Little Gift- Feast
Dark Adult Neteyam x Fem Human Reader
Adult Neteyam pic by @cinetrix2 <3
Last Part Masterlist AO3
Summary: Your stubborn attitude isn't getting you much. Or perhaps...too much
Warnings: dubcon/noncon read at your own risk, MDNI, kidnapping, oral, jealousy, possessive behavior, dom/sub dynamics, power imbalance, swearing, aged up characters, etc.
Your one woman hunger strike is not going as planned.
Twenty six hours in and you are hungry.
So fucking hungry you are ready to bite off the hand of the next Na’vi to come into your space. Not that you would need to with the delicately cut berry spread before you. The same one that Neteyam had meticulously prepared that morning. Others may think of it as a sweet gesture but you see it for what it really is- a temptation.
In the same way last night’s mysterious, but mouth watering, meat had been. The beast that Neteyam had hunted, cleaned, and prepared with his own hands. The aroma had been so intoxicating that you broke skin from biting your bottom lip as you stared down at your share.
The first time you refused a meal you expected the Olo’eyktan to throw a fit, flip you over his knee, or even jam the food down your throat but he has done nothing of the sort. Instead, he revels in this little competition the two of you have. Because that’s what it is to him.
A game.
Sitting beneath a low hanging tree as you watch him train warrior diligently, there is nothing to entertain yourself with but the food in front of you.
This strange purple fruit in front of you has been cut down into smaller pieces. The inside looks similar to the videos you have seen of peaches and the juice runs down onto the leaf below as if it’s trying to seduce you into finally taking a bite.
Your stomach grumbles as if it’s tearing itself apart.
Fuck, why did you choose to resist food of all things?
The meals at Bridgehead were the furthest thing from a proper meal but you had always enjoyed scavenging out into the forest for various fruits and vegetables to spice it up. It’s one of the best parts of your day. And now that you’ve had a taste of the wonders the Na’vi can create with them, it feels like locking yourself out of heaven.
Neteyam’s gaze is heavy upon you.
Sending him a fierce glare you make a show of nudging the fruit away from you, even as your body screams at you to shove it down your throat.
Neteyam tilts his head, glossy braids swingings over his shoulder as a crooked smirk twitches at his lips. He isn’t frustrated, and isn't deterred. If anything those lips curve as if they hide a secret you are not privy to. So confident he knows who will be winning this tug of war.
You exhale a breath when he finally turns around to correct one warrior’s footwork.
A thump sounds from your side and you almost let out a scream before you realize it is Lo’ak who has dropped down from a tree. With a sigh he comes to sit beside you.
“Looks like fun, doesn’t it?” He gestures to the group ahead of you, eyes rolling as he looks at them in pity.
“Go away, Lo’ak.”
“Jeez what’s crawled down your loincloth?”
You look at him in disbelief. You will never understand where Lo’ak find the audacity to poke fun at your imprisonment.
“Besides Neteyam that is.” He chuckles and your cheeks heat instantly.
“You pervert! Never in a million years-”
“It’s not like I have to take his word for it either. You’re quite loud.” Lo’ak ignore your heated ears and agape mouth as he notices the cut up fruit before you. He reaches forward and plucks a piece with a delighted ‘ooh”.
Shiny juice escapes the seam of his lips as he chews and it makes your own mouth water.
Suddenly a hand is yanking Lo’ak to stand with a fistful of braids.
“What the hell?!”
“You skxawng! Those are not for you.” Neteyam hisses, releasing his brother with a huff.
“Alright alright. Damn, I was just keeping her company.” Lo’ak mutters, arms crossing over his chest with a frown. “Besides, I hate to see food go to waste.”
Their eyes lock as a silent line of communication strums between them. Eventually Lo’ak lets out an irritated sigh before nodding and jogging off into the treeline. Neteyam’s shoulder’s visibly relax, hands casually placed on those sinful hips as he looks down at you.
“You should’ve let him eat it. I’m not hungry.” You lie confidently, jutting your chin up in pride.
“Is that so, tiyawn?”
His deep voice ripples through your body.
“Yes.”
You go to give him a sneer, maybe even the middle finger, but looking up at him from this angle proves to be problematic. His loincloth has a bulge and it lights your curiosity. Despite all the vulnerable and exposed positions Neteyam has put you in you have yet to see what lies beneath that scrap of clothing. Averting your eyes doesn’t save you from witnessing the smirk that dances over her lips.
Stupid observant bastard.
His shadow looms over you as you fiddle with the strings of your loincloth. And then his braids are tickling your neck.
