#it’s supposed to be full coverage

[housecow]

hey congrats on finally getting your hands on bras that fit 🥳

oh my god wait do y’all really think that bra fits??? my tits pour out of the top and there’s a point about 9 seconds in my recent video where you can see part of my boob come out of the bottom, too 🥲

the middle part of the bra, where the cups join, is supposed to be flush with my sternum 😰

also the straps are constantly slipping off my shoulders for some reason (am i that round?)? idk why it does that but it def does not fit

^proof. it’s comfy though!!

[mckinlily]

Plot armor but it’s Bruce Wayne’s wealth.

Bruce is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce does not want to be one of the richest men in world.

He starts by implementing high starting salaries and full health care coverages for all levels at Wayne Enterprises. This in vastly improves retention and worker productivity, and WE profits soar. He increases PTO, grants generous parental and family leave, funds diversity initiatives, boosts salaries again. WE is ranked “#1 worker-friendly corporation”, and productively and profits soar again.

Ok, so clearly investing his workers isn’t the profit-destroying doomed strategy his peers claim it is. Bruce is going to keep doing it obviously (his next initiative is to ensure all part-time and contractors get the same benefits and pay as full time employees), but he is going to have to find a different way to dump his money.

But you know what else is supposed to be prohibitively expensive? Green and ethical initiatives. Yes, Bruce can do that. He creates and fund a 10 year plan to covert all Wayne facilities to renewable energy. He overhauls all factories to employ the best environmentally friendly practices and technologies. He cuts contracts with all suppliers that engage in unethical employment practices and pays for other to upgrade their equipment and facilities to meet WE’s new environmental and safety requirements. He spares no expense.

Yeah, Wayne Enterprises is so successful that they spin off an entire new business arm focused on helping other companies convert to environmentally friendly and safe practices like they did in an efficient, cost effective, successful way.

Admittedly, investing in his own company was probably never going to be the best way to get rid of his wealth. He slashes his own salary to a pittance (god knows he has more money than he could possibly know what to do with already) and keeps investing the profits back into the workers, and WE keeps responding with nearly terrifying success.

So WE is a no-go, and Bruce now has numerous angry billionaires on his back because they’ve been claiming all these measures he’s implementing are too expensive to justify for decades and they’re finding it a little hard to keep the wool over everyone’s eyes when Idiot Softheart Bruice Wayne has money spilling out his ears. BUT Bruce can invest in Gotham. That’ll go well, right?

Gotham’s infrastructure is the OSHA anti-Christ and even what little is up to code is constantly getting destroyed by Rogue attacks. Surely THAT will be a money sink.

Except the only non-corrupt employer in Gotham city is….Wayne Enterprises. Or contractors or companies or businesses that somehow, in some way or other, feed back to WE. Paying wholesale for improvement to Gotham’s infrastructure somehow increases WE’s profits.

Bruce funds a full system overhaul of Gotham hospital (it’s not his fault the best administrative system software is WE—he looked), he sets up foundations and trusts for shelters, free clinics, schools, meal plans, day care, literally anything he can think of.

Gotham continues to be a shithole. Bruce Wayne continues to be richer than god against his Batman-ingrained will.

Oh, and Bruice Wayne is no longer viewed as solely a spoiled idiot nepo baby. The public responds by investing in WE and anything else he owns, and stop doing this, please.

Bruce sets up a foundation to pay the college tuition of every Gotham citizen who applies. It’s so successful that within 10 years, donations from previous recipients more than cover incoming need, and Bruce can’t even donate to his own charity.

But by this time, Bruce has children. If he can’t get rid of his wealth, he can at least distribute it, right?

Except Dick Grayson absolutely refuses to receive any of his money, won’t touch his trust fund, and in fact has never been so successful and creative with his hacking skills as he is in dumping the money BACK on Bruce. Jason died and won’t legally resurrect to take his trust fund. Tim has his own inherited wealth, refuses to inherit more, and in fact happily joins forces with Dick to hack accounts and return whatever money he tries to give them. Cass has no concept of monetary wealth and gives him panicked, overwhelmed eyes whenever he so much as implies offering more than $100 at once. Damian is showing worrying signs of following in his precious Richard’s footsteps, and Babs barely allows him to fund tech for the Clocktower. At least Steph lets him pay for her tuition and uses his credit card to buy unholy amounts of Batburger. But that is hardly a drop in the ocean of Bruce’s wealth. And she won’t even accept a trust fund of only one million.

Jason wins for best-worst child though because he currently runs a very lucrative crime empire. And although he pours the vast, vast majority of his profits back into Crime Alley, whenever he gets a little too rich for his tastes, he dumps the money on Bruce. At this point, Bruce almost wishes he was being used for money laundering because then he’s at least not have the money.

So children—generous, kindhearted, stubborn till the day they die the little shits, children—are also out.

Bruce was funding the Justice League. But then finances were leaked, and the public had an outcry over one man holding so much sway over the world’s superheroes (nevermind Bruce is one of those superheroes—but the public can’t know that). So Bruce had to do some fancy PR trickery, concede to a policy of not receiving a majority of funds from one individual, and significantly decrease his contributions because no one could match his donations.

At his wits end, Bruce hires a team of accounts to search through every crinkle and crevice of tax law to find what loopholes or shortcuts can be avoided in order to pay his damn taxes to the MAX.

The results are horrifying. According to the strictest definition of the law, the government owes him money.

Bruce burns the report, buries any evidence as deeply as he can, and organizes a foundation to lobby for FAR higher taxation of the upper class.

All this, and Wayne Enterprises is happily chugging along, churning profit, expanding into new markets, growing in the stock market, and trying to force the credit and proportionate compensation on their increasingly horrified CEO.

Bruce Wayne is one of the richest men in the world. Bruce Wayne will never not be one of the richest men in the world.

But by GOD is he trying.

[corneille-moisie]

does a sun screen that im not allergic to and doesnt wanna make me rip my skin off exist or should i just get skin cancer ?

[mogai-sunflowers]

this will be a bit of a long post but i ask that you please please read the full thing if you want to know more about Sudan- i feel like not enough people ACTUALLY know what's going on in Sudan. a lot of people have a vague idea that a 'war' and genocide is going on, but it's important to know the specifics as well.

there is extremely little coverage of Sudan from non-Sudanese sources, and even those that DO cover it often paint it as a war between two different generals for power over a country- and to a certain extent, without context, that IS what's happening. for those unaware, the two 'warring factions' in Sudan are the official Sudanese military- the SAF (Sudanese Armed Forces) and the RSF (Rapid Support Forces).

in April 2019, during the Sudanese Revolution, Islamist dictator Omar al-Bashir was deposed by the SAF in response to a mass wave of revolutionary organizing, protests, and sit-ins. Immediately after, the TMC (Transitionary Military Council) was established, with SAF general inspector Abdel Fattah al-Burhan being appointed as the chairman. for a brief time, protestors engaged in negotiations with Burhan, and many believed that he was being ernest in his promises of a true civilian democratic government- but it soon became clear to protestors that he was not actually taking their demands seriously, so demonstrations once again intensified. on June 3, 2019, it was under Burhan's command that the Khartoum Massacre was committed, killing 118 protestors while they were participating in a sit-in at the military headquarters in Khartoum.

as the next few months went by, agreements came about to dissolve the TMC and form a Transitional Sovereignty Council based on a draft of a constitutional declaration. it was supposed to be that a military official would be the chairman for 21 months, then transitioning to a civilian chairman for the next 18 months- but Burhan staged a coup in October of 2021, and dissolved the council and effectively turned the Sudanese government back into a military junta, which was the cause of further protesting.

i want to emphasize the crimes and horrors of the SAF because they are often forgotten in these discussions due to the absolute atrocities committed by the RSF. there is no good guy here- both the SAF and the RSF are vying for dictatorial power. so let's talk about the RSF.

headed by genocidal war criminal Mohamed Hamdan Dagalo, known more widely as "Hemedti", the RSF formed around 2014 due to reorginization of the Janjaweed militias- which were the militias that formed across the Darfuri regions of southwestern Sudan to suppress demonstrations against Bashir's oppressive and racist regime which carried out the first genocide of Massalit and other ethnically non-Arab peoples across Darfur in the early 2000s. so to be succinct- the RSF has direct roots in dictatorial suppression of Sudanis protesting against ethnic cleansing, genocide, and oppression.

for around a decade, the RSF and SAF were different factions of the Sudanese military- both have their roots and a pattern of supporting dictatorial violence and anti-Black genocide. and, on April 15, 2023, these two dictatorial Arab-colonialist powers began fighting out of the blue. fighting has been most intense around Khartoum, the central state and capital city of Sudan, where now an estimated 35% of its residents have been forced to flee, with the rest trapped in the middle of an active war zone.

the RSF has been actively continuing the genocide of non-Arab Darfuri Sudanis that its predecessor the Janjaweed committed 20 years prior. they have been consistently launching attacks against Massalit villages in Darfur and El Geneina. Recently, they have completely ethnically cleansed several Massalit villages, killing hundreds in each one of them. in addition, they are committing so many other war crimes, like sexual violence, blocking access to humanitarian aid, occupying civilian homes and kicking the residents out, along with blatant ethnic cleansing campaigns, mass murder, and targeting of civilians.

but don't think that this is a 'civil war' as many are calling it. a civil war is an internal dispute, but this is far from that. both the SAF and the RSF are supported by external powers, namely the UAE, Saudi Arabia, and Russia, who all provide funding to these groups IN EXCHANGE FOR SUDANESE RESOURCES LIKE GOLD AND OIL. this is, ultimately, not just some random war between two different military groups- it is a war funded by and for foreign colonial powers who have a vested interest in colonizing Sudan for its resources. as an example- the UAE's- and especially Dubai's- infamous gold and jewelry industry, is only made possible by the fact that the UAE illegally smuggles 80% of Sudan's gold- they fund this by sending weapons AND SOLDIERS to the RSF. Several of the gold mines in Sudan are owned and operated by the Russian government.

all of this, both the 'internal' AND the external, colonial aspects of this war and genocide, has led to the world's current WORST humanitarian crisis. not only do LOW estimates place the total murdered in the past year at 150,000, but out of Sudan's population of nearly 47 million, over half (25 million) are in severe need of humanitarian aid, and of those 25 million, over half are children. fighting between the RSF and SAF has lead to severe blockage of aid, and the UN's initial proposed budget of $1.5 billion in April of 2023 has not only not increased to accommodate the severe worsening of the crisis, but ALSO has not even been funded 20%.

2.5 MILLION PEOPLE ARE EXPECTED TO STARVE TO DEATH IN SUDAN BY THIS FUCKING SEPTEMBER. THAT IS LESS THAN 2 MONTHS AWAY.

additionally, due to both western colonization and the Sudanese governments' deliberate cutting of internet access across the entirety of Sudan, there is a huge lack of the proper infrastructure for generating awareness and spreading videos and info from on the ground in Sudan. this means that not only are people unable to effectively crowdfund support to leave, but they are also barred from accessing social media to spread awareness, and they're unable to contact loved ones outside of Sudan most of the time.

also, Sudan is HUGE- in order for displaced people to escape fighting, they usually have to walk, on foot, for hundreds of miles, often across literal deserts, with extremely little access to water. there has also been a surge of internally displaced people dying due to illness and scorpion stings in displacement camps. 70% of Sudan's hospitals have stopped functioning entirely. and even if they DO make it to a neighboring country, most of the options there are just as bad, if not worse- Egypt is extremely anti-Black, and doesn't allow work permits to most Black refugees, meaning they are relegated to being houseless and jobless if they go to Egypt- and westward in Chad, there is also crisis with food and resources, so the government of Chad quite literally can not materially support anymore Sudanese refugees. In South Sudan, there is also conflict, war, and crisis, and in Ethiopia, where the genocide is taking place in Tigray, the government is extremely hostile to Sudanese refugees. there are currently more than 6,000 Sudanese refugees stranded in the forests because of the hostilities they faced while in UNHCR camps.

and everyday that we're not doing something, this genocide, war, and humanitarian crisis is getting worse. doing something starts with being educated. i urge y'all to look more into this, don't just take what i'm saying and roll with it- truly learn and listen to Sudanese activists on this. i highly recommend following these accounts on Instagram:

@/red_maat , @/bsonblast , @/sudansolidaritycollective, @/forsudaneseliberation, @/darfurwomenaction, @/liberatesudan, @/zzeirra, @/yousraelbagir, @/modathirzainalabdeen, @/sdn.world, @/nasalsudan, @/sudanuntold, @/kandakamagazine, and @/almigdadhassan0

IF ANYTHING I'VE SAID IS INACCURATE, PLEASE LET ME KNOW!

i'd like to spread this post for some education. could you reblog this @decolonize-the-left @incorrectmadrigalfamilyquotes @homoidiotic @heritageposts @el-shab-hussein

@fairuzfan @palipunk @silicacid @sissa-arrows @apollos-olives @

@northgazaupdates @our-queer-experience @intersexfairy @genderqueerdykes

[charlesslut16]

-lucky necklace-

summary : lando always kisses you necklace for good luck ut what happens when you are not there....

PAIRINGS : lando norris x fem!readeer

WARNINGS : none

note : I hope that you will like this. THANK YOU FOR ALL YOUR REACTIONS AND LOVE ON MY POSTS LOVE YOU!

masterlist  

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"You forgot something," you called out as Lando stepped out of the McLaren hospitality unit, race suit half-zipped, sunglasses already in place.

He froze mid-step and turned, squinting at you with a dramatic tilt of his head. “No, I didn’t.”

You just raised an eyebrow and pointed to your chest where your necklace sat, simple and familiar — a delicate chain with a small charm he’d kissed before every session since Monaco last year. 

What started as a joke had quickly turned into a ritual: pre-race, post-warm-up, every qualifying. He didn’t leave without it — or, more accurately, without kissing it while it rested on you.

Lando jogged over and stopped in front of you, grinning. “Okay, maybe I forgot something tiny.” It was his absolute favorite ritual, as it included his love and kissing.

“Tiny but powerful,” you teased. “The source of all your speed.”

“I thought my immense skill and jawline were the source of all my speed,” he said, his voice playfully indignant.

“False. It’s me. And this necklace.” You tapped the charm gently.

He leaned in, one hand cupping your waist lightly, and pressed a kiss right to the charm at your collarbone. “There. Luck secured.” 

His lips lingered just a second too long. Just enough to make your breath catch. Then he pulled back, still holding your waist with that same cocky glint in his eye. 

“See you after FP1?”

“I’ll be right here. Try not to drive into anyone.”

“No promises.”

It was a couple of weeks later, and you couldn't be at the race as your work schedule couldn't allow you to go away.

You weren’t supposed to miss Silverstone. It was your favorite track — his home race, your little tradition. Every year you brought him something silly or sweet: lucky socks, bad puns, or a tiny drawing tucked into his gear bag. 

But this year had other plans. Your work had pulled you away just before qualifying. You barely had time to kiss him goodbye, whispering, “You've got this,” and promising to watch from your workplace.

Now, sitting in your work office, missing Lando more than usual, you clutched your phone and stared at the message you’d sent. Lando would do great; you just knew it.

You: You’ve got this. Go be fast and annoying. ❤️

No reply. Not even a read receipt.

You tried not to feel disappointed. He was busy. He needed to focus. You weren’t supposed to take it personally — even if the little charm hanging around your neck felt heavier today, like it missed him too.

Meanwhile, Lando was standing in the McLaren garage, helmet in hand, staring at his reflection in the side of the car. His suit felt too tight. His chest felt too quiet.

No kiss.

No charm.

You weren’t there.

He pulled out his phone and recorded a voice memo in a quiet corner before anyone could notice. He needed to act now; if not he would not get to his full potential.

“Hey, love… I know you can’t be here, but… I’m still going to kiss the necklace anyway — imaginary style. So… mwah. There. See? Lucky again. I love you. I’ll wave to the camera if I get pole.”

He grinned, hit send, and zipped up his suit. He walked back to the car, lighter, like the kiss had really been there. It soothed him; he was ready, and he would win for you, his family, and his fans.

Then he went out and put the car on pole.

Your phone buzzed just as the Sky Sports coverage switched to post-qualifying. Lando’s face filled the screen, grinning and smug, holding P1 like it was his birthright.

