#feyd gets her to the infirmary and they pump her full of blood

[lovlidollie]

I just read a random hcs ask you answered and I've never heard of wound fucking before but I'm curious????

bloodlust

pairing; feyd x gn!reader

wc; 1.1k

tw; graphic descriptions of gore (wound fucking, specifically finger fucking a wound) freaky icky messed up feyd (what else are we expecting), slight non-con, classical conditioning (i.e a pavlovian response), lwk praise kink, brief thigh riding intermission, reader passes out at the end

author’s note; i’m so sorry this took so long ! i got a wee bit carried away with it.. this was supposed to be a blurb not a fully fledged oneshot 🙏 not proof read we die like feyd. mid ass ending because i don’t know how to end fics properly. we are also going to ignore how i keep changing tenses (it is a problem and it needs to be fixed)

okay so the way i see it is that feyd is, for lack of better words, a horny freak. he gets turned on basically by anything, and when it comes to you? there’s literally nothing that could stop him from getting hard.

now we all know feyd likes pain, likes inflicting it and likes receiving it. he loves blood, likes to get messy and dirty. he’s fascinated by your body, by how different it is to his. your blood in particular really gets him going because of how red and sharp it is compared to his shiny black blood. the contrast is so.. shocking and different. so arousing.

he’s always fantasised about hurting you, about you being hurt and coming to him, just for him to take advantage of you. one day it happens.

you had just been sparing in feyd’s personal training room, casually practising with a blade. you’re so caught up with your thoughts that you don’t even notice feyd slipping in through the doors. he stands there and watches you, watching the sweat drip down your neck, the labourous puffs coming from your pretty mouth. he comes up behind you, as silent as a leopard, leering at your ass. you’re attempting to throw the knife in the air and catch it before the simulation in front of you gets a hit in.

“boo,” feyd hisses.

you startle in shock, twisting around before you remember you had just tossed the knife in the air. it comes down with a shlick, and you feel the incision in your arm bloom with blood. the knife clatters on the cool grey floor.

“what the fuck, feyd!” you cry out, other hand attempting to hold the wound closed.

the instant the scent of your blood filled the room, feyd knew he was done for. his nose flared, taking in deep, greedy inhales of metallic air. he groans, eyes fluttering shut.

“sorry, pretty. didn’t mean to scare you.”

he doesn’t sound very sorry to you. he stalks towards you, gaze zeroed in on your trembling arm, ears focused on the pitter patter of your blood dripping onto the training mats.

“how many times do i have to tell you not to sneak up on me?” you glare at him, ignoring the pulse in your limb.

feyd takes hold of your arm, slowly caressing the slippery skin, rubbing the blood deeper into you. it stains his fingers and he thinks of bottling the viscous liquid and pouring it over his cock.

his blunt nails drag up towards the gaping wound and you stare at him in confusion. usually he is incredibly overprotective and overbearing, wanting to send you to the best medics in giedi prime for the most mundane and superficial injuries. you can see the way his pupils have blown thrice their size, inky black pools that glisten with pure, unadulterated want.

he traces the rim of the cut, gently, as if petting a frightened animal. “feyd.. what’re you doing?” you whisper out cautiously. he was a wild card and there was no telling what he’d do.

feyd thinks that you’ll need stitches if you don’t want to scar too badly. he promises himself he’ll stitch you up himself as soon as he’s had his fun.

he says nothing, glances up at your narrowed eyes and plunges a thick finger into the wound.

“feyd!” you cry out, arm shaking in his strong hold. the intrusion is painful, it hurts. your nerve endings are screaming and synapses are firing, leaving you writhing. your eyes tear up and your teeth tear into your bottom lip. “stop! what’s wrong with you?!”

he doesn’t stop. he looks at you again, the corner of his pointed mouth twitching upwards at your disheveled state. feyd holds eye contact with you as he pushes his middle finger the tiniest bit deeper.

some weird, perverted feeling falls over you. he inches his finger out so that its tip barely grazes the exposed derma, and pushes it back in. over and over. in and out.

your knees feel weak, your head is buzzing. you’re still leaking onto the floor, a small puddle of blood spilling outwards from under feyd and yours’ boots. the blood loss has made you compliant. you have no strength to stop him and you can tell it fills him with absolute glee.

feyd knows how to press his fingers into the cut without causing too much damage. he’s trying to be gentle but this is something he’s been imagining for ages. his cock is hard against your lower body and is straining against the confines of his pants. he wants to take it out and fuck himself into your wound. wants to see it gape and stretch itself farther to accomodate him the same way your pretty holes do when he’s playing with you. he wants his cock drenched in your iron. his ring finger nudges against his middle, making you scream and shake harder as the cut is forced to take something wider.

“such a pretty doll. knew you’d take me like this. so perfect aren’t you? always knew you could take it.”

his words seem to create some sort of pavlov effect. these are things he says to you when he’s balls deep, when his hands are bruising your hips and wrapped around your throat. when he’s filling you with his sticky black cum, marking you for all to see. despite the pain and the brutality of the situation, despite you not wanting it, you feel yourself becoming wet. feel the way the slick of your heat rubs deliciously against the soft fabric of your underwear. you wish for something hard, something harsh and unforgiving to grind down on. your eyes roll back and your mouth pops open and drool begins to spill over. your legs press together at the next thrust of feyd’s fingers. you feel delirious. you feel euphoric.

he sees the switch immediately. sees how your eyes have completely glazed over, the way instead of crying out in pain, little sighs and moans of pleasure are leaving your raw lips. he knows you’re not there anymore.

“there’s my pet. knew you’d come to me eventually. always do don’t you? such a perfect pet f’me. gonna take care of you, okay sweetheart? makin’ me feel so good.” feyd words are forced out of mouth, slurred and gruff at the end. he feels feverish and high and intoxicated.

he slots a muscled thigh between your legs, letting you hump it like a pathetic little thing. you rub against his bulge every time he pushes himself into you.

feyd fucks your wound until you’re crying out into his chest and on the brink of passing out. the material of his training wear is drenched in your drool and tears, and your blood is everywhere. feyd cums in his pants when he feels you go limp against him, crumbling into his side.