinked. “What?”

One shoulder lifts in a shrug. "I think it's funny you called yourself a coward." Your head tilted, considering him. "Most men run from their wives after an argument. I've slept here most days for years. Seen many men come after fights." Your tail taps a steady rhythm against the hammock's weave. "Even Olo'eyktan Tonowari has. So why wouldn’t you too, JakeSulli? There is no shame in it."

He scoffed, shook his head, then lets his own laugh come out. "Right. Makes sense, I guess." Some knot in his chest loosened, he smiled now, an actual one.

When he look back at you he noticed the slight wag of your tail, the attentive look you gave him, ears perked forward. All open and sweet.

His eyes traced your tattoos again, then traced over your body—naturally.

The Metkayina women carried themselves differently than the ones of the Omatikaya—broader hips, fuller chests. Something closer to the girls he knew back on Earth.

And you're no different. Pretty in that soft way, such a sweet thing.

His smile faltered.

What are you doing, Jake?

"Well, I should…" He jerked his chin toward his hammock, standing too quickly, movements suddenly awkward. I’m a fucking creep.

You glance at his vacant hammock and your ears dip. You felt the shift immediately. "Oh… okay." The word came out small.

His chest tightened. Now look at what you did. Fuck. Fuck. Something about that disappointment sunk into his chest. "Do you… uh—do you usually sleep here?"

A nod. "Usually. If not here, then by the rocks."

Jake gave a slow nod. His eyes drifted—hammock, then you, then hammock again. He should go. He really, really should.

But his hand found your shoulder instead. A single pat. His smile came crooked, almost apologetic. "You can talk to me. Whenever you want. If you want."

Just a grain of opportunity. Innocent.

The kind of thing a father might offer—though you clearly hadn't known much of that. Just an introduction to what that word could mean.

That's all.

Your tail moved first—that paddle-wide thing thumping soft against the netting. Then came the smile, small and shy, tucking itself into the corner of your mouth. "Ok."

Jake peeled himself away and returned to his hammock, sliding in and feeling it strain. “You’re larger than most, Jake.” Neytiri once giggled. “I had to reinforce the straps twice. Stop eating so much!”

His arm folded beneath his head, and for a while he studied the ceiling—woven twine packed tight enough to hold the rain. Then the strings. The knots. The way they swung, twisting audibly.

Then, inevitably, his gaze drifted back to you.

Your spine faced him, tail draped over the netting.

When Neteyam was still young—

No.

He was young. He died young.

Remember that, Jake?

Jake's throat tightened.

When Neteyam was a kid—because that distinction mattered—the boy's tail always hung beyond the net. Every night Jake would tuck it back in. Every morning it'd be dangling again, somehow through the gaps in the hammock or with a leg tossed overhead. The same sight: that small blue tail dangling into empty air.

The memory pulled something sharp through his chest. His hand went there.

"You have a strong heart."

Neytiri again.

He shoved them down, burned them into the back of his skull where they couldn't reach him.

Yeah right.

.

When morning came, you were already gone.

Your belongings too—mat rolled, beads tucked away, the space where you'd slept scrubbed clean of any evidence you'd existed there at all.

Jake didn't want to name the feeling that came with noticing. Disappointment sat wrong in his mouth, tasted like something he had no right to. So he swallowed it. Shoved it down where it could rot with everything else he refused to look at.

He pushed himself upright.

“Dad. Dad. Dad.”

The voice hit him before he'd steadied himself. His head snapped toward the entrance—Tuk, bouncing on the balls of her feet, a plate balanced in both hands. Behind her trailed the reef girl she befriended, both of them giggling

He couldn't remember her name for the life of him.

"Tuk?" Jake rubbed his face, managing a tired smile. "Whatcha doing here, baby girl?"

She clambered up beside him, small hands shoving the plate against his ribs. "Mom said to bring you a plate." Her finger jabbed at each item—fish, berries, some kind of root—Then, already turning: "I'm gonna play with Anuy now."

Anuy. Right. He could remember that.

"Hey, hey—wait up." His hand caught her tail mid-swish and tugged her back. Tuk's face crumpled into an exaggerated pout, shoulders drawing in.

"Whaaaaat."

"You aren't gonna say good morning?" He quirked a brow, let his smile soften. "What happened to my kisses, huh? You used to fight your momma just to get snuggle time."

She yanked her tail, but the shy smile won anyway. "I'm getting too old for that!" A glance at Anuy, who giggled. Her ears flattened.

Jake just grinned and pulled her in anyway, wrestling her close despite the squirming, and pressed exaggerated half-bites against her shoulder, her belly. Growling. "Then stop growing up! Come back! AGHHHH!"

Tuk shrieked with laughter, wriggling free like a fish. "Come on, Anuy!" She launched herself off the mat, Anuy's hand already caught in hers, their laughter spilling out in breathless squeals of monsters and run!

Jake let a few more chuckles die in his chest.

He stared after them.

Then down at the plate.

The food. Neytiri.

His thumb traced the edge of a berry. Simple food. But Neytiri had still taken the time. Still thought of him enough to do this small thing and send their daughter along his way.

“JakeSulli, are you still there?”

You stepped through the entrance just as Tuk and Anuy squealed past your legs. "Oh—Tuk, Anuy!" you scolded.

You shook your head, smiling to yourself, and crossed the space. You held another plate. When you looked up and saw the one already balanced on his lap, you laughed—already knowing.

"An apology meal?" One brow arched as you crouched beside him. Gently, you added more to his plate: Nuts this time. Different cuts of glossy fish, darker meat. "You should eat more."

Jake looked at it. The extra portions. The care in how you'd arranged them.

His stomach sat heavy and uninterested. He needed to train. Needed to be stronger, faster, better than he was yesterday. He wouldn't eat until he'd earned it—until his body had done something to justify the fuel. Eating felt like indulgence, and indulgence shouldn’t be rew—

He sighed.

You were looking. What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

"Thanks." He grabbed a fistful of berries—small, sweet things that burst between his teeth. His gaze drifted. Caught on you.

You wore something different.

Nicer, of course it’d be. Night was for soft loincloths and simple garments. Morning was for flowers that twisted over your breasts, petals cupping the curves, tied at your back in a way that said swimming or ceremony or maybe just because I wanted to. The arrangement shifted when you moved.

He jerked his eyes away.

Jesus.

He caught the barest hint of violet nipple.

His tail gave a single flick.

He shoveled more berries into his mouth, barely tasting them, just filling the space where his brain should be working. Come on idiot, chew. Swallow. Chew. Don’t look.

He didn't even know why he was reacting like this. Hell, he hadn't felt this caught since the first week with Neytiri—back when every glimpse of her had made his brain short-circuit. He'd gotten used to it. The female form. Normalized it. Wouldn't even register Ronal's chest or Neytiri's or anyone else's for that matter.

So why—

His gaze drifted back.

Violet peak against red flower petals.

"Do you like it?"

He choked. Actually choked. Berry pulp lodged somewhere in his throat and he coughed, fist to his mouth, eyes watering.

"Ugh—-what?" Heat crawled up his neck.

You glanced down, fingers grazing the petals with absent fondness. "I finished it two nights ago. Kiri helped me twist the stems—her fingers are better for the small work." A small shrug, easy and unaware and innocent.

