#Black Casual Sneakers for Men | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

forgodsgoddamnsake · 2 months

Text

Belly Dancer - 13

Excuse me, beauties but I'm not in the mood for smuts. So this one is smut free.

Warning though, angst, fluff, mention of anger issues, mention of domestic violence.

Note: we all have mental issues, so talking about it is necessary. No need to be ashamed of your issues.

You and Harry got out of the car right in front of the place. It was a plain building, but you imagined what it would look like when you start working on it. You wore a denim skirt, black stockings, black strapless crop-top, sneakers and a black cap over your head. Harry wore casual, he became more comfortable wearing what he actually liked, so he wore a black ripped jeans and floral shirt with a few buttons kept unbuttoned.

“Y/N!” You heard Sam’s voice squeal, pulling you into his arms tightly and spinning you around.

“Oh, god, Sam!” You laughed before he placed you down again.

It’d been a long time since you actually met him in person. Sam was a great guy, handsome, and muscular with silver hair and couple of piercings in his nose, tongue and ears. He was just a little shorter than Harry, but still definitely taller than you. Sam’s eyes were aqua blue, such a loss that he was gay.

Harry was jealous, but the fact that Sam was gay eased this feeling a little.

“It’s been so long since I last seen you, you’re getting more beautiful.” Sam gave you a wide smile, holding your hands in his.

“I know!” You laughed, grabbing him into another hug, “Your hair looks amazing, last time I saw you it was blue.” You brushed his hair a little after pulling away from the hug.

“And your hair grew longer, must be an advantage in bed.” He winked at you and you laughed at his comment.

Harry coughed, catching you and Sam’s attention. Sam’s eyes widened when he looked at Harry, letting go of your hands, getting closer to Harry.

“Oh my! Is this the guy that had you wrapped around his little finger?” Sam asked, eyeing Harry from head to toe. “You and I are friends from this moment on.” Sam directed his smile to Harry, pulling him into a tight hug.

“Oh! Hi, Sam.” Harry was startled by the hug, but he was polite enough to not push him away.

“We’re gonna have a lot to talk about after we finish our little tour. I have many embarrassing stories to tell about y/n when we first met.” Sam said, pulling away from Harry.

“Sounds great.” Harry smiled back at Sam.

“C’mon let’s go.” Sam encouraged, walking towards the place. You and Harry walked hand in hand and entered the place, Sam leading the way.

“I know it doesn’t look great now and you have so many things to do so this place lightens up, but I think it’s a good catch.” Sam told, pointing at the large space where the main center of the club should be. You and Harry eyed the place.

“It’s three-story, there’s the stage, much bigger than the one’s at the club you work at.”

The stage was actually bigger and wider, not too high but high enough so everyone could watch whoever on the stage without having to raise their heads up all the way.

“See this spacious shit is where the dance floor should be, so close to the stage so you can shine bright like a diamond.” Sam sang the last part, you giggled, leaving Harry’s hand to walk freely.

“Here, you can have the bar.” Sam walked to show you the place of the bar before walking you to where the bathrooms should be.

“The bathrooms need a little more work I know, but believe me, sweetness, they’re so huge you can have another dance floor there.”

He wasn’t exaggerating, the ladies’ and men’s bathrooms were huge. Sam walked you and Harry towards the backstage.

“There are like five rooms backstage for all of your dancers, there’s a sixth one, it’s down the hall. There are two bathrooms for the staff also.” Sam said, opening the doors for all five rooms, showing you the space of the rooms.

“What’s different about the sixth?” You asked, walking behind Sam while Harry was walking behind you.

Sam smirked as he turned around to look at you behind him is a room door, “It’s bigger than my whole apartment,” With that, he opened the door for the last room.

The room was huge, there was a private bathroom in the room, a minibar, a space where you could have a dressing room and another space for an office.

“Wow!” You stepped in the room, imagining yourself in there.

“I know!” Sam squealed.

“What about the two other floors?” Harry asked more like a business man.

“Your word is my command! Follow me.” Sam smiled widely, walking you out the room and to an elevator. You three got into the elevator and it stopped shortly when you reached the second floor, you got out.

“As you told me, y/n/n, this is where VIP Gold should take place. Private bathrooms, private bar, you name it!.”

It was an empty huge space, there was A LOT of work to be done. Sam got you back in the elevator and it stopped again in the third and last floor.

“VIP Platinum, lady and gentleman.”

The floor was bigger than the second, but still, the place was nothing to be wowed about the way it was.

When you finished your tour, you got down to the first floor, Sam didn’t stop talking for a second.

“You have a private garage, the place is really a catch, y/n/n.”

You crossed your arms, walking in the place, “How much did the landlord ask for, Sam?”

“Well, this is the problem.” Sam looked nervous, but was stopped as there was a fourth figure entering the place. A middle-aged man walked in.

“Hello, this is Isaac McChain, the landlord. You must be Ms. Y/L/N.” His voice was hoarse and his hand was expanded to shake yours.

“Yes, thank you for your time, Mr. McChain. We were taking a tour in the place.” You shook his hand, but he wouldn’t let your hand go. The man gave you a smirk, and you knew that he was undressing you in his head.

“Harry Styles, Ms. Y/L/N’s boyfriend.” Harry pulled out his hand to the man, glaring at him. His hand was on your waist, pulling you close into him.

Sam was standing a little away, mumbling to himself, “Clash of the titans.”

Isaac had to let go of your hand and shake Harry’s, putting on the most fake smile you’d ever seen. They pulled their hands away just a second after, maybe because Harry almost crushed the man’s hand.

“I hope you liked the place.” Isaac said, looking at you.

“Well, not so much. It’s huge, I’ll give you that, but the work to be done here is beyond imagination. How much exactly do you price this place?” You pulled on your business woman attitude. That was one of Sam’s most favorite scenes, seeing you act tough. Isaac chuckled a little, he was trying to act tough as well, but you wouldn’t fall for it. He gave you the price with a smirk on his face.

“Uh-huh, well that’s too much for a place that requires the same amount to fix. The bathrooms are in a terrible condition, the stage could fall down if a feather stepped on it and don’t get me started with the second and third floors” You went on and on with all the bad things you caught during your tour.

“But you can easily afford all the work, Ms.Y/L/N. An extraordinary dancer like you clearly can appreciate the whereabouts of the building.”

“An extraordinary dancer like me, Mr. McChain, can clearly find another good place just like yours for half the price.”

“So, you suggest that I cut half the price?”

“I’m not saying that, but we can reach an arrangement we both agree on. I’ve made my research; three-story buildings prices are way lower than the price you put for your building. Approximately by fifty grands, I can use these fifty grands to fix the place, don’t you think?”

Harry was amazed by the way you spoke in a professional tone, standing your ground.

“You’re quite a business woman, Ms. Y/L/N.” Isaac said.

You smiled, expanding your hand to shake his. “Pleasure doing business with you, Mr. McChain.”

You looked over to Sam who wished he had popcorn, “Sam, get the contracts ready with Mr. McChain.”

“God, have you seen her? She had him back off by more than fifty grands!” Sam enthusiastically yelled, cheering Harry with his glass of wine.

“That was a total success, y/n.” Harry smiled at you.

You three were having drinks at the bar Sam talked about, you were sitting at a table, celebrating signing the contract for your new club.

“Success? Dude, she outdone herself.” Sam was so happy for you. You noticed how you chose your friends, all of them were happy for you whenever you had something great happening in your life.

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Sam. You really did a very great job.” You patted his shoulder, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“You know I’ve got your back, Y/N/N.”

“How did you guys meet?” Harry asked, his hand on your thigh, drinking from his glass.

“Now he won’t shut up.” You giggled just as Sam’s eyes widened in excitement.

“Okay let me tell you! I went to this dance class downtown, a friend told me that they give belly dancing classes and I went and guess who was my teacher?”

“Teacher?” You arched a brow at Sam.

Without even giving the slightest attention to you, Sam continued directing his words to Harry, “She was very sweet and friendly. Had to have a friend like her in my collection.”

Harry chuckled and looked at you, “I didn’t know you gave dancing classes.”

“I still do, why do you think I leave at the same time three days a week?” You sipped from your glass of martini.

“Harry, honey, I practically forced her to work her ass off so we could take another step forward. She always wanted to sit on her ass and do nothing.” Sam laughed as you gave him the finger.

“I admit it, you made me work for months with no days off you little shit.” You shrugged.

“But you didn’t like seeing guys belly dancing, now I know you actually teach them?” Harry asked, enjoying catching you in the act.

“I’m hurt.” Sam had a hand on his chest as if he was actually hurt.

“Shut up, Sam! You already know how I feel about guys belly dancing.”

“Well, yeah, but it still hurts.” He smirked at you.

“I’ll have to go to the bathroom before I hit you with something.” You rolled your eyes, standing up and walking towards the bathrooms.

“Tell me about you, green eyes.” Sam asked Harry.

“What would you like to know about me?”

“Y/n didn’t talk much about you, since we worked together most of our talks were business. How did you meet?”

“I, ugh, I saw her dance at the club, messed with her a little and the next thing I know we’re dating.”

“When she told me that she met someone, it was kinda weird. Y/N was used to guys and girls hitting on her, but she preferred being a lone wolf.”

“Believe me, I know how much she gets hit on. I may need to make her wear a shirt with my face on it.” They both laughed until the laughter went down.

“I’ll give you a secret if you promise to keep it.” Sam said in a serious tone and Harry nodded. “I don’t know if you noticed, y/n has many friends. Mostly me, Jessica and Noah are the ones that deeply worry about her, she doesn’t have any family to lean on. Y/N only has her friends, that’s why she tries her best to keep us and never let us go, she treats us like family. She did something for Jessica that perhaps not many people will do.”

“Yeah, I know, Noah told me.” Harry nodded as Sam continued.

“And now you’re looking at the guy who paid his tuition thanks to y/n. She gave me this job and paid me generously when she knew that I was facing some serious trouble paying off the tuition. So, what I want to say is,” Sam’s face got serious like a father’s face, meeting his girl’s boyfriend, “If you play her, God forgive me for what I’ll do.”

Not that your friends didn’t like Harry, but they were so worried about you they couldn’t let you get hurt anymore, especially as they knew about your mental status. You couldn’t afford having your heart broken again.

Jessica saw most of it, she’d spend days trying to calm you down from a mental breakdown. While Sam would watch your every move to make sure that you were protected, or didn’t kill anyone.

You weren’t the best person. But you knew how to keep your friends.

You were an amazing friend to say the least, you listened to them, helped them, stood by their side, and most importantly, you fought for them. You fought physically for your friends whenever there would be an issue with another person. Sam was bullied some day at a bar when he accidentally ran into some of his high school bullies, they tried pulling him by the pants calling him the F word. You broke the bottle of beer you had and threatened the guy bullying Sam with it. Violence was not something you chose every day, but you had to choose it to protect yourself and friends against violent people.

You, Harry, Jess, Noah, Sam and Sam’s boyfriend Rian decided to take a trip and go for a hike, stay in a cabin and have fun. You rented a place to stay for two nights in a nice cabin that could fit all of you. You asked Harry if Michael could come and have some fun as well and he was fond of the idea, so you called Michael asking if he could join. Michael was happy to know that he was included, you thought that the best option to keep everything going smoothly is to include Michael, so he’d be sure that his friend didn’t replace him.

Harry was driving you, his hand on your thigh as usual. The drive was calm and silent except from the background music, but Harry wanted to break the silence, “Your friends are a handful.”

You giggled, “Why’s that? They’re fun.”

“They are, but they worry so much about you, Sam threatened me.”

“I knew it!” You exclaimed. “Don’t mind them, baby, they caught a few bad qualities from me.”

“So you threaten people a lot?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Mean people.”

“Can I ask you a question, but don’t get offended, please.”

“Sure?”

“You always told me that you were a violent person, but I don’t see that. Why do you always have to remind me about that?”

