#woundfucking ?

[ongreenergrasses]

I would love to know about the deeply disturbing WIPs?? 👀

HAHA well. Since you asked!

so when i was writing this bitter earth i ended up coming very, very close to writing woundfucking. like i was right on the edge and diverted at the last possible second bc i said you know what. this is just too much for one fic. but it moved into my head and I said yeah yeah they’re freaks i can make this work. so first disturbing wip is straight up woundfucking. (which is actually really hard for a lot of reasons, who knew woundfucking was such a complex psychological exercise to write. the layers people!!! the layers!!!)

second disturbing wip is also coming from this bitter earth, bc bluefeatheredcorvus casually dropped in their comment wow, I wonder what would make him eat himself that first time and I said you know what. that’s an excellent question and I’d love to find out. so it’s about the downward spiral that would cause autocannibalism. pov headspace is so dark and ugly that I’m writing like. one sentence at a time. otherwise it’ll be way, way too much for me because it is such extreme self harm.

AMA

[mimeo-tan]

need to get fucked violently in the bloody hole in my stomach

[cumbutton]

woundfuckers

[envihellbender]

Michael and Mike, woundfucking

Characters: Mike Crew, Michael (Distortion)

Fandom: The Magnus Archives

Rating: Explicit for gore

Content: Gore, woundfucking (yes I know bugs aren’t the Spiral but it’s fun.)

“Fuck! Why do you do that, freak?” Mike shouted suddenly, he saw suddenly appearing in front of him was Michael, the Distortion who had a habit of turning up in peculiar places. He sat there next to Mike on the rooftop, kicking his legs back and forth.

“THOUght you HATEd RUDEness mike CREW,” Michael giggled, leaning forward on the stone wall. Mike gritted his teeth, he hated the Distortion. It made his scar burn and vibrate just looking at him. It didn’t help that Michael seemed immune to his domain, he treated any sense of vertigo as if it was an exciting new drug. It didn’t help that Michael insisted on hanging around Mike at random times - he either enjoyed how much Mike hated him or wasn’t aware of it.

“You’re an exception. Why are you here? God. Haven’t you got some psycho to feed to your Minotaur?”

“ProbABly, jUST wantED to say HEllo-” Mike interrupted Michael by grabbing his arm, in hope that his scar would wrap itself around him. Unfortunately before he could grab Michael he glitched out of existence, and reappeared a couple of feet behind him. “so SLOW littLE brother.”

“Shut up,” Mike snapped, spinning around and getting to his feet. He took a few steps forward, he distracted Michael by causing him to feel his head grow disorientated and feel extreme wind flow through his body, his eyes grew half-lidded and he smiled a little. It irritated Mike but he didn’t focus on it, instead he slammed his fist into Michael’s torso. A small fork of his scar disconnected and crawled from his wrist, then grew over Michael’s gut, it may have come from the Distortion, but years clinging to Mike created a bond the Spiral couldn’t replicate. It sent a shock to his gut and ripped his skin open, before hurrying back to Mike’s arm and wrapping around it like a snake.

Instead of red, Michael’s blood was a luminous green and grew across Michael’s skin like moss. Caterpillars crawled from it, glitching in and out like an old television set just like the rest of Michael’s body. Mike muttered ‘freak’ under his breath before shoving four fingers inside his wound. He shuffled them forward and back, making room. He furrowed his brow as he felt emptiness where his lungs should have been. Instead there was a burning stomach acid, he sighed and decided not to think about it too much. He looked up to see Michael wide eyed and his smile faltered. Mike smirked and began brutally fingering the wound.

“Not enjoying yourself, freak? Not going to glitch and laugh like a fucking-” Mike stopped, he couldn’t think of a comparisons, he groaned instead. “Whatever.” He pushed his hand in further, but froze as he saw red strings where Michael’s blood should have been pulled him in closer. It wrapped around his arm until it reached his elbow. Mike pulled his arm back, tugging at the thread until it unravelled and let Mike go. He fell backwards, a hissing electric noise coming from his feet as they dragged against the ground. He managed to steady himself from falling on his behind. His breath heaved as he looked up to see Michael on his back, he was sat up with caterpillars and red thread pouring from his torso.

“see yOU little BROther,” Michael said weakly before glitching into television station and disappearing.

