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tadpolesonalgae · 11 months

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Are you up to write something for poly!feysand x reader? Maybe a little darker.

I found your account recently and I'm obsessed with everything you wrote.

A Court of Nightmares!Feysand x reader: Beg for It[***]

A/N: Pretty filth, as promised. Also thank you so much for this ask, I was elevated to a higher plane while writing this 😭💖

Summary: The High Lord overhears your treasonous thoughts and decides to have his High Lady help with your punishment.

Warnings: Dub-con, humiliation, degradation, pussy eating (reader receiving), oral (m!receiving), threesome fmf, edging?,

The cold granite always sucks the warmth from the room. In spite of the terracotta rug you have on the hewn floor, and the paprika infused bedcovers, everything’s grey. Having to live here day after day after day after day, it sucks your life away from you before you even get a chance to live it. Simply wasting away beneath the rock of the mountain.

And yet the High Lord and Lady come and go as they please. They’re free to travel the land in ways you’ll never be permitted to. Hatred burns beneath your skin, resentment bitter in your mouth.

Your head is yanked back, sharply, a slim arm curling around your waist as a female body presses into you. You’re paralysed, completely taken out of your own control as you freeze. “Hello there, little traitor.” A shiver zaps down your spine at the cruelly lilting tone of the High Lady. What was she doing here?

A laugh rings from her dark painted lips, the sound empty and cold, “don’t panic,” she drawls, nails biting into your sides as her canines nip at your ear, “or maybe do, considering those treasonous thoughts you were practically screaming at us in the feasting hall.” Dread coils in your lower belly, solidifying into terror.

She laughs again as she scents your fear, nosing at the soft skin of your neck. “Not so aggressive now, are you?” She croons, hand releasing your hair to curl around your throat, “come on, where’d all that fight go?” She yields a seed of control, allowing your words to return.

You grit your jaw, the muscles trembling. You know what she’s capable of with those daemati abilities. You feel it as her lips slice into a wicked grin over the pulse point of your neck. “Silence isn’t going to cut it, little traitor. I suggest you start answering before I loose my temper.”

Terror thrums through your blood, singing for you to run, screaming at you to submit to escape whatever she has planned. You swallow, “damn you to hel.” The words come out as a rasp beneath the squeeze of her fingertips, sharp claw-like nails biting into your skin.

With powers you can only dream of, she drags your bedside table until it presses against your hips, forcing you to lean over roughly. “You brought this on yourself, pretty liar. Remember that when you’re screaming for us to stop.” Her hands forcefully push you down onto the desk, bending you over and your body complies, wilfully following her cold commands as she shoves your skirts up.

Her breasts press into your back as she leans into you, squishing you between her own lean body and the table. One hand slips beneath your waist, snaking between your legs as she cups you. You take in a sharp breath, freezing in shock at the invasion. Her canines nip against your neck as she opens her mouth over the sensitive skin, “scared, little traitor?” Her nimble fingers push further between your legs, her middle and forefinger pressing at your entrance as silver lines your eyes.

“There exist a multitude of methods to torture without resorting to violence,” she croons, “surely you’re aware of that.” You swallow, balling your hands into fists, thinking of every year you’ve spent trapped beneath the rock, kept from the outside. You grit your teeth, making a choice, “I’ve been kept beneath this mountain my entire life while you’re free to travel as you please,” you snarl, “I understand well enough.”

The sharp talons jutting from her fingertips dig into the bare skin of your inner thigh, making you hiss. “I wouldn’t want to make this any worse for yourself, pretty liar,” she purrs, hand dipping beneath your flimsy slip of fabric, fingers locating your clit effortlessly.

You’re surprised by her bold moves, and by the shock of pleasure that flows from your nerve endings. You jolt, dropping onto the table, forearms bracing you as you inhale sharply; exhale heavily. She laughs wickedly, “I didn’t expect you to crumble so easily,” she croons, circling the sensitive area repeatedly. “Who would’ve thought,” she drawls, “and after all that heat of hating us for being able to leave at our pleasure.”

