#📼not requested .📼

[threesworrds]

SELF INDULGENT ALBERT KRUEGER [ TWDAK ] STIMBOARD

🐟 🗨 🐟

💤 🐟 💤

🐟 🗨 🐟

[kinnie-playground]

COPPER KING!!!

[starlightsearches]

Track 7: Eddie Munson on his wedding day.

I Got You, Babe

Track 7: Kiss on My List by Hall & Oates  - Give me a character and a fluff prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Eddie x Female! Reader

thanks for the request, my love, I hope you like it! Eddie seems like the kind of guy to throw a wedding together last minute so that's the vibe i tried to capture 💖

📼 ✨ mixtape milestone ✨ 📼

Warnings: not really, just a lot of fluff, and some language

Crying at your own wedding is sappy as hell.

In Eddie's mind, it's the easiest way to kill the vibe. Your wedding is supposed to be a party, for Christ's sake. So, even though he tears up at happy Christmas commercials and gets weepy every year on his birthday even though Wayne always makes him the same funny-looking chocolate cake he's baked since Eddie was a god damn seven year old, he is determined not to cry on the day he gets to marry you.

He's got a buzz all morning, though, and that makes him nervous. Like somebody's gonna jump around a corner and it's gonna startle him into tears—every emotion he's ever had bubbling right up to the surface while he tugs at all the layers, trying to make the suit he borrowed look right.

It's a relief when he finally gets to leave the trailer, walking down the path to the little field nearby. It's filled with all your favorite wildflowers, and everybody's managed to make it look as nice as you deserve. There's a makeshift tent for shade, a mix-match of patterned bed-sheets hanging like a canopy, all the chairs and tables anybody was willing to donate for the afternoon spread out around the dance floor Wayne and some guys from the plant put together out of old pallets and spare wood planks.

Eddie presses his sticky palms together, trying to keep his hands from shaking while he greets everybody, accepting all the congratulations and good lucks from trailer park friends and gentle ribbing from the Hellfire guys and the freshman chirping in his ear.

The wedding part hasn't even started yet, and his throat's already burning. It's not a big crowd by any means, but Eddie never realized there were this many people who cared about him.

Eddie's not gonna cry when the music starts and everybody shuts up, watching for you at the end of the sorta-aisle between all the tables. He might throw up though. Or die, maybe, with the way his heart is pounding. Wayne's standing behind him, a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and that's the only thing keeping him place.

Eddie thought all that might go away once he was sure you were gonna show, but it's actually much, much worse.

Tears are narrowly avoided once you appear. He figures out pretty quick that if he looks directly at you, he'll go off like a fountain, so he clenches his jaw and his hands and his ass cheeks, looking anywhere but your face. At the little bouquet of daises you probably picked yourself this morning, at the billowy sleeves on your dress.

He's not used to seeing you in white, but damn if you don't look stunning.

Eddie doesn't cry through the vows, but that's only because he's not listening. His head is full of static, holding both your hands in his in front of all your friends and family and friends you love like family. He'll make you repeat them again that night, when you're alone and he can bury his face in a pillow if he can't handle all the things it'll make him feel. Then he'll make you say them over and over and over again until it doesn't make him feel like he's drowning.

He kisses you when he's told, in front of everybody, and you cup his face in your hands and kiss him back.

You love him, god damn it. That shouldn't make his eyes sting, but it does. It's how much you love him that Eddie'll never, ever get over.

It gets easier after that, though. As long as Eddie doesn't remember that you agreed to marry him, and then you did marry him, and now you're married to him and he's married to you and you're his wife. If he ignores that, he's fine.

He doesn't cry while you're swaying under the Christmas lights hung around the edge of the tent, Journey's Faithfully playing through the amps he used to lug around for Corroded Coffin shows. Or at least, nobody sees the tear that slips down his cheek when he's got his face tucked into your hair, your cheek pressed tight against his chest, so wrapped up in each other it feels like you've only got one heartbeat.

Eddie almost makes it the whole day. Until Wayne.

He sneaks up on the two of you, sitting in a far off corner for a second of alone time, eating a slice of your wedding cake one of the neighbors baked from a box mix with your bare hands, laughing, and smearing frosting on each other's faces and then licking it off.