You opened the voice memo with shaking hands, and his voice — warm, teasing, just a little bit breathless — made your heart swell.

“I’ll wave to the camera if I get pole.”

Seconds later, on-screen, he threw up a small peace sign as the champagne sprayed.

You wiped at your eyes and laughed.

You (replying): You’re such a sap. I love you. Also, you owe me a grid-side kiss next time I’m there. P.S. You looked disgustingly handsome on the podium.

His reply came almost instantly.

Lando 🧡: I only look good when you’re watching. 🫶 Also, that kiss? Saving it for Monza. Front row. Full crowd. No backing out.

You: Can’t wait. Now go win tomorrow. Also, nice fake kiss. 9/10. Minus points for sound effects.

Lando: 😤 Rude. I practiced that.

The next day you watched the race like it was a film. Breathless. Intense. Loud. And Lando? He was electric. Smooth through corners, aggressive with overtakes, calm on the radio. Like he wasn’t just driving the car — he was the car.

And when he crossed the line first, P1 in bold next to his name, you cheered so loud your dad nearly dropped his tea. You were so happy for him; you knew it would boost his confidence a lot.

The broadcast cut to him on the podium, soaked in champagne, suit half-unzipped, and hair a mess. He lifted the bottle high, turned to the camera, and held up two fingers.

Not a peace sign. Not a celebration.

Just two.

For two kisses.

You laughed, heart aching in the best way.

Later that night, he FaceTimed you from the hotel, eyes tired but glowing.

“Hey, world champ,” you teased.

“Hey, good luck charm,” he replied, his voice soft, full of warmth. “You watched?”

“Obviously. Twice already.”

“You liked my wave?”

“I liked your everything.”

You turned the camera slightly to show your necklace — or rather, his lucky charm — still around your neck, as always. “I missed this,” he murmured. “I missed you.”

You smiled, touching the charm where it lay against your skin. “I wore it the whole time.”

“I know,” he said. “I imagined it. Every lap.”

You tilted your head. “So I am the reason you’re fast?”

He laughed, quiet and sweet. “Nah. I’m fast because I’m a freak of nature. But you? You’re the reason it matters.”

Your throat tightened. “Lando…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m keeping that voice memo forever.”

“Good. I left out the part where I almost kissed my steering wheel.”

You gasped. “Excuse me?”

“I panicked,” he said. “Desperate times.”

“You better kiss me twice to make up for it.”

“I will,” he said. “As soon as you get to Monza.”

You smiled. “Promise?”

“Make it three,” he added, looking at you with that soft, open expression he saved just for these calls.

“Why three?”

“One for luck,” he said. “One for pole. And one for the win.”

[renarots]

The ability to evacuate is a privilege and I’m sick of people applying Florida logic to the Appalachians right now. Yes it is horrible for those who couldn’t in Florida but the people in the Appalachian’s had no warning. People still have “dial up” there, 55.9% of the population is under the poverty line. “I’ve been seeing warnings for a week” no you haven’t the warnings were for Florida and Georgia, even then it wasn’t supposed to hit the apps like this at most flooding but they would recover. When hurricane helene took that turn it was too late to even warn others before dams broke. The infrastructure is not meant to take this beating especially given the storm they had the week before causing all of the waterways to be full already. Towns are wiped out, towns that relied on tourism and coal mining to bring in revenue are gone. My great aunt and uncle lived in a trailer off a plot of land and were so happy they finally got a clean running water system hooked up two years ago. They have one tiny little old android that they have to travel about an hour in town to use so they can call us up. They lived off a fixed income because any sort of job was two hours away at least and they’re getting older they can’t just travel that much anymore. My great uncle can’t walk without his cane and my great aunt is getting there too. They always joked about taking me home with them and I would always say when I got older they would come live with me because I knew how rough it was for them but they couldn’t just leave. I haven’t been able to contact them in over 48 hours and the highways leading out after the one hour evacuation notice was given was shut down. Most places are air rescues only because there is no other way for them to be rescued. To add on as well that they deployed FEMA in many of the places affected but yet there is barely any coverage and radio silence from our government. No national guards are here to rescue them they are left to fend for themselves. People are drowning, being electrocuted, some didn’t even stand a chance. These are human beings who have been prayed on for generations the least you can do is show some fucking sympathy. I don’t care what you have to say family’s are being devastated. I wouldn’t wish anything like this to happen to anyone so if you find yourself in your bed at night I hope you know that out there, there are families who are grieving all they have lost and you are cozy at home with running water, electricity and a warm bed and you feel an ounce of guilt for even thinking that.

A link to ways that you can help. Keep Appalachia in your minds do not look away.

[bangchangbinnie]

You Started It / TXT OT5

Pairing: chubby!fem!reader x OT5

A beach day gone wrong—or very, very right. You accidentally pack the wrong bikini. The boys notice. One by one, they take you apart. And you? You take every inch.

EXPLICIT CONTENT AHEAD MDNI 18+!!🔞

cw: creampie, piv, unprotected sex (DONT BE SILLY >:(), multiple members, nip slip???, ALL of txt are perverts tbh, blowjob (one), group sex, oral (f & m r.) overstimulation, size kink, body worship, praise and degradation, cumplay/breeding kink, all in all very wet

First smut I’ve ever posted :0

—————

It was just supposed to be a beach day.

You’d grabbed a bikini last minute,on sale, barely tried on,and tossed it into your bag without a second thought. The tag said it was your size. Maybe it used to be.

Maybe it wasn’t anymore.

You didn’t realize until you were standing at the edge of the beach towel, towel in one hand, the sound of waves behind you, five pairs of eyes in front of you.

The bikini top barely covered your tits. A little underboob peeked out each time you moved. The bottoms sat low, hugging your hips, dipping under your soft tummy in a way that felt… borderline indecent. And the cut in the back? Not quite a thong, not quite full coverage. Just enough cheek to make it worse.

You tugged nervously at the hem of your bikini top, the fabric stretched tighter than you remembered when you tried it on alone in your bedroom mirror. The snug material dipped low over your chest and clung to every soft curve like it had been poured onto you.

“Is this… too much?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, heat creeping up your neck.

Silence.

Not a single word left their lips.

Yeonjun’s gaze locked onto you like he was physically incapable of looking anywhere else. His eyes dragged over your figure with a stunned intensity,so focused he forgot to blink, his jaw slightly slack. If you looked closely, you could see the pulse in his throat jump.

Beomgyu let out a low whistle that sliced through the quiet like a hot knife. His hand ran through his hair, disheveling it more than usual, the sound of his exhale practically a groan. His gaze dropped to your thighs, then lower, before darting back up and away like he got caught doing something he shouldn’t.

Kai’s lips parted like he was about to speak—but nothing came out. His eyes, usually so gentle and playful, were wide with something heavier. Hungrier. He shifted where he stood, hands flexing at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

Taehyun cleared his throat, the sound rough and abrupt. He turned his face so fast it looked forced—too quick to be casual, too obvious to be natural. But not before you caught the flicker of something dark and heated in his gaze.

And Soobin…

Soobin just stared.

Completely still.

Eyes wide, pupils blown, mouth slightly open. His water bottle was lifted halfway to his lips but frozen there, forgotten. A single bead of condensation slid down the plastic and fell to the ground. He didn’t even blink as his gaze swept over you,slowly, like he was memorizing every inch of bare skin, every dip, every curve. He looked almost dazed.

“Guys?” you asked again, voice quieter now. Self-consciousness crept up your spine, curling around your ribs like ice. Your arms crossed instinctively over your chest, trying to shield yourself from their stares,but it was too late. The image of you in that too-small bikini was already burned into their minds.

Soobin finally blinked.

And then swallowed.

Hard.

Yeonjun was the first to snap out of it.

“No—no, it’s not too much,” he blurted, voice pitched higher than usual as he rubbed the back of his neck. His eyes flicked upward, trying to focus on your face and only your face. “You look—uh. It’s a good color on you.”

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. That wasn’t exactly a denial. Just a very panicked attempt at diplomacy.

Beomgyu, sprawled out on his towel like he owned the sun, let out a low snort. “I’m gonna need to swim immediately before I lose my mind.” he muttered under his breath, dragging the heel of his palm down his face. He didn’t even try to hide the way his eyes lingered on the way your suit cut into the plush curve of your waist.

Kai laughed, but it came out strangled,tight and breathy. “Sun’s really… warm today,” he offered lamely, snatching a towel and tossing it over his lap with a speed that made your eyes narrow. His fingers tugged at the edge like he was afraid it would move, like something under there needed to stay hidden.

You blinked, and frowned.

You didn’t get it at first. You weren’t trying to tease them.

You had just picked the wrong size online. That’s all. The top was snug and the bottoms rode higher than you meant, but it wasn’t like you’d done it on purpose. You didn’t think about what it would look like to them.

So you sat down on your towel,right in the center of their little circle,legs tucked off to the side, thighs soft and glowing under the sun. You stretched your arms up with a sigh, letting the sunlight kiss your skin. Then leaned back on your hands, completely unaware of what you were doing.

But they noticed. Oh, they noticed.

Your chest pushed forward, tits straining against the small triangles of fabric, the tie between them visibly tugging with the pressure. Your stomach curved out just slightly, soft and inviting, the bikini bottoms dipping into the plush dip of your hip bones. A bead of sweat rolled down your collarbone and disappeared between the valley of your breasts.

That’s when you felt it. The stillness. The silence stretching a second too long. The way the boys weren’t talking anymore. Weren’t laughing. Not like before. Not normally. Their breathing was quieter now—heavier.

Measured.

You caught Yeonjun sneaking a glance, then looking away so fast it looked painful. Beomgyu blatantly stared before pretending to sip from an empty bottle. Kai fiddled with the towel in his lap, but his eyes kept flickering back to the tops of your thighs. Taehyun said nothing at all, but you felt his eyes on you, like a touch.

And Soobin…

Soobin hadn’t moved. His gaze lingered for too long on your stomach. Your chest. Then flicked up guiltily to your face. His cheeks were a furious shade of red.

That’s when it hit you. You weren’t just hanging out anymore. You were the problem, or at least, that’s what it felt like. Like your body, soft and bare and squeezed into this little bikini, had completely unbalanced the air. Their composure cracked like glass under your weight, and yet you still didn’t cover up.

Not yet. Not when part of you… liked the way their gazes burned.

Taehyun didn’t even try to pretend he wasn’t watching as you bent forward to grab the bottle of sunscreen from your bag. His gaze dragged down the arch of your back, lingering where your bikini top strained against your shoulder blades and the lower strap cut across the curve of your sides.

You were oblivious to the way his jaw flexed, until he spoke.

“Need help with that?”

His voice came out lower than usual. Tighter. Rough around the edges, like it was being held back by sheer force of will.

You blinked at him, then tossed the bottle with a small smirk. “Sure. Back and shoulders?” He caught it with one hand,barely, and swallowed so hard you saw his throat bob.

The cap clicked open with a snap that felt unnecessarily loud in the thick air between you. You pulled your hair to the side, exposing the length of your back, and turned to face forward again. The sun warmed your skin, but it was nothing compared to the heat that bloomed the moment Taehyun touched you.

His hands weren’t rushed. They were slow. Intentional. He rubbed the lotion into your skin with firm, even pressure,palms sliding over your shoulders, fingers brushing the straps of your bikini with maddening hesitation. It was like he wanted to stay respectful but couldn’t help himself. Like each pass of his hand was a battle between discipline and desire.

You heard it then. The sharp inhale just to your left. Yeonjun.

You turned your head just slightly and saw his hand twitch against the towel, curled into the fabric like he was anchoring himself. His eyes were fixed on where Taehyun’s hands met your bare skin, his chest rising and falling with shallow, barely contained breaths.

Beomgyu groaned and threw himself onto his back, slapping a wide-brimmed straw hat over his face. “I’m not looking,” he muttered, voice strained. “I’m not looking. I’m not looking.”

No one believed him, though. Not with the way his legs shifted restlessly under his towel.

Kai, on the other hand, definitely was looking.

Elbows on his knees, chin resting in one hand, his gaze traced the shape of your body like he was trying to memorize it. His lip was caught between his teeth, biting down hard. The towel in his lap had shifted slightly,and he didn’t seem to notice. Or care.

Then there was Soobin. Poor, sweet, quiet Soobin.

He hadn’t moved a muscle, but he was absolutely dying. His entire face had turned a soft, lovely shade of red,one that deepened when your thighs shifted and the inside of them caught the light. His eyes darted there once,just once,but that was all it took. He froze, stiff and silent, his water bottle now crushed slightly in his grip.

You glanced over your shoulder at Taehyun. “You okay back there?”

His thumbs brushed the top of your spine, pressing in like he was grounding himself.

“Peachy,” he replied, voice a little hoarse.

———-

It was subtle at first.

The way the atmosphere shifted.

The fidgeting. The glances. The fact that none of them could sit still around you anymore, not comfortably. They adjusted their towels, cleared their throats, scratched at nothing. Their hands wandered aimlessly: to water bottles, sunglasses, already-read pages of books they were no longer focused on.

But the moment you stood? Everything shifted.

You didn’t mean to move like that. Didn’t mean to tease.

You just walked, but your hips swayed with every step, natural, rhythmic, soft flesh shifting beneath the too-small bikini. Your thick thighs brushed with each stride, the hem of the bottoms clinging snug between them, making you tug lightly at the wedgie that refused to stay fixed. The motion only made it worse. Or maybe… better, from their point of view.

Five heads turned at once. Their silence roared louder than the waves.

You stepped into the water, squealing softly as the cold nipped at your ankles and calves, the sudden chill a sharp contrast to the heat baking your skin. You waded deeper, letting the ocean climb up your thighs, then your hips. You laughed, tipping your head back, scooping the water up and splashing it onto your chest, gasping as it hit your skin, nipples visibly hardening through the thin, wet fabric.

On the shore, they didn’t move. They watched you like you were a vision, some kind of fantasy.

Soobin leaned toward Kai, voice hushed like he was scared you might somehow hear from all the way in the water. “Did she always look like that?”

Kai exhaled, eyes glazed over. “No,” he whispered. “She didn’t always wear that.”

Taehyun stayed quiet, fingers dug into the towel beneath him like he was grounding himself, jaw tight as he tracked every glint of sun off your wet skin.

Beomgyu still had the hat over his face, but you could see his chest rising faster now. Could see his leg bouncing. He hadn’t looked away once.

Yeonjun stood up suddenly, pacing in a tight, erratic line. “Okay,” he said, flustered, practically manic. “We can’t all be freaks. Someone. Someone normal go out there and splash her. Just, like, splash her. Like a normal person.”

No one volunteered. No one moved.

Soobin muttered under his breath, “You go splash her.”

“Me?” Yeonjun pointed at himself, scandalized. “I’m the only one not hiding a boner right now.”

Beomgyu wheezed from under his hat. Kai didn’t deny it. Neither did Taehyun.

And Soobin…

Soobin finally looked away from the water, flushed and frowning, like he hated himself for wanting to look again.

Out in the ocean, you floated on your back, blissfully unaware of the fire you’d lit behind you.

———

Beomgyu raised his hand, voice flat. “I will sacrifice myself to flirt publicly.”

There was a beat of silence.

Then…

“No flirting.”

Soobin’s voice cut through the tension, low and unexpectedly firm.

Everyone froze.

“…No flirting?” Beomgyu echoed, arching a brow, as if that was the most outrageous thing said all day.

Soobin cleared his throat, suddenly flustered. “I meant…shut up.” Beomgyu smirked. Taehyun looked away with a tight-lipped smile. Kai bit down on his bottom lip, trying not to laugh, but Soobin didn’t smile back.

Eventually, they all joined you in the water, one by one. Slowly. Trying to play it cool. Trying to act like it was normal. Like they weren’t all hard and suffering.

Yeonjun was first, running in fast and diving under to hide how low his swim trunks had started to sit. Kai followed close behind, laughing too loud, splashing Beomgyu on the way in like it gave him an excuse not to look directly at your chest.

Taehyun waded in carefully, keeping his hands beneath the surface, jaw clenched.

Soobin came last. He walked in stiffly, chest rising with every slow breath, water licking higher and higher up his body like it was trying to cool him down, though it did absolutely nothing.

Once they were close to you? That was a different story. It didn’t get easier for any of them. You couldn’t keep your distance. You leaned into them.