Her hands leave you and you seize the chance to scramble for your composure. That is, until she kneels behind you, tendrils of darkness wrapping up your thighs and lower back to keep you tied to the table. You gasp when her thumbs gently pull at the soft, wet skin around your entrance, spreading you wider. Hot embarrassment flushes your cheeks, “what the hel are you doing?”

She laughs darkly from behind you, thumbing at your sopping hole, “No guesses? I’m sure I’d be delighted to hear your ideas.” Your thighs tremble as you have to lean more heavily on the desk, frantically attempting to close your legs. “How do you even know if I have an appetite for females?” You pant, trying desperately to force a growl into your voice, to no avail.

“I don’t,” she laughs, the soft breath brushing over your inner thighs with how close she is, “this is torture, remember?” Her tongue sweeps over your entrance and your arms almost give out then and there. You revel in the way the hot, wet muscle drags over you, how she laps so intently. “Don’t you think it’s unbecoming of a High Lady to lower herself like this?” You manage to pant through the mind clouding pleasure that’s thrumming through your body, lighting your sensing with flame.

She nips at your clit and a moan escapes you. Your palm smacks across your mouth the second after but it’s too late. “You seem to certainly be enjoying how I’m lowering myself.” Her tongue pushes against your entrance and you dig your nails into the desk desperately.

“You want to come, little traitor?” She drawls, lapping up your cunt, pressing against the swell of your now puffy clit. “Come on,” she croons, “as your High Lady, you belong to me. Every part of you. Every breath, every touch, every orgasm. It’s mine.”

“I believe you’re my High Lady, Feyre Darling.”

You freeze. Even the female behind you stops. Then she’s rising from her kneeling position, arms lacing around your waist possessively, one hand snaking to your jaw, forcing you to watch as the High Lord prowls into the room.

“Which means all of that,” he emphasises as his cold, violet eyes burn into you, “is also mine.” Behind you, you can feel the exact moment her body looses its tension, muscles melting as his words slither over her, becoming soft and pliable.

Pure malevolence drips from him as he stalks forward, power thrumming in the air of your bedchambers, pushing into every nook and corner. “Surely you remember how to share,” he purrs, eyes on his mate. Despite not being able to see her, you’re sure her lips have split into a wicked grin. “Just warming our girl up,” she drawls, hand snaking again beneath your skirts; between your thighs.

Utter mortification paralyses your body as her fingers slip through your wetness, pulling away as she shows the High Lord how you’ve slicked her fingers. He cocks his head, a gleam in those violent eyes, a hellish smirk curving the edges of his mouth. He moves forward, lethally quiet, until he’s just before the table. Then he’s raising his High Lady’s fingers to his mouth, lapping at the slick coating them. Your mouth drops open at the act, petrified to your spot as his eyes flick to your own, a sinful grin glittering over his mouth.

His hand grips your jaw, tugging you against the table as his nails bite into your cheeks, “want to know how you taste, little lynx?” You don’t have time to protest as he lowers his mouth to yours, tongue licking and lapping over and into you as his teeth nip at your lower lip, dragging in it. He shoves his way inside, dominating in a way only possible for those born into terrifying power, and you can taste the distinctive flavour of arousal coating his tongue. “Like that?” He drawls, noting the hot flush on your cheeks.

You’re hardly able to speak as Feyre’s mouth opens over your neck, making you gasp, ravishing the sensitive skin. The High Lord chuckles, grip tightening to bruising as silver lines your eyes from his pain and her pleasure. “I think this punishment is rather fitting, wouldn’t you agree?” He drawls, continuing as if his High Lady’s hand isn’t snaking between your thighs again.

When her fingers land on your clit, you squeeze your eyes shut, desperate to not yield to either of them. The air shifts in the room, becoming heavier; denser. He’s not pleased with your refusal to answer.

The High Lord’s hand leaves your jaw, dropping to attend to himself as he unties the constrictions of his fine clothing. Behind you, Feyre’s dragging down your spine, slowly returning to her original placement. She pushes the fabric of your underwear to the side and you squeak. At the sound, their arousal becomes more prominent to you, invading your senses entirely as she presses her mouth to your inner thigh; teasing.