“Perhaps it’s not fruit you are hungry for.” That simmering whisper blossoms a blush once more but nothing in comparison to the one that emerges when he grasps your small hand and places it along his inner thigh.
He doesn’t let you pull away, not before you can feel the corded muscle and smooth skin. Not before your eyes cave into temptation and sneak a glance at the increasing size of that bulge.
“I know your little body has been enjoying our time together but if you’re good, I’ll let you play with me too.”
And then your fingers are traveling over the exposed skin until the silk fabric is beneath your tips. You can’t even look at him. You pray that this aversion will read as nothing more than pure revulsion, because you don’t know what will happen if he senses your underlying lust.
You can feel him twitch under your palm.
Eyes forced closed and heart racketing at your rib cage, it takes all your power to control the rise and fall of your chest.
And then the heat is gone. Neteyam releases your wrists, stands up, and sends a dark smile over his shoulder before rejoining the group. You want nothing more than to hide your face in your hands and scream but that would only show him your hand.
You need to be strong. Keep your mouth shut, fry his patience, and get the hell out of here.
Lo’ak is right about the training. It’s undeniably brutal and strict. While you stare in awe at the rate the young warriors can scale trees and shoot a target, Neteyam shakes his head and sighs before correcting them. You’ve studied a bit of Na’vi throughout your life but there’s no desire to translate his strict reprimanding.
You do, however, find it hard to keep your interest away from the various rippling muscles and shifting loincloths. You’re ovulating. You must be and if you were only in your bedroom back at Bridgehead you would actually be able to take some medication to tamper down this insufferable flood of hormones.
Still, you are stuck here and a group of nine foot tall walls of muscle are fighting, wrestling, shooting, and inadvertently showing off their physical prowess with ease. You swallow a lump in your throat when one Na’vi male tackles another and you get a perfect view of his ass.
Pandora is so hot.
So so incredibly hot and that has to be why you feel the temperatures rising along your cheeks.
Neteyam’s back blocks the view, a stream of instruction flowing from his lips as the two struggle to get the upper hand. Your hungry eyes start to travel up his body instead but you tug them away.
You’ll be on your deathbed before ever admitting to ogling these men but you’ll drink acid before letting Neteyam catch you ogling him.
Another shorter male’s abdomen tightens as he pulls back an ax carefully. Sweat glimmers along his blue form as focused eyes narrow at the target. Within one powerful swing the ax is chucked from his grip and pins a leaf the size of your thumbnail to a tree.
He sighs before reaching back to tie his hair. The stretch accentuates the contrast between his narrow waist and broad shoulders. And yet you catch yourself sneaking a look at Neteyam’s form.
For comparison purposes only of course.
It’s too risky though to notice the slope of his back or the way one strap of his loincloth has shifted dangerously low along one hip. Or note the way his dark stripes smoothly curve over and accentuate his v line. Because that is something you would never do. You would never look. Would never think about him outside of plans to escape. Never dream of his deep voice with that heavy accent or even think about how it sounds in his native tongue. And you most certainly would never anticipate the view of Neteyam between your thighs nightly.
Suddenly the ax-throwing Na’vi has become boring so you veer the focus as far away from Neteyam as possible.
You shift your body to your left, letting your hair create a curtain to block the view of Neteyam pulling back a bow. It takes a bit longer this time to immerse yourself in these next two who spar with long sticks.
All at once your body is ripped from your spot, legs dangling and kicking as you are roughly set to stand. Neteyam’s arm snaps around your waist as he kneels behind you.
“Do I need to put you in time out?” It’s not a joke. Not when his teeth are skimming dangerously closer over your ear. “I would be able to smell you halfway across the forest.” He growls.
Your thighs press together subconsciously as embarrassment floods in.
So maybe you had forgotten about the Na’vi advanced sense of smell.
“Which I wouldn’t mind were it not for your eyes being trained on other men” The ground slips beneath you and suddenly Neteyam is throwing you over his shoulder.
“Wait! Let me go!” You’re not even sure why you try at this point. It’s not like he has ever listened before. The hope of being heard dims even lower when you see his thrashing tail and feel his heavy footsteps as you're carried further into the forest.
But dammit you are hungry and hot and your loincloth is stained with your arousal so you let your emotions bubble over.
“You fucking brute! Put me down right now!” You scream, nails scratching harshly over his back. It doesn’t draw blood but wow those fading marks look so pretty over his blue skin. Not to mention the beauty of his ass swaying with every step. “I’m so sick of this shit!”
Neteyam is quiet.
So very quiet and it doesn’t sit right with you.
“Open.” He commands but you remain still.