You wrapped your arms loosely around their shoulders as the waves gently lifted your body. Clung to them for balance. Laughed and floated, your weight shifting with the tide, your skin brushing theirs in innocent, unbearable contact.

Your thighs, soft and slick, slid against theirs when you hooked your leg lazily over their hips.

Your chest pressed against their chests, barely covered by wet fabric, nipples clearly visible through the soaked bikini top. The cool water made you shiver, but the warmth of their bodies pulled you closer. And every time a wave nudged you forward, you didn’t stop it.

You let yourself collide. You let them hold you, and each time, you felt the reaction.

Fingers dug into your waist, tight, almost possessive. The kind of grip that lingered even after they let go, like they didn’t realize they were holding you that hard. You could feel the tremble in their hands beneath the surface of the water, their restraint stretched thin.

Warm palms slid down to the backs of your thighs when you drifted too close, subtle at first, until their grip firmed, fingertips pressing into soft skin like they needed to ground themselves or they’d lose control completely.

Every time your skin brushed theirs, muscles flexed beneath your touch. Chest to chest. Hip to hip. That raw tension in their bodies, coiled tight, told you more than words ever could.

Their voices betrayed them more than once.

Yeonjun’s laugh cracked mid-sentence, a little too high. Beomgyu mumbled something that dissolved into a groan. Taehyun kept clearing his throat like he was trying to chase the rasp out of his voice.

Kai’s gaze was the loudest of all.

His eyes kept darting down and away, pretending to admire the water, the sky, literally anything else, but every time he thought you wouldn’t notice, his gaze locked onto you, onto the wet fabric clinging to your chest, the beads of water sliding down your stomach, the plush curve of your thighs beneath the rippling waves.

He stared too long, then looked away too fast and then stared again like he couldn’t help it. None of them could. Your body wasn’t just in their space anymore. It was everywhere.

Wrapped around them, slick with salt and sun and barely covered in wet fabric. Floating between them, brushing against them, igniting every nerve like a live wire.

None of them knew what to do with themselves.

Yeonjun gave up pretending entirely, the pink tip of his tongue wetting his bottom lip as you floated into him, tits pressing into his bare chest. “You’re dangerous,” he muttered under his breath, but he didn’t let go.

Beomgyu lifted you halfway out of the water once—gripping your waist like it was second nature, only to drop you with a sudden splash like it would erase the moment. It didn’t.

Soobin didn’t touch you for the longest time, but then your hand reached out for his shoulder as a wave rocked you, and your body slipped slightly, legs brushing his under the surface, your hand sliding across his chest.

He caught you.

Of course he did.

You slipped, just enough for it to matter, and Soobin’s arms were already there before you even called out. One strong hand clamped around your waist, the other steady at the small of your back, keeping you afloat like your body was made of something precious. Fragile. Dangerous.

His grip wasn’t hesitant. It was firm. Anchoring. His fingers splayed wide across your skin, pressing into the dip of your waist where the curve began, thumb brushing just under the edge of your bikini top, like he didn’t know or didn’t care how high he’d gone.

And then…his eyes met yours.

Chest to chest, water lapping between your bodies, the distance between your mouths was barely a breath.

Your lips parted.

His did too.

The tension between you snapped taut like a bowstring drawn too far. Every cell in your body felt aware, too aware, of his closeness. The heat of his breath mixing with yours. The tremble in his fingertips. The way his pupils were blown wide, drunk on adrenaline or desire or both.

“You okay?” he asked. His voice was rough.

Not because he meant it to be but because he couldn’t help it. You nodded, slowly. “Yeah.” But neither of you moved.

Your lips hovered too close. The kind of closeness that made your heart stutter and your breath catch. The kind that felt like gravity, like inevitability. Like if either of you so much as swayed, you’d kiss.

All of them saw

Yeonjun froze mid-step, jaw clenching as his gaze locked onto the space between your mouths. Beomgyu stopped laughing. His smirk faded into something unreadable, darker. Taehyun stood utterly still, his shoulders tense, chest rising a little too sharply. Kai… Kai’s eyes widened, his expression flickering between fascination and something like jealousy.

The tension wasn’t silent anymore. It wasn’t subtle. It was loud in its stillness. It demanded attention. Thick and oppressive, like the sun had dropped closer to the earth just to watch.

And all you had to do was keep floating. Keep pretending your chest wasn’t pressed to his. That your thighs hadn’t slid over his lap under the water. That you didn’t feel his breath ghost across your cheek like a promise.

———-

Later, after the sun had dipped lower in the sky and your skin was still warm from salt and heat, you stood at the edge of the beach, towel in hand, brushing off the sand that clung to your thighs.

Soobin watched you.

From behind his sunglasses, half-reclined on a chair he hadn’t moved from in nearly thirty minutes, he just… stared. Not distractedly. Not casually. With intent. With weight. Like he was trying to memorize every inch of you now that the water no longer distorted your shape now that the wet fabric clung tighter, outlining everything the waves had once hidden.

He didn’t flinch when you caught him.

You arched an eyebrow, smirking to yourself, and bent to shake out your towel. A playful flick of your wrist, your hips tilting just slightly, ass angled back as you gave the damp cloth a snap in the breeze.

That’s when you heard it..

A sharp, sudden cough.

You straightened and turned. Soobin had definitely choked. His hand hovered in front of his mouth, eyes wide behind dark lenses. His chest rose in a shallow breath, and his jaw tensed hard enough to tick.

“You okay?” you asked, amused, slinging the towel over your shoulder.

He lowered his hand, slowly. Pulled his sunglasses down just enough for you to see his eyes. Dark, glossy, burning with something he hadn’t yet said out loud.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you?” he rasped. You blinked. Caught off guard. “I… just bought the wrong size.”

Your voice was soft. Honest. Almost shy. Soobin’s smile in response was anything but innocent. It curled up slow, like it knew something.

“That’s the problem,” he murmured.

There it was. The tension you thought had peaked earlier? It surged again, hot and electric, crawling up your spine, settling low in your belly. The way he said it wasn’t teasing, but a confession.

That’s the problem.

That you didn’t know what you were doing. That you didn’t mean to drive them crazy, but you were. That your softness, your skin, your shape, the stretch of that little bikini, they’d been suffering through it all day.

Now? Now it was starting to show.

———-

The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, staining the sky in soft oranges and dusky pinks. Shadows stretched long over the sand as the day’s heat clung stubbornly to your skin, sticking grains of salt and sunscreen to your thighs. Everything smelled like summer, warm skin, coconut lotion, and the fading tang of the ocean breeze.

Everyone was sun-dazed and loose-limbed, voices slower, laughter easier.

But the ease didn’t last.

The moment you all reached the van, parked just off the beach path, reality hit like a brick to the face.

The back was stuffed.

Coolers. Inflated floaties. A folding beach umbrella that no one managed to close properly. A stack of towels, bags of snacks, Beomgyu’s inexplicably large duffel bag full of God-knows-what. It looked less like a day trip and more like an emergency evacuation.

“There’s only five seats,” Yeonjun muttered, staring into the packed abyss like it had personally offended him.

Kai ducked his head into the back and grimaced. “Back seat’s stuffed to hell,” he confirmed. “There’s no room unless you wanna sit on the watermelon.”

You blinked. “Wait… so where am I supposed to sit?” Five pairs of eyes turned to you at once.

And something about that look, the shift, the tension that immediately snapped into place, made your stomach dip.

Like they’d all just been waiting for this moment. Then, in rapid succession:

“I’ve got space,” Yeonjun said quickly, patting his lap with exaggerated enthusiasm, eyes already gleaming with challenge.

“She can sit on me,” Beomgyu added, slinging his arm over the door frame with a cocky grin. “I’ve got excellent shock absorption. Certified.”

“No,” Soobin cut in, voice low and even. “She’ll be more comfortable here.” He shifted in his seat, spreading his knees just slightly. Subtle. Possessive. Certain.

Taehyun didn’t say much. Just reached for the seatbelt across his chest and unhooked it, already leaning over like he was expecting you to take the offer. “Come here,” he said simply, without looking at anyone else.

Kai on the other hand, he didn’t say a word. Just opened his arms wide from his spot in the middle row, eyes soft and pleading, like his lap was the most natural option. Like of course you’d sit there. Like he’d been waiting for it all day.

Your gaze flicked between them.

All five.

All watching you.

The air suddenly felt heavier, hotter, thick with something that had been simmering under the surface for hours. Their gazes weren’t innocent anymore. Not after today. Not after the water. Not after the way you’d clung to them, touched them, let yourself float between their hands like you belonged there.

This wasn’t about who had space. This was about who got to touch you. Who got to feel your weight. Your thighs. Your chest pressing against them as the car jostled down the road.

You could see it in their eyes. Feel it in the way their bodies leaned forward, chests rising just a little faster than before.

“Any volunteers to sit in the trunk with Beomgyu’s flamingo float?” you joked weakly, trying to cut the tension.

No one laughed. They were waiting…for you.

You blinked at them all, stunned. “You guys…”

“We’re being practical,” Soobin said quickly, voice an octave too high to be convincing. “Weight distribution.”

You raised a brow, trying to bite back your laugh. “Right. Very scientific.” No one offered a better explanation.

And so, after a beat, after scanning the vehicle and their eager, barely restrained faces, you sighed and slid toward the middle seat. Soobin was already there, long legs spread slightly, seatbelt buckled and posture just stiff enough to suggest he was trying very, very hard to act unbothered.

You chose him because it felt like the safest option.

Or at least… it should have been.

At first.

You turned, easing your back toward him and bracing one hand on the seat for balance. Your bikini bottoms were still damp, clinging to your skin, the fabric snug where it hugged between your thighs. When you lowered yourself onto him, it wasn’t slow enough to avoid contact. It was too slow. Your hips met his with a soft, wet sound, skin meeting skin beneath the thin barrier of nylon.

You shifted. Just a little. Trying to balance. Your thighs spread slightly across his lap for stability, and you felt it instantly.

The hard ridge pressed between you. The tension in his muscles. The way his breath stuttered in his chest.

Soobin hissed through his teeth.

You froze.

“You okay?” you asked, half-turning to look at him over your shoulder.

He was trying. You could tell he was trying to keep it together. His jaw was clenched, shoulders stiff, and his hands, large and warm, hovered awkwardly at your waist. Not touching, not fully resting, just trembling slightly in place like he didn’t trust himself to move.

“Yeah,” he said, a little too fast. His voice was hoarse, cracking around the edges. “Mhm. Totally fine.”

He wasn’t fine. Not when you could feel his thighs tighten beneath you. You could hear the subtle catch in his breath every time you adjusted. You could sense how hard he was trying not to react.

The car door shut behind you, sealing the two of you in. The rest of the guys piled in around you—Kai and Beomgyu in the back, Taehyun sliding into the passenger seat, Yeonjun behind the wheel.

But Soobin didn’t move. Barely even let out a breath.

And when the car hit the first bump in the road, jolting your body down harder onto his lap, you felt it. That deep, involuntary groan in his chest he tried and failed to stifle.

———-

The van bumped along the uneven road, the hum of tires on gravel the only sound as conversation had long since dwindled into charged silence. The sun dipped lower outside the windows, casting the car in warm amber light, soft shadows flickering across your bare thighs as you shifted in Soobin’s lap.

You didn’t realize what had happened.

The thin fabric of your cover-up had ridden up when you climbed in, bunched beneath your ass and exposing more skin than you meant to. And your bikini top, still damp, still clinging, had started to loosen at the left strap. Not enough to notice right away. But just enough that, with each subtle bounce of the vehicle, the fabric tugged. Shifted. Slid.

The left strap slipped further.

And further.

And you didn’t notice.

But Soobin did.

He stiffened beneath you, hands suddenly flying to your waist, fingers gripping with sharp intensity. His breath hitched at your back.

“Wait…don’t move..” he said, low and urgent.

But it was too late.

You reached down toward the door pocket, the curve of your body folding forward, your spine brushing his chest. The motion pulled the front of your top downward, straining the already-too-small triangles of fabric.

Then-

The soft snap of tension giving way.

Air hit your skin.

Your left nipple slipped out. Just enough.

A delicate peek of darkened skin beneath the edge of your bikini top. A soft curve, unmistakable in shape and contrast. Briefly, heartbreakingly visible in the golden light through the windshield.

Yeonjun saw it first. He choked on his own spit.

“Cough—!”

He turned his head so fast you thought he might give himself whiplash, ears instantly flushed red. His hand slammed against the steering wheel like he’d just seen a crime.

Beomgyu… didn’t look away.

His jaw flexed, his fingers tightening into fists on his thighs. His eyes darkened. He adjusted his swim shorts with a jerk of his hand, shifting like he was uncomfortably hard now, and not even trying to hide it.

Kai looked like he was physically holding his breath, lips parted slightly, his entire body frozen mid-turn like he’d been about to speak but forgot how to.

And Taehyun, up in the front passenger seat? Completely still. Stiff shoulders. Straight spine. The only movement was the subtle clench of his hands on his knees.

But underneath you…

Soobin made a sound.

A low, desperate sound that was half groan, half gasp. It came from deep in his chest, raw and barely contained. You felt the vibration of it through your back, your hips, all the way down your thighs.

“What?” you asked, frowning, blinking in confusion as you glanced down-

-and then you saw it.

Your heart stuttered. Your breath left in a sharp rush. “Shit—!”

You scrambled to fix it, one arm flying up to cover your chest, the other tugging your top desperately back into place. But before you could reach-

Soobin’s hand caught your wrist. Big, warm fingers curling around your forearm. Your breath caught. You looked back at him over your shoulder.

His eyes were unreadable behind his sunglasses, but his lips were parted, cheeks flushed, throat working around a thick swallow. His grip didn’t ease, his other hand still trembling on your waist.

“Don’t,” he said, voice barely audible.

“It’s okay,” Soobin murmured, his breath hot against your shoulder. “Just… don’t panic.”

You turned your head slightly, barely able to hear him over the pounding of your own pulse. “Don’t panic?” you whispered, breathless, eyes wide. You were too aware of everything. Your wet skin, the thin bikini clinging to you, the eyes watching you from every angle.

But most of all… you felt him. His thighs shifted subtly beneath you, trying (and failing) to adjust. And that’s when you felt it.

Hard.

Thick.

Pressed right between your legs where your soaked bikini bottoms had molded to your heat like a second skin. There was no space left between you. Every movement, every breath, made it worse.

Or better.

“You’re driving them crazy,” he said, voice hushed and tight. Your head spun. “Not on purpose,” you whispered back.

“I know.”

And the way he said it…

His voice was lower now. Gravelly. Almost broken. Darker. “That’s the worst part.”

Your breath caught.

You looked down, cheeks burning as your shaking hands tugged your top back into place, hiding the slip of skin that had sent a shockwave through the car. But it was too late to take it back. The air had already changed. Thick and heavy, humid with tension. The windows were beginning to fog at the corners, clouding the outside world from view.

Inside the van, it felt like something feral was growing.

Beomgyu shifted in the back seat. His legs were spread wider now, elbows digging into his knees, head bowed low like he needed to concentrate just to breathe. Sweat glistened along his neck, his Adam’s apple bobbing hard with each swallow.

Kai was openly staring at your thighs. His lip was caught between his teeth, bitten so hard it had turned red. His hands clenched into fists on either side of his seat, but his eyes never moved. He looked dazed. Desperate.

Yeonjun let his head fall back against the driver’s seat with a heavy thud and groaned. “We’re gonna need a cold shower after this,” he muttered to no one in particular, one hand adjusting himself beneath the steering wheel like he didn’t care who saw anymore.

Soobin wasn’t hovering anymore. His hands were on you. Firm.

Heavy palms cupping your hips like you were something delicate and breakable and already his. His thumbs brushed over the soft curve of your sides, just beneath the edge of your top, pressing possessively into your skin like he was branding the moment into memory.

He hadn’t let go since the wardrobe mishap.

And now, it was clear he didn’t intend to.

You sat perfectly still, your back pressed to his chest, your breathing shallow. You didn’t dare move again. Not with the way his fingers flexed just slightly every time your thighs shifted.

————-

The beach house was dimly lit, golden shadows stretching along the walls as the last of the sun sank behind the horizon. The air inside clung to your skin, thick with ocean humidity and heat still radiating from your post-shower body.