“Why are you doing this?” You pant, hating how breathless you sounds as you look up at the High Lord from beneath a narrowed brow. He grins maliciously, “because it’s our right. We rule over you. You are part of our property and have no say over what we do to you,” he drawls, one hand fisting in your hair, “isn’t that right, Feyre darling?” At his address, Feyre laughs, finally pressing her mouth over your pussy, enveloping you in the hot, wetness of her mouth.

The High Lord’s brutal touch strengthens as he feels you slipping away, “seems you’re enjoying my lady’s mouth,” he croons, applying a sudden pressure to lower you to the table, bringing you to level with his hips, “shall we see if you can keep up with her?”

You watch in horror - and with almost painful arousal - as he forces your mouth to his cock, pressing the tip just beneath the curve of your lips. “You can choose to do this of your own volition, or you can refuse, and have one of us slip into your mind to open up that pretty mouth,” he grins as a milky sheen wets your lower lip, the slit in his head beading with precum. “So which will it be? Because neither of us are stopping until you learn how to submit.”

Anger and arousal twine together sinfully in your lower belly, both simmering until you can’t differentiate between the two. Your upper lips curls into a snarl, “fuck. You,” you spit. Feyre nips at your clit, a small warning from her end that makes you wince. The High Lord’s grin widens and you can feel the blood drain from your face as dark, glittering talons scratch at your mind, piercing through until he has a firm leash on you.

You’re practically kicked out of your body, shoved to the forefront of your mind so you can only watch and feel as your mouth open, tongue resting on your lower lip as you drag from root to tip. Seconds later you feel a second presence filling your mind, pressing into every space available as the two occupy you.

You deliver small laps to the slit in his head, a groan coming from above you as he forces you through the movements of what he likes. Your nails dig into the table at the insane pressure filling your mind, as thought your skull will split open. Their presences retreat, leaving you grasping at the space of your own mind, returning to your body. ‘The next time you disobey we won’t be so kind.’ The High lord’s voice echoes through you, threat dripping from his words as he jerks at your hair, commanding you to meet his gaze. ‘Now,’ he drawls, grin growing wider, ‘open that mouth for me.’

Shame swarms your body, crawling beneath your skin as violet eyes watch as you part your lips, just as he asked. ‘That’s it,’ he goads, ‘keep behaving and this’ll be over in no time at all.’ The deceptive lilt to his voice tells you he’s lying through his teeth, putting that silver-tipped tongue to work.

‘Let me see, Rhys.’ The High Lady’s voice echoes through your mind, her tongue continuing to lap at your entrance. Her mouth drops down to your clit, oscillating nimbly over and over as the pleasure builds. Rhys’s hand tightens in your hair as he guides his cock into the hot, wetness of your mouth, groaning as he feels your tongue sliding with velvety smoothness beneath him.

An image flashes through your mind - courtesy of the High Lord. It’s from his point of view, with your mouth opened, lips poised to wrap over his cock, tongue positioned to cover your teeth as he pushes in. Your eyes are alight with fire, burning with flame as you hold his dominating gaze. Feyre moans loudly at the image, your own cheeks flushing more with the obscenity.

‘Keep working that pretty mouth of yours, little lynx,’ he calls, smirking wickedly as he pushes you further down, making your eyes squeeze shut as they burn. ‘Working so obediently,’ the High Lady drawls into your mind, her words laced with cruel mockery, ‘working so hard to please her High Lord.’

At her words, the sheer degradation, you feel a coil tighten, heat building in your belly. She laughs as she surely feels it, knows what’s happening to your body as a result of their cruel game. You feel yourself reaching your peak, the way Feyre’s swirling her tongue over your clit has you seeing stars. Yet just as you reach that mind fogging high, sharp black talons squeeze your conscious, suspending you in a state of almost.

A whine escapes your throat, crying onto his cock as the pleasure is taken away from you. The encompassing warmth of Feyre’s mouth leaves you as your eyes flick up to meet the cold violet of the High Lord’s. They’re flecked with cruelty yet heat is clearly roiling in their depths. A need for suffering.