You sighed, “Defense mechanism.”

“But violence shouldn’t be an option.”

“If you were raised like me, you wouldn’t see that.”

“Then tell me.”

“I never was a violent person, but I grew up in a violent home. My father used to hit us most of the time, and he wasn’t alcoholic or drug addict. It was who he was, that’s way worse, there’s nothing to blame the violence on. And some day, I hit my sister so bad, I put all of the violence I faced on her. Do you know what my father told me when he knew? He said that the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree. I swore that I never lay a finger on any person unless they start it. My sister forgave me, and I never did something like that again.”

“You don’t sound as a violent person, you’re hurt and that’s understandable.”

“Weird that you don’t sound as a violent person though you work as an arms dealer.”

“I grew up with my mother and sister, my father left us because my mother couldn’t accept what he was doing. She wanted to keep us safe, but here I am, keeping my father’s legacy.”

“Your mother raised you good, Harry.”

He smiled at your words, reminding himself that he was raised by a loving mother that taught him how to be a gentleman.

You all arrived at the same time at the cabin, it was big and had enough rooms for all of you. You and Harry got out of the car as everyone else did. You carried your bags to your rooms and then gathered in the living room, Jessica had packed meals for all of you, she liked trips and got all excited for preparing food for such occasions.

It was the first time for you to meet Rian, Sam’s boyfriend, but he was a nice guy so it didn’t take you too long to be all friendly with him. Everybody was eating their meals, you sat on Harry’s lap on an armchair, eating together while everyone else was sitting everywhere else. Sam pulled his portable speaker and connected his phone to it and turned on the song ‘Good Girls’ by 5sos and stood on his feet and pulled you off of Harry’s lap to make you dance with him.

So just turn around and forget what you saw

C’ause good girls are bad girls that haven’t been caught

Sam would hold you and spin you, dance with you and soon everyone followed, dancing and laughing. Sam went towards Harry who sat there watching you dance and brought him to dance with you. Harry’s smile was getting wider when you pulled him in, hands around his neck while his were around your waist. Everyone was dancing with everyone, you and Noah danced together while Harry danced with Sam, but there was a missing person. Michael. You grabbed him by the arm off of the couch and danced together, he smiled and danced happily with you.

Soon enough the song changed, and Harry’s arms were around you once again. You could smell his cologne from a mile away, he’d catch your eyes if there were a hundred man in the same room. His touch was the only touch you knew. And he could never ask for something more from life other than having you in his arms.

“Let’s play truth or dare!” Sam excitedly suggested.

“Let’s play it outside?” Noah added and everyone agreed.

It was already getting late so some of the guys helped put on a little fire to get some warmth, you sat on the ground with a cup of hot chocolate in hand.

“You filthy bitch, get off the ground.” Jessica said to you, taking a seat on a wooden rack.

“I love sitting on the ground, shut up.”

Everyone made a circle around the fire, Harry sat beside you, his arm around your shoulder.

“How do we play?” You asked.

“We take turns, I’ll start.” Sam said.

“Someone’s excited.” Jessica smirked at Sam who rolled his eyes at her.

“Noah, truth or dare?” Sam asked.

“Truth.” Noah answered.

“Wuss.” You commented and he gave you a fake disgusted look. Harry was having a beer just like everyone else.

“What’s your guilty pleasure?” Sam asked.

“Umm,” He thought about it for a second. “I still watch spongepop.”

“Ohh.” Everyone chanted and then it was Rian’s turn.

“Michael, truth or dare?” Rian asked Michael.

“Truth.” Michael answered.

“Are we in fifth grade here?” You teased Michael who looked at Harry, “Shut her up or I’ll do.” Michael said to Harry and everyone laughed.

“She can be as mean as she wants, I’m sorry.” Harry defended you, giggling.

“What’s the biggest lie you’ve ever told?” Rian got the attention back as he asked Michael.

“That’s easy, I told a girl that I didn’t love her, but I did.” Harry’s face went down as he heard Michael’s answer.

“OH god! Why?” Jessica asked.

“It’s a one question per turn, Jess.” Michael smiled sadly, sipping from his can of beer.

After Harry and Michael fixed things, Jessica and Noah met Michael many times, so they grew closer. That was why it wasn’t so weird for Michael to tag along.

“My turn!” Noah said, raising his arm. “You little bitch!” He pointed at you and you playfully flicked your hair.

“Truth or dare?”

“Dare!”

“Flash us!” Jessica chanted, and Harry glared at her.

“I don’t care if you’re her best friend, I’ll kill you.” Harry playfully threatened her and she laughed at it.

“Dance for us for one minute straight, no music.” Noah dared you and you smirked at him.

“I’ll kill you, too.” Harry said to Noah that raised his hands in surrender.

“No, I’ll do it.” You stood up and lifted the hoodie you had on a little to show off your belly. Everyone’s eyes were on you.

“Here’s our stopwatch. Go!” Sam used his phone’s stopwatch and with his signal you started dancing with your belly, not moving anything but your belly’s muscles. You swayed your waist and made waves with your belly muscles for one minute straight till the time was up. Everyone clapped when you finished and you gave them a little curtsy in the end before taking your seat next to Harry again. He gave you a kiss on the cheek as you sat down.

“Harry!” Jessica yelled and Harry’s eyes widened at her in surprise.

“What?” He yelled back at her.

“Truth or dare?” She asked with a smile.

“Dare.”

“Following your girl’s steps, good boy.” Michael commented.

“I dare you to imitate y/n.” Jessica dared and you laughed as you turned your head to look at Harry’s face who was trying hard not to laugh.

“Fine.” Harry agreed. He let go of you to sit straight, he flicked his long non-existing hair, “I’m prettier than her, Harry, right?” He softened his voice as he imitated you. He wiggled his eyebrows, “I’m a badass good girl, who you gonna leave me for?” and with that all of you laughed hard.

“I don’t say that!” You laughed, trying to defend yourself.

He brought you in closer and kissed your temple, “You do every time we fight.”

You went on with your turns until Michael asked you, “Truth or dare, y/n?”

“Truth.” You answered.

“What’s your deepest darkest secret?”

You bit your lip and flicked your hair, “Um,” You sighed, “My family disowned me.”

You were in your bedroom, laying on the bed. You excused yourself after answering Michael’s question and not long after, Harry had followed you, entering your room. You were naked except from your panties and the blanket covering your bare status.

“Baby, are you okay?” Harry sat down next to you, brought your head to his chest as you cried.

“Shh, everything’s going to be okay.” He calmed you, rubbing your hair, pulling you closer into his chest as you let it all out.

You cried everything. Everything that made you reach the point you were at.

Harry grabbed your head to look into your teary eyes, “I’m with you, okay?” You nodded.

And as you took your time in his arms, everything actually became okay.

“They didn’t approve of me becoming a belly dancer or leaving home, so they disowned me long time ago.” You said softly, eyes feeling heavy.

“Doesn’t matter. You are a successful, independent, beautiful woman. You don’t need them if they bring you down, they should have supported you. It’s not your fault, Rapunzel.” He rubbed your head as he held you.

“I love you.” You muttered as you fell asleep on his chest.

His eyes widened and looked at you only to see you asleep in his arms, he sighed.

“Unfortunately, I love you, too.” He whispered, kissing your forehead.

SO?

#harry styles smut #harry styles #harry x reader #smut #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fluff #harry #couples #love #couple #ily #harry edward styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfic #harry x y/n

9 notes · View notes

askthebutch · 3 months

Note

Im kind of like, new to lesbian culture and butch culture. Im 15, I've known I liked girl since I was like, 9 or 10. And I spent most of that time convinced I was bi or pan because of comhet or whatever. Anyway, I wanna know if you have any advice on how to start dressing more butch? And just like more butch media I can interact with and go through to learn more about it

Be cautious in online spaces that are geared towards lesbians and butches, since most of the folks on there are adults and will be discussing adult themes.

Dressing butch, and butch media. When you try on a new gender expression, most folks start with undergarments. That way it's private and you can decide if you feel more confident before you start changing stuff people will notice. Most butches I know wear sports bras, boxer briefs, and ugly ass crew socks. Sports bras weren't an option for me until after my breast reduction, so I wore minimizing bras. I likes Hanes womens' boxer briefs and their white crew socks (ugly I know but trust they are so comfy you'll never go back).

For clothing, it's all about the fit and hem lines. You'll have to try on a bunch of clothes to find what really works for you.

For shorts, try women's soccer shorts because they have a lower hem line than shit like nike shorts, but they won't swallow you like men's basketball shorts. For pants and jeans, tighter is going to read as feminine but that doesn't mean you should wear parachute pants. (google mc hammer and don't tell me you've never hear U Can't Touch This) Go for bootcut or straightcut jeans. You might have formals or dances or something in which case I recommend getting a women's tuxedo.

For shirts, get you a multipack of t shirts from the men's section. Great place to start. Men's t shirts aren't as clingy as women's, they're cheaper, they have pockets, and they're a little longer in the torso. Pair a t-shirt with a casual open button up (like a flannel) and you've got yourself a look that killed it back when I was in school with my fellow dinosaurs. I tuck the t shirt into my jeans and wear a leather or recycled bike tire belt with a buckle I found at an antique store.

Ultimately, it's more about what makes you confident than what aligns with the gender expression you're aiming for.

If you saw me at a coffee shop, I'd be wearing crocs or beat up work sneakers, Levi 401 jeans, a big hoodie, and maybe a baseball cap. I also like to paint my nails black and wear the same two necklaces I've worn since I was like 12. That's what makes me confident.

#For wholesome fun you can make your own leather belt with a kit from a craft store #ask the butch #anon #my tone in this reply is very much Awkward Older Cousin Tussles Your Hair #if that wasn't clear

15 notes · View notes

possibilistfanfiction · 11 months

Note

Hi, may you please spare some advice on what casual, but also cool in a hot climate, clothing a baby butch could look into wearing that’s a bit fashionable and isn’t just a shirt and a cargo shorts?

whew first of all donate any & all cargo shorts immediately (pretend tan france is telling you that Urgently). i do understand finding shorts can be kind of weird depending on ur body shape bc men’s shorts are often bulky & long. i prefer a 5’ inseam, but you can go for a 7’ if that feels better. under No circumstances should ur shorts hit ur knees lol. madewell has some pretty good options (if you can find one that’s mens & womens in-store that’s the best). pacsun usually has some pretty chill options. for online shopping, bearbottom shorts is not too expensive & has a lot of colors in both 5’ & 7’ shorts. i really like the swim shorts both& just made (not sure if they’re sold out). get lighter colors in the summer if you want for shorts, & just… no khaki.

& i love a t-shirt, but it’s in how it’s worn. i don’t think it even needs to be an interesting t-shirt, but it should have a fit & pov that looks intentional. i like to get my t-shirts a size up & tuck them in, sometimes pair them with an overshirt. if i know i’m going to be SWEATING & i want to wear a tshirt, i’ll wear something looser & actually thicker cotton in either black or white. i’ve had top surgery so i can wear tanks without stress but if binding is a concern, both& has some great tanks for ppl who bind.

if you do want to be more dressed up than a short/t-shirt combo, the answer is & will always be linen. a short sleeved linen button up (from really anywhere you like that fits well — uniqlo has both men’s & women’s in many earthtones for under $50!) is The Key. put it on as an overshirt over your t-shirt or wear it buttoned halfway in a french tuck. i prefer to stay away from patterns & bright colors bc it can easily look a little zany, but do your thing there. i have a few pairs of linen pants i also love, especially for things like taking my wife on a date, or if it’s just a cool day/nighttime activity etc. literally just… linen button ups & linen pants, even drawstring pants! if you wanna ball out, theory makes my favorite linen pants, but oak + fort is a close second & much more affordable. everlane also has all of these pieces in mens & womens & is very high quality!

idk ur shoe situation but two great options are always birkenstocks (the rubber ones are under $50 & v comfortable) and/or all white low air force 1s. a good all white sneaker is a great starter sneaker & will always go with everything. i myself prefer dunk lows but u gotta rly be wanting to invest in some sneakers to do that lmao but if you are! they’re cool

lastly, small accessories go a long way! i have a few chains, a small hoop earring, a ring (& my wedding ring but lol i don’t think we can count that as an accessory), & then sunglasses i love. i have a Beautiful watch from my wife but literally just a watch w a normal watch face & a leather band is better than nothing or wearing a smart watch out when there’s quite literally no need lol. a good baseball cap, either plain black or from a cool brand (mine for this summer is aime leon dore) is both a nice addition & also practical. do not & i mean Do Not carry around a backpack unless u Absolutely have to lol. masc cross body bags or canvas totes are much better if u need a bag

also:

- you can find tons of overshirts thrifting or at outlets! since they don’t have to fit perfectly it can be a great place to look for them

- i live & die by a good pair of light wash denim in the summer. allsaints & madewell always have beautiful denim, but you can look at levi’s as well, or thrift!