You towel-dried your hair slowly, warm droplets sliding down your bare shoulders. Everything felt soft and quiet. The kind of stillness that happens before something breaks.

You’d thrown on the only sleep set you’d packed, not realizing how bad how good the fit had become.

The tank top was cropped. Really cropped. The fabric was soft and thin, worn from washing, now hugging every curve of your chest. It clung to the swell of your breasts, dipping dangerously low and riding high, just brushing the lower edge of your underboob. You hadn’t packed a bra. The air in the house was cool enough for that to be obvious.

The shorts?

Even worse.

Stretchy. Breathable. Meant for lounging. But now they fit like a second skin, rising high on your waist and gripping your hips so tight the seam strained. The soft material framed the curve of your ass, the bottom hem barely visible under the fullness of your thighs. Every step made the fabric shift higher, and you kept tugging it down without realizing just how much attention that alone would draw.

You didn’t even hesitate when you padded barefoot down the hallway, still warm and clean and relaxed. You weren’t thinking about how you looked.

You didn’t know yet.

Until you walked into the living room. Everything stopped. The soft hum of a fan. The low buzz of someone’s phone. The murmur of whatever background show Beomgyu had turned on…

All of it cut out. Not because the sound stopped.

But because they did.

Yeonjun was on the arm of the couch, drink halfway to his mouth. It never made it. He froze completely, eyes dragging over your body. Slow, stunned, unreadable.

Beomgyu had been mid-laugh, something clever on his tongue, until he caught a glimpse of your bare stomach and how your shorts shifted with your step. His mouth stayed open, but no sound came out.

Kai looked up from his phone. Blinked once. Twice. Then again like he was short-circuiting, face flushed as his gaze zeroed in on your thighs and didn’t move.

Taehyun stiffened where he sat on the floor, remote in hand. His fingers twitched like he forgot what he was doing. His eyes locked on the outline of your nipples against the thin tank top, visible even in the soft lamplight.

Soobin had been standing in the kitchen doorway, sipping from a glass of water. The glass tilted, ice clinking. But his eyes never left you. His gaze dropped down the full length of your body and dragged back up with unforgiving slowness.

His grip on the glass tightened. Water dripped from the edge. He didn’t blink.

You stopped halfway into the room, towel still slung over your shoulder.

“…What?” you asked.

The word barely made it out of your mouth. The room was silent. Thick, hot, achingly still.

Yeonjun cleared his throat, but it didn’t help much. His voice came out low and rough, like it scraped the edge of his throat. “What’re you wearing?”

You blinked. “Pajamas.”

But when you glanced down at the soft stretch of your tank top clinging tight to your breasts, at the way your shorts hugged your hips and disappeared beneath the curve of your thighs, you suddenly understood.

Soobin’s jaw tensed visibly. “That’s not pajamas,” he said, voice quiet but razor sharp. “That’s… that’s barely anything.”

“I-it’s hot,” you said, crossing your arms instinctively over your chest, but it only pressed your tits up higher. The thin fabric clung to your damp skin, and you were sure he could see the outline of your nipples through it.

“You’re not making it better,” Beomgyu muttered, dragging his hand down his face like it physically hurt to look at you. His eyes dipped low again anyway. He looked wrecked. Hair messy, lips parted, expression tight like he was holding something back and barely succeeding.

Kai shifted again on the couch and picked up a pillow—not for comfort, not really. He set it in his lap, then dropped his head back against the cushions with a quiet, frustrated groan.

Taehyun still hadn’t moved. He hadn’t blinked. He was staring at the spot where your shirt had ridden up just above your belly button, lips parted slightly like he couldn’t stop tracing your skin with his eyes.

You took a half step backward. “Are you seriously-? Guys. I just took a shower.”

“Yeah,” Yeonjun said slowly, eyes flicking up and down your body with a look that made your knees weak. “And now you’ve walked in here like that, and what- expected us to act normal?”

“I didn’t mean-”

Soobin stepped forward. Everything in you stilled. His body was close. Warm. Tall and quiet and buzzing with something heavy beneath the surface.

“You have no idea what you’re doing to us, do you?” he said. His voice wasn’t loud. It was low, almost gentle. But it sent a chill straight down your spine. You swallowed. Your chest rose with a shaky breath. “No. I really don’t.”

Soobin’s gaze dropped. Traced your curves, slowly. He looked at the way your top pressed into your chest, at the damp hair curling around your collarbone, at the bare skin between your thighs where your shorts had ridden up.

“Then I’ll tell you,” he murmured. You didn’t stop him.

“You walk in here like that,” he continued, voice like velvet soaked in heat, “wearing next to nothing, smelling like soap and salt and whatever lotion you just used, and you expect us to pretend we haven’t been dying to touch you all day?”

Your breath caught in your throat.

He reached out, hesitated, then rested one hand lightly on your hip. His fingers barely curled around the softness there.

“You’re making us crazy.”

Behind you, Beomgyu shifted, leaning forward. Kai’s voice was quiet. “Every time you moved, I could see the shape of your ass under those shorts. I had to sit with a pillow on my dick the entire ride home.”

Taehyun finally spoke. Voice low. Even. “You didn’t know what you were doing. But we did. We knew what this was.” You blinked at them, heart pounding in your chest.

Yeonjun stood, walking toward you with slow, careful steps, his gaze sharp and unreadable.

“But the question is,” he said softly, “what do you want to happen now?” You opened your mouth. No words came. Soobin’s hand tightened slightly on your hip.

Yeonjun stepped closer. Beomgyu’s knee brushed the back of your thigh as he leaned in, voice a whisper behind you.

“Because if you don’t want us to touch you…” His breath hit your ear.

“Say so now.”

Then Soobin moved behind you. Pressed his chest to your back. His lips brushed your ear.

“Let us touch you,” he murmured. “Please.”

And you… nodded.

———-

You didn’t say no. You didn’t say anything at all. That silence was everything they needed.

Soobin was the first to move.

His hand, already resting gently on your hip, thumb brushing the hem of your too-tight sleep shorts, began to slide lower. Slow. Careful. Like he didn’t want to startle you. Like you were something delicate and sacred.

He cupped the plush curve of your thigh, fingers spreading to feel just how thick and warm your skin was beneath his palm. His grip tightened, not rough, but firm, as if he needed to anchor himself there. Like letting go wasn’t an option.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, voice so low it nearly disappeared into the heat between you.

“I’m nervous,” you breathed.

He smiled against your shoulder. You didn’t see it, but you felt it. A quiet tug of his lips brushing your skin. His breath was warm, steady, grounding.

“We’ll take care of you,” he whispered. “Every inch.”

Behind you, the air shifted.

Beomgyu leaned in so close that his chest barely ghosted your back, and the heat of his breath fanned across the side of your neck. It made you shiver again, despite the warmth of the room.

Then his hands.

One slid around your waist, large and warm, settling on the soft swell of your belly, his thumb rubbing small, slow circles against your skin as if memorizing how you felt.

The other?

It moved higher. Up, up, lightly grazing over your ribs until his fingertips brushed the underside of your breast through the paper-thin tank top. You weren’t wearing a bra. He knew that. He’d known the moment you walked into the room. But now he could feel it.

His fingers traced the edge of your softness, reverent. Tempted. Barely touching, but worshiping with every inch of skin he could reach.

“You’re so soft,” he whispered, voice almost dazed. “So fucking soft.”

His hand splayed fully now, fingertips skimming the side of your breast, pressing just enough to feel the weight of it in his palm.

He wasn’t teasing. He sounded… awestruck.

Like he couldn’t believe he was finally touching you like this. Like you were real, and warm, and his fingers were allowed to explore everything he’d only ever imagined.

Soobin’s hand moved again, dragging upward from your thigh to your waist, where he met Beomgyu’s grip. His palm pressed flat against your belly, fingertips dipping beneath the hem of your tank top to stroke the skin there. His other hand traced the outside of your thigh, then slid back and cupped the underside of your ass, fingers digging in a little harder now.

“You’re trembling,” Soobin said again, voice deeper now. Beomgyu let out a breathy laugh against your ear.

“She likes it,” he said. “You like being touched like this, don’t you?” You nodded this time.

“Say it,” Yeonjun’s voice came from in front of you—lower, rougher, his eyes dark and fixed on where their hands touched your body. “We want to hear it.”

“I like it,” you whispered. “I—I like it.”

Taehyun stepped closer now. He’d been watching in silence, unmoving, unreadable, but now his eyes were hot, his lips parted. He ran two fingers along your arm, then up to your jaw, tilting your head so he could look into your eyes.

“Tell us if it’s too much,” he said quietly.

Your breath caught. “It’s not,” you said.

Kai’s hand joined the others next, brushing lightly over your hip, his touch feather-light but hungry, sliding around the dip of your waist as he bent low to press a kiss to the center of your back.

“We’ve wanted this,” he said. “We’ve wanted you.” Yeonjun stepped in next, cupping your jaw and tilting your face up toward his. “If you want to stop, say it now.”

You didn’t. You couldn’t. You just nodded, lips parted, body buzzing.

That was all it took.

Yeonjun’s mouth was on yours. Hot, slow, possessive. He kissed you like he owned the moment, like he’d been imagining this for years. And as soon as he pulled back, Kai’s lips were replacing his, gentler but no less desperate.

Their hands moved slowly at first.

Kai knelt in front of you, hands sliding up your thighs, pushing the hem of your sleep shorts higher and higher until his thumbs grazed your inner thighs.

Soobin slipped behind you, fingers teasing under the hem of your tank, skimming the base of your spine.

“Can I take this off?” he murmured against your shoulder.

You nodded.

He lifted the tank over your head, and the room went silent. Then Taehyun, still quiet, still intense, reached forward and ran his hand along the side of your bare breast.

“Perfect,” he whispered.

Beomgyu let out a breath like he’d been punched.

“You’ve been hiding this from us all day,” he muttered. “This fucking body.”

“Didn’t mean to,” you mumbled, cheeks hot.

“Doesn’t matter now,” Yeonjun said, leaning down to kiss along the curve of your neck. “You’re ours.”

Soobin’s hands moved to your chest, cupping your tits from behind, fingers rolling your nipples while Kai kissed lower down your belly, worshipping the softness, the way you curved under his hands.

Then his tongue met the waistband of your shorts.

“Please,” you breathed, voice already breaking. “Touch me.” Kai smiled up at you from between your legs, eyes half-lidded with hunger, his breath hot against your thighs.

“I was waiting for you to ask.”

His fingers curled into the waistband of your shorts, dragging them down slowly. Inch by inch. So slow it made you tremble. The elastic caught on the curve of your ass, then slipped down, exposing more of your soft, wet heat until you were completely bare in front of them.

“Holy shit,” Kai whispered, voice caught somewhere between awe and arousal. His eyes locked on your soaked cunt. Your folds glistening, twitching with need, already messy without a single touch.

“She’s soaked,” he murmured again, almost like he didn’t believe it. “Dripping down her fucking thighs.”

Beomgyu was already on his knees beside him, mouth parted, pupils blown wide. “Can I taste?” he asked, voice rasping, fingers twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back by sheer force.

Kai looked up at you. “You okay with that?”

“Please,” you begged, your voice wrecked. “I want all of you. I want-fuck, please.”

You felt Soobin’s hands slide under your thighs, lifting you slightly, turning you in his lap so your legs fell open over his. He held you there. Open, exposed, vulnerable and throbbing, your cunt bare and twitching just inches from Kai’s face.

“You’re gonna let us ruin you tonight,” Soobin whispered against your ear, voice trembling with restraint. “You understand that?”

You nodded, helpless and breathless. “Yes.” Then Kai’s mouth was on you. His tongue dragged up your slit, slow, flat, starving, and you cried out, back arching, hands flying to his hair.

He groaned into your cunt like he was dying, sucking your clit into his mouth and flicking his tongue fast—wet, messy, relentless. The sound of it was obscene, every slurp echoing through the living room, filling your ears, making your toes curl.

And then Beomgyu joined him. Two mouths. Two tongues. One sliding lower. Fucking you open with deep, slow thrusts of his tongue, pressing into your hole like he couldn’t get deep enough. The other sucking your clit, lips swollen, nose buried in the wet between your thighs.

“Oh my fucking god—” you moaned, loud, raw, completely unraveling. Your knees jerked, thighs trembling, but Soobin’s hands kept you spread wide.

“Let them taste you,” he murmured, biting gently at your shoulder. “Be good and take it.”

You were good. You were falling apart.

Yeonjun stepped in front of you, cupping your cheeks, tilting your head up so your eyes met his. He kissed you hard. Tongue deep, fast, hungry, swallowing your moans as they ripped from your throat.

Taehyun stood behind Soobin, stroking himself slow, watching your body twitch and tremble in his hyung’s lap. “She looks so fucking pretty like this,” he said, voice low. “Look at her. She’s shaking.”

Kai moaned into you, tongue flicking over your clit fast and brutal while Beomgyu’s fingers replaced his tongue curling inside you, thick, relentless, pressing just right.

“Gyu—Kai—I’m gonna—” you choked out. Soobin kissed your temple. “Give it to them.”

You came with a scream, legs snapping around their heads, cunt clenching around Beomgyu’s fingers as Kai sucked your orgasm out of you like he’d been starving for it. You felt the drip of your release spill down between your thighs. You felt them lap it up.

And when you started to squirm, overstimulated, Kai just held your hips down and muttered against your pussy, “Not done yet.”

Beomgyu looked up, lips and chin soaked, eyes wild. “We haven’t even started.”

————

Moving into one of the bedrooms, they laid you down like you were something to be unwrapped. Treasured and ruined all at once. Your back hit the mattress, the sheets cool beneath your heated skin, and you barely had a chance to breathe before they were on you.

All of them hard, heavy with lust, eyes dark with the same hunger.

Soobin was already between your thighs, running the thick length of his cock along your folds slow and teasing, dragging through the slickness there like he owned you. “She’s so wet,” he growled, more to the others than to you. “She’s ready for it.”

Kai’s mouth was soft on your stomach, lips dragging up the line of your navel, his hands gripping your hips like he wanted to hold you still like he was already struggling to behave. “Please,” he whispered, his breath ghosting across your skin, “I want to be inside her so bad.”

Taehyun leaned in beside your ear, voice low and breath hot. “Let me go first. Just a taste.” His cock pressed against your thigh, twitching, leaking against your skin.

“No,” Soobin snapped. “She’s mine right now.”

He pushed in. Slow. Stretching you open around his thick cock until your back arched off the bed and your fingers scrambled at the sheets. The others watched, mesmerized, panting, jerking themselves slowly as they waited their turn. You swore you could hear Kai whimper. Taehyun bit his lip hard enough to bleed.

Soobin fucked you deep. So deep it felt like he was in your stomach, every inch of him thick and pulsing inside your soaked cunt. He wasn’t gentle. He didn’t ease you in or give you time to adjust. He wanted to feel you break around him. Wanted to feel your body give out from how hard he was using it.

His hips dragged back slowly, teasing your walls as his cock slid out with a slick, wet sound, then he slammed forward, the force of it jolting your entire body up the bed. You cried out, but he didn’t slow down. He just grunted, rough and low, holding your thighs wide apart, watching the way your pussy swallowed him whole over and over again.

“Fuck, look at that,” he growled, voice wrecked, sweat dripping from his jaw. “You’re soaked. You hear that?”

And you could. Every thrust filled the room with the obscene, squelching sound of your cunt clinging desperately to his cock. Wet and needy and messy.

The bedframe slammed against the wall with every brutal stroke. You felt the wood creak beneath you, the sheets already damp with sweat and slick and drool. Soobin’s hands kept you pinned down, fingers digging into your hips hard enough to bruise because you were squirming, legs shaking, body trembling, and he didn’t want you to move an inch.

“You gonna cum already?” he sneered, bending over you, chest pressing to yours. “We just started, baby. You better hold it.”

But your body betrayed you. Your back arched off the bed. Your nails raked down his back. And when he shifted his angle, grinding the head of his cock against your sweet spot over and over, punishingly precise. You shattered.

Your orgasm ripped through you like lightning. Your vision went white. Your pussy clenched down so hard on him he snarled against your neck, biting down to muffle the sound. You felt yourself gush around him, slick pouring down your thighs.

But Soobin didn’t stop. He fucked you through it, kept pounding into your overstimulated cunt like he wanted to make you cry. And you did. Tears slipping down your cheeks as your body thrashed beneath him.

