#poly!sos

[lipringlrh]

would you ever write poly f1 drivers cause i know you said you’d write poly 5sos a while ago? :)

absolutely !! if anyone has any requests for either poly f1 or poly 5sos please do send them!!

[shalmonsdraws]

what she listening to

[lowpolyanimals]

Crystal Lizard from Dark Souls

[cabinette]

i consider myself a connoisseur of What Makes Chilchuck's Brain Fry

[swordsandholly]

Thinking about a mechanic!AU where the 141 boys run a garage and need a new receptionist. They hire you because you’re just so cute (great tits) and have a decent resume but it becomes a slight problem when they realize you’re a bit… dense.

Total ditz to be precise.

But they can’t really get mad when you get the keys for clients mixed up and look at them with those big eyes all teary and a little pout pushing out your lower lip.

Price is the most patient, perfectly content to walk you through how to file paperwork and fill out forms. Instructing you in a low voice while his breath brushes the shell of your ear. It’s really their fault for having such a terrible system, you know? Don’t worry about it too much, dove. He’ll settle his big hands on your shoulders and gently trace up and down your arms. See? You’re getting it. Just needed some more practice, hm?

Johnny is more than happy to show you around the garage, rattling off everything he knows about all those nitty gritty details that go right over your pretty little head. He’ll pop open the hood of some sports car and point to the engine to show it off. No, bonnie, you’ve got tae get in close. Closer.

Until you’re bent entirely over in one of those too-short skirts you wear everyday. It takes all his willpower not to yank you into the supply closet.

Gaz is just so sweet to you. Always bringing you little treats and candies to suck on. To help you concentrate, of course. Always greeting you with a soft ‘baby girl’ at the beginning of your shift. Whenever you’re standing around be it at the printer or counter - wherever really - he’ll slip a hand on your waist. It always trails a little lower, his pinky just edging on the hem of your too tight jeans.

Ghost gets frustrated with you to the point of causing tears to well up in the corners of your eyes. He’s feels guilty, sure, but bloody hell just print the damn receipt. He avoids you for the most part. Until one evening when it’s pouring down. You forgot your rain coat of course, silly girl. He offers you a ride which you take happily.

After that he can’t get rid of you. You bring him coffees (how you remember his order word for word but not where you last left your own cup is beyond him) and giggle at his jokes. When a client gets too snappy or too loud he’s the first to step in - standing behind you glaring at them with his huge arms crossed over his chest until they back down.

[batfluffs]

princess miku!! i just had to make a model after the cutest design of her ive ever seen to exist!!!! 🩵

[beloveds-embrace]

part 2 of baker!reader + do not ever ask me to write accents lmao i suck at those 💀😭 and a huge thank you to all the sweet and dessert suggestions! i couldn't add all of them, but oh my god did i love all of them and choosing between them was sooo hard (that's what she said). if your dessert didn't make it here im soo sorry 😭

It was a quiet morning when you finally decided to reopen the bakery. The town had been whispering, speculating about the sudden disappearance of your husband—tragic, they said, to be found mauled by a bear in the woods. You hadn’t shed a tear, hadn’t flinched at the news. Maybe that was cruel of you, but after what you had endured, you couldn’t bring yourself to feel anything for him anymore. Not fear, not sadness—just relief.

And now, with the bakery open once again, you felt lighter. Freer.

The 141 boys were there first thing, as you had hoped. Each one walking into the cozy space like they belonged there. Their heavy, winter boots made the wooden floors creak, their towering frames somehow making the space feel intimate rather than intimidating. You smiled as the familiar smell of fresh bread and sugar lingered in the air, the warmth of the ovens cocooning you and the rest of the bakery in comfort. Free from that terrible man you’d called a husband, it was as if the world itself was taking on a more vibrant color.

“Morning, sweetheart,” John greeted you, his eyes crinkling beneath his hat, though there was something watchful in his gaze.

“Bonnie,” Johnny chirped, leaning on the counter, his eyes sparkling as they usually did when he spoke to you. “Place smells heavenly as always.”

“You’re open today, huh?” Kyle said, grinning as he eyed the display of pastries lined up neatly behind the glass. “Missed our favorite baker, honestly.”

Simon didn’t say anything at first, just gave you a long, steady look from behind his mask. You knew he had seen the signs. He was the only one who had seen the bruises, had taken your hands so gently that day and whispered that promise. You hadn’t asked for it, hadn’t said anything in return, but you had trusted him all the same. You are glad you did. You are so glad it’d been him to see.

Now, as you wiped your hands on your apron and stepped out from behind the counter, your heart was lighter than it had been in months. “Everything’s on the house today,” you said, your smile wider than it had been in ages. “For you guys, at least. After all… I’ve got a few new things for you to try.”