- tailoring is not expensive!!!!!!!!! if u find pants u love that are too long, just get them hemmed! fr it’s like $10, everyone needs a good tailor

- never underestimate a good sweatshort/t-shirt/overshirt/birks moment to go get a cup of coffee or something… 10/10

- i have definitely not been in a place financially to do this in the past, so pls take this w a grain of salt & of course do what’s best for your budget, but higher quality, simple fabrics ethically made are ALWAYS going to be best. they’ll last longer & keep their fit. launder ur clothes carefully too! hang drying pants & heavy cotton will get their lifespan to extend. & it’s 100% cool to find brands u love & stick to them. if u find a piece u like, u can get it in a few colors, rather than trying to find a bunch of other stuff. quality > quantity, capsule wardrobes are easier to wear & maintain

- some ppl whose fashion i like rn: courtney williams, arike ogunbowale, shanice van de sanden. & sue bird knows how to wear a short/button up summer set with the best of them. kristen kish Obviously. (& also i love mal from the queer ultimatum lmfaoooo)

- wear whatever u want, just not cargo shorts :)

#i can Hear tanny throwing a pile of cargo shorts from the closet to the floor lmaoooo #but rly it’s just linen that’s it that’s the most important thing lol #not to be silly but u should watch s7e2 of queer eye bc tan gives some great butch summer advice!

27 notes · View notes

henrypreppy · 1 year

Text

Secondhand

It had been a while since I needed to dress up last, so I was in need of some clothes. I had outgrown my suit from college and I hadn’t worn it since I interviewed for my job now. Being in inside sales, I could stay relatively casual—a polo and jeans most days. Still, the executives were coming to town and I was in need of something to wear to a business dinner.

The execs were always stodgy and traditional where I was more laid back and comfortable. I wasn’t willing to drop actual money on nice, tailored dress clothes to look on par with them; so, I was off to the secondhand store.

I just needed a suit that fit well enough and some shoes. It was wall-to-wall of poorly sorted clothes. I clearly had my work cut out for me. I decided to start with shoes since it was a smaller section. While there were two full aisles of women’s shoes, the men’s was only half of one, and sparse at that. It was mostly an array of beat up running and basketball shoes, but a few pairs of dress shoes—most of which equally torn up—were grouped toward the end.

Only one pair looked like it was in good condition and wasn’t meant for a giant: a pair of black tassel loafers. On further inspection, they looked quite expensive and roughly my size. They weren’t something I would typically wear—far from it. It was definitely something the executives would approve of, though.

So, I reached out to check the size on the inside of the tongue. When my hand finally grasped the shoes, I felt an unexpected and intense surge of sexual energy. Immediately, my manhood swelled and twitched. I was confused and my mind raced before landing on one thought that I would never admit was mine: Smell the loafer.

I had never wanted to sniff a shoe before, nonetheless a man’s. It was entirely out of the ordinary, and I fought the desire. I was straight. This was nothing like me. What if someone saw? I took a quick glance around—no other shoppers or cameras. No one would know. It was a shoe, too, not a man. It’s not like I was licking some dude’s feet or anything, so really there was no harm in it. I needed to check the inside for the size, so if I caught a whiff, it wouldn’t mean anything anyway.

I took one of the shoes and lifted it slowly to peak inside. The bottom of the shoe read Friedman and had filigree around the name. I’d never heard of that brand before, but I never wore dress shoes anyway. I started to rotate it and take it in on all sides. I just ended up staring, almost in a trance. It was well made, I guessed. I shrugged off the feeling and began to lift the tongue to look inside when my hand boosted the shoe much closer to my face and my nose dipped inside. I inhaled sharply and smelled musk, shoe polish, and expensive leather. My head was reeling from the rush and I was ecstatic. I failed, even, to suppress a light moan as my cock lurched inside my jeans. It felt like something had come over me, and it sent ripples of pleasure through my whole body. I wanted more. It was such a rush. So, I took another hit, this time slower—relaxing and enjoying it. Suddenly, I caught myself and had a quick look around. I blushed. Thankfully, no one was around to see. I lifted the tongue stiffly to look again. I took notice of the heavy imprints of the previous wearer, and I finally took note of the size: 9.5 D. They would fit just fine it seemed.

“Put them on,” I heard a baritone voice say. I jumped and immediately scanned the area. There was still no one around. I was starting to get creeped out when my other hand took the other shoe off the shelf and brought it to my nose. I couldn’t resist taking another sniff, noting the distinct masculine smell that enraptured me. I felt comforted and reassured; so, I took both shoes to a nearby bench, watching the tassels jostle ever-so-slightly as I walked. I was at full mast and leaking slightly by the time I sat down. Thankfully, no one was there to spot my confused lust.

Looking down and beginning to untie my favorite sneakers, I felt a sense of shame and arousal as another thought creeped into my head: “This is hardly appropriate footwear for a man.” It sounded like the voice I just heard, but clearer—more refined. It couldn’t have been my thoughts, but I felt strangely compelled to agree; a man’s footwear ought to reflect his sense of self-worth, and I wasn’t just an average Joe in some lazy-looking sneakers. I finally tugged the sneakers off, revealing my black athletic socks. “These will have to go, too,” I heard once again, the phantom baritone sounding more agreeable; “Proper shoes should have proper socks, but this is all I have for now.”

I reached for the right loafer, but caught myself. What was I thinking? There’s nothing wrong with sneakers and Nike socks. Everybody wears them. They’re comfortable. I needed some new dress clothes, but these feelings were something new to me. Was it worth it? I peered down at the old-fashioned loafers, my eyes first fixed on the tassels and slowly drifting to the inside of the shoes. I felt them calling me. I was lost in them once again as I felt my body move. Foot met leather and my member convulsed in pleasure. Feeling the worn loafer on the ball of my foot sent my head reeling as ecstasy flooded it. I came to understand my arousal did not attempt to resist the urge to slide my foot in deeper. My plain athletic socks slid in smoothly, filling the space in the shoe tightly. My foot felt good; it felt secure as I wiggled my toes, taking in every supple caress through my sock.

“Good. Now, the other,” the voice bellows in my head. It drowned out all other thoughts. The only thing I could think of doing was complying—not that I wouldn’t have anyway. Every point of contact with the loafer was orgasmic. I slid into the other loafer with a light moan. It was the most amazing feeling my feet had ever felt, and my cock began to leak in agreement. I stood up, uncaring of the damp spot on my jeans, and felt my full body weight on the shoes. I was stable and secure, the loafers hugging my feet intimately.

Then, I took a step forward. A rush came straight from my feet to my head. I began to walk just to feel that pure pleasure, step after step. Pulse after pulse of this amazing sensation aided in darkening the wet spot. I did not know where I was walking to, but I had to keep walking in these shoes.

The haze of pleasure ended as I stood before a rack of suits. It was next on my list to get, but I felt like I was there for something in particular. All of the suits were disorganized. Every color was mixed; sizing was in no order. An image popped into my head though—a grey three-piece suit with pinstripes. The image in my head seemed simultaneously foreign, but vivid and detailed. My cock responded gleefully. That was it. That was the suit I was after. My hands plunged into the racks haphazardly, groping and sorting through ever suit in front of me. Some were similar, but not what I needed. After each teasing disappointment, my desire for the suit I

pictured grew. As I continued searching, my hand plunged to the back of one of the racks and I felt it—the same familiar wave of pleasure from the loafers, this time on my fingertips as I grabbed at the smooth, expensive material.

“It is still here! Take it!” The voice erupted.

I obeyed, savoring the sensation of freeing the smooth woolen suit from the back of the rack. It felt better than the touch of anyone I had ever been with. As I freed it from the rack, I could see it was exactly as I pictured: jacket, vest, and trousers, all in a dull light grey with off-white pinstripes running down the length.

I opened the jacket to check the size, though it already seemed short for me. It was what I pictured, and I wanted it; but it seemed stuffy and formal—not my usual style by a long shot. As my hand brushed the silky lining, though, I knew this suit had to be mine, regardless of size. My hand slid from the inside label down the sleeve smoothly as pulled the jacket off the hanger, the rest of the ensemble still hanging in the other hand. As the other sleeve of the jacket hung off my frame, I felt incomplete; I placed the hanger in my sleeved hand and slid the other sleeve on with a suppressed moan. Even through a shirt, my nipples were responding to the fabric, hardening to stone. My fingers reached the end of the sleeves as excess material bunched behind my shoulder blades. The jacket hung a few inches higher than a proper fit as well. Clearly, this was made for a shorter, stouter man. My cock surged as the thought crossed my mind and I shuddered in pleasure.

I took a deep breath to clam my frantic arousal, noticing a familiar musky undertone. It reminded me of the shoes with less leather and mixed with an expensive cologne.

“Royal Muske. It’s been a while,” echoed in my head as if I knew the name of the scent. Fascinated by the knowledge that came from seemingly nowhere, I began to feel around the interior pockets. As my hand plunged into the silk-lined pockets, it was hard to figure out what I was feeling until I pulled it out, a silk polka-dotted bow tie, the maroon color matching the lining of the suit, and the off-white spots reminding me of the pinstripes running down my chest. I quickly pressed it to my nose, taking a strong hit from what remained of the cologne. I shuddered and put it back in the pocket, my hand touching another piece of silky fabric as I stuffed it in.

Looking up, I quickly realized that a few people were sneaking glances as I enjoyed the suit. I did not care, strangely. This was my suit. These were my shoes. So, what did it matter? I had become audacious in my search, consumed with pleasure and lust. Lastly, I checked the size of the pants. The tag read “42 x 27.” They looked far too wide for me, but the size sounded vaguely correct in my head. The pleats made them billow a bit more, but I thought I could use some extra room.

I reluctantly removed the jacket and placed it tenderly back on the hanger, savoring the liner’s touch. I had everything I came for, so I started toward the checkout line. It took me a few strides before I remembered my sneakers back in the shoe section. I hesitated briefly and focused on the warm embrace of the tassel loafers on my feet.

The voice once again urged me once again: “Do not go back to those ratty gym shoes.” It felt like a command, though I was inclined to agree despite them being my favorite sneakers. I’d had them for years; I felt inclined to fight the voice and turned back to the shoe aisle for my sneakers. Then, I felt something brush my ankle as I walked. The bow tie had fallen out of the suit jacket and brushed the exposed area. I instinctively reached down to pick it up, the thoughts of my old shoes leaving my mind as I picked it up and shoved it back into the coat pocket. Smiling lightly, I proceeded to check out with my new suit.

The woman at the register avoided eye contact after spotting the moist bulge beneath my belt. I exited without drawing attention to it and slung the ill-fitting jacket on as I reached the car. It was still mid-morning, and much of my day was free. The way home was a blur, but every shoe store, menswear store, and barbershop stood out to me as my crotch stirred in passing.