“So tight when you cum,” he breathed, watching your face twist in pleasure and pain. “Fuck-you were made for this.”

And then he pulled out slow, dragging every inch of himself from your dripping hole, and you barely had time to catch your breath before the next cock replaced his.

Taehyun was already in position. Cock thick, flushed, slick with precum. His chest heaved as he stared down at you, pupils blown wide with lust. He didn’t wait. Didn’t even pretend to give you time. He just shoved in hard, burying himself to the hilt in one brutal thrust that knocked the breath out of your lungs.

Your scream tore through the room, but it melted into a whimper as his cock stretched your already-fucked pussy even more, pushing against the swollen, sensitive walls Soobin had just wrecked. He groaned, the sound raw and desperate, his hands gripping your thighs and pulling them over his shoulders so he could drive even deeper.

“F-fuck,” Taehyun gasped, snapping his hips into you without mercy. “She’s still tight-how the fuck—?”

He sounded delirious. Ferocious. You felt his abs flex with every thrust as he bent over you, chest shining with sweat, the muscles in his arms trembling from how hard he was gripping you.

He didn’t ease up.

His cock slammed into you again and again, the head hitting your sweet spot like he knew exactly where it was. The way he moved was animalistic. Deep and punishing, his balls slapping against your ass wetly with each thrust. Your cunt squelched around him, loud, messy, soaking both of you, and he growled from the sensation, letting his head fall into the crook of your neck.

“Fuck—so warm—so fucking good—”

You couldn’t speak. You couldn’t think. Your eyes rolled back, drool slipping down your cheek as Taehyun rutted into you like he was trying to fuck your soul out of your body.

Then you felt fingers in your hair.

Yeonjun.

He crouched behind you, fist pumping slowly along his shaft as his other hand curled into your scalp, lifting your head. Your mouth parted on instinct, lips wet and swollen, and he pressed the tip of his cock to your tongue.

“Open that pretty mouth,” he said, voice like silk over fire. “Let me in.”

You obeyed. Lips stretching, tongue out, welcoming him in as Taehyun fucked you from below.

Yeonjun slid into your mouth. Slow and teasing, until his cock pressed against the back of your throat. You gagged slightly, eyes watering, and he groaned deep in his chest, thumb brushing the corner of your lips as your mouth stretched wide around him.

“That’s it. Just like that,” he murmured, hips starting to roll as he face-fucked you in time with Taehyun’s brutal thrusts. “Use that throat, baby. Show me how much you want it.”

Your body was sandwiched. Taehyun’s cock slamming into your dripping pussy, Yeonjun’s sliding deep into your throat. You couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t moan. Your only sounds were muffled gags and the wet, obscene music of skin on skin, slick on slick.

Your arms flailed weakly, fingers clawing at the sheets, legs twitching around Taehyun’s shoulders. You were dizzy. Fucked out. Ruined.

But they weren’t done with you. Not even close.

Kai slipped between your legs while Taehyun pulled out, your pussy raw, gaping, still fluttering from the relentless pounding. Slick coated your thighs, shining on your skin, dripping into the ruined sheets below. You were barely coherent. Panting, shaking, tears streaked down your face, but Kai looked at you like you were the most fragile, beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

He was the only one who hesitated.

He knelt there, cock hard and leaking against his stomach, fingers stroking your inner thighs with reverence. His voice trembled when he leaned in, mouth brushing your cheek, your jaw, your collarbone. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, breath hot against your skin. “I’ll be gentle, I promise…”

But your body was soaked, stretched, begging, and when he finally pressed in, his entire body shuddered.

“Fuck,” Kai gasped, burying himself inside you inch by inch. “You’re so warm. So fucking wet—shit—”

He paused once he was fully in, letting your walls squeeze around him, his forehead resting against yours. For a moment, you thought he might actually stay soft, sweet. But then your pussy clenched, instinctive and greedy, pulsing around his cock—and that fragile control snapped.

His hands suddenly gripped your hips tight, hard enough to bruise and he slammed into you. The sudden force knocked your breath out. Kai cursed again, louder this time, his voice breaking.

“I-I’m sorry,” he gasped, even as his hips snapped forward again and again. “I—fuck—I can’t stop—I need you—I need you so bad—”

The rhythm turned feral. No more gentle apologies. Just frantic, desperate thrusts. His cock drilling into your soaked, overstimulated cunt like he was trying to melt into you. The boy who always smiled, who always giggled shyly behind his hands, was gone.

This Kai was trembling. Sweating. Obsessed.

“Been dreaming of this,” he choked out, mouth dragging along your throat, your jaw, your lips. “Every fucking night—touching myself—thinking about how you’d sound, how you’d feel, how you’d taste—”

One hand slid under your thigh, hooking it up around his waist so he could thrust even deeper, angling perfectly to grind against your swollen, sensitive spot. You cried out, legs kicking, body jolting beneath him.

Your pussy clenched again. Tight, needy, and he snapped, fucking into you like it was the only thing keeping him alive.

“You’re mine now,” he hissed, voice shaking. “Mine. I don’t care who had you first—I’m gonna fuck you so full of me you’ll forget every other name.”

And you did.

Because all you could feel was Kai—his cock stretching you open, his body flush to yours, his hands everywhere, his voice breaking as he moaned and babbled into your skin.

His thrusts grew erratic, wild. Hips stuttering against you as he buried himself to the hilt, cock twitching deep inside your soaked cunt. His nails dug into your waist as his moans turned desperate, raw, needy.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—” he gasped, voice cracking, forehead pressed against yours, sweat dripping onto your cheeks. “I’m gonna cum—inside—inside you—can I? Please—please let me—”

But he didn’t wait for an answer.

Your pussy clenched around him again, and that was it.

Kai let out a strangled cry somewhere between a whimper and a broken sob as his cock throbbed violently, and then he came. Hard.

You felt it.

Hot, thick spurts of cum flooded your already ruined pussy, shooting deep inside you with every twitch of his cock. He didn’t pull out. He pushed deeper, grinding into you, gasping as his seed spilled into your swollen walls.

“Shit—fuck—you’re taking all of it—fuck—” he babbled, watching your belly as if he could see himself filling you up.

You moaned beneath him, body shaking from the heat spreading through your core. His cum leaking out around his still-throbbing cock, dripping down your ass onto the sheets. But Kai didn’t stop moving. Even as he softened, he rocked his hips slowly, lazily fucking it deeper, making sure you didn’t waste a drop.

His hand slid down to your lower belly, pressing just slightly, watching your face twist in overstimulated bliss. “So full,” he whispered, eyes wide and dazed. “You’re so full of me, baby.”

Beomgyu was the last, but he didn’t rush.

He watched the whole time. Watched you get ruined. Watched your body go limp from overstimulation. Watched cum drip from your pussy in thick, creamy ropes (Kai’s, Taehyun’s, Soobin’s) all still inside you. Watched your lips swollen and glistening from Yeonjun fucking your throat raw. And the look on his face?

It wasn’t mercy. It was hunger.

He crawled up your body like a predator, one knee between your legs, one hand curling slowly around your throat. Not tight, not yet. Just enough to make you feel it. To remind you who was in control now.

“So used up,” Beomgyu murmured, eyes locked onto yours. “And you still want more.”

His cock was heavy and dripping, already slick from watching everything that came before. He didn’t line up right away. He just slapped it against your ruined, soaked cunt, watching your whole body jolt, watching more cum spill out of you from the impact. He rubbed the head through your folds slow and nasty, smearing the mess of the others across his shaft like it turned him on even more.

“Fuck, look at you,” he muttered, tightening his grip on your throat just slightly. “Stretched. Gaping. Perfect.”

And then he pushed in deliberate, every inch dragged through the slick mess until his cock was buried inside you, thick and pulsing. Your body spasmed beneath him. Sensitive, broken, but still greedy.

You moaned. A cracked, breathless sound, and Beomgyu grinned. That cocky, dangerous grin.

“There it is,” he said, leaning closer, lips brushing yours but not kissing. “Still got noise left in you.” Then he snapped his hips forward hard and you screamed.

His cock drove into you deep and fast, merciless from the first thrust. He wasn’t gentle. He wasn’t slow. He fucked you like he had a point to prove. Like he wanted to brand himself into your body and erase every other touch before him.

Slap. Slap. Slap.

His hips pounded into yours, balls hitting your ass with filthy, wet sounds. His hand around your throat squeezed tighter, just enough to make your breath hitch, to make your eyes widen.

“You like this, don’t you?” he growled. “Being our fucktoy. Getting filled over and over again until you can’t even think.”

Your cunt pulsed around him violently, and Beomgyu groaned.

“You do. Fuck—you’re clenching around me like you’re about to cum already.” His other hand dropped to your thigh, pushing your legs open wider. “I want you to milk my cock, baby. I want you to squeeze every last drop out of me. You want that too, don’t you?”

You nodded, barely able to speak.

And he rewarded you by fucking harder, hips slamming into you with vicious speed, the bed shaking, headboard banging against the wall.

The overstimulation was unbearable. His cock dragging against every hypersensitive inch of your soaked, cum-filled cunt, thick veins catching on your walls as he drove in again and again. You cried out, a choked wail, tears spilling, legs trembling, body locking up.

But he didn’t stop.

“Take it,” Beomgyu hissed, panting against your neck. “Fucking take it.”

And you did.

Because your body had no choice.

————-

They took you again and again. Positions changed. Hands were everywhere. On your tits, your throat, gripping your thighs open. Tongues traced every inch of your skin. Someone had a hand on your clit the entire time, rubbing, teasing, punishing. They didn’t stop. They didn’t let you stop.

You were soaked, dripping onto the sheets, onto their cocks. Leaking every time one of them pulled out. Your voice broke. Your body trembled. Your orgasm hit so hard you blacked out for a second, but they kept going.

You didn’t know who was inside you anymore. Whose cock was fucking your throat. Whose fingers were bruising your hips.

But you knew one thing:

You loved every filthy second of it.

[housecow]

do i look fat btw

i want wobbly fat arms and even bigger tits and a heavier belly nowww

[distastefulsideboob]

As radfems I think we need to be more comfortable calling Liberal sex worker women class traitors.

Obviously I'm not speaking about women who've been trafficked or groomed into the industry, but the women who have made an informed choice to join the industry from a privileged position for personal profit whilst actively contributing towards women's sexual objectification.

I saw an tiktok about a woman who was disciplined in the workplace for wearing an outfit that was "inappropriate". The picture displayed an attractive woman in her mid twenties with a curvaceous figure, the dress itself while form fitting was full coverage. I've experienced a similar situation so I had a lot of sympathy.

And yet when I clicked on her tiktok to see if there were updates about the situation, I saw multiple videos of her being "confronted" by a voiceless HR woman, in outfits that got progressively more revealing. It turned out this woman was an OnlyFans creator who had fabricated this situation to drive traffic to her page, showed videos of her in lingerie in her "office" and videos of her being groped at her desk by a faceless male "coworker." Her office job was nothing more than set dressing for her to film her adult content. Yet she performed as a woman experiencing sexual harassment and discrimination by her workplace, something that truly happens to millions of women at some point in their careers.

This is just one of many examples of sex workers fetishising real life situations that happen to women. There are many more examples of women who style themselves to emulate teenagers or children, who make content simulating being assaulted or raped.

And yet I'm supposed to support these women? The woman who deliberately talk over impoverished trafficked women, and use their platforms to campaign against regulations such as the Nordic model that would make the industry safer because it would impact their revenue? The women who tout the industry as being empowering and glamorous to teenage girls, and encourage them to join? (Don't forget that OnlyFans has an affiliate programme where you can sign up under another creator while they gain a percentage of your earnings, similar to an MLM.)

I'm tired of saying I'm against the industry but supportive of sex workers. I am supportive of women and girls who are victims of the industry but I refuse to pander to women who will gleefully participate in an industry that dehumanises all women whilst using feminism as a get out of jail free card.

[fellthemarvelous]

Deny. Defend. Depose.

It is clear to those of us that live in America, the only people we truly have on our side are ourselves. The ruling class has made it clear we don't matter to them.

Luigi Mangione was arrested and happened to have every single piece of evidence on him that law enforcement was looking for, including the parts for the ghost gun, inside his backpack (that he also got rid of in Central Park containing the Monopoly money???). Either he was trying to get caught or that evidence was planted. And when he was being forcefully pushed into the jail, he hollered back to the press about "injustice" and "being an insult to the intelligence of American citizens and our lived experiences."

The people have now turned against corporate America and the CEOs and billionaires are fucking terrified. Nothing the news stations are saying to us are changing our minds. The American people have finally united over this issue and there is no going back for us. Whoever did kill Brian Thompson (and theories abound on the game The Adjuster is playing because no one plays Monopoly alone) exposed the very real divide that exists between every day citizens and the extremely wealthy. Things were easier for them to control when they were able to divide us, but now that we are aware of how uncertain our future is in America and seeing just how little we matter to the people who take our money, we have realized that we have more in common with each other than the people who control every aspect of our lives. We are waking up.

There isn't one person in this country who hasn't been a victim to the predatory scam that is private health insurance. Medical debt is the leading cause of bankruptcy in America, and many of us are one ambulance ride or hospital stay away from homelessness. We all know people who have died because the insurance company denied them the treatment they needed or waited until it was too late for an approval of a medical claim to matter anymore.

Recently, I decided to be tested for autism and ADHD. Not life-threatening or anything, but my life is still in shambles and I want to know if I'm going untreated for something else. Before being tested though, I was informed that the insurance company (Aetna) has said that they were going to cover the full cost of the testing I was having (which was six hours of testing by the way). She even made sure several times that they were, in fact, going to cover it in full and they said yes.

The same day that Brian Thompson, CEO of another horrible healthcare company, was murdered in broad daylight, I received a call from that doctor's office with the woman telling me that Aetna was now telling her they never agreed to cover my testing and that they are going to bill me for $1600 (where the hell am I supposed to get that?) and she is fighting them, but considering our lives don't matter to the people who tell us what healthcare we are and are not allowed to receive, I don't think they will feel compelled to change their minds because they are bloodsucking parasites who only care about lining their pockets while I don't even have $6 lying around, let alone $1600!!

Corporate America leeches off our taxes. They take and take and take and we see nothing in return. They raise prices on insurance coverage and then deny us the very coverage that we pay for. They poison our food, price gouge our poisoned food, and then force us to pay for the treatment we get when the food makes us sick. Corporate America profits off of our hard work, our taxes, our health, our lives, our deaths.

I don't know if this will reach a larger audience or not, but I wanted to talk about it on Tumblr because this platform seems to be a crossroads for every type of creative soul. I initially brought up this idea on TikTok earlier, but I want to see if it can get traction in other places as well since I have fewer than 3,000 followers on TikTok (and I have seen a small few express interest in my idea in the hours since I posted the video.)

We're busy being lectured by politicians and the news media because while they are clutching their pearls at what happened to Brian Thompson, the rest of us do not give one single flying fuck about what happened to him. As CEO of a for-profit health insurance company, he signed off on denied claims and death for those of us who struggle to make it from one day to the next. The sicker you are, the poorer you are, the more they force you to struggle and pay. The love to deny coverage because regardless of whether we live or die, they already have the money we are forced to pay them.

I don't condone murder at all, but I also don't care that he was murdered because he was guilty of murdering so many more people in this country through legal means because it's profitable. The CEOs are scared and there are wanted posters with their names and faces popping up in places. Every CEO of every healthcare company is guilty of murdering Americans and they continue to go unpunished for it because "it's just business".

So (if you've read this far) all of this previous rambling is to say that I keep thinking about how I want to make an impression. I want to continue upsetting the billionaires and the CEOs because corporate America is full of murderers who are legally allowed to decide whether we live or die based on which outcome will give them more money.

I have thought about the idea of creating a wall/constructing a wall somewhere as an art piece or something (making a statement) that will somehow honor the memory of people who died because insurance denied them care.

I know I definitely want it to say something along the lines of "In memory of those murdered by for-profit healthcare systems in corporate America". Something blatant. Loud. Something they are forced to look at every single day. Somehow. The wall could have images of those who are gone, or names of the person who died with the name of the insurance company responsible for their death underneath. Just something to make it clear that we see them for what they are. Something to avenge those who were sacrificed so billionaires and CEOS and shareholders could brag about record profits. Something that shows the whole world that American citizens are waking up to who the real monsters are.