You wouldn't know. Couldn't know what his idiot brain was doing.

“Mhm,” He mumbled. “Looks really nice.”

You swayed on the balls of your feet, weight shifting to the outside in that restless way you had, and his eyes tracked the movement before he could stop them. "Well,” You hid the barest hint of a shy smile. “I should get going, JakeSulli. I have some chores." You whispered.

"It's just Jake."

The words came out too fast. His ears flattened before he forced them forward again, he made himself meet your eyes. "My name. Uh... the Sully part's my last name. Family name."

You paused.

Color crept up your neck, into your cheeks—mortification blooming soft and purple beneath your freckles. "Really...? Oh! I thought—"

"Everyone does." He offered a crooked grin, something easier now. "I've told them all, but I think they just like JakeSulli better." A chuckle escaped him, he pushed the meal to the side.

Your smile unfurled slow, curling away from embarrassment. Then you laughed—this bright, bubbling sound that made something heavy in his chest go loose.

He liked that sound. A lot.

So I can still make people happy, huh.

"Okay, Jake." You tested it, nose wrinkling slightly. "It does sound off."

He chuckled low. "Yeah?"

You gave a nod. Something in you shifted. Your thumbs traced the wide sweeps of your palms—nervous, maybe, or just something to do with your hands. You glanced up. "It's... it's a nice day, Jake."

Your eyes drifted back outside, shoulders shifting in a way that opened space beside you. An invitation.

And Jake knew what bait looked like.

He'd seen it a hundred times—back when he had working legs and a bar habit, when women would lean just so, their shoulders angled. Something about—”You ever gone up to the hotel with the flames? Real nice, Sully.” Or that time with Neytiri in the tree of voices, dressed—

Jake blinked.

He resisted a smile and tilted his head instead, considering the sky like it was the first time he'd noticed it. "Yeah. It is."

He glanced back just in time to catch the pout forming on your lips. You stepped closer, and he had to work to keep his expression neutral, to swallow the grin threatening to break through.

"A good day for chores," you tried again. "I mean."

"Yep." He looked away, whistling something tuneless. "I agree."

Your smile collapsed. The defeat was immediate, written in the slump of your shoulders, the way your tail stilled mid-sway. "Would you like to help me with my chores, Jake." Flatter now.

He grinned then, couldn't help it. "You know what? That sounds like a lovely idea."

Your eyes rolled so hard he thought they might stick. You turned on your heel, already moving toward the doorway, and for a moment Jake moved to follow—

Until his gaze dropped to the plate.

He'd eaten everything you'd offered. Finished a berry or two that Neytiri had set aside. The People did not waste. It was one of the first rules he'd learned, drilled into him until it became reflex. And here he was, leaving half-finished food like some—

He looked back at you.

I really shouldn't. The thought came quiet, reasonable. I should apologize to Neytiri. Not hide.

But that was easier said than done.

"Jake!"

You poked your head back through the doorway, frowning. Then your gaze followed his to the plate. Understanding flickered across your face. "Eat it later." You gestured, impatient, that bright smile returning. "Now come. Before the Olo'eyktan scolds me." A pause. Your voice softened into a tease. "You wouldn't want that, would you…?"

He smiled.

Yeah, later.

"Nope."

.

"Get the one that's yellowing!" you called up.

Turns out your chores were simple. For any forest na'vi worth their weight at least—this was child's work. Climb. Cut. Catch. Repeat until the bags grew heavy and your shoulders ached in that good, tired way.

For Jake, crouched on a branch forty feet up, this was a piece of cake.

"We'll have to climb the papa mantis tree," you said, already moving toward the tallest trunk. Your fingers traced the bark ridged like armor plates, feeling it. "The sweet shell fruit grows at the top. High up. Where the branches thin."

Jake shifted the woven bag higher on his shoulder. "Sounds easy enough."

You shot him a look, starting with his feet and dragging your gaze up to his face, took your time with it too. "This is difficult for my people, Jake." A smile tugged at your mouth. "Which is why you'll help me."

And that's exactly what he was doing.

Minutes later he stood balanced on a high branch, thighs braced, one hand gripping the trunk while the other wielded a pun stick—a long shaft, wicked blade lashed to the end. He angled it toward a cluster of fruit, skin the color of honey, and sliced clean through the stem.

The fruit dropped. "There."

You darted forward, bag wide open, and caught the fruit as it tumbled. It landed with a satisfying thump against the others already gathered. You glanced up, shielding your eyes from the sun bleeding through leaves. "Is that enough?"

He leaned back, surveying the bag from his branch, sweat beading along his temple. "Hard to say from up here."

You hummed, counting silently. "I think the Keyta'an family wanted four as well. They have a new baby—have you seen her? They named her Tuphrap."

Your hands worked the bag, rearranging fruit so more would fit.

"She has the fattest cheeks. And could you believe it—Reyta's spirit sister gave birth to a beautiful calf the same day!" You looked up again, grinning. "It's a rare spiritual occurrence. The clan was so happy for them."

He grunted, reaching for another branch. "That right?" His face pinched as he stretched, blade finding itself on another stem.

"Yes! She’s so small too—I wanted…”

He wasn't listening. Not really. But he wasn't not listening either. He welcomed the distraction from sky-people, from his sons, from whatever marriage pains were between him and Neytiri.

"When'd she give birth anyway?" He nudged his weight onto a thicker limb, bark groaning softly under him. "Look out, another incoming."

You shuffled, adjusting the bag just in time to catch the falling fruit. Glancing up, you shielded your eyes from the sun. "When your family left.”

The words came out softer than you meant. You cleared your throat, eyes tracking the bag's contents instead of his face. "She came around midday, if I remember."

"Hm."

Another cut. Another fruit dropped and you caught it, but barely—it grazed the bag's edge and you had to lunge. When you straightened, he was watching you.

"And you want kids?"

Your hands stilled on the bag. Above, he glanced down, mouth quirking. "C’mon, why so shy?"

You shrugged one shoulder, then the other. Your hands twisted around the bag's straps until your knuckles ached. "I do." Quieter. "I think they're cute. But I shouldn't have children until the sky-people are gone."

His smile died.

You watched it happen—watched something older and sadder take its place.

"Don't say that." His was something urgent. "Don't let them take that from you too. You deserve a family."

"The People are my family."

"That's…That’s different, kid." He shook his head, eyes locked on yours. "You know that."

You opened your mouth. Words gathered somewhere behind your teeth that didn't make it past your lips before—

"Agh shit!"

The branch snapped clean through. Jake dropped several feet, slamming flat against his back with a grunt that punched all the air from his lungs. "Jake!" You abandoned the bag mid-reach and scrambled to his side, knees hitting dirt.

He groaned—One hand pressed flat against his spine like he could hold the hurt there, keep it from spreading, eyes unfocused and swimming with pain. "God fucking dammit." His gaze tracked upward to the offending branch, then dropped to you.

You were crouched above him now, fingers touching over his face, his temples, the back of his skull—checking for blood that wasn’t there before checking the base of his queue.

"Do you need me to get Neytiri?" The words tumbled out too fast. "Ronal? Tsireya? Your queue, did you land on it too harshly?"