I walked into my apartment, still in a horny haze, wasting no time shutting the door and pawing at my crotch as I made my way to the bedroom. I couldn’t stop thinking about how good everything would feel on my skin. Placing the jacket, vest, and trousers on the bed, I began to strip.

“No more sloppy clothes,” I heard as I removed my t-shirt. I even repeated it to myself as I tenderly removed the loafers and yanked off my athletic socks. I unfastened my belt and lid my damp jeans down, revealing blue plaid boxers soaked with pre-cum. I hesitated again with my thumb in the waistband and sat down on the edge of the bed for a moment. The horny racing of my mind slowed and I could think a little more clearly.

“What on earth is coming over me?” I questioned, unsure of even my own senses. My boner began to retreat and clarity of thought came once again. Following clarity of thought came clarity of stomach, as it began to grumble. “Something to eat should help me focus,” I thought.

I hopped off the edge of the bed, careful to avoid even looking at the shoes that enraptured me and went to the kitchen to fix myself a sandwich for lunch. Once it was fixed, I cracked open a soda and sat, sipped, and munched. The whole morning made no sense to me. Only the shoes fit, yet I picked up an entire suit. Would I be able to find something better before the dinner on Tuesday? I had to. Though, it would probably involve fighting through weekend crowds if I didn’t do so today. I wasted an entire morning in a sexual haze, and my underwear showed it. I shuddered. I needed to change.

I went back into my bedroom, steering clear of the clothes on my bed. Something seemed off about them. I peeled off the wet boxers and flung them in the hamper by the door. When I turned around to walk toward my dresser, I kept my chin high, avoiding the enthralling outfit on my bed. As soon as I took my first step, I glanced my belt with my heel and stumbled forward. I regained my balance as my hands hit my bed, brushing against the soft fabric of the suit pants. I felt the same jolt of sexual energy as before: my cock jumped and I looked at the suit before me. It was irresistible and my eyes beamed with pure lust.

I picked up the pants, and unfastened them and slowly began sliding my legs into the oversized holes. The tip of my cock brushed the fabric, sending me wild once again. I buttoned and zipped the pants and went to look for a belt to hold them up, only to notice they had no belt loops.

“Good, Son. They’ll fit like a glove soon enough,” the voice echoed in my head. “Now, put it all on.”

I was helpless to resist and I began to slide my bare feet into the loafers. The leather caressed my feet, which had more room without the cushy socks. I could feel my feet shift slightly inside the rich material. My eyes caught the tassels again, and I smirked. They did make the shoes look proper. I wished to look proper myself. I moaned as I wiggled my toes and reached for the jacket containing the bow tie. I did not know how to tie one, but I wanted desperately to wear it. I removed it from the jacket and draped the silk over my neck, sending shivers of pleasure down my spine. Instinctively, my hands made quick work tying it into a perfectly even knot.

Next, I slid the vest over my shoulders. As the smooth fabric glided down my chest, my nipples began to harden more than ever before. Immediately, my cock began to dribble with pre-cum once more. I couldn’t help but moan as fabric and leather stimulated me.

“Just one more thing, and you’ll be mine,” I heard myself say. I was quivering in horniness and trepidation as I buttoned the vest and reached for the jacket. My smile widened to a dopey grin as I slid my right arm into the garment. The lining sent goosebumps down my arm as I saw my hand emerge from the end. My left arm had the same reaction as the jacket finally rested over my shoulders.

Lastly, I began to button the jacket, deftly pushing the button through the holes. As the second button was fastened, I moaned loudly and my mind went blank. For a brief moment, I couldn’t see or hear anything.

Then, the sound of hard-soled shoes on tile began to fade in along with my sight. I stood naked in a space that could only be described as blank. The floor was white and smooth; there were no walls in sight. In the distance, I could see a rotund figure in grey walking toward me.

“Hello!” I called out with a wave. “Hello, my boy!” He called back in a dignified baritone.

My cock stiffened and I remembered the voice as the on I’d been hearing in my head. I walked swiftly over to meet him. He would have answers. He had to have answers. He was deceptively far away, but I reached him without tiring in the slightest.

“Slow down, my boy,” he cautioned. “We have all the time we could possibly need here.”

As I approached, I was finally able to take the man in. He was quite portly with a round ball gut that was sure to enter a room before he did. He was around a good six inches shorter than me as well—perhaps 5’ 6”. He wore the very same three-piece suit and loafers that I found at the thrift store. It fit him perfectly. His hair was black and circled his bald crown like a wreath. He wore a thick mustache of the same color, and looked to be in his fifties or sixties.

I guess I was taking it all in for too long when his voice roused me and my manhood: “Something you like, Son?”

“No—I mean yes—I mean, what is this place?” I stammered.

“Just a place where you and I can interact face to face and perhaps sort out a few things. You took quite a liking to my shoes, Son.”

I stepped closer, but remained defensive. “No. No. No. You put some sort of spell on me. I would never do any of that stuff with shoes, especially not a man’s!”

“Relax,” he attempted to placate. “I may have awakened something dormant in you, but I certainly could not create something new. Why, look at yourself.” He gestured to my manhood. “You’re positively rock hard right now.”

With that, a full-body mirror rose from the ground in front of me, showing my tight, toned chest flecked with sparse hair and cock at full-mast.

“No! You’re doing this to me. I’m straight. Whatever this is, stop it now!” I demanded.

“I told you,” he said coolly, “This is just where we can chat, and I can’t make these feelings come out of nowhere, but I can certainly help them along.”

He took long strides for his short stature toward me, and locked eye contact as a wardrobe and chest of drawers materialized behind me. I began to back away, but was halted by the new furniture.

“Would you like for me to help it along?” He continued with a smile. “Stay away from me!” I shouted, but his advance never slowed.

As he came closer, he stretched out his hand for a handshake. “I’m Arthur, by the way,” he said politely, stopping a few feet from me.

I was confused, frozen like a deer in the headlights at full mast. He simply stood there, polite, but imposing. “Michael,” I said, shaking his hand hesitantly. I expected some sort of shock or wave of euphoria, but it was quite simply just a handshake.

“It’s a pleasure, Michael!” He happily boomed before lowering his voice to a business-like tone: “I’m sure you’re wondering why you’re here. I’ll assuage some anxiety and say you’re not dead.” He chuckled lightly. “This is merely my domain that I’ve brought your mind to. You shared enough of an affinity for my old clothes for me to welcome you here.”

“Okay. Well...” I trailed off, trying vaguely not to sound rude. “How do I get out? I didn’t exactly ask to come here.” I crossed my arms in passive defiance.

“Oh, but you did, my boy!” He stated excitedly. “I can’t force you to do anything you haven’t any inclination to do, whether it’s putting on my suit and shoes or bringing you here. On some level, you wanted to dress like me, meet me, and—if I interpret those horny thought earlier correctly—look like me.” He gave me a wink and a nod.

I resented what he was saying. I would never want to look like a bald, fat, old man; but my cock still seemed to betray me. Was he right somehow? Regardless, I would never say it. “You never answered my question, though. How do I leave?”

“But I did! You can leave when you no longer have any desire to stay. Or...”

“Or what?” I demanded.

“Or we can both leave together.” He grinned.

“Well, how do we do that? I get the feeling you’re not going to let me leave any other way, and I don’t particularly care if another old dude pops into existence anyway.”

“We’d be walking together, Michael. You and I would be one and the same. Just imagine getting to wear such nice clothes.” He smirked.

My cock jumped again. It sounded strangely exciting, but I was ashamed to admit it. I started to cover myself with my hands to hide the excitement.

“Oh posh, Michael! It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” He stepped closer reaching beside my waist to open a drawer. “But you may as well cover yourself up with actual clothing.” He pulled out a large pair of white briefs—clearly his size—and offered them to me.

I reluctantly took them and attempted to step into them, but they were too big. I held them up by the waistband, which nearly hit my bellybutton.

“Would you like for them to fit better, Michael?” Arthur asked plainly.

I nodded and my waist began to grow to fit the briefs wrapped around them. “What are you doing to me?” I asked as my inflated figure formed a ball gut not unlike his.

“This way, they’ll fit better and you’ll become closer to your desires,” he chortled.

My gut continued to grow to match Arthur’s girth; my thighs followed suit, filling in the formerly- cavernous briefs. Stretch marks formed and lightened as my waist hit forty-two inches. My member became dwarfed by my large frame and I struggled to keep my balance.

Arthur eyed me up and down. “Looking splendid, my boy! Let’s have a good look at you.” He placed his hands on my shoulders to stabilize me and guided me to the mirror. I complied in total shock from my body changing so much in mere moments. He gave my shoulders a pat as we looked at our similar widths in the mirror.

“That, however, is not your waist” he said firmly, taking the briefs in his hands and hiking them up to my bellybutton. I moaned in surprised agreement as he gave my newly-formed belly a rub. He then cupped my balls through the briefs, sending me more and more waves of pleasure as they began to grow. My sack descended, farther, and I was left with two golf-ball- sized lumps straining against the white fabric as an obvious moose knuckle. My cock seemed even smaller by comparison.

I had to admit that I liked it, but I could not understand why. It felt correct—like I was meant to be this way. I stood still, staring at Arthur’s work, waiting for him to continue.

His hands gave my balls a final tug. They would be hanging much lower outside of he briefs. “You’re looking quite good with some meat on your bones. Wouldn’t you agree?” He directed.

I nodded in agreement, mouthing a “yes” without the words escaping my lips.

He rubbed my shoulders, locking eyes with mine in the mirror. His touch was electric, and I saw my heigh lowering to match his. Inch by inch, I shrank, my shoulders broadening and making me look rounder—just like Arthur. He then whispered into my ear: “Those are the right proportions for a man, Michael. Enjoy it.” His mustache bristled my ear and he gave me a wink.

A shivering “Yes, sir” and a squirt escaped my body, forming a small wet spot on my briefs.

His arms wrapped under mine, and he began rubbing my chest. The hair faded and fell from it as he covered every square inch. After he ousted the dusting of hair on my chest, the stretch

marks were more visible once again. His hands landed on my pecs, which began to expand into small flats of fat; my nipples hardened at the attention, becoming my main focus as he twisted and rubbed them. From each rub, they grew wider, expanding to the size of pencil erasers, then dimes. With each twist, they protruded more, lengthening to half an inch by the time Arthur relented.

Finally, he turned to the wardrobe again and brandished a ribbed athletic shirt. “Arms up, protege,” Arthur said with a smile.

I accepted the title without question and raised my arms up, curious about the prospect and afraid to disobey. He hoisted the shirt over me and draped it atop my portly frame. The fabric was silky and expensive-feeling. I relished it gliding down my face and chest. I let out another low moan as it brushed my nipples and settled into place. My nipples were clearly visible through the white fabric. My eyes were fixed on their bulges; my mind was fixed on their sensitivity.

My trance was broken: “Now tuck it in, Son. One should always be tucked and tidy.”

It was almost instinctual to obey now. Bit by bit, my hands tucked in the excess smooth fabric into the briefs. My enlarged frame made it harder than usual, but I felt oddly proud of the figure that would have disgusted me moments ago. As I tucked the last portion in, I turned briefly to the side, examining the girth exacerbated by my raised waistline. “Tucked and tidy, sir,” I reiterated.

“As you should be. You have quite the mature physique now. Shouldn’t it be clothed in more than undergarments?”

I met his eyes in the mirror again as he spoke this. I wanted to be just like this man. Maybe he did awaken something in me. I only knew what felt good and correct in that moment—him. “Yes, sir. Just like you,” I sighed wistfully.

“Very good! I think you’ll do quite well with me, then.”

Arthur opened the wardrobe’s doors, revealing a light grey three-piece suit with off-white pinstripes. Beneath it was a pair of the very same black tassel loafers he wore. To the right were all of the other accessories: maroon and navy striped socks, a maroon bow tie, silk braces in the same color, and finally the leather sock garters with two shiny metal clips on each. To the left, hung a fine white dress shirt with French cuffs. My cock leapt for joy at the sight, but I was speechless.