The Adjuster (whoever he is or is not) has fanned the flames of revolution in America. He managed to unite us in a way I can't even recall before. It's not over. We know what happened to Brian Thompson was just the beginning, and corporate America only just now realized how much we actually hate them. A single shooter has sparked an awakening in America that is starting to snowball into something much bigger.

So if there is anyone out there who might be interested in collaborating on something like this, please let me know. I know we are all tired and demoralized and we have no money. I want to make a statement though, and I love doing that through art or writing. Collaborating with other people who have been through this same shit will also probably help us unite even more.

This is a watershed moment in American history.

In the words of Kanan Jarrus, Jedi Knight,

"There is a future for us. One where we're all free. But it's up to us to make it happen."

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Return to office and dying on the job

Denise Prudhomme's bosses at Wells Fargo insisted that the in-person camaraderie of their offices warranted a mandatory return-to-office policy, but when she died at her desk in her Tempe, AZ office, no one noticed for four days.

That was in August. Now, Wells Fargo United has published a statement on her death, one that vibrates with anger at the callously selective surveillance that Wells Fargo inflicts on its workforce:

https://www.reddit.com/r/WellsFargoUnited/comments/1fnp9fa/please_print_and_take_to_your_managersite_leader/

The union points out that Wells Fargo workers are subjected to continuous, fine-grained on-the-job surveillance from a variety of bossware tools that count their keystrokes and create tables of the distancess their mice cross each day:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/02/24/gwb-rumsfeld-monsters/#bossware

Wells Fargo's message to its workforce is, "You can't be trusted," a policy that Wells Fargo doubled down on with its Return to Office mandate. Return to Office is often pitched as a chance to improve teamwork, communication, and human connection with your co-workers, and there's no arguing with the idea that spending some time in person with people can help improve working relationships (I attended a week-long, all-hands, staff retreat for EFF earlier this month and it was fantastic, primarily due to its in-person nature).

But our bosses don't want us back in the office because they enjoy our company, nor because they're so excited about having hired such a swell bunch of folks and can't wait to see how we all get along together. As John Quiggin writes, the biggest reason to force us back to the office is to get a bunch of us to quit:

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2024/sep/26/in-their-plaintive-call-for-a-return-to-the-office-ceos-reveal-how-little-they-are-needed

As one of Musk's toadies put it in a private message before the Twitter takeover, "Sharpen your blades boys. 2 day a week Office requirement = 20% voluntary departures":

https://techcrunch.com/2022/09/29/elon-musk-texts-discovery-twitter/

The other reason to spy on us is because they don't trust us. Remember all the panic about "quiet quitting" and "no one wants to work"? Bosses' hypothesis was that eking out a bare minimum living on from a couple of small-dollar covid stimulus checks was preferable to working for them for a full paycheck.

Every accusation is a a confession. When your boss tells you that he thinks that you can't be trusted to do a good job without total, constant surveillance, he's really saying, "I only bother to do my CEO job when I'm afraid of getting fired':

https://pluralistic.net/2024/04/19/make-them-afraid/#fear-is-their-mind-killer

As Wells Fargo United notes, Wells Fargo employees like Denise Prudhomme are spied on from the moment they set foot in the building until the moment they clock out (and sometimes the spying continues when you're off the clock):

Wells Fargo monitors our every move and keystroke using remote, electronic technologies—purportedly to evaluate our productivity—and will fire us if we are caught not making enough keystrokes on our computers.

The Arizona Republic coverage notes further that Prudhomme had to log her comings and goings from the Wells Fargo offices with a badge, so Wells Fargo could see that Prudhomme had entered the premises four days before, but hadn't left:

https://www.azcentral.com/story/news/local/tempe-breaking/2024/09/23/wells-fargo-employees-union-responds-death-tempe-woman/75352015007/

Wells Fargo has mandated in-person working, even when that means crossing a state line to be closer to the office. They've created "hub cities" where workers are supposed to turn up. This may sound convivial, but Prudhomme was the only member of her team working out of the Tempe hub, so she was being asked to leave her home, travel long distances, and spend her days in a distant corner of the building where no one ventured for periods of (at least) four days at a time.

Bosses are so convinced that they themselves would goof off if they could that they fixate on forcing employees to spend their days in the office, no matter what the cost. Back in March 2020, Charter CEO Tom Rutledge – then the highest-paid CEO in America – instituted a policy that every back office staffer had to work in person at his call centers. This was the most deadly phase of the pandemic, there was no PPE to speak of, we didn't understand transmission very well, and vaccines didn't exist yet. Charter is a telecommunications company and it was booming as workers across America upgraded their broadband so they could work from home, and the CEO's response was to ban remote work. His customer service centers were superspreading charnel houses:

https://pluralistic.net/2020/03/18/diy-tp/#sociopathy

That Wells Fargo would leave a dead employee at her desk for four days is par for the course for the third-largest commercial bank in America. This is Wells Fargo, remember, the company that forced its low-level bank staff to open two million fake accounts in order to steal from their customers and defraud their shareholders, then fired and blackballed staff who complained:

https://www.npr.org/sections/thetwo-way/2016/09/26/495454165/ex-wells-fargo-employees-sue-allege-they-were-punished-for-not-breaking-law

The executive who ran that swindle got a $125 million bonus:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2016/09/wells-fargo-ceos-teflon-don-act-backfires-at-senate-hearing-i-take-full-responsibility-means-anything-but.html

And the CEO got $200 million:

https://money.cnn.com/2016/09/21/investing/wells-fargo-fired-workers-retaliation-fake-accounts/index.html

It's not like Wells Fargo treats its workers badly but does well by everyone else. Remember, those fake accounts existed as part of a fraud on the company's investors. The company went on to steal $76m from its customers on currency conversions. They also foreclosed on customers who were up to date on their mortgages, seizing and selling off all their possessions. They argued that when bosses pressured tellers into forging customers on fraudulent account-opening paperwork, that those customers had lost their right to sue, since the fraudulent paperwork had a binding arbitration clause. When they finally agreed to pay restitution to their victims, they made the payments opt-in, ensuring that most of the millions of people they stole from would never get their money back.

They stole millions with fraudulent "home warranties." They stole millions from small businesses with fake credit-card fees. They defrauded 800,000 customers through an insurance scam, and stole 25,000 customers' cars with illegal repos. They led the pre-2008 pack on mis-selling deceptive mortgages that blew up and triggered the foreclosure epidemic. They loaned vast sums to Trump, who slashed their taxes, and then they fired 26.000 workers and did a $40.6B stock buyback. They stole 525 homes from mortgage borrowers and blamed it on a "computer glitch":

https://pluralistic.net/2021/09/29/jubilance/#too-big-to-jail

Given all this, two things are obvious: first, if anyone is going to be monitored for crimes, fraud and scams, it should be Wells Fargo, not its workers. Second, Wells Fargo's surveillance system exists solely to terrorize workers, not to help them. As Wells Fargo United writes:

We demand improved safety precautions that are not punitive or cause further stress for employees. The solution is not more monitoring, but ensuring that we are all connected to a supportive work environment instead of warehoused away in a back office.

Tor Books as just published two new, free LITTLE BROTHER stories: VIGILANT, about creepy surveillance in distance education; and SPILL, about oil pipelines and indigenous landback.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/09/27/sharpen-your-blades-boys/#disciplinary-technology

[mindless-existence1]

Kpop Demon Hunters

Humanized!Jinu x Manager!Reader

Summery: Jinu has a thing for the Saja Boys Manager whos friends with the Huntrix girls. Huntrix and Saja Boys work their magic and get you guys to confess

Authors note: Pretend Rumi and Jinu never had a thing pls 🙏 also requests are open for kpop demon hunters, check my page for more info.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When Jinu started the band he didnt really think about it fir the long run. Once the hunmoon was broken and Huntrix eas taken down the band would disban. But the hunmoon didnt break and now hes in a rising star kpop group.

With no experience whats so ever.

Thats when Huntrix stepped in as the experienced idols they are and got the hook up for the Saja Boys. Their good friend who was a recent jobless manager, you!

The last group you worked with spontaneously disbanded so you were left without a job. Not that you were too upset the group you were with kinda sucked.

So when you heard your besties found you a new group the hot upcoming Saja Boys you jumped at the opportunity. Honestly it was an amazing gig, you got to hang out with a group of hottest that are actually nice? And they treated you like royalty because you saved them from going under real quick.

You made sure their media coverage was good, they were ready for any shows, etc etc. It wasnt too hard to keep them at the top, already famous from the start. But they werent exactly good at the industry part.

You liked all the guys they were nice considering their demon origin, Rumi and the girls had given you the run down on the whole situation and you were already aware of them being hunters. You bonded with Jinu especially though.

Maybe it was the fact he used to be human, or that he was so nice to you, or that he was willing to hang out the most. The other guys were interested in learning about humans and their ways but Jinu wanted his humanity back and you were helping him.

Showing him how the world has changed and what new wonders there are. Your admiration for the man slowly turned into a full blown crush in a matter of months. It was blatantly obvious, at least to the girls... and Romance who said he'd keep it a secret but if you wanted advice you know where to find him.

You just couldn't believe someone like Jinu would be into someone like you, his manager. But the girls couldn't take it anymore so- during their much needed break- they had an intervention with you at a sleep over.

You and the girls were all in the bath house, Mira and Rumi had been chilling but Zoey was pleading with you. "Y/n please you are such a catch!" She shook your shoulders. "Zoey, Zoey! I know, I know im just doubting the fact hes into me." You say.

"Oh no he totally is." Mira deadpans. "What do you mean?" You ask confused. "What do you mean what do I mean its soooooo obvious." Mira answers. Zoey and Rumi nod their heads with her words and adding sounds of agreement.

"Nuh uh no chance." The girls collectively groan "Common y/n!" They all collectively say. "You have to talk to him trust us!" Zoey pleads with you and finally you stop her "ok ok ok ok calm down ill- ill talk to him" they all side eye you with a knowing look "I promise."

Now unbeknownst to you the boys were having a similar conversation themselves. It was after practice, you had just left to go hang out with the girls and Jinu just so happened to be caught. He was the last to say good bye and sent you out with a wave.

He had watched you walk away with a longing look in his eyes. "Isn't Romance supposed to be the lover boy here?" Abby teased him with a question, leaning against him his elbow on Jinus shoulder.

"Cut it out Abby, he cant help he's got a crush." Baby teased, the others walking up to where Abby and Jinu stood. "I don't know what you guys are talking about." Defensively Jinu held up his hands.

The guys all look at him with a "be so serious" look. "I think I know what im talking about a bit more than you do," Romance spoke up, "and I say you've got a crush." Jinu rolled his eyes while the others nodded their heads.

"He's right theres no point in denying it." Abby told Jinu, Romance was working over time to keep his mouth shut about 3your3 crush. But he gave you his word and he wouldnt breja that trust.

"Well what am I supposed to do about it?" Jinu asked, more of a rhetorical question then anything. But Baby just rolled his eyes, "is this guy dumb? Ask her out idiot!" Jinu shoock his head.

"I cant shes our 3manager3 did you forget?" Jinu said. "What that got to do with anything? It'll be fine trust us." Romance reasoned with him, "it is quite painful to watch you two" Mysteyr some up from behind the boys.

"See even Mystery agree with us!" Baby said his voice raised a bit. Jinu groaned, gently slapping his face and dragging his hand down. "Fine fine I will." Jinu said after some contemplation.

"Swear it!" Romnace pointed at him. "I swear." The guys nodded and started walking away towards the door to their rooms. "You should say something about her being your soda pop-" Baby started but Jinu elbowed him in the side.

"Shut up" jinu said, but he turned his head to hide the blush creeping up to his cheeks.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

If enough people ask for pt2 where they confess I'll write it

[moonstruckme]

Hi! I dont know if you write smut, but if you do, I was wondering if you could do a bestfriend!james and reader going further above the just touching? Like, they're cuddling and then suddenly grinding, leading to some you knooow!! Hehe, thank you!

I do ! This one is fairly tame though, sorry, it just felt more right for them in the moment. Thanks for requesting babe <3

cw: pg-13 smut

bestfriend!James x fem!reader ♡ 658 words

James is hardly the poster boy for cleanliness, but even he won’t stoop to getting in bed with jeans on. Which is how the two of you always end up like this, curled up under his covers and pantless for a midafternoon nap. 

The first time you did this, you were hardly able to sleep, but now it feels fairly normal. It helps that you’ve got the world’s least sexy underwear on, full-coverage and worn, a pinkish beige color that you suppose was probably supposed to be someone’s skin tone but you’d only bought as part of a multipack. And James has the comfiest bed in the world, a weighted comforter and the sort of heavenly mattress only generational wealth can procure. His arm is strewn loosely over your side, his front pressed to your back, and his breath is a steady rhythm on the nape of your neck. You’ve never felt so blissfully warm and heavy. 

You know without knowing how that James is starting to wake up just like you are, slow and lazy. You stretch out a leg, feeling the muscles tense all the way up your back, and he splays his hand on your abdomen as though to keep you in place. Makes a soft, sleepy sound. 

Later, you’ll say that you don’t even remember deciding to do it. Maybe you’re too tired to think straight, maybe you’re still halfway in a dream, but you nudge your hips back into James. A subtle movement. Incidental. 

Only, James nudges back. And he tilts his head so his mouth moves closer to your shoulder, mumbling something incoherent into your skin. 

It feels good. You keep going. After a while, his hand has migrated up to cup your tit, not hard, not squeezing, just a lazy perusal of unexplored skin. There’s not much of your skin James doesn’t know, but this is some of it. 

There’s a nice, sluggish warmth seeping into your core, sweet as a river of honey. Your breaths are still as relaxed as when you’d been sleeping. Syncing now. 

“James,” you whisper, his name hardly more than breath. 

“Yeah.” His hand trails back down to your hip, helping you turn over. “C’mere.” 

Your mouth practically falls onto his. There’s no parting of lips, no tentative pecks. Your mouths find each other warm and open. James tastes like basil, the pasta you’d had for lunch, but somehow also like himself, like even his saliva is a little bit sweeter than everyone else’s. 

You end up on top of him through a team effort, your leg hooked over his and his hands helping you the rest of the way. He holds your hips gently, guiding you back and forth over him. 

It’s slow and easy, like leaves swaying in the breeze or the tide coming in. So natural you wonder if this is actually the first time it’s happened. Maybe you and James have been doing this, somewhere just outside the reaches of your consciousness, forever. 

“Jamie,” you say in between kisses. Your voice hardly sounds like yours, breathy and still stretched with sleep. “What’re we doing?” 

“Dunno.” James’ voice sounds just as lax. It’s oddly comforting. “Don’t stop, yeah?” 

You weren’t planning on it. You let your head fall beside his on his pillow, face nestled in the downy softness of his curls while you kiss at the skin behind his ear. 

James makes a murmured sound of encouragement. His thumb begins to make smooth, indolent circles over the fabric of your underwear. 

“I fucking love these ones,” he sighs. 

You guess they’re not so unsexy after all. Once you decide you’re done with his neck, he takes a turn, slipping your sleeve off your shoulder to give you a pretty mark just to the left of your collarbone. Your bodies are warm everywhere they touch, that heat in your core a steady comfort. 

You don’t talk any more. You fall back asleep with your nose smushing into his cheek. 

[soluversworld]

BACKSTAGE SECRET ! - KIER X G.N READER

This game is called backstage Infatuation! This game is so underrated. So, I will doing some one-shots, because I love the characters!!

Genre: Fluff

Summary: — Backstage, you lost your bracelet, Kethan gifted you! Don't worry, There's someone to help you!

( Reader is a g.n!)

Content Warning : Yandere themes

Did not proof read/Rushed.

You were there.

Wrapped in a too-thin coat, media pass clutched between chilled fingers, lens cap off and camera ready. The cold bit at your ankles, but you barely noticed. Not when tonight mattered so much. Not when it was LUXE’s comeback debut—and Kier’s first solo single release.

The press line was chaos: journalists elbowing for position, flashes flaring like lightning, muttered complaints fogging in the air. Everyone wanted to be the first to capture them all.