"Nah, I'm…" He groaned, rolling onto one elbow. "I'm okay." Slow, he pushed himself upright. Jesus, when would a fall like that knock me on my ass? Getting too old…

You shifted back to give him room, but your eyes never left him—tracing the line of his shoulders, searching for some invisible fracture.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, voice small.

"For what?"

He dragged his palm across the back of his head, fingers probing his scalp for wetness. Found none. His ears swiveled toward you, and his brow furrowed at the guilt pooling in your expression.

You bit your lower lip. "I distracted you. You would've noticed that branch was weak if I hadn't—" The rest dissolved into an exhale, frustration aimed inward.

His face softened. He just smiled, lopsided and warm and clapped a broad hand against your back. "You're okay, baby girl." It came out so naturally to him that when you paused, only then did he curse under his breath. “Sorry—”

"No." You cut him off, quiet. Your gaze dropped to your hands, fingers twisting together. "It's okay. I..." Heat crawled up your neck. "I liked it."

You dropped your gaze, focusing instead on his hand where it rested against the ground. Even with the webbing your stafe had granted you, his palm dwarfed yours. You lifted it carefully, turning it palm-up. Splinters bristled from the heel of his thumb, angry red lines scored the meat below his knuckles where bark had bit deep as he'd tried to catch himself.

"We should see the Tsahik," you said quietly, thumb brushing the edge of a wound, only to trace his pinkie.

Jake's finger lay flat against your palm—a pale blue, blunt thing, hard at the pads where calluses were formed from years of fight. You traced the joints, counting five instead of four, feeling the hard bones shift beneath thin skin.

"Why is this one smaller?" Your thumb pressed the tip of his pinkie.

He laughed, a little rough. "Wish I knew. Failed biology back in high school."

Your hairless brow arched. He caught the question and waved it off. "Not important."

A few more seconds of inspection, and: "You don't think it's gross?" He asked.

You shook your head slowly. "When I first saw it, I thought it was strange." A pause. Your thumb traced the crease where finger met palm. "But I think it's kind of nice."

Nice. The word sat funny in his chest.

"I hate them... I hate their pink little hands! I hate the insanity in their mind!"

Your fingertip drifted lower, following the crease of his palm. Blue lines threaded beneath the surface "Does it hurt when I do this?" You pressed deeper.

Jake swallowed. You watched his throat.

"Nah."

Jake found himself leaning without meaning to.

"Look at me."

You did.

You didn't look surprised. Nervous, maybe. “Yes Jake?” Your pupils dilated just slightly, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs. But you kept your eyes on him, watched as he reached forward and took your chin between thumb and forefinger. He rubbed the skin there. Gentle. His head tilted, gaze dropping to your mouth.

"You had dirt," he grumbled.

He didn't know why he said it. Testing something, perhaps. To see if there was anything there—anything real beneath the wanting—that settling need, the want to reach and grasp and hold. Did he feel it?

Yeah. He felt it.

You retreated first. Looked away but didn't wipe your chin, didn't scrub the touch from your skin. Slowly, you stood and gathered the bag at your feet, hands moving on instinct. "T-There's a few other chores I need to do." Your voice steadied on the second sentence. "If... if you want to help."

Another invitation.

He rose. Watched your tail curl inward, the paddle tip wagging—just a little, just enough.

By god, he felt something.

.

The next few weeks were… strange. That's what it was—strange in the way things are strange when you already know its odd. Jake felt it. Christ, he knew you felt it too. Some tension that had no name, or maybe it had too many, and naming it would make it real. Make it something he'd have to deal with.

So he didn't.

But it sat there anyway. Right in front of him, thick as smoke and as visible as the damn sun in front of him.

He'd catch himself watching the way your tail swept the sand when you walked, the small curve of your mouth when Neytiri's back was turned.

You'd pass him extra portions at meals, fingers lingering just a fraction too long against his palm. You'd trail after him through camp, curious and restless, asking what he was fixing, what he was thinking, why humans did this or that.

"What are you doing?" you'd ask, crouched beside him while he played with his guns or mended a net.

"Weapon maintenance."

"Why?"

"Because the guns get jammed.”

A pause. Your head tilted. "Can I try?"

Even Kiri—who usually lived in her own head—noticed enough to roll her eyes and make retching noises.

"Weirdo," she'd mutter, though her smile said she found the whole thing amusing.

You'd scoff, tail flicking. "Oh, shut it. I think it's weirder you're into Spider—"

"Shut up!" She'd shove you, squealing, and you'd both dissolve into giggles that carried across the marui’s.

You played at indifference. Rolled your eyes. Acted like this was all some accident of proximity, like Jake just happened to be where you were, like you just happened to find him interesting.

Jake didn't call you on it.

Because—and here was the thing he wouldn't admit, not out loud—he loved it.

Hated that he loved it, though, but there it was—a spark of something he hadn't felt in years. That giddy, stupid thrill of being wanted. Like he was twenty again.

The kind that came before the comfort settled in, before you knew every expression your partner would make, every gift they'd give, every flaw they'd carry.

This was different. New and unpredictable.

Dangerous.

One afternoon you passed carrying a basket of clams for the elders—shells that would be cracked open for their soft meat that they could gum and suck out. You’d been wearing something with weighted beads at the ends of your leaf-skirt.

And Jake couldn't help himself. His hand shot out, fingers curling gently around the tip of your tail and tugged.

You yelped, spinning on him with wide eyes, then broke into laughter. Your hand came up, pressing flat against his stomach, and you patted him once.

"You are annoying," you hummed, voice soft and teasing.

And it was like that.

For weeks.

"Does it look nice, Jake?"

The top was vine-work, thin straps that cupped your breasts and spiraled outward in a pattern that imitated Kiri's necklace. Your loincloth hung low, shells clustered into a skirt that dipped at the hips, moved when you moved.

Kiri exhaled through her nose, arms folded. "She spent all of yesterday on that." The words came flat, but Jake caught the twitch at the corner of her mouth. "Come on, Y/n. It's very nice. We all know it."

"Yeah," Jake coughed into his fist. "Very nice."

You blushed, pleasure and embarrassment came together in a symphony. You caught Jake's eyes flicker, caught the way they snapped back up.

Your grin came easy. You tilted your head, pleased.

“Oh!" Your hands flew to your bag, rummaging through woven fibers and dried herbs until your fingers found it. "The flower!"

Golden petals unfolded in your palm, tendrils cascading like little tongues of sun. You held it up, almost shy now. "Can you help, Jake?”

Kiri's nose wrinkled. "I could do it, Y/n—and stop calling my dad Jake. Ugh, it makes me want to shrink back into myself."

Jake shot her a look, mouth tugging into something almost apologetic. "I said she could. You know I don't like being called JakeSulli. Makes me sound old and gruff." He was grabbing at some bomb-arrows, new ones for Neytiri… if she wanted them.

You stepped closer, flower outstretched, a smile tugging at your mouth. "An old and mighty warrior is the envy of all in our clan."

Something softened in his face. He smiled back—almost shy—and for a moment the war-chief disappeared, leaving only the man who'd once been a marine far from home.

Kiri groaned and grabbed Spider's wrist. "Come here, monkey boy." She dragged him toward the path, muttering something about propriety and how nobody listened to her anyway.