Arthur produced a chair and placed it behind me. “Now, sit, my son,” he whispered softly into my ear, his mustache brushing my ear once again as he spoke. A warm tingle coursed from my ear lobe to my spine as I complied. He took the socks and garters from the wardrobe and knelt down in front of me, eyeing my feet. I admired the scene repeatedly, swapping my stares from his shiny, smooth scalp ringed with thick, black hair, and the socks that my feet yearned to be encased in.

His hazel gaze met mine as he looked up and asked, “Are you ready, boy?” “Yes,” I replied, transfixed.

“You’ll enjoy my shoes much more with these. You’ll have more weight on them, too.” He placed the socks and garters to the side briefly, lowered his head, and grasped my right leg— one hand under the knee, the other just below the ankle. I felt a familiar warmth, though much stronger—almost burning—as he began to rub up and down my calf. As I looked down from his head again, I could see my calf thickening with a combination of muscle and fat as the hair faded away at his touch.

I moaned as he continued, “Yes, sir,” being the only words I could think to say.

His caress moved down to my foot, which felt amazing with its newfound sensitivity. My toes began to swell up like small sausages as his fingers worked through them. As his fondling continued, my hips began to buck and gyrate in the briefs.

“Not yet, boy,” Arthur said sharply. “You can cum when I say. That will be our grand finale.”

My hips lowered and my breathing deepened as I contained myself more. I only received a brief respite from the pleasurable onslaught as he switched legs and resumed. Wherever we were, I’m glad no one could hear my moans at the hands of a man—especially such and old and proper one. My self-consciousness aside, I was in ecstasy.

At long last, he picked up a sock and lightly brushed it over my sensitive soles. When he began to slide the silky fabric over my toes, I struggled to control myself. The sock gilded over my foot and graced my leg further up my now-denuded calf. I watched as it stretched and became ever-so-slightly sheer as the top was set just above the curve of my calf. The first sock was a warm and comforting pressure enveloping my leg; the second nearly made my feet have their own orgasms.

Arthur leaned back to let me see my socked feet. It looked proper for me. It was as if everything I’d worn before was horrible and uncomfortable. This seemed right. This is what I wanted. I bent over and caressed the silken beauties. I felt them on my calves and fingertips; I relished it. The socks wrinkled and creased slightly as I stroked them. Arthur moved my hands away and looked me in the eye.

“We can’t have them looking ruffled and untidy,” Arthur stated in a didactic tone while wrapping the cool leather of a sock garter just under my knee. He fastened the strap and pulled my sock up taut into the clip. My cock jumped as the first clip locked down, securing the sock. The second clicked down, and the spasming continued.

“Now you do the other, Junior,” He commanded through a grin, and held up the other garter, the length of it swinging back and forth seductively.

“Yes. Please!” I pleaded before taking it. I handled the leather and metal gingerly as I wrapped the cool materials under my girthy knee. I felt the embrace of the sock tighten as I pulled it up into the clips. After I secured it, I could not stop looking at my feet—my precious, socked feet. I wiggled my toes just to feel them rub my feet more.

“It gets better,” Arthur interrupted from the wardrobe. My eyes rose to meet him. He was buttoning the braces onto the trousers. They were the same colors as the socks—navy with a thick maroon stripe down the center of each side. He continued, placing the pants to the side and taking the dress shirt off its hanger, “It takes effort to look like a man should, but the payoff is entirely worth it, my boy.” As he concluded, he held up the shirt, unbuttoned.

I froze, remembering myself. What was I doing? I was sitting in a blank space being dressed by a man who made me as short and fat as he was—and I liked it? It was absurd. It wasn’t me; even if I thought the clothes looked nice, I wasn’t gay, I wasn’t his boy, and I certainly wasn’t fat. Still, it was undeniable that, despite it all, I felt good. I winced while mulling it over.

“I see you’re still in denial.”

He started toward me from only a short distance, a smile on his face. I panicked and began to try to stand up from the chair. I had barely lifted the legs of my larger frame when he lifted the rest and pulled me into a kiss and warm embrace. I tried to shake off the pleasure, but only for a moment. He pulled my head in for another kiss, this time plunging his tongue between lips that could not help but part. I even tried to fend off his tongue with my own, but he twisted around it with his as they danced in my mouth. After a moment, I relaxed as I felt his tongue beckon to mine and I obliged. I extended it out through his lips, settling it in his warmth. His mustache brushed my upper lip gently throughout. I closed my eyes and savored the moment. This is what I wanted.

He withdrew from the kiss, and my eyes opened, meeting his. “There you are, Son!” He chortled, rubbing his thumb above my lips to wipe off some saliva. I could feel bristling under his finger that was not there before. “You’re already looking much more handsome,” he said, ushering me toward the mirror, shirt in-hand. Immediately, I spotted it, a thick chevron mustache like his now adorned my face. It was brown like the rest of my hair, which was one of the few things distinguishing us at this point. “Very handsome and mature, wouldn’t you agree, Michael?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied, exaggerating my lip movements to watch my mustache as I spoke.

“Good then! Let’s get back to it,” he said, opening the shirt for me to step into. I shifted back and placed my arms through the sleeves. I enjoyed the starched fabric sliding down my arms, with the small excess draping ever-so-slightly underneath. Arthur shifted around me and began buttoning the shirt, leaving the top button undone. My body filled the it completely with just enough material left over to tuck in over my ball gut. He then reached into my front pocket and

teased my nipple while he retrieved a pair of silver cufflinks. I lurched forward as his finger graced such a sensitive spot through the shirt. When I stared at the cufflinks, I knew what to do; I began folding the French cuffs to my shirt. Arthur fastened them with a nurturing smile.

I examined the cufflinks while he stepped back to retrieve the trousers and braces. Within the silver, a small “ARF” was engraved. “Sir,” I began. “What does ‘ARF’ stand for? Are they your initials?”

“Yes, my boy. Arthur Richard Friedman, named partly after the man that mentored me. You’ll be a Friedman soon enough,” he declared proudly, extending the trousers for me to step into.

I smiled, enjoying the thought as I looked into the trousers, the braces parted to either side, inviting me to enter into them. I took an oversized step into them as he began to lift them up— first over my knees, then my thighs, my manhood, my waist, and stopping below my bellybutton. He hiked them up to adjust them, my thighs looking like sausages in new casing. The fabric was thin but durable and high quality. The pinstripes ran from the cuff of the pants, parallel with the well-defined crease up to my midriff, the pleats barely breaking the vertical pattern. It did little to make me appear thinner.

Arthur stepped behind me again and began helping the braces over my shoulders, lifting the trousers even higher as the straps found their resting place on my shoulders. As the waist was pulled securely up to my bellybutton, a noticeable outline of my balls formed in the trousers. The braces framed my stomach as if to announce its presence to anyone that could see. I struggled briefly to zip, button, and clasp my pants closed before taking myself in again. The moose knuckle was incredibly prominent below my barely-contained gut. I touched the bulge through the fabric in curiosity and watched my balls leap in pleasure as I shuddered.

“Just as a man ought to be,” Arthur said warmly. “Although I wouldn’t leave the house without a tie at the very least. A man should always wear a tie, shouldn’t he?”

With growing confidence, I proclaimed “Yes, sir!” And began to flip my starched collar up. Arthur buttoned my top button and handed me the bow tie. It was very tight around my neck, forcing my neck straight. I draped the neckwear around my thick neck and tied an even knot just as before, despite it only being my second time.

“Just as I taught you,” Arthur cooed before flipping the collar back down. With a light wince, a small roll of fat formed above the top of the collar. Arthur ran his finger along the excess flesh, sighing in satisfaction; his touch brought relaxation and further horniness. The bow tie emphasized the gut much further—my girth now being framed on all sides. Arthur gave my gut a gentle pat, causing another visible spasm of my testicles through the pants. “Handsome indeed, but let’s finish this. Shall we, my boy?”

“With pleasure, sir!” I sounded off.

“Why don’t you address me properly if you’re going to be a Friedman, Son,” he commanded, the last word echoing in my head and taking hold.

Arthur was my father now. He made me into the man I had become and I was proud of it. I was proud to be unlike the rabble I was when I entered the thrift store; so, I grinned and announced, “Yes, Father.”

“Good boy, my son!” He replied.

His words were ecstasy to me, and I shivered in pleasure. Once he handed me the vest, I donned it proudly. I buttoned it up, my thick digits increasing in speed as it all became more natural to me. It sheltered my gut, its pinstripes blending in with the pants and presenting me as slightly slimmer.

Then, he held out the jacket. It called to me—welcomed me—and I pulled my arms through as Arthur embraced me from behind, resting his chin next to my neck. I breathed his cologne in deeply as I buttoned the suit, the minor illusion of thinness disappearing in the mirror as the top button was fastened. The cologne seemed to fit Arthur; it would fit me now as well. “Royal Muske,” I groaned, my eyes meeting his in the mirror.

“Yes, my son; just like we always wear. You’ll have it in just a moment. Now, take a seat for me.”

“Of course, Father,” I said with pride before sitting.

He went to the wardrobe again and returned with the loafers and cologne. He spritzed me twice on the neck and the smell overtook me. It was familiar, like something I had smelled my whole life. I relaxed even more as my father, presenting a loafer, instructed, “Look deeply into the loafer, Son.”

I looked inside and was lost in it once again. The inside of the shoe seemed to go on forever. I began to see it clearer as it was lifted toward my face. Inside, on the insole, the filigreed name “Friedman” came into focus. The smell of the rich leather began to reach my nose as Arthur pushed it closer to my face. My full view was nearly enveloped as it made contact with my face.

“Breathe, my son,” he commanded.

I took a deep breath, letting the scent of leather permeate my whole body. I was in a blissful stupor as he removed the loafer.

“It will all be yours very soon,” he assured. “There’s just one more thing we need to change.”

I looked back at the mirror and saw his scalp gleaming in the light and my thick disheveled mop. Noting the difference, I resolved: “My hair.”

“Precisely! All Friedmans lose their hair early,” he resounded. “You’re going to love it!” He continued before leaning over and planting a kiss on my lips.

“I will love it,” was the only thought in my head as he began running his hands through my hair. It felt warm, and tingled as he made stroke after stroke through my locks. He lifted my chin so my eyes met his as he gave three final brushes with both hands descending my crown to the nape. The top of my head began to feel much cooler. My father smiled wide and moved so I could see myself in the mirror. Standing next to him was his brown-haired twin. The top of my head shone brilliantly and was encircled by a thick brown wreath of hair that glistened itself, gelled to obedience down my head. This was who I wanted to be. I knew it now, but would never have admitted it just hours ago.

I finally had to say it: “I love it. Thank you so much, Father.” Arthur leaned in and I was ready to receive him. I opened my mouth wide and let his tongue explore every bit of me. Our mustaches brushed together and the fabric of our suits strained against our writhing, generating ecstasy in friction. We let that tension build as we embraced, touching every inch of each others bodies—the bald head; thick, supple neck; soft flabby pecs under the silky suiting; bulging balls thinly veiled under wool; even the loafers he wore with their intricate tassels.

Every touch was erotic and I was ready to explode as he began to unzip my trousers. He pulled away to look at me, eye to comforting eye, as he giddily whispered “It’s time to become a Friedman.” His focus shifted back to my crotch. He wrestled my engorged member from beneath my gut and through the fly of my white briefs. Once it was free, he toyed with it, stroking it gently with his hand before running the tip through his mustache. He gave it a brief lick before dropping it. I was the hardest I’d ever been when he picked up the loafer and brought it to my face again. I began to breathe deeply, taking the sweet leather scent through my whole body. I looked into the shoe and saw the name once again: “Friedman.”

Through his excitement, he asked me “What name do you see?” “Friedman,” I moaned. “Whose name is that?” He continued. “Yours.”

“And who am I?” “My father,” I declared.