You weren’t supposed to be in this area. Technically, your badge said “general coverage.” But you’d arrived before sunrise, staked out the best possible angle, and refused to budge. If anyone asked, you were supposed to be here. This was going to be one of the biggest shows of the year… right?

You flipped through the concert pamphlet for the hundredth time, fingertips numb but careful not to crease the page.

Oriel: dignified, dazzling. Min: cool, collected. Kier…

Your eyes paused on him. His picture was radiant. Almost too perfect. Hair falling in sleek strands over sharp cheekbones. A slight smirk—arrogant, maybe—but only if you didn’t know better.

You did know better. You’d seen him before that—offstage. With no stylists, no cameras. Just Kier, buying two caramel lattes and an absurdly bitter iced americano like it was the most normal thing in the world.

You hadn’t forgotten. Actually, you'd brought a caramel latte today, too. Warm, still tucked in your coat pocket, for yourself!

Were you friends?

He did tell you to think like that.

But could a fan and an idol really be… anything real? Like friends?

He’s up there. Ethereal. Shining. Beautiful. You’re… you.

You smiled to yourself anyway, lips chapped from the wind. Sam was going to freak when you told her about this. Minji had been kind enough to let you off early from work—a miracle.

"I wonder what his single will be like?" you murmured, heart fluttering. "I can’t wait."

And just as the excitement bubbled in your chest, your stomach made a dramatic protest.

You groaned softly. “Seriously? Now?” You doubled slightly. “God… I knew I shouldn’t have let Kethan talk me into that second round of dumplings…”

You bolted for the restroom the second you found an opening—half-jogging past camera rigs and stacks of cables, muttering half-apologies to the tech crew and other reporters. Your stomach churned like a traitor. Of all the times…

You got your business done in record time, hands barely dry as you burst back into the hallway, still holding onto your press pass like it might anchor you to this timeline.

But as you rounded the corner—slam.

You collided with someone. Full force. Something clattered. You went down like a folding chair.

"Aiiyo—!" the woman beneath you yelped. A mop bucket sloshed, something wet hit your shoe, and you realized with dawning horror you had flattened the poor cleaning lady.

"Oh my god—I’m so sorry—!"

You scrambled up, brushing off your pants with shaky hands, cheeks burning.

She blinked at you from the floor, visibly unharmed, just startled. “You okay?”

“I—uh—yeah. Yeah. Totally fine,” you managed, voice tight with embarrassment.

She gave a breathy chuckle, waved you off, and walked away muttering something about “young people with ants in their pants.” You nodded dumbly, offered another apology to her retreating back, and turned to fix your jacket.

That’s when your stomach dropped again—but for a different reason this time.

Your wrist felt bare.

You looked down.

The bracelet. The bracelet.

“Shit.”

Your eyes widened. Not the bracelet you’d been wearing casually for months, not some accessory. No—the one Kethan gave you yesterday. The one he dramatically claime

You had laughed. It had fit weirdly well. You hadn’t taken it off since.

You scanned the floor in panic. Nothing.

You crouched low, heart hammering, crawling slightly as you peered beneath the mop cart, near the baseboards, under your own boots. Nothing. Not even a shimmer.

“No, no, no…” you whispered, biting your lip. You retraced your steps toward the hallway where you’d sprinted earlier, eyes darting to the corners, past spilled mop water and the distant sound of the opening act starting. No time. If you waited any longer, the concert would start and you’d lose your spot in the media pit.

But the bracelet—damn it,

"I got this for you. During I was-."

Fuck you! Y/n!

Luckily, the backstage area was quite small, and you found the janitor's closet in no time. Lost things had to be kept here, right? That was your best bet.

You reached for the doorknob. Locked.

You sighed, stepping back and scanning the hallway again. No janitor. No bracelet. You weren’t giving up just yet.

You started checking corners, crouching behind crates of lighting equipment, peeking under utility carts. You thought it would be a five-minute detour.

But half an hour passed, and you were still no closer.

Your anxiety was scraping at your throat, panic starting to edge in, when—

Knock knock.

A voice from outside. Male. Calm. Curious.

"Anyone in there?"

Your brain malfunctioned.

"Nope!"

You absolute idiot.

"I mean—WAIT—"

Too late.

The door burst open.

And someone stepped in.

"K-Kier?!"

Kier immediately held a finger to his lips. "Shush. Keep it down."

You blinked. Twice. "What are you doing here? Shouldn’t the concert be starting soon?"

He looked over his shoulder, then back at you, hair slightly mussed, eyes brighter than you’d ever seen them.

"I’m just... hiding," he muttered. "My assistant won’t shut up. I know he’s doing his job, but the nagging is driving me insane."

You stared at him. This was weird. Kier—The Moon Prince—just slipped backstage to... hide?

Something was off. He was talking fast. Fidgeting.

"Kier, are you okay?"

He paused. Looked away. Then back again with a gentle smile.

"Can I ask you a favor?"

"Yes?"

He hummed a soft tune. Low, delicate, threading through the silence between you. You didn’t recognize it, but it made your shoulders relax a little.

"Is that part of your single album?" you asked. "It’s good. Really good."

He smiled, a little lopsided. "You think so? I feel a bit better, then. I just hoped you’d really like it."

You tilted your head. "By 'you', you mean your fans?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Last time I checked, you said you were a fan too."

Then he stuck his tongue out at you.

You blinked. Blushed. "Oh—shit. Sorry."

He laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. The tension in your chest melted just a bit.

Kier glanced around the cramped closet space with a skeptical eye. “So... what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be out there with the others, cheering like a proper fan?”

You laughed, a little too loud. Nervous. “I, uh... lost something. A bracelet. It was a gift.”

At that, the teasing edge in his voice dulled. “Important?”

You nodded. “Yeah. Kethan gave it to me yesterday. It’s dumb, but—”

“Not dumb,” Kier cut in, his gaze surprisingly sharp. “It matters to you. So it matters.”

Before you could even thank him, he clapped his hands once with mock drama. “Alright then. Operation Rescue Sparkly Thing is a go.”

You blinked. “That’s seriously the name we’re going with?”

He glanced at you sideways with a grin. “Don’t sass your rescuer.”

He crouched down and began scanning the dim floor under a metal shelf, muttering under his breath, “...if I were a bracelet, where would I hide? Maybe under some lost dignity…”

You crouched beside him. The space was cramped, filled with wires, old props, and dust, the air sharp with disinfectant.

“Thanks, Kier. You really don’t have to—”

“I want to.” His voice was soft this time, no teasing. Just truth. It made something squeeze warm and tight in your chest.

You both kept searching in silence, eyes scanning every shadow. At one point, Kier pointed toward the tablet you’d dropped earlier.

“You checked under that?”

You waved it off. “I did. I swear, it’s not there—”

“Humor me.”

You sighed and moved to lift the tablet. You both leaned in at the same time, reaching—and didn’t notice how close you’d gotten until—

Thump.

Your shoulders bumped, then your hands, and then—Kier’s balance tilted forward. In the most embarrassing, slow-motion moment imaginable, he fell.

Right on top of you.

You landed flat on your back with a soft “oof,” the air rushing out of your lungs. Kier didn’t hit you hard, but his weight was unmistakable, his body flush against yours.

His face was hidden in the crook of your neck, his breath warm against your skin.

You froze.

“I—I’m so sorry!” you blurted, trying to sit up, but his hand pressed gently against your side.

“Wait.”

That was all he said. Just wait.

So... you did.

For a heartbeat, maybe two, maybe more, he stayed there. His breath slow. His voice low, nearly a whisper.

“You smell nice,” he mumbled, the words barely making sense. “Like... caramel.”

You didn’t catch the flicker in his eyes as he slowly pushed himself up. You didn’t see the sudden heat, the way his pupils had dilated, that half-mad glint he tried to blink away too late...

You only saw the soft smile he wore when he looked down at you.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah. You?”

“Peachy.” He stood and held out a hand. You took it.

Still no sign of the bracelet.

You both went back to searching.

Kier crouched beside you, trailing his fingers lazily over the floor, but you were the one truly focused—moving crates, lifting wires, mumbling to yourself. “Ugh, it must’ve fallen when I tripped on that mop. God, I’m such a klutz…”

He hummed. Low. Noncommittal.

“...It’s just—Kethan gave it to me, you know? My best friend since forever... He came back a few weeks ago, He gave it to me...." You laughed.

Kier froze.

You didn’t notice. Still talking. Still smiling.

“We used to build little cardboard forts after school, pretend we were superheroes.. Said he’d be ‘Magma Boy’ and melt anyone who messed with me.”

You didn’t see it—how Kier’s shoulders tensed. How his gaze dropped, no longer scanning the floor,with such intensity it might’ve burned a hole clean through.

Kethan.

He hadn’t said a word yet, and that wasn’t like him.

“Kier?” you asked, still grinning. “You okay?”

“Mm.” His voice came tight, but practiced. Still smooth. Still sweet. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

He stood. A slow, precise movement.

You blinked up at him. “You sure?”

He smiled down at you. It didn’t reach his eyes.

“That bracelet,” he said softly. “It really means that much to you?”

“Of course,” you said without hesitation. “It’s from Kethan.”

Kier tilted his head, like a curious cat. His hands were in his coat pockets now. One foot slightly forward. Blocking your exit.

You didn’t notice.

Not yet.

"That nickname," he echoed, voice low. Too low. “Magma Boy.”

You chuckled. “Yeah. Dumb, right?”

“Hilarious.” The smile widened. “So… are you close?”

You blinked. “What, with Kethan? Yeah, of course. He’s my—” You were still searching..

Kier took a slow, deliberate step forward.

“He’s your what?”

“...My friend,” you said, laughing nervously. “My best friend.”

Kier nodded. Just once.

“Right.”

His voice was smooth now. Velvet over a blade. Carefully controlled. He didn’t want to scare you.

Not yet.

But inside, the thoughts spiraled.

HE tries to take you.

From him.

Even before he had you.

And still—still—you kept smiling about someone else.

He could melt people, huh?

How cute.

Kier leaned down, brushing invisible dust from your sleeve with gentle fingers. His eyes met yours—warm, blue beautiful.

And yet—

"Don’t worry," he murmured. "I’ll help you find it. I’m very good at finding things…”

His fingers lingered.

His voice dropped an octave.

“…and keeping them.”

You dusted off your knees, still crouching as you scanned the floor, and glanced through the cracked door toward the faint thrum of the crowd outside.

“Sheesh,” you muttered. “The fans are really out there in full force tonight.”

Kier shifted beside you, standing straighter as he peeked through the door too. “I’m honestly surprised this many showed up,” he murmured. “It’s windy as hell out there. Felt like my ears were gonna freeze off earlier.”

You smiled. “Well, that’s fans for you. fans especially. Rain, snow, war—they’ll still show up.”

He chuckled, soft. “I guess that’s what 'fan' means, huh? Fanatic.”

“Yeah,” you said, pulling your coat tighter. “But it doesn’t always have to mean crazy. Just… passionate.”

Kier’s expression shifted—just slightly. “I’m happy to be on stage again,” he said, voice lower now, slower.

You nodded, but caught the flicker in his eyes.

“…But?” you prompted.

“…But I hate those."

You blinked.

He didn’t elaborate immediately, so you tilted your head. “Did something happen?”

Kier’s gaze drifted toward the far wall, as if he were looking into a memory instead of the dim backstage space.

“During our first interview as LUXE,” he said slowly, “we were in this tiny studio. Three chairs. One little lamp above us. We were just rookies. I looked up, and something felt off.”

You stayed quiet, listening.

“The bulb in the lamp was tinted weird. When I looked closer, I realized it wasn’t just a bulb. There was a lens in it. A camera. Hidden. Filming us.”

You straightened a little. “I heard about that—”

“My members were answering questions, laughing, totally unaware. So I pretended to take selfies. Tilted my phone just right. Took a few shots of the lamp.”

Kier’s jaw tightened.

“That’s when Aurora Rising Records stepped in. Replaced the entire staff team. Turned out one of the production staff was actually a fan. In disguise. Pretending to work there, just to spy on us.”

You stared at him.

“That’s… awful.”

He looked back at you then.

And smiled.

But there was something quieter about it. Not fake. Just… weathered.

“I hate crazy fans,” he repeated. “But it’s not just that. The way they want to own you. Break pieces off of you. Call it love.”

You didn’t know what to say.

Until he looked at you again—and that smile shifted. Softened.

“…But you,” he said.

Your stomach fluttered. “Me?”

“You never screamed at me,” he said plainly. “Never shoved a phone in my face. Never begged me for anything.”

You flushed, mouth opening—closing.

“Every time I saw you,” he continued, “you were just… quiet. Present. Kind.”

He reached out, brushing a loose thread off your sleeve. His fingers were gentle.

“You treated me like a person,” he said. “Even though you’re a fan… you’re a real one. A gen one. The kind people forget exist.”

You blinked. “Kier, I…”

Your voice caught.

He smiled again—this time, soft and warm. Like moonlight instead of stage lights.

“Thank you,” he said. “For that.”

You looked down at the dusty floor, eyes beginning to sting.

You didn’t get it.

Why did things like this always happen?

It was just a bracelet—but it wasn’t just a bracelet. Kethan gave it to you.Who always remembered things when no one else did. He’d given it to you yesterday-

Now it was gone. Your chest hurt just thinking about it.

“…Hey.”

You looked up.

Kier was watching you, the playfulness gone now—replaced with something quieter. Something… concerned.

“I’ll let my staff know,” he said gently. “We’ll find it. I promise.”

You stared at him. The stage was probably about to start any minute. He shouldn’t even be back here.

“But the show—”

“There’s still a few minutes.” He tilted his head. “Let me help, alright? I’ll get them on it.”

Your throat closed up a little. You hated being seen like this. Teary-eyed. Small.

You didn’t know what else to do—so you reached into your coat and pulled out the warm paper cup you'd forgotten you were even holding.

The caramel latte. The one you'd bought for yourself. The one you almost wanted to give him… just in case you saw him.

You shoved it toward him with both hands.

He blinked, surprised. “...What’s this?”

You kept your face straight. “You helped me. I wanted to thank you.”

He just stared at the cup.

“There’s nothing mixed in it,” you added flatly. “Just.."

He burst out laughing—eyes crinkling, face flushing a soft pink. He took it from you, his fingers brushing yours briefly.

“...It’s my favorite drink,” he said quietly, smiling like you’d handed him something sacred.

You blinked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said. “You remembered that?”

“No,” you admitted. “But I’ll remember it now.”

He looked at you—really looked at you—and then took a long sip from the latte.

When he lowered the cup, something about him seemed looser. Warmer.

“Thanks,” he said, voice smooth. “I feel a lot better now.”

Seeing him smile, made you smile too..

Kier stared at you for a moment, then without warning, pulled you into a hug.

It wasn’t brief, either.

His arms circled around your shoulders with warmth and a kind of desperate gentleness, like you were something he was afraid to let go of. You stiffened for a second—caught off guard—but quickly melted into it.

“I feel better too,” you whispered into his chest.

You felt him exhale against the crown of your head, a little softer this time.

When you finally pulled away, you smiled, still a little dazed. “Thank you, Kier. Seriously.”

He only nodded, eyes unreadable. That soft smile back on his lips.

You stepped away, turning to leave before you could overthink it. The hallway echoed with your retreating steps.

Idols are human too, you thought. Not just distant, glowing stars on stage. They get tired. They get frustrated. They hide in janitor closets and complain about assistants. They drink lattes and help search for lost bracelets and… they hug.

From now on, you promised yourself, you'd treat idols better.

Not like gods. Not like dolls.

Like people.

Like him.

You disappeared around the corner.

Meanwhile, back in the cramped space of the janitor’s closet, Kier exhaled slowly.

His shoulders dropped.

Then his fingers reached into the pocket of his oversized jacket.

There it was. The bracelet.

That thing.

His expression warped—dark, twisted, flat with disdain. That cursed trinket—tacky, mismatched, with a fraying cord and an ugly little bead in the shape of a cartoon skull.

He gave you this?

His jaw clenched. His lips curled into something cruel.

He remembered how you looked while talking about Kethan—laughing softly, eyes gleaming with memory. It burned. It burned.

You were his muse. His light. His obsession. Not Kethan’s. Not anyone’s. You had no idea what you did to him—how deep you'd sunk into him. Into his skin, his veins, his voice.

Ugly. Cheap. It doesn’t suit you.