Spider stumbled after her, throwing you one last amused glance before they disappeared beyond the woven drape.

Their voices faded.

Just the two of you now.

He could see it, even now—the way your attention fixed on him.

You stepped closer. "The flower, Jake?"

His name came different from your mouth now that Spider and Kiri were gone. Sweeter. Shaped the way a woman shapes things. The way women say a man's name when they mean something else entirely. He knew the difference

He patted his thigh. Just fixing it up for her, he reasoned with the part of himself that knew better. Nothing bad in that.

You sat without hesitation, back to him, and even then your ears swiveled to catch anything he might say. Every small shift of his weight registered in the tilt of your spine.

"You know," he began, feeling the warmth of your figure beneath his palm. He fought the urge to let his hand settle lower, fought the urge to flex the muscle there. "You could've had Kiri tie it instead."

He brushed your hair over your shoulder and wound it around your neck, fingers grazing your bare nape. You shuddered. His mouth curved before he could stop it.

"I prefer the way you tie it," you said simply.

He hummed low in his chest. "There." A pat to your thigh. You rose, that small sound of delight escaping you.

"How's the completed look?"

He clicked his tongue. Grinned, boyish and lopsided and far too warm for what this was. "Good, baby girl. Really good."

You offered your hand. He took it, holding your gaze as you twirled, showing off the flower woven through your hair, the beads catching firelight. He kept his grip steady and let his eyes track the line of you: throat, collarbone, the sway of your hips.

"Ma Jake."

Your hands stilled mid-gesture.

The movement to step back was instinct—prey recognizing a predator's silhouette. By the time she ducked through the entrance, you were already performing innocence: adjusting beads, smoothing fabric, eyes wide and empty of guilt.

Neytiri's head appeared through the entrance, and her eyes found you immediately. Found him and the space between you that wasn't quite innocent anymore.

Your head dipped, the picture of respect. Jake watched your ears—they didn't flatten, didn't betray a thing.

"I was showing him my new outfit." Your hands traced the intricate beadwork across your ribs, drawing attention to the craftsmanship, the appropriate reason for being here. "Do you like it?"

The ease in your voice. The softness.

Jake's stomach dropped.

Dangerous, he thought. She's fucking dangerous.

But when had he ever had the good sense to run?

Neytiri's smile arrived late, stretched too tight across her teeth. "It is nice, Y/n." A pause. Her tail made a slow, snap. "But I must speak with my mate."

Mate. She said it like a line you'd already crossed.

You didn't flinch, didn't even falter. Just nodded and gathered your things with hands that didn't shake. "Of course," you whispered.

Neytiri watched you slip past, stone-faced, counting the seconds until your footsteps faded. Then she turned.

Slow.

"She comes here more often."

Her voice was gentle. That made it worse. Her shoulders were still tight beneath fresh bandages—Ronal's work, probably, wrapped after whatever bitter exchange they'd had over medicine or tradition or pride. The tension hadn't left her body.

"Yeah." Jake didn't look away. "She does. Kiri brings her over."

"More and more, it seems."

"They had a fight before."

"And you would know this?"

Jake's jaw locked. The muscle jumped beneath his skin. "What are you trying to say, Neytiri?"

Her tail snapped—once, hard enough that it cracked against the woven wall. The grief in her face was raw. She'd never learned to hide it, not from him. "You two seem close."

He scoffed and the sound surprised even him. He set down the bomb arrows with too much force, the components scattering. "Alright. You want to talk, let's talk." The hiss came from somewhere deep, somewhere he didn't recognize. "Say it."

Neytiri breathed, flinching from his response. Deep, shaking inhales that did nothing to steady her. Her lips pulled tight. "She likes you."

Jake's eye twitched. "She's a kid, Neytiri. It's innocent."

"She is a woman, Jake."

He stood then. Got right in her face, close enough to see the fractures in her composure, the way her pupils dilated.

He thought of himself fifteen years ago—young, stupid, so fucking in love it hurt—and knew that version of him would've knocked his teeth out for this. Would've grabbed him by the throat and slammed him into the ground for standing here, for letting things get this far, for speaking to Neytiri like she was the problem.

He thought of himself a year ago. Same result.

So much lost in so little time.

“Barely, Neytiri. Barely. Come on, do you really think she’s a threat to you? Our marriage?” His eyes went wet—performatiely, predictably wet—as if innocence was something he could emulate now. "What do you want me to do?" His voice dropped. "Tell her to stay away? Push Kiri further out because you're uncomfortable?"

Goddamn liar.

Goddamn dirtbag.

She was crying now. Her head shook, weak, defeated. "I don't know what to think." The sound that left her was pathetic. So small. "I feel you—" Her hands moved, grasping at air before she pressed a fist to her chest. She couldn't look at him. "Drifting. Away. To this place I cannot follow."

That landed.

He faltered. His eyes closed. Shit.

"Baby..." He reached for her, pulled her in. She let him. She always did. Her sobs came in soft, broken waves against his chest. "Oh, baby. It's nothing," he soothed, stroking her hair. "Can't have me throwing her out of our hut for some dumb crush, right?" A pause. His voice dropped to something coaxing. "Come on. You never eyed some hot older hunter when you were younger?"

That earned the faintest of a smile, then a wet, shaky chuckle. "...Yes."

"And weren't you just a girl during that?"

A slow nod against his chest. Her fingers curled into the fabric at his chest piece. She was just a girl when you two mated.

He kissed her cheeks. Then her forehead. Led her to the hammock with careful hands. "See? Just a dumb crush. I'm not into her. Not even a little."

Liar.

They slept in the same hammock that night. Actually cuddled after—his arm slung over her waist, her breath evening out against his collarbone. And for a short time, he convinced himself it was true. Excused his attraction as a lapse in judgment. Grief and anger warring with his morals.

But his hand tightened around her in the dark.

Liar.

It was such an easy excuse, until life hit again and he was back to square one with it.

Another fight.

He didn’t even remember what the argument was started by. It had to be something stupid, silly, because he couldn’t grasp at straws at why everything blew over.

Something about Spider—probably. The kid left his mask somewhere, or tracked mud, or laughed too loud. Something small. Something a kid does. And Neytiri had made that sound in her throat, the one that meant something without saying it aloud.

Demon blood makes him careless.

He was so fucking tired of that sound.

Neytiri was pacing, the kids were outside. And he was over it, slumped and exhausted.

"I'm going back to the commune." The words came out flat. He was already moving, hands gathering the hammock in jerky motions. Muscle memory from a hundred other times he'd done this exact thing.

Neytiri hissed—spraying saliva. Her good arm shoved him. "You run." Her voice cracked down the middle, splintering. "You run away again!"

He didn't look at her, just kept rolling.

"Just as you ran when the sky-people returned—" Her breath hitched. Outside, he heard the shuffle of small feet. Kiri's soft murmur to Tuk. Lo'ak's feet dragging across woven floor. Spider had already vanished. Smart kid. "—just as you ran to this place because you could not be Toruk Makto!"

The hammock dropped from Jake's hands.

He turned.

Slow.