“Good, Son. You will show me momentarily,” Arthur stated. I heard him pick up the other loafer and felt him brush my member with the tassels. “When I count to three, you will seal yourself as a part of the family permanently. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Father,” I exhaled.

“Good boy. Now breathe in.”

I inhaled the leather, once again causing my cock to throb.

He began, “ONE... Who am I?”

“My father,” I moaned, feeling the upper of the loafer on my tip.

“TWO... What is my name?”

“Friedman,” I said with more intensity, my dick sliding over the tongue.

“Then what is your name?” He slid my cock down into the loafer, the soft insole comforting my manhood.

“Friedman!” I declared, ready to explode.

“Good boy... THREE! Cum, my son!” He boomed, shoving one loafer fully up to my nose and sheathing my cock to the base with the other.

I moaned a primal moan, spilling shot upon shot of my seed into the expensive shoe. In the mirror, I could see my balls pulsing from the volume of cum expelled. Pump after pump, deep breathe after deep leather-filled breath, I orgasmed with rapturous tingling within every cell of my body.

My father moved the loafer back and forth along my shaft, affirming me along the way: “Yes, my son. You’re a Friedman now. Let all of your old life drain from you.” Slowly, the torrents of cum subsided and I began to catch my breath.

Arthur lowered the shoes to the ground, looked at me with a tear in his eye and said gladly, “Welcome to the family, Son!” With that, he offered me the dry shoe and I slid my first foot into it, the silky socks providing a smooth glide. He then held out the second shoe, the interior of

which was coated with cum. Without reservation, I slid my foot in—a lubricated and sensual entry. As my heel popped in, I knew it to my core. I was a Friedman.

“Thank you, Father,” I said excitedly.

“No, Son. Thank you for continuing the family line. Would you like to return home now?” He asked calmly.

I stood up proudly, my foot soaking in my shoe. I tucked my manhood back in and adjusted my clothes. Eyeing myself up and down—bald head, mustache, neck rolls, girth, and fine shoes—I was a Friedman, the spitting image of my father. “Yes, Father,” I replied. “Let’s go together.”

When I spoke those words, Arthur’s proud grin faded to darkness and the ceiling fan of my room came into view. I struggled to lift myself up and became excited by the prospect that it had all been real. I rose to my feet, feeling the additional weight on my frame and walking to the mirror. I took a deep satisfying look into it and saw the spitting image of my father. Everything in the dream had happened. I was shorter, fatter, bald, mustached, and fully suited.

I began to hyperventilate; I was ecstatic; I was horny; I was worried. If all of it happened, what would others say? It was at that thought that I heard my father’s voice say to me “It’s okay, Son. Fear isn’t becoming of a Friedman, and I am here for you.” I was immediately calmed. I took a deep breath, catching a hint of Royal Muske, and smiled. I wanted this.

“Now look at your cufflinks, Son,” I heard. I turned the wrist outside of the grey jacket and saw engraved on the cuff “MAF” “Michael Arthur Friedman,” I announced. “My boy!” I heard Arthur say, causing my cock to twitch once again. “And proud of it!” I smiled, seeing Arthur’s eyes in my reflection.

107 notes · View notes

theharrowing · 2 years

Text

Collateral 🗡️ 7: I have questions

Your ex-boyfriend gets in over his head working for the local mafia, and Boss Min has come to collect his payment: You.

But was it simply a matter of being in the wrong place at the wrong time? Or has he always had his sights on you?

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

🗡️ Yoongi x Female Reader

🗡️ word count: 8.8k

🗡️ mafia au, strangers to lovers, graphic violence, major character injury, poly, smut, angst, fluff, nsfw, explicit 21+

🗡️ warnings: past trauma mentioned, gossip, drug use & drinking, non-explicit drunk sex

🗡️ beta read by @neoneunnajimin

🗡️ posted july 2022 | read on ao3

You wake up sometime in the evening to an empty bed. At various intervals, the sound of Yoongi getting up, showering, and getting dressed had roused you just enough for you to acknowledge what was happening before you crashed into the pillow and continued to dream, so it is not a startling realization to turn over, arm outstretched hitting the mattress and feeling a cold comforter. But you still let out a deep sigh and wish Yoongi was home, if only for a kiss.

Flashes of last night come back to you, and you squeeze your thighs together, willing the inkling of arousal that licks at your core to hold off just a while longer. It has been entirely too many hours since you have eaten anything, and you tell yourself that you should at least take care of that basic need before moving on to others.

As you stretch and get out of bed naked, you decide to pad over to Yoongi's closet and steal some of his clothing rather than put the dress back on or greet Felix and Changbin in the nude. The soft rug beside Yoongi's bed feels nice under your toes, but the hardwood is cold as you open the closet door and step inside, feeling around the wall for a light switch.

Yoongi's closet is mostly black clothing, which makes you giggle. There are strips of color here and there, especially in the suits and dress shirts, but most of the casual wear is black. You grab a pair of thin, soft black lounge pants and a black tee from the front left side of the closet and put the clothing on before deciding to walk around and look a little more closely at some of the garments.

At a glance, everything seems pretty standard, but amongst the dress shirts are thin, satin button-up shirts and sheer tops, and hanging in the very back right corner are various harnesses, similar to the one he wore to Serendipity. Some of the leather strappy items appear to be leg harnesses, and you push each hanger forward to view one after the other, biting your bottom lip while imagining Yoongi adorning any number of these.

You wonder about the rest of his accessories, but a tug on one of the handles on the island in his closet tells you that not only is that drawer locked, but they probably all are. You imagine Yoongi likely keeps more than just clothing and jewelry in there, and it is not necessarily your business, so you leave the rest of the handles alone. Of course, you are curious, but since you are on Yoongi's good side, you decide you would rather ask to see his accessories and let him show you himself.

Beneath the hanging clothing are various shoes and boots, and you note an impressive sneaker collection—some of which even match the more colorful suits under which they sit. And with that, you feel satisfied with your snooping and make your way out of the closet, shutting off the light as you go.

When you open the door to Yoongi's bedroom, it strikes you how quiet it is in the house. You remember Yoongi saying something about an event at the casino and assume the family men are there, but you were not expecting nearly everyone else to be gone, as well.

Changbin greets you with a smile and a wave from the cozy bench beside your bedroom door, and Felix shoots up onto his feet and waves excitedly.

"Good mor…er…evening!" Felix calls.

"Hey," you respond, walking over with a yawn. "What time is it?"

Felix checks his watch and says, "7 PM!"

"Wow," you respond, taken aback. You wonder what time you and Yoongi had finally fallen asleep. "When did Yoongi leave?"

"You just missed him, actually; he left around 6:30."

You sigh. "Damn."

Changbin stands and says, "We took the liberty of getting dinner prepared. Well, we asked the chef to. So whenever you're ready, it should be done soon!"

Just then, your stomach growls, and you chuckle, thanking the guys for being proactive before entering your room for some slippers. Even with the sun setting, your room is so bright, and you squint at the white and yellow accents, considering which colors you would like to change them to, as you toe into some slippers and leave the room that hardly feels like yours at all, deciding that you should just leave slippers in Yoongi's room, too.

Felix and Changbin follow you downstairs, and you glance around in awe of how quiet it is. Nobody is at the pool, and there is nobody milling about in the main hall where the family men meet. It is actually kind of nice.

It is nice because familiar faces are here to make you feel less alone. It is nice because this time, you are not just abandoned without word of when anyone you know and somewhat trust might come back. You feel like you are a part of the house now and not just some random variable nobody knows how to account for.

There are times when you think back to when you were left in the empty house, and you still wonder if it was a test of some sort or a punishment. After all, it was just the other day that Yoongi and his men returned. The thought of it forces a brick of various emotions to sink heavily inside you and dissolve into acidic sadness, so you do your best to push the memory out.

There are still many things that you need to discuss with Yoongi, and one good fuck will not cancel out all the upset and confusion he has caused. At least, you tell yourself that.

At the foot of the steps, you stop in your tracks. You had been walking toward the kitchen, but there is no dining table in there, so you are not sure where to go. Felix takes a left rather than a right, and you follow him a short distance into a doorway that opens into a large dining room.

A long, dark wood table sits at the center of the space, surrounded by twelve chairs, each made of matching dark wood and upholstered with brown leather. The legs of the table and chairs have intricate leaf patterns carved into them, and atop the table sit dishes, utensils, cups, and napkins, as if a party is expected to dine at any moment.

Dark wood wainscoting and deep red wallpaper line the walls, and there are brass sconces throughout, along with a large brass chandelier in the center of the room, which gives the space a dim, yellow glow. The room might be cozy if it weren't so empty.

"Wow," you mutter.

"This is the main dining hall," Felix informs. "There's a much larger one at the end of the hall, but it's not used often, so we don't keep it open."

There is something so disarming about a giant, empty table, and you turn to Felix and Changbin with an uncomfortable, toothy smile. "Is there anywhere smaller?"

Changbin chuckles. "You can eat in the main hall. On the couch, where the guys meet. They won't mind."

The main hall is a more comfortable choice, but it is still a huge empty room. Your dilemma must be written all over your face, and Felix chimes in, "I have a better idea, come with me."

Felix leads the way past the stairs, down the short hall, and into the kitchen. The room smells amazing, like starch and vegetables and spices, and you take a deep inhale and smile. You convene with Changbin around the large kitchen island while Felix goes into the large dry storage cabinet and brings out three tall stools, folded flat.

"We can just sit at the counter here and eat if you'd prefer."

Your eyes widen with excitement at the realization that they will eat with you, and you nod happily as Felix sets up the stools. The chef begins bringing over food, starting with a large bowl of japchae, and Changbin grabs some dishes and utensils for everyone.

Once banchan is set out, you thank the chef and dig in, unwilling to wait another moment before eating. Changbin brings everyone glasses of water, and you thank him with your mouth full, half distracted with savoring your bite. Everything tastes so good, you groan with each new flavor that hits your tongue.

Although you and Felix have been slowly getting to know one another, this is the first time you feel like you are sitting amongst equals—daresay, friends. Sure, they are hired to follow you around the property, but they never treat you like they work for you, and you could never imagine treating them as anything but your friends.

Nobody talks much during the meal, aside from small utterances from the guys while they offer each other bites of things, placing banchan on each other's plates and muttering about how the flavor of something reminds them of something else. There seems to be a lot of history between the two of them, but they are subtle about it, and you never feel like a third wheel or that you are intruding on something that is meant just for them.

You would like to know more about Changbin & Felix, but you decide not to ask. Potentially bothering someone with intrusive personal questions is something you learned long ago to do without—largely because you hate it when others do it to you. And although you have a lot of questions, you would rather the information get offered to you directly from them. If Felix and Changbin view you the way you view them, then you have no doubt that one day, they will offer you personal information.

"That was great," Felix says with a loud, satisfied sigh, slumping forward on his stool. You nod and hum in agreement, taking a sip from your water. Changbin groans what you assume is a satisfied sound and stands up, rubbing a hand over his belly.

"I'll clean up," Changbin offers, reaching for everyone's plate.

"Thank you," you say with a smile and slump forward as well, since there is no back to the seat, so you can’t sit back and let your tired, full body relax.

The food is left on the counter when you all get up and return your folded stools to the dry storage closet, and when you follow Felix's lead and begin to leave the kitchen, you ask, "What about the rest of the food?"

"The chef will eat it," Changbin says. "Or he'll put it away."

"Oh," you respond.

You hope you left him enough to enjoy and make a mental note to always have food leftover when you eat in the kitchen, just in case.

With the night still young, you decide to swim. Yoongi probably won't be back for quite some time, and you don't really feel like going back to bed, so you choose the next best thing. Felix seems excited about the idea, and you part ways at the top of the stairs, going into your separate rooms to get ready.

You change into your black bathing suit and grab a towel from your bathroom, and when you leave your room, you find Felix is already in his shorts and exiting his room.