Soap raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Is that so? Then we’re in for a treat, eh boys?”

You went back to the counter, pulling out a few trays and plates, your hands moving quickly as you started setting them down in front of the men, watching their eyes light up at the spread. “I’ve been experimenting,” you said, your voice light, almost teasing. “For John, I’ve got pecan pie. Thought you might like it—something a bit rich, a bit warm.” Like you, goes unsaid but you hoped he still heard it.

John’s eyes gleamed as he accepted the slice you placed in front of him. “Always knew you were a mind reader,” he murmured with a chuckle, cutting into the pie and taking a bite. The smile that spread across his face was slow, but appreciative.

“For you, Kyle, lemon meringue tarts. Something sharp, refreshing. A little tangy,” you said, setting the plate in front of him. “And a bit sweet, too. Had a feeling you’d like it!”

Kyle laughed, picking up the tart and admiring it at first. “You know me too well.” He took a bite, his eyes widening at the burst of lemon on his tongue and then groaning in delight. “Perfect, as always.”

Simon watched you closely, and when you placed a plate of apple fritters in front of him, his gaze softened just slightly. “Made these with you in mind,” you said, your voice gentle. “Thought you’d appreciate something classic, Si. Simple, but comforting.”

He didn’t say anything at first, just nodded in that way of his, taking the fritter in his gloved hand. When he took a bite, his eyes closed briefly, and you could see the silent approval in the way his shoulders seemed to relax ever so slightly.

“And for you, Johnny,” you giggled, setting down a small bowl of Cranachan in front of him. “Thought you might like something traditional- whisky, raspberries, oats, and cream. Feels like a bit of home, doesn’t it? At least I hope so. It was my first time making it.”

Johnny beamed all the same, eagerly reaching for a spoon. “Ah, bonnie, you’re spoiling us.”

But it wasn’t just them you were thinking of. You had made a fresh batch of focaccia bread for yourself, but this wasn’t just any bread- it was bold, spiced with rosemary and topped with chilli flakes and garlic. It was a reflection of your own newfound boldness. You’d been quiet, subdued for so long. Now, you wanted to feel alive again.Perhaps it might seem corny, but this focaccia bread meant to signify that for you.

You set a slice of the focaccia on a plate for yourself, taking a bite as you sat with them, your smile not faltering for a second. It was savoury- settling warmth in your stomach. “I think this might be my new favorite, actually.” you said with a soft laugh. In your mind, you were already thinking of making and selling more of it.

They didn’t say much in response, still tasting their own desserts, but you could feel their appreciation, their understanding, in the quiet way they accepted it.

The rest of the bakery was alive with the smell of freshly baked treats: rich brownies, soft sugar cookies, fluffy cronuts, and delicate eclairs. Tres leches cakes sat next to pumpkin pies, while apple and custard empanadas filled the air with their sweet, warm scent. Cheesecakes, cardamom rolls, strawberry lamingtons—the selection was almost overwhelming, but everything sold well. Especially the bear claw pastries. You smiled softly to yourself at the irony. The bearclaw pastries might also be your new favorite, right alongside the focaccia.

Johnny noticed it immediately, the little twitch of your lips, and raised an eyebrow. “What’s so funny, bonnie?”

You waved him off, shaking your head. “Oh, nothing. Just… the bear claws. They’ve been selling really well lately. Thought it was… fitting.”

Simon’s eyes flicked to you, then to the bear claw pastries sitting neatly in a display case. A slow understanding crossed his gaze, but he didn’t say anything. Just a slight nod, the corner of his mouth twitching, the silent acknowledgment of the truth that you all shared. You had no doubt the others knew about it as well- maybe even had a hand in it. Such incredible men.

And for the first time, standing in your bakery, surrounded by warmth and the quiet camaraderie of the men you had come to trust, you felt a sense of peace wash over you. The past was behind you. Now, you had a future to look forward to—one filled with new beginnings, layers to unfold like a mille-feuille crepe cake, and the quiet reassurance that you were no longer alone.

“Here’s to new beginnings,” you said, raising your cup of coffee, your smile bright and genuine.

The boys raised their cups in return, their expressions soft but full of unspoken promises. “To new beginnings,” they echoed, and for the first time in a long time, you believed it. Especially because you could see the way they were looking at you.

masterpost

[kaahmbem]

my experience in fields of mistria so far

[evildeerboy]

“no polyamory at pride” is some chronic no bitches shit. that’s got to be made up. no gay person would say that they’d have no fucking friends

[scrumptiousfoxglitter]

Shout-out to all my sad gays.

Shout-out to every lesbian not from Lesbos.

Shout-out to all my bi's who are just one person.