Eddie's got a few crumbs dangling from his bangs when he turns to look at Wayne, hands tucked shyly into his pockets.

"I was just wondering if my new daughter-in-law would wanna dance?"

You brush the frosting off your hands before Wayne leads you to the dance floor, swaying with you—old-school, with one hand on your waist and the other in yours—to a song his uncle played so much it's practically the soundtrack to Eddie's childhood. A song Eddie always knew was Wayne's his favorite, without having to ask or be told.

Fuck, if that doesn't already have him close to tears, lips quivering and his hands balled into fists. Eddie digs the toe of his shoe into the soft dirt, trying not to look, not to think about it.

Wayne walks you back when the song ends, hugs you tight a little ways away from where Eddie's staring at the ceiling now, willing the tears back into his head.

But he still hears Wayne say, "you're gonna take good care of my boy." Hears the tears in your own voice when you say yes.

And that's what does him in.

He's never gonna get away from all the love you have for him, all the love out in the universe pointed in his direction, saying you, Eddie Munson, are worth it. He's never gonna escape it.

And why would he ever want to?

[ssanguineallegory]

(BELLFLOWER COOKIE stimboard for @gardengnostic4ever )

(♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡)

[iamthecomet]

you know, given the fact that everyone agrees dewdrop is a brat, there are way too few fics, maybe even none of him getting gagged. with an underwear, a hand over his mouth to shut him up or even with a proper ball gag.

-📼

You probably didn't mean for this to be a ficlet prompt either. But here we are. It got long. Oops.

Mass is boring today. Worse than normal. Papa's off on some tangent about the circles of hell and Swiss stopped listening twenty minutes ago.

It was about the time that the spade of Dew's tail started slipping up the leg of his pants, over his knee, to rest on his inner thigh. Dew keeps his eyes forward, his hands clasped in his lap. He is back is rod straight, still, stoic.

It's all an act. Swiss can smell him from here. The sharp bite of his arousal. Dew's tail slips a little higher second by second. A slow ascent in an attempt to be discreet.

Swiss bites the inside of his cheek with Dew's tail finally makes contact with his zipper. He's been fattening up for the last ten minutes. Each slide of Dew's tail sending pinpricks of arousal through him. He keeps his eyes straight too. He looks at Papa without really seeing anything.

Dew moves a little closer, pressing his thigh to Swiss', and then the tail is gone. Swiss growls without thinking. He swears he hears a huff of Dew's laugh, but it's so soft, lost under the drone of Papa's sermon.

Dew looks over at him. His mask hides so much, but the jerk of his head toward the back of the room tells Swiss everything he needs to know. He gives a short nod and Dew stands up, slipping past Swiss and a handful of siblings and out of the pew. He walks like he's on a mission, head high, gait relaxed.

Swiss' mouth waters as he watches him go.

He gives it a minute. Partially to not seem too obvious and also to let his cock flag a little. The last thing he needs to do is shove his dick in some poor sibling's face as he squeezes past them.

He slips from the pew and follows in the direction Dew went. He doesn't look anywhere except forward. He doesn't need to accidentally catch Mountain's eye and be caught before he even gets to the good part.

He walks to the back of the chapel, mostly hidden in shadow. He doesn't see Dew anywhere. He rolls his eyes, eying closet doors, and the main door to the chapel. He would have heard that open if Dew had actually left.

He stands at the back of the room for a moment, feeling progressively more like Dew's playing a joke on him. Heat flashes through him, he clenches his fists. He's about to turn and go back to his seat, intent on punishing the little gremlin later, when the door to the relic closet opens just a crack.

A boney hand strikes out and grabs Swiss by the bicep. Dew drags him in, closing the door softly behind him. It's a small room barely big enough for the two of them to move around it. The walls are lined with shelves loaded with some of the more precious artifacts that the church owns. There's a large trunk pressed up against the back wall. It's convenient. This isn't the first time Swiss has made used of it, it won't be the last.