"Changbin is tired," Felix mutters, and you nod and accept the explanation with no further questions and lead the way back downstairs.

One staff member you were not expecting to see is the bartender out at the pool. He is even playing music over the speakers, and when you step outside, he asks if you want to change it to something else. Currently, he has Bibi on, so you smile, shake your head, and tell him it is perfect.

"Want something other than champagne to drink?" Felix asks as you set your towels onto two lounge chairs. Truthfully, champagne sounds nice, so you shake your head once more and sit on your chair to wait for the drink to come.

"Are you settling in a little better?" Felix asks.

Your mind instantly goes right back to Yoongi's bed. Yoongi teasing you for how easy it is to make you cum. Yoongi pulling you close and making you feel safe.

"I am," you say, trying not to make a big show of it, but you can feel your cheeks warming, and you struggle to hold down a smile.

Felix's eyes widen. "Oh gosh, you're getting shy. Did you two—you did, didn't you?"

"Maybe," you mutter, feeling your face become impossibly hotter.

"Oh my gosh," Felix loudly whispers. "How was it? Wait, is that invasive? Never mind, don't tell me how it was!"

Felix is absolutely giddy, waving his hands around while he speaks, and it makes you feel giddy, too.

It is nice to giggle and whisper with someone, so you nod and quietly say, "It was very good."

At this, Felix pulls his hands over his mouth, and his eyes become even wider.

You let out a loud, boisterous laugh, and reach out to give Felix a playful smack on the arm. The bartender drops off two glasses of champagne and the opened bottle, and you both reach for a glass.

"To getting laid," Felix mutters quietly, holding out his glass, and you shake your head in embarrassment and tap yours to his.

The champagne is cold and slightly bitter with a sweet finish, and you take a nice big drink of it. It feels as if the bubbly liquid moves throughout your body, causing tiny waves of carbonated excitement to wash through you, but it is likely just the thrilling moment you are sharing with Felix.

"I'm glad," Felix says after taking a drink from his glass. "It's been a bit since he's…well, at least since he's had someone who seems like a consistent person in his life, other than—” he clears his throat, as if he has caught himself saying something he shouldn’t and continues, “—he was beginning to get a little cranky and unpredictable."

You swallow all this information down in an attempt to digest each bit, one by one. "Back up. I have questions."

"Uh-oh," Felix says with a grin.

"Uh-oh, indeed," you giggle and dump the rest of your drink straight back into your mouth.

"First of all," you say, holding up your index finger. Felix holds his finger up too, with a mischievous smile. "A consistent person. There have been inconsistent persons?"

Felix chews his lip as if he's trying to find a way to put his words delicately, then rolls his eyes and says, "Okay, I mean…he owns a brothel, so it's not like…it would be silly to assume he doesn't…"

"He gets high on his own supply," you say, trying to keep from laughing.

"Something like that."

You squint your eyes and you wait for Felix to elaborate.

"He wasn't fucking his own employees or anything like that; even he knows that would be morally grey," Felix giggles, shaking his head emphatically. "But he would take people back to the rooms and use them rather than bringing them here."

"People?" you ask with a raised eyebrow.

Felix raises his eyebrow, as well. "Yes, people. I don't want to elaborate; you'll have to find out more from him."

You note that the word choice may suggest that Yoongi does not only fuck women, and you nod, allowing Felix to move on.

"It's a process. Everyone is screened, vetted, tested, the whole nine yards. By the time he's run a full background on someone, it seemed like it was taking the joy out of the process, and none of them were long-term candidates or anything, so he wasn't fucking around very much."

This raises a question that you keep to yourself, which is, of course, how Yoongi knows your tests have come back negative and that you are on birth control. You reach for the bottle of champagne to refill your and Felix's glasses while you mentally go over the facts.

Fact number one being that Yoongi did not use a condom, and you let him cum inside you. Yoongi knows you are protected, and you file that away in the little box in your mind that is labeled Yoongi Definitely Knows More About Me Than He Admits and move on.

As it turns out, there was just one fact to mull over, and you set the champagne bottle down and clear your throat.

"Okay, I accept that explanation," you say as you bring your glass to your lips for another sip. "So the last consistent person in his life must have been Ryujin?"

Felix licks his lips, thinks over his next words, and says, "Not exactly."

"N—"

"But I can't divulge more about that," Felix continues in a bit of a panic. "It's nothing crazy or dramatic; it's just…it goes back to the earlier point that I do not wish to say more about, and…it's just better if some of this stuff comes from him."

You nod and accept Felix's response, tucking away the idea that, if your suspicion about Yoongi also liking men is true, the last consistent person was most likely a man, and you move on.

You wait for Felix to take a drink from his champagne before you ask, "How long ago did he split from Ryujin?"

Felix looks up and pulls his mouth into a tight, cute little thinking face, and you study his features—soft yet sharp and covered in pretty little freckles. "Seven years?"

Your mouth drops. "Wait…seven years?" Felix nods, and you cock your head, studying him. You are in your mid-twenties, which would probably make Yoongi older than you. "How old is Yoongi, then?"

The look on Felix's face is a mix between surprise and confusion. "You don't know how old Yoongi is?"

"It hasn't come up!" You whine defensively. Your heart is pounding, and you feel a bit foolish.

"He's twenty-nine. He was twenty-two when he called off the wedding."

This is shocking. "But it seemed like they had a long history together? I mean I know he said they were high school sweethearts, but I thought the wedding was called off like, last year?"

"I mean, they grew up together."

"Oh." You suppose that makes sense.

"They were best friends until some time in their teenage years when they decided to date. Or maybe they decided to fuck; I'm not sure which came first. And that was that; they were inseparable until they weren't."

"I have questions," you say, and Felix nods.

"Go ahead."

You drink from your glass, then clear your throat.

"Okay, so first of all, how has this grudge between them lived on for so long? Like why is she still bothering him to marry her if it's been seven years? Because I have seen her—she is hot! Can't she just, I don't know, find some man of equal hotness to marry her?"

Felix watches you with a wide, excited smile, then shakes his head. "Oh sweetie, you have a lot to learn."

"Educate me," you say incredulously, finishing your champagne.

"She's the head of a mafia family; she can't marry just anyone. It's a business strategy, and most men—or women—aren't worth the investment."

You squint at Felix and challenge him, "But I am?"

"You are."

You swallow hard, knowing exactly where this is going, and ask, "But why?"

Felix finishes his champagne and studies your face before saying, "You know why."

"My background?"

"You'll have to talk to Yoongi more about this; I've said too much."

“Okay, but did you know about my background before I told you about it that night in Busan?”

Felix hesitates and says, “Sort of, but not really. I wasn’t told any of the details.”

“Did you happen to tell anyone else about it?”

Felix squints and cocks his head, looking confused, so you continue.

“Jimin said something this morning that made it seem like he knows something.”

“Ah,” Felix responds. “Jimin likely knows because he is one of the men who tends to know more than everyone else, with the exception of Seokjin. You will have to talk to him about it.”

You sigh and accept Felix's explanation; it is clear that you are not going to get more out of him than that. Despite getting closer with him, he still has a job to do and a boss to protect. It is frustrating to be left hanging, but it is not as if you can force Felix to say more than he feels he is allowed to.

"Swim?" Felix suggests, and you nod, abandoning the rest of the champagne and questions for the time being.

Despite having slept for so long, you are tired by 1 AM. Yoongi and the men still have not come home, and although you are not necessarily worried about them, you wish he would return soon. Knowing what it feels like to fall asleep in Yoongi's arms makes it difficult to climb into his big, cold bed alone.

At least the bedding still smells like traces of Yoongi, and you wrap your arms around one of his pillows and hold it close while you close your eyes and picture Yoongi's sharp little smirk and wide, eager eyes. It is not long before you begin to fade and fall asleep.

The sound of shouting wakes you first, but it is distant enough that it does not fully rouse you. You are not even certain that you are awake, and you roll back onto your side and grip onto the pillow you had been holding before and try to fall back asleep.

But then Yoongi's bedroom door slams open loudly, and you jolt awake, sitting up, worried at first that you might find an intruder at the foot of the bed before a disheveled Yoongi comes into view. Yoongi is head to toe in black, with a silver bolo tie around his neck, and his hair is sticking out in all directions, messed up.

"Yoongi?" you ask, sleepy and still trying to process what is happening.

Yoongi grins and leans into the end of the bed. "Darling! The evening was a roaring success, and our man won! Oh, shit, were you sleeping?"

His voice is slurry and a little too loud, and now that everything is coming into sharp focus, it sounds like there is a party downstairs.

"Yeah," you grumble, "I was asleep. Who won? What time is it?"

Yoongi shrugs and looks at his wrist, squinting as if to focus on it a little better, then shouts, "4:42!"

"In the morning?"

"No," Yoongi slurs with an eyebrow raised, attempting sarcasm, "in the evening."

Oh, he sure has jokes. You scoff to yourself and roll your eyes.

"Had a few drinks?"

Yoongi hums and sighs. "A few too many. I'm exhausted. Wanna fuck?"

This time you laugh openly and shake your head. "Wow, you sure talk a hard bargain, Yoongi, but I might have to pass."

Yoongi cocks his head and stares at you incredulously, then stands straight and makes his way around the bed to your side. You watch his very valiant attempt to walk like a sober man and bite your bottom lip to hold in a laugh.

"Did you at least miss me?" Yoongi asks as he gets near. His breath wreaks of whiskey and cigars, but you lean in to touch your lips to his.

"I did," you mutter softly, watching as Yoongi smiles and rubs the tip of his nose against yours.

"Good," Yoongi responds and takes a step back. "And I see you made yourself comfortable in my clothes."

You nod in agreement.

"Did you snoop around my closet while you were in there?"

"I did," you respond with a grin. "I found some very interesting accessories."

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth and chuckles, then his lips pull into a smirk. "You should see the ones I keep locked up."

"Is that so?" you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Yoongi nods and bites his bottom lip. "I could show you...are you sure you don't wanna fuck?"

You giggle and reach out, grabbing handfuls of Yoongi's shirt. The material is satin, and it slides in your hands as you gently hold him close. "You're drunk, Yoongi."

"I consent!" Yoongi whines.

"Thank you for that, but that's not what I mean. I just—I don't feel comfortable being sober while you're drunk."

"Trauma?" Yoongi asks softly, and you hum in agreement. "I would never do anything to hurt you, but I understand. I'll earn your trust first. And in the meantime, I will sober up."

"We could sleep," you suggest.

Yoongi hums, eyes trailing between yours, left and right. "I wish I could, but I still have a lot of energy from tonight, and the guys are here, celebrating. Maybe a swim will sober me up."

A swim sounds nice, but you are still quite tired and not sure you want to join him. Plus, the house sounds crowded, with shouts echoing up the stairs from time to time, and you are not sure you want to bother with being around others.

"Maybe Namjoon will swim with you," you suggest.

Yoongi shoots you a questioning look and stands straight, creating distance between you. "What is that supposed to mean?"

The shift in Yoongi's demeanor makes you nervous, and you chuckle. "I don't know, it was just the first name I thought of," you say, watching as Yoongi's expression doesn't soften. You continue, "I assume all the family men are here."

Yoongi continues to stare, eyes sharpening, then he shakes his head and scoffs. "Maybe one of them will swim with me," he says and turns toward his closet.

You sigh and fall back against the bed. It is exhausting how you never seem to know what will trigger Yoongi to get upset. Light shines from the closet, and you decide you should just ask Yoongi what you said to upset him, and you sit up once more, throw the comforter off you, and make your way from the bed to the small room.

Yoongi has a drawer on the far end of his island pulled open, and he looks up when he notices your presence, sends you a soft smile, and goes back to rummaging through what you assume is a pile of swim shorts.

"Did I say something wrong?" you ask, worrying your bottom lip between your teeth.

Yoongi tongues the inside of his mouth and pulls black shorts from the drawer. As he pushes the drawer shut, he stands straight and rests one palm on the marble island.