It burned him just to imagine it on your wrist. Something from him. Some other boy. Some fool who thought he could mark you with a trinket.

He could get something way more expensive or pretty....

Still staring at the bracelet, Kier crouched. Placed it on the floor like a delicate relic.

Then stood.

And drove his boot down hard.

Once.

Twice.

Again.

He hated it.

The crunch of cheap beads and snapped cord echoed like tiny bones.

He smiled, expression pitch-black and wild under the soft closet light.

“Mine,” he muttered, voice venom-laced silk.

You’re my muse. My only one. You have no choice.

I will claim you.

The broken shards glittered at his feet.

And Kier—Kier smiled again. Beautiful. Chilling.

The stage lights began to rise.

Time to put on a show. For the fans. For the world. But mostly… For you.

[jobean12-blog]

A Stolen Moment

Pairing: Marcus Acacius x female reader

Word Count: 1.6K

Summary: The General has been busy as of late and you miss him.

Author's Note: I can't exist without being horny over this man...they post a new picture of him sitting down and I'm like OH WELL- now I need to sit in his lap, kneel between his legs and do all these other filthy things because his legs and hands and thighs exist. UGH. I mean how am I supposed to survive this, he can't even sit in a chair without me losing my mind...guess I have to write out the horny. LOL anyway, thanks for listening to my rants and thanks so much for reading, much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you sweet Daisy! 🥰

Warnigns: soft sweetness, tension, teasing, semi-public sex (I mean it is the Colosseum), Marcus is perfection.

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

The rare quiet of the arena is almost unsettling, the usual raucous crowd nonexistent and the commanding power it exudes masked under the veil of darkness that slowly settles with the descending sun.

The imperial box is empty and the gilded seat on which you sit grows cold as you wait. The fabric you wear is different from anything you’ve ever worn before and perhaps different from anything that’s been created yet.

Due to tradition, you’ve been trained in the art of sewing and because of this you were able to make the silk garment that’s currently draped seductively over your body. You know your husband will approve, however, how he will react to you wearing it in such a public place, is an entirely different story.

The silk is layered, giving the illusion of coverage, but even in the dimness of the setting sun, you can see the outline of what teases beneath.

Heavy footsteps echo behind you, and you recognize the steady pace of his feet.

He walks slowly up the steps, dressed in his more formal toga, outlined in gold that glints as it catches the dying light.

His eyes find you and he stops.

“My gods wife.”

A heated smile starts at the corner of his mouth and lazily stretches across the other as he peruses you from head to toe.

“I’m not forgetting some celebration today am I?”

You shake your head and stand, walking over to him.

“No, nothing to celebrate today. Just you.”

He stills, his eyes lowering to sweep down your body. “Me?”

“Yes,” you say. “You’ve been too stressed lately. I want to help.”

“I see,” he says with sparkling eyes. “And you thought displaying yourself…so… temptingly… in one of the most coveted seats of the Colosseum was going to help?”

You run your hands up his chest to the buckle near his left shoulder. Loosening it, you continue, “I know how to best help you relax General and I knew this would get your attention.”

“You always have my full attention,” he whispers.

You smile, knowing the truth his words hold.

He looks you over again then reaches up to drag the calloused pad of his thumb over your bottom lip.

Normally you might kiss it. Tonight, you bite down. He pulls back with a little gasp.

“You’re irresistible.”         

His hands slide forward and frame your hips, and he pulls you into his chest, running his nose along your neck with an inhale.

“What do you plan to do with me?” he whispers into your skin.

You push his hands away and slide off his cloak.

“I’m glad you asked.”

Your fingers fall to his belt, and you start to loosen it, remaining silent.

“Well?” he asks with an amused smile.

“Whatever I want,” you say simply, your hands deftly pulling the belt from his waist.

“I suppose I’m at your mercy then.”

With a tilt of your head, you step back. “Take off your tunic.”

He holds your gaze, testing your restraint, before he relents and gives you what you want.

Slowly, he pulls the fabric off, and you struggle to keep your attention on his face, knowing that every inch of the skin he’s revealing will distract you.

When he begins to loosen the fabric at his hips you’re unable to resist reaching forward and running your hands lightly down his chest. His breath hitches and you love it, skin tightening beneath your fingertips.

He toys with the material again, and you can tell he’s teasing you, waiting for you to meet his eyes.

“Keep going,” you tell him.

The undergarment falls to his feet and it’s all you can do to not slide down to your knees and take him into your mouth.

But somehow, you manage to resist, even as he reaches down, circles his large hand around his cock and holds it out as an offering.

When he starts to remove the first of his wrist cuffs, you still his hand. He raises a questioning brow, and you demurely smile.

“Leave those.”

You push lightly on his chest, toward the ornate chair he found you in. “Sit.”

He does as you say, and you follow him, straddling his thick thighs.

“I miss my husband,” you say with a pout. “You’ve been busy, and your attention has been elsewhere lately.”

You see his expression soften at your words before the corners of his mouth turn down.

“You know you’re all that matters…”

You press a finger to his lips to silence him.

“I’m not blaming you General. I’m just taking matters into my own hands…taking what I want.”  

You rest your ass on his thighs and then slide forward, giving his cock the briefest bit of friction against you before you move away again.

Beneath your palms, his shoulders bunch and he lifts his hands to touch you.

“Don’t,” you warn. “Or I’ll bind you.”

“Does it make you wet to take control like this my beloved?” he whispers.

You answer with the slide of your hand between your legs, the slip of your fingers under the silk. Your eyes close and you moan quietly as you touch yourself, rolling your hips.

You can hear his breath hitch and feel the muscles of his thighs flex and strain. Pulling your fingers away, you capture his chin with your free hand and paint a wet line along his upper lip.

He groans, pained and gravelly and you look down to see his cock hard and arching up toward his belly button.

Your mouth waters. “Marcus.”

He hums but doesn’t move and you look up to see him lick his lips, tasting you on his skin. Staring intently at you, he pushes his hips up, his cock a heavy presence between you as you gaze at his face.

“Are you feeling more relaxed?” you ask him as you lean forward and kiss his jaw.

“Tortured, might be a better word my love.”

You can see it in the way his pulse flutters in his throat and you press a steady hand to his chest.

He relaxes in pieces: his legs beneath you first, then his abdomen, shoulders and finally his expression.

“That’s better,” you murmur.

With a deep exhale he lifts his hands, the gesture tentative as he slowly reaches for your shoulder and traces the soft curve with his fingertips.

“I think it’s time I take what I want,” you remind him.

You lean forward and kiss along his neck all the way up to his ear and he huffs out an impatient breath. Every muscle grows tight and urgent beneath your roaming hands as you tease him once more.

Faster than you expect, he grabs you by the hips and jerks you forward, sliding the wetness between your legs over his cock and griding up into you with a groan.

Without thinking, you move with him, rocking on top and feeling the hard press of him against your clit.

“I can feel your need for me soaked through the silk,” he hisses.

You tug the silk fabric from your body and let it drape over the large and elaborate seat. In a blur, he pulls you closer and pushes inside you with a steady, hard thrust.

“I’m sorry,” he begins, then stops, his breath choppy so close to your ear as he kisses your neck and sucks gently. “I can’t control myself.”

You open your mouth to speak but all the comes out is a moan when his large hand cups your breast, thumb passing back and forth over the peak.

His tongue slides over your collarbone, his breath, his fingertips across your skin and he begins to move inside you.

“You tease and taunt me wife…it’s impossible for me to let you play out this fantasy of control.”

A curl falls over his forehead and he looks almost boyish, but his words are coarse, and his movements are powerful.

“Next time I will bind you then,” you say, the words breathless.

He growls out your name, digging his fingers into your skin with his barely controlled restraint.

You feel the rush of blood to your legs and the heavy ache between your thighs build and he grows more and more frantic. He uses your hips for leverage, his grip bruising as he slams up and into you over and over.

One large, rough hand ghosts along your stomach and teases the base of your neck before his fingers close around your throat.

This new sensation brings you to the edge until you’re begging for it. His groan vibrates along your skin, his whispered words of love pushing you over until you tighten around his cock and cry out his name.

Your face falls to the crook of his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, cradling you to his chest. Your heavy breathing is in sync, your sweaty skin pressed close while he gently runs his fingers along the curve of your spine.

“I am sorry,” he whispers into your skin. “I know there has been much that keeps me away from you as of late.”

You lift your face and place your palm against his cheek. Your fingertips trace the lines around his eyes before you dip your head and softly kiss his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and finally his lips.

“I know Marcus. I know.”

He reaches his hands between your arms and frames your face, holding your gaze intently with the soft brush of his fingers.

“My love for you remains and always will be as infinite as the stars.”

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Wizard Undergarments

So, I saw this post by @fafodill regarding Snape's underwear, and I love fashion history and wizard fashion in general, and I talked about this with @wisteria-lodge, so I wanted to expand on what undergarments wizards & witches are wearing during the events of the books in general.

Previously on Wizarding Fashion in the UK: part 1, part 2

What are "robes" and how are they worn?

I'll start by explaining the robes' situation a bit, since understanding what they are wearing will help us determine the undergarments they have underneath. Historically, undergarments weren't just for modesty but for practicality. Undergarments are supposed to protect the garment from you (soak up sweat, be easier & cheaper to wash than the more expensive garment above it, etc.) and protect you from the garment (against chafing, the undergarments would usually be a softer, more breathable material like linen, etc.).

As such, what you are wearing over your undergarments would affect which undergarments you will wear.

In SWM, we see Snape is wearing just his robes and underwear beneth:

James whirled about; a second flash of light later, Snape was hanging upside down in the air, his robes falling over his head to reveal skinny, pallid legs and a pair of graying underpants.

(OotP)

Snape is not an outlier, but the norm of how robes (and school robes specifically) are worn:

He got up and pulled on his jeans because he didn’t want to walk into the station in his wizard’s robes — he’d change on the train.

(PS)

Everybody except Harry was riotously happy and talkative as they changed out of their robes into jeans and sweatshirts

(OotP)

Harry consistently mentions he isn't wearing jeans with his robes, meaning he isn't wearing trousers under his school robes.

Ron’s showing much too much ankle in his school robes

(HBP) - said by Molly.

Ron is also implied not to be wearing trousers under his robes, considering his ankles are visible when the robes are too short for him.

Additionally, their school robes are dress-like, and not how they are portrayed in the movies:

They pull them overhead:

Madam Malkin stood Harry on a stool next to him, slipped a long robe over his head, and began to pin it to the right length.

(PS)

Quidditch robes too:

“Ready to show us all up, Ickle Prefect?” said Fred, emerging tousle-haired from the neck of his Quidditch robes

(OotP)

With high collars (school robes, that is):

Turning up the collars of their robes against the chilly September air

(OotP)

And they are long and billowing:

Ron's ankles aren't supposed to be showing, as mentioned in a previous quote.

He [Percy] had already changed into his billowing black Hogwarts robes

(PS)

Their robes billowed and swirled around them as they splashed across the flooded vegetable patch to double Herbology

(OotP)

So they are full coverage, loose-fitting, dress-like garments held in place with a belt:

Harry tucked the sword and the Sorting Hat into his belt, Ron took hold of the back of Harry’s robes

(CoS)

Professor Sprout took a large key from her belt and unlocked the door.

(CoS)

“There,” said Lupin, sticking his own wand back into his belt.

(PoA)

But the man was stirring ... a silvery cloak fell from his legs as he jumped to his feet; and Harry saw his vibrant, blurred outline towering above him, saw a wand withdrawn from a belt

(OotP)

Now, I'll get into all the quotes pertaining to underwear I could find in the books in the next section, but I kind of want to set the conclusion from the beginning. Unfortunately, the implication I got is that they are all wearing modern muggle underwear as a standard and that our man, Archie:

“Muggle women wear them, Archie, not the men, they wear these,” said the Ministry wizard, and he brandished the pinstriped trousers. “I’m not putting them on,” said old Archie in indignation. “I like a healthy breeze ’round my privates, thanks.”

(GoF)

Is an exception and not the norm.

The Evidence

I copied all mentions of underwear from the books, so, here it is:

He heaved a pile of parcels onto Harry’s camp bed and dropped the money bag and a load of socks next to it. Harry started unwrapping the shopping. [...] He was just piling underwear into his cauldron when Ron made a loud noise of disgust behind him.

(GoF)

Harry keeps wearing the regular muggle underwear he is used to, and he buys new ones in the Wizarding World. As does Ron:

“I’ll pack these for you,” Hermione said brightly, taking Harry’s presents out of his arms as the three of them headed back upstairs. “I’m nearly done, I’m just waiting for the rest of your underpants to come out of the wash, Ron — ”

(DH)

Peeves assumes every wizard he encounters will be wearing pants:

They were temporarily detained by Peeves, who had jammed a door on the fourth floor shut and was refusing to let anyone pass until they set fire to their own pants, but Harry and Ron simply turned back and took one of their trusted shortcuts.

(HBP)

And we see the words "pants" and "knickers" used to refer to underwear by all wizards (purebloods too). Both these terms, in British English, refer to modern underwear:

Hermione’s arriving this afternoon. Percy’s started work — the Department of International Magical Cooperation. Don’t mention anything about Abroad while you’re here unless you want the pants bored off you.

(GoF) - said by Ron

“Granger, they’re after Muggles,” said Malfoy. “D’you want to be showing off your knickers in midair?

(GoF)

“Who wants to see me take off Snivelly’s pants?”

(OotP) - said by James

“How in the name of Merlin’s pants have you managed to get your hands on those Horcrux books?”

(DH) - said by Ron

And we even see Y-fronts (even more specific men's briefs) mentioned in wizard slang:

“And what in the name of Merlin’s most baggy Y Fronts was that about?”

(DH) - said by Ron

And "briefs" in general:

There were bins full of trick wands, the cheapest merely turning into rubber chickens or pairs of briefs when waved

(HBP)

Additionally, they wear suits often-ish, even not in front of muggles:

The stranger had rumpled gray hair and an anxious expression, and was wearing a strange mixture of clothes: a pinstriped suit, a scarlet tie, a long black cloak, and pointed purple boots. Under his arm he carried a lime-green bowler.

(PoA)

which was driven by a furtive-looking wizard wearing a suit of emerald velvet.

(PoA)

Hagrid was wearing his best (and very horrible) hairy brown suit, plus a checked yellow-and-orange tie.

(GoF) - Hagrid, in general, always wears trousers and shirts, and not robes. Which makes sense with his work that requires more movement.

Which means they are wearing underwear that works with late 19th-century, early 20th-century suits — pants & undershirt combination or a one-piece underwear (such as union suits). Supporting this is Harry wearing a very tight-fitting t-shirt under his Quidditch Robes (the pants-undershirt combo):

Harry took off his black school robes, removed his wand from his pocket, and stuck it inside the T-shirt he was going to wear under his Quidditch robes.

(PoA) - I'm saying the t-shirt is tight because it keeps his wand in place — it has to be super tight-fitting for the wand not to move around, unless he is using some Sticking Charm or another. My (and Wisteria's) only question is why he isn't putting his wand in his boot like someone with style.

So, that's it? They just wear boring 20th-century muggle underwear and undershirt?

Well, not quite.

Remember, the purpose of undergarments is also practical. We want to keep the long robe safe from you and warmer for the cold of Scotland.

Additionally, they change clothes in front of each other very often, in front of both boys and girls:

To his relief, Malfoy seemed to decide that he had imagined the noise; he pulled on his robes like the others

(HBP) - Pansy is in the compartment too.

This is why I headcanon that there is an additional dress-like layer. You can call it any number of names, as it has many names throughout history (chemise, shift, long shirt, undershirt, however else you want to call it) But in the Wizarding World it would be a long shirt (could be shorter when worn with suits or trausers) or longer when worn under robes that keeps the robes sweat free and also gives a layer you can show to other people when changing into your school robes on the train.

Conclusions

Wizards seem to be wearing modern (20th-century) underwear of various types that would depend on personal preference. I assume/headcanon over this, they wear some linen/cotton undergarment to soak up sweat, help with insulation, and be changed every day, unlike the robe, which would be washed less often to keep the fabric in good condition. (Though, with charms and magical washing, they could get away with more than muggles could. Probably). This undershirt would be a t-shirt under Quidditch robes, dress shirts & suits, or a longer tunic under proper robes.