Neytiri's eyes went wide. Her hands grasped her lips, just as they parted, some apology forming, but it was too late. The words were already out there—everything she felt alongside it.

Jake stared at her for a long time

I loved you.

He wanted to say. He wondered if she saw it, unspoken. He wondered if she was thinking the same thing.

I loved you and now I don’t think I can again.

But he didn't say it. Instead, something in his face went smooth. Apathetic. The kind of blank that came from too many firefights, too many bodies, too many times he'd had to shut it all down just to keep going.

He lifted both hands, palms out in surrender. "Alright." He couldn’t bare to look at her. "So I'm a coward. And you're unhappy."

That's right, Jake boy. You're getting it now. Always been slow—but you're getting it.

"No—ma Jake—" Her hand reached for him, fingers grasping. Desperate. Her face was breaking apart.

He shrugged her off.

He bent, picked up the hammock, slung it over his shoulder. Tuk's small hand caught at his wrist. "Daddy..."

He kept walking.

Kiri stood in the doorway, one hand pressed to the frame. Lo'ak beside her, jaw tight, tail lashing.

"Fuck," Lo'ak breathed.

"Mom..." Kiri turned back toward the hut.

Jake's feet was in a shamble.

Go to the outer communes, some rational part of him insisted. The ones far from center. Don't make that left turn.

He made that left turn.

Why are you going to her?

His jaw clenched.

Jake. You're making a mistake.

But hadn't Neytiri been a mistake too? He reasoned. That's what the People thought—what they'd whispered when they thought he couldn't hear. She was promised to another. Unhappy, yes, but promised. And he'd taken her anyway—Carved his name into her life with bloody hands and a bloody conscience. She'd been unhappy. He was unhappy now. Married now.

Was it different?

You were asleep when he arrived. You, along with several others scattered throughout the commune—bodies curled in hammocks, breath soft and even. More full than last time. That's what he'd wanted. What he'd asked for, and he got it.

A place for the lost ones. The displaced.

He found hooks along the far wall and started working the strings. His hands fumbled. The knot wouldn't take. Too much tension, or not enough—he couldn't tell anymore. Couldn't think.

Strong heart.

You have a strong heart.

Jake.

The cord slipped through his fingers and he dropped it, fists clenching until his nails bit crescents into his palms.

Breathe.

"Jake?"

Your voice came soft, full of sleep. He heard you shift, the rustle of fabric as you sat up and scanned the dim interior. Your frown deepened.

"What are you…" Understanding flickered across your face, and you stopped. "...Do you need help?" A whisper now, careful.

He huffed—a sound caught between breath and sob—and felt the hot sting of tears gather at the corners of his eyes. And then the wetness came, hot and humiliating, tracking down his face before he could stop it.

"I uh..." His throat closed around the rest.

He was unraveling here. In some commune in front of a girl old enough to be his daughter. He just wanted Neteyam back. He wanted to hug his son and tell him he’s sorry and tell Neytiri he was sorry too.

God—he wanted to go back to the forest and pretend for a moment he just landed on Pandora.

His shoulders shook in silent sobs, covering his face now.

This embarrassment felt hotter than any shame he’d known.

I didn’t cry when Grace died. Or Trudy. Or Tsu’tey. I didn’t cry when Neteyam died, either. And I am crying here. I am crying here—

You rose then, bare feet silent on the woven floor, and reached for his hand. Your fingers curled around his.

"Come."

He followed. Stumbled, really.

You drew him toward your hammock, lower lip caught between your teeth. Those wide eyes watched him in the half-light.

He hesitated at the edge, then lowered himself in. The hammock dipped and swayed under his weight. You settled beside him, body angling just slightly away—giving him space.

But Jake didn’t want space. He wanted the warmth of a body, the peace of innocence and the carelessness of youth.

He wanted you.

His hand lifted. No hesitation this time, though his vision blurred at the edges. You didn't pull away, that should’ve been his first warning.

"I'm sorry," he said in english—the demon language. You wouldn't understand, and maybe that made it easier.

His palm found your jaw first, thumb tracing the hollow of your throat before sliding lower. Shoulder. Lower. Collarbone, then lower still. The notch between ribs. His other hand rose to mirror the first, both settling at your waist now, learning the dip and flare of your hips. "You're beautiful," he murmured. "A goddamn vision."

He wasn’t crying anymore, but his eyes had gone hazy and the tear tracks tacky.

He flickered his eyes back at you.

You hadn't moved. Eyes wide, lips parted until he saw the barest hint of pink. He caught the way your breathing had changed, shallow and quick, how you leaned in without meaning to. Your fingers twisted in the cloth at your hips, worrying the fabric.

"J-Jake," you managed, barely audible.

He stared a moment longer. I need this. Then drew you in and kissed you—slow, until he felt impatience at his own patience. "Shh," he whispered against your mouth.

Your eyes fluttered shut, tilting against him. You two were all whispers now, touching and feeling. “You are sad, Jake…”

"Yeah." He exhaled, and the sound was almost a laugh. "Yeah, I'm sad." He pressed another kiss to your temple, lips lingering there.

He should've let you go and stepped back, put distance between your body and his hands and the want that was coiling low in his gut like something needful. But he didn't. Instead, he drew you closer. One hand slid to the small of your back, fingers splaying wide. The other cupped the nape of your neck.

"Can't tell you," he said quietly. "Wouldn't understand."

"M'not dumb." You grumbled against his chest.

"Never said you were." His thumb traced small circles against your spine, and he watched your lashes casting shadows against your cheek. "You're too damn smart. That's the problem."

“Problem?” You kissed down his neck now, fingers finding his shoulders.

You. Me. This. He thought it but didn't say it, not yet.

Instead, he leaned in, slowly. Giving you time to pull away, to hiss at him, to do any of the things you should've done. But you didn't. You stayed, frozen like prey caught in some thick black sap, and he felt the exact moment your breath stopped.

"This," he whispered against your mouth, barely touching. "This is the problem."

He kissed you again, this time to savor all that you were. Your lips were softer than he'd imagined, and he'd imagined them plenty.

Too much, maybe.

He felt you tense. Felt the small sound you made and swallowed it down as he angled his head and kissed you deeper.

Your hands fisted his loincloth, tugging. “Oh Jake…” You breathed against him when he pulled back for air. Your eyes were huge, pupils blown wide, swallowing the green.

"Shh." He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard. His hands had moved—one tangled in your hair, the other splayed across your ribs, thumb brushing just beneath the curve of your breast. "Don't talk. Don't... just don't."

"But—"

He kissed you again. Harder this time, less gentle, and the sound you made was different now.

you were pulling him closer. Your hands had found the back of his neck, fingers threading through his hair—his hair, not his queue, and thank Christ for that because if you touched his queue right now he'd be done for.

"Feel that?" he murmured against your jaw, your throat, the delicate arch of your collarbone. "Feel what you do to me?"

You glanced down at the bulge straining against leather and looked away just as quickly, ears flicking back into shyness.

You didn't answer. Couldn't, probably. Your head had tipped back, exposing the long line of your neck, and he took advantage—pressed his mouth there. Soft little suctions that came violet.

Just like her breasts…

He pulled back to see your face. Your eyes were glassy, unfocused. Your lips were kiss-swollen and your breath came in short, sharp gasps. You looked wrecked.