Shout-out to all my pans who prefer to hit people with pots.

Shout-out to all my polys who are one sided.

Shout-out to all my average omnis.

Shout-out to all my aros who can barely use a nerf gun, let alone a bow.

Shout-out to all my aces who aren't athletic.

Shout-out to all my trans folk who need to get something off their chest (or don't, shout-out to y'all too).

Shout-out to all my grays who are multicolored.

Shout-out to all my demis that are whole.

Shout out to all my aspecs that are part of absolutely nothing.

Shout-out out to all my unlabeled folks who are limited by their lack of motivation.

Shout-out to all my apls with food allergies.

01010011 01101000 01101111 01110101 01110100 00101101 01101111 01110101 01110100 00100000 01110100 01101111 00100000 01100001 01101100 01101100 00100000 01101101 01111001 00100000 01100101 01101110 01100010 01111001 01110011 00100000 01110111 01101000 01101111 00100000 01100011 01100001 01101110 00100000 01110010 01100101 01100001 01100100 00100000 01100010 01101001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01111001 00101110 00100000

Shout-out to all my heteros that are carbon copies of another hetero.

Shout-out to all my cats.

(edit) So, this ended up way more popular than I anticipated. So, here's a few more, and they're all equally bad, as you'd expect.

Shout-out to all my xenos that're native to their countries.

Shout-out to all my cis comrades that are a part of the opposition.

Shout-out to all the external Indigiqueers (this only makes sense if you know the etymology for indigenous that's my bad)

And of course,

[lipringlrh]

letting people know i will write poly!sos so please send in requests for them bc i cant think of a single good one :)

[tojisun]

simon’s so possessive :(( so naturally he had to show some pictures you two took to his squad. just, y’know, to stake his claim.

(you two know he’s got the exhibitionist streak in him since the first time you two fucked in his car, in an empty parking lot, and he came within the first few minutes. it was so sudden, so intense, that simon had to resort to fingering you because he’s gotten so sensitive that a next round wasn’t even an option. you tease him about it constantly, only to end up on your knees as simon fucks the giggles out of you.)

the pictures start off ‘simple’—shots of your tits in one of his favourite set of lingerie, with his cum staining your chin while pools of it build up along your cleavage; or of simon’s hand loosely wrapped around your neck, your supple skin a beautiful contrast underneath his expanse of scars and tattoos.

the recent one is this: simon’s sitting in front of the mirror, his bulk covered by your body. you’re facing away from the camera, something johnny loudly complained about of course, but you’re bare. you’re stripped naked and stuffed with his cock, and the insinuation was enough to silence their grumbles.

his squad sees everything that simon allows them to see—the plane of your spine to the globes of your ass—and then, they break.

pitiful pleas spilling, filling up simon’s inbox. even price seemed to have trouble with hiding the tides of his own desire, and, well, is that not something?

(you and simon indulge them, of course. the pictures become more bold, more revealing, until simon’s got them adjusting themselves from underneath their slacks when he shows them a little slip of a video.

it’s not even that conspicuous; it’s just simon’s hand squeezing the pudge of your belly. but the pose, the angle—it’s what made their breaths run ragged. the way simon’s hand is tilted just enough to make it look like he’s fully covering your groin, leaving them nothing to salivate over but the stretch of your skin and the softness of your fat.

it’s not like that wasn’t enough, not when it even had price calling off their briefing and rescheduling it later in the afternoon instead because none of them could focus.

simon devours the sight they make, all reduced by you, unable to even deny how much pleasure he’s gaining from this. he licks the backs of his teeth and sends you a short message.

“want to make a film for them?”

not even a minute passed by before your reply came in.

“i thought you’ll never ask.”

simon can’t even stop the bark of laughter that tumbles from his throat, his eyes glinting with deep interest.

he knows just what to make you wear for that film.)

(it’s price’s boonie, one he snagged from their captain’s office.)

[yeyinde]

Would you consider writing a poly141 version of the babytrap universe? Completely understand if it’s not to your interest to write, but I would love to see that story play out in your delicious writing style :)

ohh, absolutely. i think the best way to do it would be to have poor reader, desperate for a family of her own, and making the stupid decision to hand her resignation into Price.

and then admitting, shyly, that there's no man in your life, just a donor waiting for you to sign the papers and make the deposit for the procedure. thanking him for everything he's done, of course; but you're excited for this new chapter in your life.

He accepts it. Sure. Smiles tightly, and says, "good luck." Calls a meeting after to discuss it with the rest of the team. Closed door. A little unusual, but nothing that immediately raises your hackles. You're too busy cleaning up your desk to really pay much attention to hushed whispers in Price's office. Happy to celebrate, too, when Johnny invited you out for drinks after. Tae say goodbye properly, he said, and looking back, you should have seen through the faux sadness draped over his brow. Picked up on the giddy excitement buzzing around him as he led you to the bar, as he offered to get you drinks. Handed you an open bottle. Tipping it back for you to drink more. 