[valtsv]

was applying useless eczema cream to my various blisters when i thought of something. instead of frottage/scissoring it's two people rubbing their open wounds against each other. they can probably still get off from this if they're big enough freaks. or they can just enjoy each other's company. is this anything

wound frotting is absolutely real and attainable but only people who truly match each other's freak will ever see that slice of heaven

[ongreenergrasses]

i have checked ao3. i have dug in every possible permutation of combinations i have tried spelling things a thousand ways i have looked in just the books just the movies everything combined i have looked everywhere and there is not one single fic about woundfucking in the entirety of thg or tbosas fics on ao3 and uh. fuck man this is sobering

[akihatohnoofficial]

cutting a wound to fuck, but it's too close to bone and my cock wouldn't really fit so i cut another hole in you but we'd have to be in a pretty awkward position to make it work so i'm getting more and more nervous and sweaty cutting holes in you until you look like swiss cheese and i'm too stressed to maintain an erection so i fake an important phone call and go home

alternate universe where rose is into guro instead of ntr

[avatarchai]

[2022] Inner Beauty 🫁💕

[mimeo-tan]

i wannna have a fuckhole so bad who wants to stab a knife into my crotch and fuck the wound while it's still in there?

[r-18g]

OOPS! You missed!

(Critical hit! -15HP)

Your pet ANGEL has obtained status BLEEDING OUT. Would you like to continue anyway? (Y/N?)

CONGRATULATIONS! Your pet ANGEL has been successfully NULLIFIED! Would you like to give it a new hole? (Y/N?)

[gutsandeverything]

my new awesome idea

[gladiatorcunt]

- # 🎰 All or Nothing (Ace in the Hole) !!

cw: afab!reader, breeding, implied murder, inaccurate fallout au (vault inspired by Fallout 76 bc i just wanted one mention of appalachian horror vibes), reader lowkey has a old man fetish (mentions of age gaps though no specific men are mentioned), childhood best friends to strangers to lovers (forcibly), future extreme dubcon, fallout typical sexism and expectations & creepy behavior (attempted grooming (?)), biblical undertones, ambiguous time period, implied southern setting & characters, unedited

1k event / commissions

It’s been so quiet for ages now, deathly silent as if everyone in the world was perfectly sound asleep. Your world consists of metal tunnels buried deep underground, a myriad of dark rooms that are meant to simulate the life you’re supposed to have on the surface. A cafeteria, where there’s hearty chuckles and playful ribbing over food even astronaut’s would have turned their noses up at. Piles of meat the same color as a fresh corpse, slightly moldy cheese and bread on the days the ego maniac people in charge are feeling fancy.

Green Houses, meeting rooms, infirmarys, kitchens, breeding rooms bedrooms, you truly have it all in vault 426. Jewel of the Texas Commonwealth. Even the howling coming from above like a hailstorm can be soothing when you have nothing else to listen to. They say your name when your back is turned, when they know you can’t venture out to see them. The temptation has driven people mad before, it will again. Right now, you wander through the vault searching for any sign of life. Yesterday you were arguing with your Ma over what she had done, hitching your wagon to one of the few unclaimed men your age. Now you were wishin’ on stars the elders used to talk about seein’ that you would peek around the rusting corner to find her waiting. You don’t want to wonder why there’s blood on the wall, varying between bright and darker shades of red.

Not a single peep from the man you were meant to marry, ‘your last chance at a proper purpose’ Pa had said. This vault wasn’t strongly steered in the direction of being a hive for breeding, but in these uncertain times more pairs of hands ready to rebuild the world were more than encouraged. Seeing as this bubble of refuge from the acid sky was so precious, every life counts. You knew that future would be yours someday, and you didn’t really mind. It got boring occasionally in the vault, knitting the same garment again and gossiping with your Ma’s friends about the same subjects. Maybe a cock in your cunt would settle your nerves, caring for a baby would be a task that would never end.

The wedding was supposed to be today, at noon on the dot. You overslept, panicking when your kitschy alarm clock didn’t rouse you from your dreamless sleep. It wasn’t until you zipped up your blue and yellow suit and tip toed outside of your room that you truly felt afraid. What reason would you have had to feel the uncomfortable emotion before? Life was so serene and idyllic nestled in the dirt, your vault a poor man’s sword in the stone. An intoxicating comfort zone that you cared more about staying in than fighting against, though there whispers from dwellers who felt otherwise. Your childhood friends, Patrick and Art, who you have drifted apart from over the years.

It was childish, your past feelings of jealousy, it wasn’t hard for them to become the most eligible bachelors in the community. There were only a handful of single young men left these days, or your only option was a old timer who had already broken in quite a few wives. They have the chipped belts and rough hands to prove it, you’ve gotten a rush of fluid in between your thighs when you lie awake and think about it for too long. Perhaps it wouldn’t be too terribly awful if you got saddled with a stern older man, some beaten down part of your brain begs for it. Your Pa’s buddies used to say that they would bet good money on tight your velvet grip would be.

There were many invitations to sit in on their blackjack games left unanswered in your Ma’s nightstand, under brass lock and key.