You looked young.

Realized it now, huh Jake? You little creep?

"Shit." He let go of you immediately, catching his breath. Oh god. His hands shook. "Shit, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have—fuck."

You blinked, confusion replacing the haze. Your tail curled uncertainly. “Jake… please. Did I…?”

"It's not about what you did." The words came out harsher than he meant. "You don't understand what this means. What I almost—" He cut himself off. "I gotta go..."

He was already rising.

Then you gripped his wrist, hard. As if you had any strength to stop him. "No."

Jake stared. "No?"

“You can’t just… I…” You were flushed now, eyes wide like saucers, desperately clinging to him. “I… like you Jake.” You said softly. “You have…” You stopped yourself, looking around. Everyone was still sleeping. “You have her.” You whispered. “But…”

"You don't understand—"

You guided his hand back to your waist, placed it there deliberately. "I do. You feel lonely. I know you do. I feel the same way, every single day. Please..”

"Jesus Christ," he breathed.

You frowned, ears flicking back. "Do you not want me?"

"Want you?" He laughed, and it sounded broken even to his own ears. "I want you so much it's killing me."

"Then why...?" You tilted your head, a look of pain across your face.

He couldn't answer. Couldn't explain the guilt and the grief and the way you looked at him like he was something good when he knew—knew—he wasn't.

So instead, he kissed you again. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make it good."

It'd been desperate from the start.

He shifted, already moving you beneath him, hands tugging at the ties of your loincloth. "Lift your hips," he grumbled against your mouth.

You obeyed. Of course you did. Hips rising, hands threading through his locks to find the leather tie binding them back. They spilled free, heavy and thick, and you kissed him—each small press of your lips—bridge of nose, slope of brow, hollow of cheek, that soft place where his ear met skull…everywhere your lips and tongue could reach.

He made a sweet sound between a grunt and a laugh from his chest.

"Ngh, fuck." The curse wasn’t really a curse. He grinned through each lazy kiss, pleased. "You're really affectionate, huh?" He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in.

Neytiri was far from his mind now. Miles away, perhaps in another life entirely.

Your knuckles traced circles at his nape. "You came to me," the reminder soft yet pointed.

Look at her. He huffed. Getting confident.

His palm cracked against your ass—hard, and when your mouth opened to squeal, he clapped his other hand over it. "Shh, baby girl." he breathed against your temple, gaze sliding toward the sleeping forms scattered throughout the mauri. "Wake them and this ends."

Both of you froze. A body nearby shifted, grumbled something barely coherent, then turned their back toward you.

You glanced back at him.

Then you started sucking on his thumb.

He jolted, surprise flickering across his features before something darker replaced it. His grin widened as he finally unhooked the strap from your tail, pulling the loincloth away in a snapping motion. "Really...?" he breathed, voice dropping an octave.

You only continued the slow lap and swirl, eyes half-lidded in something that might've been innocence if not for the way you held his gaze. He tasted like salt and metal, and underneath it all that undefinable sweetness that belonged to him alone.

You hollowed your cheeks, drew him deeper, let your tongue curl around the base.

Dangerous, He thought. She's fucking dangerous.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathed.

“Then die,” you mumbled.

He looked down, thumb sliding free with a pop, and eased himself upright. Your legs were pressed together, tail curled tight as though you could hide behind it.

But he saw it anyway—that soft crease where your cunt parted.

A sound escaped him, low and appreciative.. He set his palm on your knee, coaxing your legs apart, and watched you open for him. His thumb found the slit, dragged down slow, testing the slick. "So damn wet for me, baby."

Your ears flattened. "Don't—don't say it like that."

"Like what?" His grin was wicked npw. "Like you've been dripping for me?" He punctuated each word with another slow drag of his thumb, just sliding through the slick coatness of your cunt.

"I've been thinking about this..." You admitted.

He glanced up, that smug smile threading through his expression. "Yeah?" He pressed his thumb just barely inside, felt you clench around the intrusion. "How long?"

"Since—" You bit your lip. "Since you touched me. The first time."

"The first time." He said it like he was considering the words. "When I was doing your chores, there baby girl?"

You nodded, face burning.

His eyebrows rose. "That long, huh?" The pleased rumble in his voice made your stomach clench. "And here I thought I was the only one losing my damn mind." He hummed. "So what'd you think about?" His thumb withdrew. One hand remained between your thighs now, rtracing maddening circles that went nowhere, did nothing. The other braced beside your ribs, caging you beneath him. "Tell me."

"Jake..."

"Come on." He kissed your knee, then higher to your inner thigh. "Wanna hear it."

You covered your face with your hands, tail lashing behind you. "Your hands," you mumbled. "And your mouth. I thought about—about this."

"This?" He nuzzled closer, breath hot against your cunt.

"Yes—"

Your hands moved to your top, tugging it off, and he could see the soft hills of your breasts, the way they rose and fell with each shaky inhale. Then your hips lifted, impatient and unsubtle. He chuckled. "Easy."

"You're slow…" you whisper-yelled, heat flooding your face.

He gave a soft, mocking pout. "I'm savoring you. You look..." His gaze dragged over your body with deliberate slowness. "Really damn good."

He rose once again, frustratingly claiming your mouth first. His thumb found the tender rim of your entrance, feeling without entering while his lips mapped the column of your throat. He kissed the slope of your breasts, nuzzled into the warmth there. "Smell like flowers…" he murmured against your skin. Something sweet and green. Yovo fruit, maybe. Or those night-blooming things that grew near the river.

"Thank you—" The word came out breathless.

He smiled against your breasts. "You're thanking me?"

"I don't…I don't know what to say—"

"Don't say anything." His free hand kneaded your other breast, thumb brushing the peak until you squirmed beneath him. He took the bud into his mouth, sucking gently, and your back arched clean off the ground.

A whimper escaped you. You bit your palm, trying to muffle it.

"How many times have you…" He trailed off, kissing down your stomach, tongue flicking over your navel before he nuzzled into the soft mound of your cunt.

"Oh, Jake…" You bit your palm, muffling the sound. "Um… a few… just a few. None like you…" The words tumbled out, half coherent.

He hummed, pleased, low in his throat. "That's good." He gave one long, slow lick, eyes closing as he tasted you. "Fuck…" You tasted as sweet as you looked.

Sweeter, even.

"Jake, please—" Your fingers found his hair, pulling and tugging until you heard the softest groan.

He grinned against you. "Please what, baby?" His thumb joined his tongue now, circling your clit with maddening lightness. "Use your words."

"I—" You couldn't. Could barely think. His mouth was right there, so close, and he was just—just teasing.

"Need me to make you come?" His voice was sap, dark and dripping. He pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, suctioning until it left a mark. "That what you need?"

"Yes—"

"Then I better get to work."

He sealed his mouth over you.

Your hips bucked, but his palm pressed flat against your lower belly, holding you down, keeping you still while he worked you over with his tongue.

He licked into you, slow and thorough, like he had all the time in the world. Like this was his only job. His only purpose. He groaned against you, the sound muffled and obscene, and you realized—

He was enjoying this.

Not just tolerating it. Not just doing it to get you ready.

Enjoying it.