Keep goin’, doe. Drink ‘er up. 

Another one. Another. Your head swims. Kyle is there, hands warm on your waist, breath rippling across the sweat gathering on the nape of your neck. 

“C’mon, birdie. Have a shot with me.” He coos, bringing the glass to your lips, chest glued to your spine. “Can't believe you want a baby. Fuck, birdie, that's—”

Johnny murmurs something under his breath. You blamed the three glasses of whiskey sour (Price wouldn't let you have anything else) and a shot of tequila for why it sounded like,

hope it's mine—

To the left of you, Ghost snorts under his breath. Shifts in the stool that creaks, whining under his weight. You blink through fog seeping into your head, this strange, syrupy torpor that bleeds into the corners of your vision, makes everything feel muted, far away, and turned to him with a pout. 

He'd been acting strange ever since Price told him your plans. Quieter, somehow. But—

There. 

Everywhere. 

Your fixed shadow. Looming in the corners. 

You make to ask him what the hell he's doing, why he's following you around, but the words slosh out in a tangle. Incompressible.

Ghost huffs. His gloved hand lifts, falls to your throat, holding you steady with his thumb digging shallowly into your pulse. 

“Careful,” he mocks, dragging the word out like he was speaking to a misbehaving child. It bristles through you, but your tongue is thick. Liquid in your mouth. “Got a big night ahead o’you yet, pet. Try not t’hurt yourself before I get to knock you up.”

Distantly, you think you hear Gaz say something—oi, mate, maybe—but there's a shrill ringing in your ear that drowns it all out. A cotton spooling in your head. You blink—foolishly—and lean into his palm, mouth dropping in surprise. Shock. 

Horror. 

“Wha—?”

But it's too late, of course. What you thought were the comforting threads of a warm blanket spooling over your shoulders was the silken strands of a spider's web the whole time. Caught in their trap. 

And then you come to with a warm weight pressed against your back, a thick, hairy arm slung around your shoulders. Trapping you tight against a warm, broad chest.

“Want a baby, mm?” your captain coos in your ear, humid breath tickling your skin. Dampening it slightly as he leans in close, lips pressed to the shell—a warm, wet heat that makes you tremble—and adds: “fine, love. Since you want one so bad—” 

An arm lashes out of the shadows dancing around the room; through the heavy haze, the fog in your head (the last thing you remember is being offered a drink by Johnny, another by Kyle—), you struggle to make sense of what's happening around you as rough, dry fingers curl over your knee, prying your thighs apart: 

“—then we'll give it to you.”

You watch, dazed, dizzy, as cherryred knuckles slip down the valley of your spread legs, the ink on their thick fingers flexing, dancing, in the slip of pale moonlight until they curl into the hem of your panties, tugging the fabric roughly to the side. 

The sudden swell of cold air on your exposed cunt makes you gasp. Your knees jerking, trying to fold together to hide yourself, preserve some modicum of modesty, but the hand on your flesh tightens. Prevents you from moving. It keeps you open for their gaze. Lets them all gawk at the wide knuckles pressed against the seam of your pussy. Flushed in the low light. Dripping—

In the murk, someone groans—

“Shoulda told us sooner you wanted a fuckin’ baby, sweet’art. Woulda given you one sooner before y’had to go an’ do somethin’ so foolish—”

Foolish. Like paying for another man to put a baby inside of you when that privilege belongs to them. And them alone.

And really—

You should have known better.

[what-am-i-doing-in-this-fandom]

Fic Idea where Fiddleford helps Stan rebuild the portal, but Stan finds out that Fiddleford has a wife and he's like

"You have a WIFE?? That DIDN'T marry you to steal your car and money???? What are you DOING here???"

"Yeah, well.... She's better off thinking I'm dead somewhere....."

"A WIFE. That LOVES you. Get outta here and go explain yourself, Idiot!!"

"She and our son shouldn't have to deal with--"

"YOUR SON???!!?!!??"

Anyways, so Stan helps Fiddleford reach out and explain himself to his wife, but expresses that he wants to keep being in Gravity Falls, so his wife and kid go to live with them in The Shack instead.

Blah blah blah, bonding happens, Stan bags Fiddleford AND his wife and becomes a step dad, God bless 🙏

[chez-cinnamon]

When day shitty, draw husbands and wife ❣️

[sunnymainecoon]

SOMETIMES Nightmare needs to indulge them in their mortal needs... to keep them functioning yk. But yk to be as lazy as possible just have them sleep together..