There's a single lightbulb with a pull string above them. It bathes them in dingy light. Dew's mask is already off, abandoned on the floor. Swiss pulls his off too, dropping it next to Dew's and then Dew is grabbing him by the lapels and pulling him in.

There is no warm-up in the kiss. It's open-mouthed and sloppy immediately. Dew licks into his mouth tasting like cigarettes and cinnamon.

"Gotta be quick," Dew breathes when he finally pulls away. He's already unbuttoning his pants as he talks.

Swiss doesn't answer him, just makes quick work of his own pants, shoving them down his thighs just far enough to free his hardening cock.

"Turn around," Swiss orders. Dew gives him one more filthy kiss, his tongue tracing over Swiss' fangs before he listens. Bending over the trunk without complaint.

Swiss slicks his fingers in his own mouth and then reaches between Dew's legs and finds him already slick and worked open.

"You little slut."

Dew looks at him over his shoulder, he grins. "Trying to make the most of our time."

Swiss shoves both fingers in up to the third knuckle. Dew gasps, he shoves his own fist in his mouth, but a noise breaks out anyway. Swiss winces.

"Shut up," Swiss growls through his teeth. The last thing they need is a Sibling barging in here because Dew can't stay quiet when it matters most.

Dew nods, and keeps his promise as Swiss pulls his fingers out and replaces them with the blunt head of his cock, but as soon as Swiss starts to push in Dew starts to lose it. He digs his fangs into his fist so hard Swiss smells blood. But it doesn't stop the way he keens.

Swiss snaps his hips forward, burying himself as deep as he can. Then he stops moving. He fumbles with his tie. Almost tearing it from his body as Dew starts to grind back against him. Slick, and already fluttering around him.

Swiss balls the tie up in his fist and reaches forward. He pries Dew's mouth away from his fist and shoves it past his lips, into his waiting mouth. Dew groans around it.

Swiss picks a brutal pace. Dew's head drops forward, his forehead thumping hard against the trunk. Each thrust drags his cock against the edge of the trunk. He's shaking before long. Drooling all over the wood below him.

Dew shifts his head to look back at Swiss. There are tears at the corners of his eyes already. The black fabric of the tie peaks through his swollen lips. He's wrecked. The sight makes Swiss' knees weak.

"I should gag you more often," Swiss hisses, "it's so much better when I don't have to listen to you whine."

Dew's eyes snap shut, his whole body shudders with the words.

It only takes a few more thrusts before Dew's eyes roll up in his head. He cums, silently, all over the trunk and his own uniform jacket. The sudden hot clench of Dew's ass around him, and the visual of Dew coming apart all over what is definitely a priceless relic, signal the end for Swiss.

He digs his teeth into his cheek until he tastes blood as he spills deep inside of Dew, with a low growl.

When Swiss can think again he reaches forward and pulls his tie from Dew's mouth. He pulls out of Dew and uses the soiled fabric to clean them both up. Then he tosses it at Dew's boneless body. Dew rolls his eyes at him.

Swiss tucks himself back into his pants and grabs his mask off the floor. He settles it back over his head as Dew is pushing himself upright. Dew grabs the discarded tie and uses it to wipe his mess off of the trunk. He uses it to try to scrub the cum off of his jacket.

"You're a mess," Swiss says, picking up Dew's mask and handing it to him.

"Yeah? Who's fault is that?" Dew says with a grin as he settles his mask over his head.

"Yours." Swiss says simply. He reaches forward to straighten out Dew's uniform.

"Bullshit," Dew growls, "I'm not the one who--"

"Satanas," Swiss says, opening the door and shoving Dew out of the closet and back toward the sound of Papa's droning voice. "I should have left you gagged."

[pizzapartyprize]

* Vanny stimboard with themes of bunnies, paws, pink, and blood for Anonymous!  - 📼

🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪 🐰 🔪 🔪 🔪 🔪

[fazkins]

Hi sorry for the late reply, I can’t have notifs on for kin blogs, but yes I am the Henry you know!