"Taste so damn good," he muttered against you, the words vibrating through your core. His thumb found your clit, circling, pressing, and your vision went white at the edges.

"Jake…oh—"

"That's it." He sucked your clit between his lips, tongue flicking over the swollen bud, and your thighs clamped around his head. He didn't stop.

"I'm—I'm close—"

"Yeah?" He pulled back just enough to speak, and you wanted to scream at the loss. "You gonna come for me, sweetheart?"

“Mhm…” You frowned, nodding.

He grinned. He had this look on his face, head tilted as if he was considering something. “Okay, yeah.”

He reached up, one hand cupping your jaw before sliding to cover your mouth. The pad of his thumb grazed your lower lip, tugging it just a bit. "You're gonna be making a lot of noises," he murmured. His eyes searched yours, something fond flickering there. "So here. Bite."

His palm pressed firmer against your mouth, and you felt the calluses, then the taste of salt on his skin. "Don't want you to hurt yourself, baby girl."

The endearment made your stomach flip.

You nodded. Just barely.

Jake latched onto your clit with a deliberate, sucking pressure that punched the air from your lungs. It was different than earlier, more controlled. Your thighs jerked, tried to close on instinct, but his hands were already there—rough palms sliding under your knees, hiking your legs over the broad span of his shoulders. He shuffled closer, groaning low in his throat, and the vibration traveled straight through your core.

Oh.

A whine tore from you, muffled against his palm. Your teeth found the soft part between thumb and forefinger—canines sinking into the meat of it, just shy of breaking skin. He didn't flinch. Didn't even pause. If anything, he pressed closer, tongue flattening against you in a long, torturous stripe.

"Jake—" His name came out garbled, desperate. You tried to look down, to see him, but your vision blurred with tears. Everything was too much. The heat of his mouth, the scratch of his jaw against your inner thigh, the way he looked at you.

"Shh…"

His free hand found your thigh, fingers digging in, holding you open. He tilted his head, adjusted the angle, and sucked again—harder this time. Then his tongue pushed inside.

"Ngh—shit…" He cursed.

You felt his jaw working, the strain of it. When he finally pulled back for air, his lips were slick and swollen. He replaced his mouth with a finger, one thick digit sliding in knuckle-deep, curling with a perscrion that spoke of years and experience..

A broken sound escaped around his palm.

Jake's eyes flicked up. Watched you.

Your head had fallen back, throat exposed, the line of it pale and trembling. Your breasts rose and fell in sharp gasps, stomach rolling in waves with every curl of his finger.

"What do you want, hm?" His thumb found your clit, circling with a teasing pressure. The contrast made you sob. "Tell me, sweetheart. Use your words."

He eased his hand away from your mouth, just enough for you to speak.

"Y-You…" It came out broken. "Want you, Jake—"

"Yeah?" A second finger joined the first, stretching you carefully. His pupils were blown wide, almost entirely black. "Want me where, baby? Here?" He curled both fingers, found that spot that made your body jolt. "Or somewhere else?"

"Yes—" You couldn't think. Could barely breathe. "Please, Jake, please—"

"Good girl."

He leaned in, pressed a kiss just above your clit, then sucked a bruising mark into the soft skin of your inner thigh. His fingers kept working, scissoring, preparing.

You were shaking now. Could feel your walls fluttering around his fingers, chasing something just out of reach.

"I think you're prepped and ready," he mumbled against your thigh. Gave one final kiss—right where he'd marked you—before withdrawing his fingers.

The emptiness made you whine. Your hips chased his hand without permission, seeking. "No… Jake, please—"

He released your face entirely now, that hand coming up to cup your cheek. His thumb—the clean one—brushed away the tear that had escaped. "It's okay, baby. Gonna feel worth it, I promise."

You had tears in your eyes, but you trusted him, always did.

His eyes never left yours as he reached for his loincloth, fingers working the knot with practiced ease. But your eyes—

Your eyes dropped.

You'd seen the bulge earlier. Felt it pressed against your hip as he ate you, but this—

Jake's cock was different from the ones you'd glimpsed on reef men during communal baths, different from the smooth turquoise youths you’ve fumbled with before.

His was large.

Thick and flushed a deeper blue-purple, uncut with veins that traced the shaft like rivers on a map. It looked angry. Heavy. The head was broad, already weeping, and below—his balls hung full and heavy, the skin darker, dusted with the same fine hair that traced his brow and jaw.

You reached without thinking.

Your fingers wrapped around him and gave an experimental squeeze.

"Fuck—" He choked on the word, hips jerking forward into your grip. A breathless laugh escaped him. "Why you do that, huh?"

But you weren't listening. You were too busy exploring. Your thumb traced a prominent vein, followed it down, then patted the base with an almost sweet curiosity. The hair there was coarser than you expected. Strange…so fascinating.

"It's fuzzy," you murmured, tilting your head. "I've never seen…"

The words trailed off because he'd started moving—his hand wrapping over yours, guiding you in a slow pump. You watched, transfixed, as the foreskin slid back to reveal the swollen head, then forward again. The motion was hypnotic.

Heat crept up his neck. His ears flicked back. "Kinda gross, right?"

There was something vulnerable in the question. Something almost boyish, despite the very grown man's cock pulsing in your joined grip.

You looked up and met his eyes.

"No," you said softly, as certaine as anything. "It's interesting. Everything about you is interesting, Jake."

He went completely still.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. Then his cock twitched in your hand—hard enough that you felt it, and his breath punched out harsh and disbelieving.

"Right."

The word came out strangled.

Then he was moving. His hand left yours, both palms coming up to frame your face. He kissed you—deep and desperate and tasting of you—before pulling back just enough to rest his forehead against yours.

"You're gonna kill me," he breathed. "You know that? Gonna fuckin' kill me, and I'll die happy."

Jake braced himself above you, one arm holding his weight, the other tracing the edge of your hip with something close to reverence. His eyes tracked down to where you were already slick and waiting.

"Hey." His voice came soft, almost shy. "Look at me."

You did.

His hand wrapped around himself, and you watched—transfixed—as he positioned the broad head against your entrance. He just dragged himself through the slick that had gathered there and moved in slow circles, coating himself, letting the tip catch your clit with each roll of his hips.

"Just coating it, baby," he murmured, though his voice had gone rough at the edges. "Gotta make sure you're ready."

Your brows drew together, flushed. "That's... that's fine."

He felt so warm.

The heat of him radiated through your thighs, your belly, everywhere his skin pressed yours. You watched the way his stomach—soft, the human part of him—pressed against yours with each grind. His jaw ticked, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. You could see the effort it took—the restraint. Every part of him wanted to surge forward, to bury himself deep, but he waited.

Just for you, because he loves you.

"Going in now, okay?" His gaze flicked up, locking with yours. "Breathe for me."

Before you could answer, he leaned down and kissed you. Lips pressed firm, no tongue, just the taste of him and the promise of more.

And then you felt it.

You felt him.

The tip stretched you—your lips split around him. You could hear it, the wet sound of your body splitting, could hear your own breath catch and still before you remembered to relax.

"Ngh..."

"Shhhh..." His mouth moved to your temple, your cheek, the corner of your jaw. "I know, sweetheart."

He groaned, low and guttural, and the sound vibrated through your chest.