Body frozen as you stand before him, his massive member at eye level. It’s almost as if your brain simply can not process the sight before you. The way his cock is so different from the ones you have encountered with its purplish blue hue, speckled glowing dots, and even the precum that shimmers in the fading light. Curiosity sparks once more and for a moment you consider reaching out to touch it.
However, the real shock is the massive size difference. You are no virgin. Bridgehead does not have a plethora of great men but you’ve found partners in the past to satiate your needs. So standing here staring and blushing feels out of the norm but with the way Neteyam is hung, how can you not?
Even at peak arousal, or what you hope is peak, it’s unable to sprout fully, the sheer weight dragging it to hang lower by his thighs. You’ve always assumed the Na’vi would be…bigger but this….you’d never imagined something like this.
The idea of ever fitting it in your mouth let alone inside of you makes your stomach coil.
Are all Na’vi males this way or is this something specific to Neteyam?
Something tells you that thanks to the Olo’eyktan you will never find out.
“Open your mouth, tawtute.” His voice is sharp like a drawn dagger, slicing through the wind to threaten obedience.
“B-but it….it won’t fit.” You try not to think about your choice of complaint.
Not that you don’t want to.
Not that he shouldn’t make you.
No, you simply complain about the logistics.
“You’ll learn, pet. Now open.” The nickname is anything but endearing coming from his lips now, honey eyes darkening as he stares down at you. This is retribution.
Shaking like a leaf, your lips ever so slightly part. It appears Neteyam is tired of giving verbal commands when one large hand grips either side of your face, pressing to force your mouth open wider.
“You won’t let me get any food past those pretty lips, fine. You will take my cock instead.” That growl reverberates through your body until it swirls into a low seated passion and desperation. Neteyam’s nostrils flare, soaking in the scent of your betraying body.
To your surprise Neteyam doesn’t immediately choke you on it but instead guides your open mouth to his base. Prying your jaw open wider, your lips are smeared along the heated skin. Hesitantly your tongue flickers out.
“That’s it, pet. Don’t be shy.”
When your tongue smoothes out to drag along the length of him you remind yourself that this is something you are forced to do. For survival. For escape.
And you prepare yourself to later bury the memory of your desire and curiosity in this moment. To forget how salty sweet his precum tastes as it dances along your tongue. To forget the way his pupils dilate as he purposefully paints your pillow lips with that glowing substance like it’s your own personal lip gloss. To forget the way his abs flex when the head of his cock is finally enveloped by your hot wet mouth.
But most of all, you promise yourself that you will forget how gorgeous Neteyam looks from this angle with his silky braids hanging loosely and glowing eyes devouring you whole.
The back of your throat is reached within record time. Your gag reflex immediately kicks in and Neteyam pulls out while cooing at you.
“Poor little pet. Not used to taking such a big cock, are you?” You take the condescending words without fight, trying to clear your throat and prepare for more. “But then again I’m sure Jeremy has never made you cum until you cry.” Neteyam smirks and your breathing halts.
You look up at him with wide eyes.
Oh God, when did he find out about Jeremy? A dark twinkle shadows the Olo’eyktan’s demeanor, his upturned lips promising an evil fate to your old flame.
“What di-”
“Down you go again, pet.” Neteyam interrupts, prying your mouth open once more and shoving himself inside harder this time. He doesn’t let up this time when you sputter and choke around him. “Relax that throat for me, tiyawn. I know this isn’t your first time doing this.” He chuckles.
Reluctantly you force yourself to follow his instruction, urging your heart rate so slow as you breathe in through your nose. Inch by inch, he slides down your throat until all you can taste and feel is him. A tinge of soreness already sparks along your jaw but stern eyes whisper the consequences of letting your blunt teeth even close to him.
A part of you yearns to get lost in the moment, let your arousal that has shamefully not disappeared since Neteyam’s confession take the wheel and give your mind a break. However, that is not the Olo’eyktan’s design. He means to drive a lesson home.
“I was under the impression that you simply didn’t enjoy giving oral, not with the way your scent soured every time that pathetic man had you on your knees.”
Your whimper of distress only turns into a hum that vibrates along him. Neteyam’s grins, toes digging into the earth below.
“But now I see that is not the case.” His hips roll forward, hand crawling to cradle the back of your head. “Staining that little loincloth for me. You just needed the right man to fill that pretty mouth didn’t you?”
Your protests are nothing more than high pitched whines as he picks up rhythm, only half of his cock fitting inside yet still more than enough to fill your throat.
“No need to deny it, oeyӓ tiyawn. Your body has been loyal to me from the very beginning.” That hand fists into your hair, holding you down on his cock as tears gather over your eyes. “Even when your mind has a hard time catching up.” All sweetness dissipates from his voice, left only with a hard steel.