Anyways, can I please get a Henry stimboard with autumnal, rainy, mechanical, and fire themes? :D

- 📼👁️

This is my first time doing a stimboard oops.... I hope it looks good!! And hope you'll like it, if not u can ask for anything to be changed x0

Also wjdbwbbdbw me when Evi lets me do the Henry related things :3

-🐣🎀

[trenchcoatsbi]

OH, great then !! could i get some name and pronoun suggestions for a generationloss!ranboo and an editor wilbur kin (seperately if possible) ?

- 📼 (i hope this tag isn't taken because you guys seem very cool, and i might . pop in here again from time to time)

Hi okay so uhm… I’ve not watched genloss or the editor wilbur arg thing so uh I kinda went off my vague knowledge and vibes. idk hope there’s something you like in here if not welp i tried at least :P!

Everything's under the cut cause yeah it'd be a loong post if not lol -Phil

Genloss!Ranboo Names

Hyde

Ira

Kieran

Abyss

Enigma

Shadow/Shade

Vesper

Nox

Ambrose

Prounouns

horror/horrors/horrorself

glitch/glitches/glitchself

vhs/vhs’/vhself

lost/losts/lostself

static/statics/staticself

void/voids/voidself

error/errors/errorself

code/codes/codeself

tape/tapes/tapeself

signal/signals/signalself

Editor Wilbur Names

Edgar

Aspen

Finn/Fynn

Xavier

Hobbes

Robert/Robin

Boreas

Boris/Barys

Nicolas

Warrin/Warren

Pronouns

chill/chills/chillself

cold/colds/coldself

ice/ices/iceself

frost/frosts/frostself

freeze/freezes/freezeself

snow/snows/snowself

fear/fears/fearself

arg/args/argself

record/records/recordself

edit/edits/editself

[ghommytommytime]

GEN LOSSSS RANBOO KIN FASHION KITTT

HEREEE YOU GO LOST BOOBBOY!!!!!!!!

HOPE THESE WORK FOR THE SUMMER!!!!!!!!

🎭!🔮!🎭

🔮!📼!🔮

🎭!🔮!🎭

[citizenoftmrrwlnd]

self care for : a jellicle cat (CATS) without specification

x | x | x x | - | x x | x | x

[srchprtys-kinhelp]

Can I ask for a Rolfe deWolfe icon? It's so nice to see someone else who knows of Rockafire!

~the lone Rolfe deWolfe kin (I have not seen anyone else who kins from this/lh)

Also kind of doubling this as a source call for Rockafire if thats okay 😭 @bendersideblog is my kin side blog btw if anyone wants to talk

posted! also don't worry, there's at least one other rockafire kin out here :3

[freddyfazbears-kinhelp]

Stop procrastinating Art Fight /lh

(Can I get a Henry stimboard with rain and mechanical themes and autumn colors?)

- 📼🕯️

nooo i will continue to procrastinate!!! /lh here is your stimboard :)

[starlightsearches]

ohgodohgodohgod track 8 with eddie? something with him being like not totally subby but definitely leaning that way with his whimpering and begging etc etc?

Double Feature

Track 8: Start Me Up by The Rolling Stones - Give me a character and a NSFW prompt (or give me free rein) and I'll write a short blurb or headcanons about it.

Eddie Munson x F! Reader

LOVE LOVE LOVE KINDA SUBBY EDDIE!! Hope I did this request justice, bestie!

📼✨ mixtape milestone ✨📼

Warnings: 18+ only!! Minors dni 😡, grinding, kinda subby eddie, kinda domme reader, language, eddie is NEEDY, and that's all I can think of! Let me know what y'all think my loves!

Eddie's trying to remember the name of the movie.

He's seen it before—a couple of times—something about some babysitters and a pair of tits and a guy with a knife. The tits were the real draw for about half of his watches, back before he at least looked old enough for the guy at the gas station to have plausible deniability when he sold Eddie dirty magazines.

But he's not thinking about dirty magazines. He's not thinking about babysitters or guys with knives or the name of this fucking movie his seen at least twenty times. All he can think about is the way your lips feel against his neck.

And, okay, Eddie put on a scary movie so you'd get all close to him. Of course. He's not a fucking idiot. But he was hoping for some minor-league shit—like your face smushed in his shoulder when the dead guy flopped out of the closet so he could sneak his arm around you and play the big, brave boyfriend type—and you're gunning for the world series.