His hips gave an aborted thrust, and suddenly his arms were around you, locking you against him. Your head tucked beneath his chin, your legs wrapping instinctively around his waist. You were drowning in his scent.

"That's it, baby. That's it."

He sank deeper.

Inch by inch, your body made room. The stretch burned, but it was the good kind—the kind that made your toes curl and your nails bite into his shoulders. He was everywhere—filling you so completely that you couldn't tell where you ended and he began. His balls pressed flush against you, the tip of him kissing something deep and sacred inside. You both stilled.

Full.

So full you could barely breathe.

"Oh my god," Jake breathed.

Both of you looked down at the same time, and your eyes snagged on the bulge pressing against your stomach. Him. You could see him inside you, the shape of his cock bulging your belly.

"Look at that." His voice was hushed, disbelieving. His hand moved without thinking, palm pressing gently against it, and you felt it. The pressure from both sides, inside and out, and your eyes rolled back. "Pretty fucking cute."

You opened your mouth to respond—

He thrusted.

The first punched the air from your lungs. The second made you see stars. By the third, you were clawing at his back, nails dragging red lines down his shoulders. His hips pistoned into yours, the rhythm building, and he swallowed your cries with his body. His grunts were muffled against your hair, your shoulder, anywhere he could press his mouth. You bit into his neck, tasting him.

"Jake..."

"I'm here. I'm here."

Your nails found his back, dragging down, leaving marks he'd wear tomorrow. Your eyes hazed over. Oh, great mother..."

Jake's hand found your chin, wrenching your face toward his. He kissed you—messy, desperate, all tongue and teeth. "Dirty girl," he grunted, and you could hear the grin in his voice. "Marking me up?"

His other hand slipped between your bodies, fingers circling your clit in time with each brutal thrust.

And oh.

Oh.

The dual sensation was too much. The thick slide of him inside, the rough pad of his thumb outside, the heat and weight and fullness of it all. Something big and meaty and warm, filling you so nice and sweet you thought you might break apart.

"I'm really close, Jake—"

"Me too..." He cursed under his breath, something garbled and human. His hands gripped your hips, lifting, angling you so your back arched off the woven mat. Your breasts bounced with each impact, and his gaze locked there, hungry. "Fuck, look at you..."

He hissed between his teeth, spreading your thighs wider, opening you completely.

"Knew what you wanted, huh?" His voice dropped into something darker, meaner. "Such a fucking tease."

His hands found your throat.

Your eyes widened.

"You guys can breathe a long time, yeah?" His thumbs pressed against your pulse, feeling the frantic flutter there. "Wanna see how much."

You should've been afraid… You quickly realized you weren't.

You smiled. Drool gathered at the corner of your mouth.

He squeezed.

"Ngh—"

Your voice cut off. Breath left you in a rush, and the world narrowed to the pressure at your throat, the relentless drive of his hips, the way your body clenched around him in protest and pleasure. You tried to slow your heart—tried to relax the way you'd been taught—but you couldn't.

His fingers squeezed tighter.

Your hands flew to his, and for a moment he hesitated. His eyes widened, grip loosening. Too much?

But then you were squeezing his hands against your throat. Pressing them harder. Tighter, your eyes said.

And there it was.

That high.

Your voice left you. Your breath left you. Yet you were floating, weightless, caught in total ecstasy. You came—unable to scream, unable to do anything but tremble and milk him with rhythmic, desperate pulses.

"Fuck—fuck—"

Jake sucked in his teeth, hips stuttering through a few last pumps before he released your throat.

Air rushed back in a single, gasping sob.

Then Jake smiled—boyish and a little sheepish—and pressed a kiss to your forehead. Your nose. Your lips.

"You okay?"

You nodded, dazed. Your hand lifted, trembling, to touch his face.

"Yeah," you whispered. "Yeah, I'm okay."

He kissed your palm. Then your wrist. Then he pulled out slowly, carefully, and gathered you against his chest.

Warm.

He was always so warm.

"You're a lot less innocent than I thought."

He blurted, although you did not hear the accusation, nor would you ever feel it—his hands were gentle where they cradled your hips, thumbs tracing idle patterns against sweat-slick skin.

You couldn't answer. Couldn't do anything but pull air into your lungs in these shallow, desperate sips. Your skin buzzed everywhere he'd touched, everywhere he'd been, and the purple blooming across your throat would be proof of it in the morning.

Your fingers found him instead of words. Just a fumble of fingers.

Jake came to you willingly. He always did with you, didn't he? Folded himself around you like he was trying to press into your bones, arms circling, nose buried in your hair. His cock softened, and you felt the slow, warm slip of his cum beginning its lazy descent down your thighs.

You should've been mortified. Should've squirmed away, cleaned yourself, done something other than lie there feeling it settle.

But you didn't.

Instead, your palm drifted down between your bodies, fingers splaying over the slight swell of your stomach.

"You're going to give me my own family, Jake."

It slipped out so soft you weren't sure he'd heard. You had almost hoped he hadn’t.

But he did, and Jake went still.

You felt it—the exact moment his every muscle locked. You'd said something wrong. Of course you had. Stupid, stupid—

His hand covered yours.

He pressed it firmer against your belly where his cum sat heavy and warm inside you, where your skin had gone taut and tender. Just below your naval, there a visible swell of what might already be taking.

"I’m sorry I know—" you started, some apology forming.

"Yeah," he breathed. Then again, stronger: "Yeah."

You twisted just enough to see his face and expected that look he got sometimes, the one that said he was remembering he didn't belong here, that he had Neytiri, children he already bore, a life he’d already built with promises he’s already made.

But he was smiling.

"You deserve a family too," he whispered, and your chest did something complicated and painful. His hand slid up your side, traced your ribs, mapped the terrain of you like he was memorizing it. "More than anyone I know."

He didn't care.

For once in his miserable, guilty, blood-soaked life, Jake Sully didn't care about the fallout.

Your breath hitched. "Don't say that."

"Why not?" He shifted, pulling you with him until you were sprawled across his chest, all that dark blue skin and scarred muscle beneath you. The blanket came next, draped over both of you in lingering heat. "It's true." God help him, he meant it.

You buried your face against his collarbone. "You don't... you don't have to say things like that just because we—"

"I'm not."

The certainty in it made you lift your head.

Jake caught your jaw, thumb brushing the corner of your mouth. "I mean it," he said again. "You deserve everything. A family, a home, someone who—" He stopped. Swallowed. Started again. "Someone who stays."

Oh.

"...Thank you, Jake."

The words felt absurdly small for what was crushing your ribs, flooding your throat. But they were all you had.

He blinked at you. Something confused flickering across his face. "For what?"

What reason did you have to thank him?

He'd corrupted you—at least, he was pretty sure he had. Taken something pure and good and dragged it down into the mud with him, same way he corrupted everything he touched. Pandora. The People. The forest. His own damn soul.

"For everything." And it was as simple as that. He understood you.

With your weight settled trustingly atop him and your hand still resting over that slight swell in your belly—

He didn't care. That's what he gave you. Carelessness.

Right now he was satisfied and happy. He was warm, he felt young, and he was looking forward to a future.

Just like back then.

I love you. He thought.