‘Beg for it,’ the High Lord commands, and you really consider it. It’s so good. The way her tongue had been working you mercilessly; the way the High Lord had been using your mouth, releasing those delightful pleasures moans. ‘All you have to do is beg, and you can have it,’ he goads, pulling you from his cock. You flush with heat as the threads of saliva trailing from your mouth to him.

“I think she needs more, Rhys,” Feyre purrs, mouth gliding up the ridge of your spine to nestle at the junction of your shoulder and neck, nosing at the sensitive skin, noting the heavy arousal. “I think we should make her go again.” Her words are coated with cruel passion, her hand dipping down to cup your breasts, making you shrink back into her.

She bites at your ear, “don’t pretend you don’t like it, little traitor. You’re the one on the verge of begging for my mouth.” A soft moan claws its way from your throat as her thumbs graze roughly over your nipples. She looks up at her mate, “I think that’s a yes, don’t you?”

Your eyes widen marginally, turning to look at her as you try to shake your head but her hands are already grasping your hips, pulling you up against her and spinning you around, pinning you against the table. Then her mouth’s on yours, her hands snaking beneath your thighs as she shoves you up onto the table, settling herself between your spread legs as she devours you. Her hands slope down your spine and settle on the swell of your ass while your nails dig into the table in shock at the flavour of yourself on her tongue. So overwhelming.

Behind you, the High Lord groans at the sight. ‘Enjoying, High Lord?’ Feyre drawls, that taunting lilt returning to her voice. ‘It’s not kind to keep her all to yourself, darling.’ Then large, rough hands are gripping your shoulders, pulling you away from her mouth and slamming your back down onto the table, the High Lord grinning down at you as he shoots you an image.

It’s of you, as your are: lips swollen and puffy, glossy with saliva and cum while silver lines your eyes, hazy arousal dancing in their depths while your hair’s haphazardly strewn about. You look completely done for already.

A flush glows over your cheeks as you move to wipe your lips but shadows restrain you. While they’re at it, the loop beneath your thighs, pulling them up so your spread out perfectly for Feyre to daintily tap your clit, repeatedly. This time you do whine, attempting to close your legs at the sensitivity, your back arching.

She leans over you, fingers still perched atop the sensitive bud, “but you were so desperate for my touch moments ago.” She cocks her head, “what happened? Did you get cold feet?” Her thumb presses down on your clog and you shriek, legs attempting to curl beneath her to push away but you can’t. “Stop,” you cry, her thumb oscillating sharply at the sound.

The High Lady pulls away and you watch warily as they move.

Your stomach drops when the switch places.

The High Lord’s hands land roughly on your inner thighs, spreading you further apart, his cock gliding through your messy wetness, bumping your puffy clit. A moan crawls from your throat. Then Feyre’s crawling onto the table, swinging a leg over you as you’re met with her glossy heat, slick coating her thighs as she settles on top of you, just out of reach of your mouth. “Remember, this can end any time you want. All you have to do is plead,” she purrs from above you before she’s spreading her thighs wider, settling down on your face, wetness coating you instantly. She moans loudly, unabashedly, at the feeling, already winding her hips gently.

Between your legs you feel the High Lord shift, his thumb coming to brush over your clit as his tip presses against your entrance, one hand bracing your hip as he pushes in. Your back curves as he stretches you full, delicious, solid warmth pushing at you from within. A moan flies from your mouth and your can’t resist as one of them buries into your mind, forcing your tongue to start moving.

At some point, they leave, but you’re moving on your own, hands latching over the sweep of Feyre’s hips, lapping at the wetness between her thighs, desperate to have her coating your tongue. She moans, hips bucking as they wind over your mouth. Rhys’ thumb speeds up to a pleasurable pace and already that euphoria is building, returning to its original strength as he begins pounding into you.

Moans and groans are falling from your mouths, filling your bed chambers as they use you as they please.

Again, you hit your peak, and again, glittering talons squeeze at your mind, suspending you while they continue their ministrations. Your nails dig into Feyre’s hips but she only moans, grinding against your face more, dying for your tongue to unravel her as she practically fucks herself on you.