Kissing so softly with all these barely-there touches. Fingers floating over his ribs, making quiet little moaning noises in his ear. The shift of your hips against his thigh and the way that skirt you're wearing rides up up up, showing off all that pretty skin you've been hiding.

You're gonna have him creaming in his jeans.

Eddie swallows against the trace of your mouth, clearing his throat a little, but his voice still breaks.

"Hey, it's- it's weird that they just like had a mask, you know, at a random hardware store. Do they really carry shit like that?"

You hum—not an answer to his question—pressing a wet kiss to his jaw, tongue between your lips. Hands wandering around his belt and your body warm enough to burn and . . . and your knee just brushes against the zipper of his jeans and the raging hard-on he's been trying to pray away for the last hour.

"Jesus," he whispers under his breath, "you gotta- you gotta stop doing that, baby."

“Why?”

There’s too much false innocence in your voice, breathy and quiet. It just makes him feel like more of a perv. Like the skirt and low-cut top weren't doing enough work in that department.

Eddie groans. “You gonna make me say it?”

Your lips part into a smile against the base of his throat. “I’d like it if you did.”

Fuck that. Of course he will, though.

“I can’t cum in my pants," Eddie admits through gritted teeth and burning cheeks, "I still gotta walk you home." You laugh a little when you pull back, eyes shining and unreadable. Eddie joins in, so obviously nervous for whatever you'll do next. Maybe that was too honest.

Nope. That's not it. Your palm comes down to cup his crotch, and you lean in to his chest until the pressure of your hand pulls a needy grunt from him that Eddie can't keep trapped behind his lips.

"Maybe I don't want to go home, Eddie."

God, it's got him seconds away from bursting—your tits smooshed against his chest and your nipples stiff enough he can feel them through your shirt—but it's the way you say his name that has him breathing so heavy. Has the sticky, wet patch on his boxers growing damp enough you can feel it through his jeans when you brush at the head of his cock with your thumb.

"You- you don't wanna go home?"

He's lagging, body way too attuned to your touch, and it's reduced his conversation skills to zero.

"Nope," you laugh. And then you're on him.

Eddie lets out a wild sound—an honest-to-god moan, loud enough for the neighbors to hear through their shitty tin walls—when your hand comes to cup under his jaw, a little forceful, your thumb digging into his jugular with bite. You press his head back, your lips hovering just out of reach.

He struggles to taste them from behind your hold, full of the same whiny moans he'd poured into his pillow every time he'd tugged at his dick thinking about a moment like this one.

Although he never imagined you on top. And he never thought he'd like it this much.

Eddie swallows, adam's apple jumping under the press of your palm. You gotta feel the way he wants you, the way he shakes like a chihuahua on speed with how bad he needs you to touch him, but he'll use his words.

"Please, baby."

Eddie catches a sliver of a smile on your face before you're kissing him, hot and wet and open-mouthed, your thumb tracing lines over his flushed neck and your hips pressing him into the cushions, rocking with these sharp thrusts that swallow his cock beneath your warm pussy and soft thighs.

It's nothing like the other times you kissed, but Eddie had initiated most of those—soft, silly things on your porch, or leaning over the console in his van. He never thought you'd want something like this. He never would have guessed that you were starving for him, too.

Eddie's hands grip tighter at your hips, keeping you close, pressing a hot, heavy palm against your back and tugging hard at the fabric.

"Fuck, baby," Eddie mumbles against your lips, "gonna, fuck— don't, don't wanna-"

He tries to keep you still, but he can't get a grip, hands totally useless while you grind down on him, merciless. Eddie gulps, wide-eyed and panicked as your tongue traces his jawline, puffy lips pressing softly against his.

"For me?"

Shit. Fuck. You've got him totally pussy-whipped already and he hasn't even seen it, got his dick obeying you like it's yours while he pumps load after load into his sticky, soaked boxers.

He cums loud and hard, muscles spasming and toes curling and your name on his lips. He'd be totally mortified, if you didn't look so fucking pleased.