But to see your friends be giggled and fawned over made your stomach churn, so you pushed them away and focused on living as any good dweller would. Preparing to spend your years with your lips frozen in a smile and your holes split open around wrinkly skin, your shape molded by your husband. If you could’ve known that that would only make more determined to prove their toughness to you, that they would be the hands clasping pearls around your neck and slamming their dicks into your untouched flesh.

“Aw, hell-” A deep voice gasps and grabs ahold of your fore arms, wrestling you into an abandoned bedroom as you walk past.

You squawk, flapping your arms around in an effort to fight. Then you see him, Art, smiling gently and reaching out to cup your tear covered cheek. His other hand is free, which means that the man restraining you has to be Patrick. Where one is, the other will he close behind. There’s a saying about smoke and fire, and you hear the crackling embers as Art gingerly slides his other hand around your neck. A new fangeled set of pearls, hard won and all yours. Call it an engagement present.

“There you are, Angel Face, we were so damn worried about you.” Art coos, the ‘damn’ hissed in a way that gives off a ‘I still haven’t got used to being allowed to swear’ impression.

You think he could the be the angel, a scythe discarded in favor of a well used hatchet lying on the floor. His blood splattered curls call to you, or the absurdity of the situation must be sinking in and overpowering your ability to accept reality. Of course you had sensed their hungry eyes burning holes into your soul, yes you had heard the shuffling and muffled shouts outside your door. The way it would creak open when you were believe to have succumb to slumber. You don’t feel bored, and that’s enough of a thrill for you to recognize where your new place in the food chain is. The bottom.

“I don’t- I- What’s goin’ on? Where is everybody?” You ask, stupid and content to be their lover in distress.

Patrick readjusts his hold on you and wraps his arms fully around you, spinning you around to come face to face with him. If you thought Art looks drenched in blood, Patrick appears to be made of it. There’s lightning in his eyes, a phenomenon you’ve only heard and never seen. But this must be what it’s like, electrifying and God given. You’re stained now, no doubt about it, visibly and in your spirit.

“They went nuts, like a bunch of rabid dogs.” He grunts. “We had to defend ourselves, had us out here runnin’ around like headless chickens because you were gone.”

You weren’t brought up to know much, except that animals will be animals and man reacts accordingly. Patrick’s words make about as much sense as anything ever could, and you’re desperate to believe whatever yarn they have to spin you. Art nods and saunter up behind you. He wetly pecks you on the cheek, his lips ‘Smack!’ing the plump skin as he pulls back. You gasp and they share a foreboding laugh, shoving you further down a long dusty hallway where you can pretend that nothing bad has ever happened to you. That your Virgil and Dante followed after you with innocent intent.

“Get ‘em in the stirrups, Pat. Need these legs spread nice and wide. Don’t we, sugarpie?”

Your heart drops and floats back up at a jackrabbit’s pace, “W-what?”

Your look over your shoulder is perfectly timed, your hair framing your face like a pre-war Hollywood starlet. The kind that could cry at the drop of a hat and deep throat a stuffy executive’s cock in one go. Simmering heat pools in your belly, every circle of hell seemingly setting themselves aflame in your body. And while you know they wouldn’t dare seriously terrify you, they would probably get a kick in their pants if you let a sliver of fear slip. They’re men who no longer have a societies rules to wear as if they were costumes after all, perfectly chiseled faces and painted masks.

Offering you a marriage license so they plant you in a gilded cage, but Midas ghosted his fingers along your roots years ago. When you stumbled in on two boys playing a game that used to be popular in the pre-war days, a yellow-green fuzzy ball bouncing on a wired net racket. You giggled when an elder scolded them for staging their challengers match in the hall. And with the sound of a bell, the walls came tumblin’ down.

Patrick’s grin writes your name on the dotted line, “Our pretty lil’ cock socket, we’ll repopulate in no time at all.”

They had already stolen your wedding outfit that same day way back when, slim pickings have to be snatched up in this dog eat bitch world. But they were something far above dogs with malleable forms and a blunter bite, they were opportunists and God always has his eye on those who can seize what he provides.

The House always wins.

- 2024, do not cop/translate/feed my work to ai

[akihatohnoofficial]

stabbing you and carving a woundussy so that I can eat it out ^_^ akiha period head

WAAAGHHHHHH WHYYYYYY

[gideonisms]

I shrimply must ask: what is. The Chussy.

Spoilers for Nona the ninth. so in the locked tomb series a character dies from a large chest wound. then comes back undead, still with the wound. Well,

[akihatohnoofficial]

wound pussy 👍

shooting you and then fucking the bullet hole. plap plap plap get wussy pregnant!

WOUND PUSSY ?????????