“Like today for instance.”
You suck in air as soon as your mouth is empty, coughing and crying as he keeps that grip in your hair. A firm yank has your neck straining to look up at him.
“I thought you would know better, little gift.”
You subconsciously grip his thighs in order to keep yourself standing upright.
“But it looks like I need to spell it out for you.”
Suddenly your mouth is filled again but instead of waiting to let you suckle and explore, Neteyam immediately sets pace spearing down your throat. Nails digging into his toned thighs, you focus on keeping your breathing steady and relaxed.
“Good pets do not stare at other men. They do not let them smell their arousal.” Neteyam grinds out, a groan lacing his words as you feel him twitch. Your throat convulses around him, the urge to breathe through your mouth ever increasing. “Because good pets know who they belong to.”
The trembling in your legs skyrockets as your knees threaten to buckle. Suddenly Neteyam’s grip in your hair is not just there to keep you swallowing him down but also as an extra support.
“Do you know who you belong to, little gift?” A shudder ripples over his toned body, balls drawing up tight. And yet he pauses, keeping you frozen but still stretched around him.
He wants a response.
Nodding doesn’t appear to cut it, not when he tacks on a “and who is that?”.
You go to scoff at his persistence but it’s only another choked cough around him, tears spilling down your cheeks. He hips slant forward pressing himself even further down your throat until you are gagging.
“Say it.” The Olo’eyktan demands. “Say my name.”
He pulls out and airs hiccups through your lungs so fast you almost swoon backwards. But his name is still the first gasp to escape your lips.
“Nete-..Neteyaaaam.” It’s come out as almost a complaint but the Olo’eyktan’s joy is not diminished. His tails coils and flickers at the sound of your wrecked voice.
“Good girl.” That praise wraps around you, head lulling to rest against his palm. “Now come here and let me fuck your throat.”
It shouldn’t turn you on. The crude words are the furthest thing from what you should want but Neteyam’s accented voice purrs them like a lullaby. So dark, smooth and alluring that you find your mouth opening on its own accord.
Neteyam’s grins wider than the night that he first saw you tied up with that pretty bow. You push the implications of what you have just done to the back of your head.
Despite his satisfaction, Neteyam doesn’t take it easy on you. The length of him can never fully make it down your throat but that doesn’t stop him from trying. An obscene wet sound is made every time he thrusts back in and you can feel him shiver.
“Aww so pretty like this tiyawn. Wish you could see yourself right now.” His head throws back for a second when your airpipe contracts around him again. “Crying so sweetly for me.”
His gentle tone is a great contrast to the way his cock bullies itself into the tight space. So sweet in comparison to the way he fucks your throat like you’re his own personal fleshlight.
“Maybe we will have to steal a mirror from Bridgehead soon. Let you see what a wrecked masterpiece you are.”
Even as you struggle to breath and your throat aches, his dirty words burn the flames inside of you higher and higher. You will feel ashamed later, you know it, but for now you let him fill every crevice in your brain. It keeps the fear of Jeremy’s safety at bay. It keeps the reality of your situation from catching up with you. It keeps you as his pretty little pet that is doing oh such a good job.
“Fuck! You feel so good around me, tiyawn. Good fucking girl!” Neteyam’s groan is gravely, muscles along his abdomen erratically flexing and you know what is coming before his warning ever reaches your ears.
With a deep groan of your name, thick seed spurts down your throat. It’s too much to fully swallow but luckily Neteyam lets you off halfway through, the remnants painting your cheeks and lips. Your own thighs clench together as you watch him recover, his impressive physique inflating and deflating heavily with every breath.
Your throat feels like sandpaper as you collapse against him, head nuzzled against his hip as you cling to his right thigh. Neteyam’s fingers fondly stroke through your tangled hair as he congratulates you on learning your lesson.
You almost bite his finger when the next piece of meat passes your lips but this time it is by accident. Your habit of grinding your teeth together when nearing climax is becoming a problem. Three massive fingers tease and massage at that spongy spot inside of you as you drool around Neteyam’s fingers.
The Olo’eyktan chuckles and plucks another piece of meat to feed you.
“Remember to chew.” He says with a smirk when his thumb flicks over your clit and you almost choke.
Perched in his lap, smothering his fingers with your juices as he hand feeds you, there is surely not a better picture of obedience one could paint.
A picture that Neteyam cherishes.
But a memory you vow to forget.
I hope you enjoyed! Thank you all for your support and messages for this series especially! Hearing back from you all always makes me excited to write and update<3 Don't be afraid to let me know what you think
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