Eddie's cock throbs uncomfortably, trapped in too-tight denim, his chest pounding, t-shirt damp and so sticky you might be able to see his heart beating if you looked close enough. And you still look like a goddess, perched over him, bracing yourself with your hands at his waist.

The room grows dark, and quiet. The credits are rolling. Eddie comes down to earth, catches his breath. Pets a hot hand over your thigh.

You rest against his chest, fingers twining with his. Eddie'll never get over the way your thumb strokes over the back of his rings.

"So . . . you wanna watch another one?"

[ssanguineallegory]

(arcjec stimboard with cigarettes, rain and comics for anon)

(♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡ ♡)

[iamthecomet]

JUST had a thought of maybe dew and aether? 69ing and seeing who can make the other cum first and whoever "loses" will do the dishes for the 2 weeks or smth like that ANYWAY that's such a them thing to do

-📼

It's a stupid bet. Maybe the stupidest bet Aether's ever made. He hates that he agreed to it. Hates that he helped come up with it--a fact he will probably deny. Because he is going to lose. Aether's flat on his back on Dew's bed. Eyes clamped closed. Dew's dick in his mouth, spilling precum onto his tongue. Dew's controlling that rhythm with small rolls of his hips. That isn't the problem. Aether's happy to lay back and let his mouth be used. To be sustained on Dew's scent and taste, and the softness of the bed beneath him. The problem is that Dew's also in charge of the rhythm with which he sucks Aether's cock.

And Dew, knows every trick that makes Aether's thighs shake. He usually draws it out, gets Aether trembling and weak-kneed before he lets him cum.

But there are two weeks of chores on the line.

And Dew has never played fair. Dew's stamina sucks, he's usually the first one out of his mind. But he's also usually not in a position of control. He also knows just how fast he can get Aether to cum. They've cut it close time and time again during show intermissions. Dew's honed this skill down to a science.

Dew does that thing with his tongue and Aether feels himself rocket closer. He digs his fingers into the meat of Dew's ass, hoping the sharp bite of pain will make the smaller ghoul falter.

Dew just chuckles around the head of Aether's cock, and shoves his hips down, forcing his cock further into Aether's mouth.

He's all Aether can smell, taste, feel. He's everywhere, warm and wiry and heavy on his tongue. He's swimming in the smell of cinnamon, woodsmoke, and cigarettes. He has his eyes clamped shut. He tries to focus on Dew's cock in his mouth.

On flicking his tongue over the slit, on pressing on that spot beneath that always makes Dew mewl. He shifts his head to take more of Dew into his mouth, letting the head slip into his throat. He swallows.

Dew makes a small pleasured noise. It feels like a victory.

But no matter how hard Aether tries to focus on only the pleasure he's dealing out. Dew's mouth is treacherous. Hot, and sloppy. He can fell scorching spit dripping onto his balls as Dew works out a rhythm that makes Aether's thighs tremble.

Dew squeezes both of them like he knows, thumbs rubbing down the inside of Aether's thighs. Dew slides one hand up to cup Aether's balls, rolling them in his palm, and Aether gives up. He opens his throat, lets Dew use it, but he stops sucking, stops trying to force Dew to cum. Drool runs down his chin.

He's going to lose. Soon. His toes curl against the bedsheets. His back bows, arching off of the bed, trying to push further into Dew's mouth on instinct. He can't focus on anything except the building pleasure, the sudden ache in his gut. Dew chuckles, victorious already.

Dew presses his tongue hard just under the head of Aether's cock, and he's gone, groaning around Dew and spilling hot into Dew's eager mouth.

Dew milks him for every drop, sucking hard on the head and dragging Aether into overstimulation that makes him twitch and whine. He wants to be upset with himself. But as Dew keeps suckling at him dragging the pleasure out for as long as possible and he can't think beyond his own jolting body, and the insistent press of Dew's cock at the back of his throat. Somehow, even though he lost, it feels like a victory.

He'll rescind that thought later. But for now, he's happy to let Dew milk him dry.

[pizzapartyprize]

* Malhare stimboard for myself! - 📼

📼 📼 📼 📼 🐇 📼 📼 📼 📼