The High Lord uses both his hands to bite into your hips, pounding into you while slamming your hips back to meet his, throwing you effortlessly into overstimulation without giving you the overwhelming pleasure to ride it out. It’s just too much.

Your back arches, toes curl, your body automatically bracing to be thrown over the edge yet it never comes. They’re keeping you right on the edge, an ounce of pleasure more and you’d be free falling but you’re kept in your place: beneath them.

Tears spill down your cheeks when you feel Feyre’s finger glide between your thighs, playing with your clit. It’s so much but you can’t give into them. No matter what hel they put you through. No matter how much you enjoy it.

You yelp when Feyre pulls her hand away, tapping your clit harshly, your whole body jerking at the sensitivity. ‘Stop, please,’ you beg across that channel but she continues. ‘Beg for your pleasure. Beg for us to give it to you. It’s ours to decide what to do with,’ Feyre growls into your mind, fingers soothing over the stinging skin.

‘You’re being soft on her,’ a voice snarls, soaked in sin as you feel her hand being pulled away, enough for a moment of relief. ‘Let me.’ His hand smacks down between your legs and you scream, muscles tearing at the darkness binding your legs as pain sings through your body.

He doesn’t stop after just one, he keep going, barely giving you a few seconds to recover before his hand is smacking back down, each one harder and more painful than the last. ‘Fucking beg for me to stop. Try it.’ He taunts, your nails slicing into his mate as she moans louder.

‘Please, stop.’

‘You can better than that.’ He growls.

‘I can’t!’ You cry, ‘please! Please just stop! I can’t do this!’ The stinging stops, and you nearly cry again with relief as Feyre shifts above you.

Rhys sends an image down the line: Feyre sat atop your mouth, his cock pounding into you, his High Lady leaning over as saliva drops from her mouth to perch atop your clit, her fingers rubbing soothingly over your tender sex. ‘Come on, pretty liar,’ she goads, sweetly; menacingly, ‘beg your High Lord and Lady for pleasure.’ You manage to hold back, using the entirety of your will power - what’s left of it - to refuse.

Across the bond, you watch as she grins, ‘unless you want me to let Rhys have his way with you?’ She pulls away, and you feel it as he raises his hand, preparing to smack down.

‘Please!’ You cry out, halting his movements. ‘Please, I’m begging, please don’t. Please give it to me!’ Tears roll down your cheeks as Feyre moans above you, riding your tongue as her high approaches. The High Lord laughs darkly, hands returning to your hips to slam you back against him.

‘Uh-huh? You want us to give you some pleasure? You’re sorry for even thinking about disobeying us?’ The words are painted with malevolence, lethal threat lying beneath them. ‘I’m sorry,’ you plead, ‘I’ll never think like that again. Just please let me go.’

The talons that had been holding you pull free, pleasure erupting across your skin, flooding your senses as your nerves are set alight, practically glowing with euphoria. You feel Feyre’s heat fluttering above you as she comes on your tongue, releasing herself onto you. The High Lord continues pounding into you, seemingly harder, chasing that high until he’s spilling inside of you, hot cum filling you to the brim as your back arches, nipples peaking.

Your mind takes a while to clear, muscles spasming with the force of your pleasure, after so long of being suspended on that edge.

The High Lady’s fingers have returned to your clit, rubbing soothingly as she raises her hips from you. Your tongue laps over your mouth, tasting her release, revelling in her flavour. ‘Look at you,’ she taunts, peering between her legs, ‘so good. So fucked out.’

Her gaze lifts to her mates, ‘do you really think she meant that?’ The line in clear, a hellish grin dancing over the High Lord’s mouth as his eyes flick down to you, hands tightening on your thigh.

‘I think we should make sure,’ he drawls and you feel as he hardens against your already sensitive walls.

‘Make sure she knows who she serves.’

#poly!Feysand #Feysand x reader #[***]#Feysand smut #Feysand x reader smut #a court of nightmares #a court of nightmares! Feysand smut

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