"You had no way of knowing," Yoongi mutters. "Namjoon and I—" he appears to be searching for his next words, then he smiles and says, "Namjoon and I have always been really close. But it's nothing worth getting into. Sorry I reacted so strangely."

The first half of his statement and the second half definitely do not match up, but you mutter, "Okay," and let it go. You hope that, as you get closer, whatever it is that Yoongi is not telling you now will be something he feels comfortable telling you later.

There is a knock on the bedroom door followed by a nasally voice calling, "Knock knock! Are we decent?" It distracts you from giving the matter too much more thought.

"In here, Seokah," Yoongi grumbles loudly.

You turn to find Hoseok approaching in small bright blue swim shorts. His body is much more muscular than you expected for how willowy he is, and you pull your gaze away quickly; you are not trying to check out one of Yoongi's men. Not to mention, Yoongi has begun to unbutton his shirt, and you find your eyes glued to his slender fingers and the strip of skin that is revealed the lower they go.

"Someone said something about swimming. Are you joining us, darling?"

Hoseok's voice sounds playful, and you are surprised to hear the familiar pet name come from him. You turn your head in his direction but do not look back at him as you shake your head and say, "No thanks, I'm pretty tired still."

"Bummer," Hoseok says. "We're all in a pretty celebratory mood, and it would be nice for the other guys to see more of you. But rest is important, and we will have other opportunities to hang out."

You hum and mull it over. It would be nice to get to know the family men a little better.

"I'll consider it," you concede. "Maybe if I can't sleep."

Yoongi strips his shirt off and tosses it onto the island, and you hear Hoseok wolf whistle before saying, "I'll take this as my cue to exit. See you soon, hyung!"

You can't help but stare as Yoongi undoes his pants and pushes them down. Although you can only see as far as his hips, you know what the rest of him looks like, and you are beginning to regret declining sex earlier. He is still clearly drunk, however, and drunk men plus sex equals memories you do your best to block out.

"Are you staring at me, darling?" Yoongi mutters, and you pull your gaze to meet his, realizing he is standing still and smirking.

"Maybe," you respond with a grin.

Yoongi hums and grabs his shorts. "Well, maybe once I have sobered up, I will show you what you are so clearly longing for."

"Maybe?" you tease.

Yoongi bends to put his shorts on, and when he pulls them to his hips, snapping the waistband, he meets your eye again.

"Yeah," he says, "maybe."

You hum in response and shrug. "Maybe I won't be interested later."

Yoongi's gaze is both playful and dangerous, and you do your best to hold your composure, attempting to appear unaffected and playfully disinterested.

"I could make you interested, darling," Yoongi rasps. "Don't worry."

You cock an eyebrow. "Is that so?"

Yoongi hums. "With your consent, of course."

You giggle and shake your head, feeling a swell of affection. There is that word again, and you feel your heart flutter with how, even when he is trying to play the part of the dangerously sexy heartthrob, he is worried about your boundaries. What a babe.

Yoongi chuckles and chews on his bottom lip while rounding the marble island, and you stare at his chest, reminding yourself to one day ask about all the scars. One day when you have the kind of relationship where he feels comfortable telling you things like that. Or when you have any sort of relationship at all—you still have no idea what you are.

With a sweet, chaste kiss, Yoongi leaves to go swimming, and you climb back in his bed and pull the blanket up to your chin and attempt to get some rest.

Sleep had actually come fast, but once the sun rises, the house gets even louder, and you struggle to stay asleep long enough that you finally give up and get out of bed. With a big stretch and some grumbling, you decide to go to your room for a bathing suit. If everyone is determined to party all morning, you may as well join them.

You are surprised to find the hallway absent of Felix and Changbin, though you imagine it is still pretty early for them. That, or Yoongi told them you would be asleep for a while. You are also surprised by how few people are in the pool area, considering how loud they are, as you make your way to your room and close the door behind you.

You pad through your room and into your closet, to the drawer in the island where bathing suits are stored. Some of them came from your apartment with your clothes, but others, you imagine, Namjoon or Hoseok bought for you, with the rest of the newer clothes.

One suit has a retro fit with a high-waisted floral bottom and frilly yellow top, and you pick that one to wear since the men downstairs are celebrating something—it feels like a celebratory look, anyway. Then you slip on some black sandals and go into your bathroom for a towel, which you wrap around your hips.

The towels in your bathroom are always stocked, and you often wonder who is in charge of the laundry, and when they come into your room; you have never seen a single person carrying towels. In fact, you have no idea where laundry facilities are inside the mansion. Your clothing simply goes from being worn to clean, and what happens in between is a mystery.

You make your way through your room and out into the mezzanine. At a glance, it appears that all of the family men are in or near the pool, with several other men you do not recognize. It does not seem like the crowd that hangs out just for the sake of hanging out, for which you are grateful, and you head down the stairs toward the door. A large grandfather clock in the main hall, near the couch, tells you that it is just after 6 AM, and you shake your head.

The doors leading out to the pool are all open, so you are not surprised by the loud hip-hop music playing poolside, though once you are outside, it is much louder. The area is somehow heated, but the cool morning air still hits you, giving you goosebumps. Men shout and cheer, and you scan the area, looking for Yoongi.

"Little dove, you've joined us at last!" Jimin calls, and you turn to find him standing near the bar with a champagne flute in hand.

Jimin is not the man you want to see, but he is a man who you know, and you want to try to make nice with all of the family men, so you head his way first. He is joined by a man you have never seen, who is handsome and a bit shorter than him, and you wave to them both as you say, "Good morning."

"We didn't wake you, I hope?" Jimin asks with a coy smile.

The bartender leaves his post to bring you a glass of champagne, and you mutter a thanks before taking a sip.

"You did," you finally reply, "but I was restless in the first place, and it's a nice morning to miss out on sleep. Plus, who can turn down a celebration?"

"Ah, yes," Jimin responds, looking past you. "Wonho really is something. We may have started out too strong with a fighter as good as him."

You turn to look for this Wonho fella who Jimin talks about and see a very buff blond man at the far end of the pool, surrounded by others. He punches his fist into the palm of his hand, and those surrounding him cheer and raise their glasses.

"Well, good for him," you say, turning back to Jimin. "Whatever he has done, he seems to have made a name for himself."

Jimin squints, studying you as he slowly raises his glass to his lips. You hate being under his scrutinizing gaze and raise your eyebrows, humming at him questioningly.

"The things he tells you versus the things he does not tell you..." Jimin trails off, sharpening his gaze. "I find it fascinating."

You down the rest of your champagne and straighten out your posture.

"Can I ask you something?" you challenge, feeling bold.

"Please," Jimin responds with a smirk.

"Do you pick on me, or is being snide just your personality?"

The person beside Jimin scoffs and turns away from him to giggle, and Jimin smacks him on the chest while looking at you incredulously.

"Both," Jimin responds. He cocks his head and nibbles on his bottom lip, then says, "I pick on you, yes. Not because I dislike you; in fact, I like you quite a bit, little dove. I think you fit in here better than any of us anticipated."

"But?" you nudge, picking up on how Jimin's tone suggests he has more to say.

"No buts," Jimin pauses and grins. "Being snide is a defense mechanism, dove. The way you are always a little cold and observant, holding back your thoughts until you learn to trust someone, I like to pick and prod but never reveal my hand fully, to see how I can get people to react. Two sides of the same coin."

You hum and accept Jimin's explanation. "I don't really mind it, to be honest; I just hoped that it was something like that and not because you didn't like me."

"I like you," Jimin repeats softly, almost sweetly, and you feel your cheeks warm.

"That makes one of you," you mutter, looking down at your empty glass, considering a second.

"Namjoon and Hoseok like you too," Jimin says, and you look up at him, feeling pleasantly surprised by the information. "The others will come around. Well, the Kim's will—Seokjin and Taehyung. Jeongguk...don't expect him to like anyone. He has a lot of baggage, and he has built up walls that he does not let any of us scale. I don't think even he knows how to scale his own walls at this point."

You sigh, feeling how relatable that is. You have been working on letting others in and allowing people to know the real you, especially while working at the dive bar over the last few years and becoming close to customers, but there were years when you were a lone wolf, determined to never trust another human again.

Sometimes you feel the urge to stay that way creeping up, and you have to remind yourself to try to relax and at least let others in, even if just a little. Which is why, when you consider how much affection you feel for Yoongi, you are still surprised by yourself.

Speaking of Yoongi, you still have not found him. The bartender approaches to exchange your empty glass for a full one, and you thank him, then turn to Jimin to wish him a good day. He doesn’t introduce you to the man by his side, and you do not really care to ask.

Turning toward the pool, you scan the area, looking for men you recognize. Taehyung is in the pool, arms on a large swan floaty that Seokjin is laying on, and they appear to be laughing about something.

Jeongguk is on the far end with his arms crossed, talking to Hoseok, and it looks like Namjoon is beside Hoseok with his back to you, so you make your way over there. All of the men are shirtless, in black shorts, aside from Hoseok in blue, and you are surprised by how muscular they all are, although perhaps you should not be.

You consider that Yoongi could be hidden behind the wall of the man Namjoon is, when a familiar pale hand snakes around Namjoon's side, grabbing onto his back. Namjoon's arms are bent, presumably holding onto something, and your steps falter before you push forward and continue to approach.

Jeongguk sees you, and his eyes widen. He turns to the group but does not appear to say anything, but the hand around Namjoon slips away. Namjoon turns to you and smiles widely with his dimples on display, and with his body at the new angle, you can see Yoongi just past him, talking to someone off to the side before his eyes meet yours, and he smiles.

"Fellas," you call, holding your flute of champagne as if to toast them. "Don't let me interrupt."

You wink and smirk at Namjoon, and he flashes you a glance that is indiscernible before clearing his throat and excusing himself, telling the group, "I'll go get us another bottle."

"Hey darling," Yoongi says with a grin, stepping forward to meet you.

Yoongi appears just as drunk as he was earlier, and high as shit on cocaine. You roll your eyes and pull him in for a one-armed hug as you mutter, "Hey there, jitterbug."

"Is it that obvious?" Yoongi mutters.

"Yeah, it's pretty obvious," you respond with a giggle. "But it's also just after 6, so I guess you have to do what it takes to stay awake."

"Did you come all this way to nag him?" A voice you do not recognize cuts through the noise, and you look to your left to find Jeongguk glaring at you.

"Jeonggukah," Yoongi mutters, and Jeongguk scoffs and rolls his eyes.

"You should be thankful you're allowed to live under his roof," Jeongguk continues.

"Excuse me?" you respond, turning your body to face Jeongguk. You cock your head and knit your eyebrows, surprised by his attitude. "I was joking. Do you know what that is? Have you ever smiled before?"

Yoongi grabs you by the arm and tugs you away from the group muttering, "Okay, that's enough."

You half expect Jeongguk to retaliate, but when you look back, he is smirking while Hoseok watches you with a worried expression. The champagne blends beautifully with your sleep deprivation, and you feel the urge to turn back and give Jeongguk a piece of your mind, but Yoongi continues to pull you toward the other end of the pool.

"Ignore him," Yoongi says. "He's an asshole."

"But why?" you ask, turning back to face the direction you're walking.

"Doesn't matter why, just don't encourage him. You two are likely never going to be friends."

Not that you would want to be friends with a prick like Jeongguk anyway, but it bothers you that he was so quick to try to call you out for something when you were just trying to joke with Yoongi. You stop walking once you have reached the opposite side of the pool, near the diving boards.

Yoongi approaches Namjoon, who sits on a pool bed despite telling the others he would return with champagne. He reaches out his hand, and Namjoon gives Yoongi a metal vial, which he hands to you. You take the vial, knowing full well that it is cocaine, and unscrew the top, which already has a tiny spoon embedded into it.

Two small piles of the drug enter your nostrils, and you hand the vial back to Namjoon, assuming that Yoongi has probably had enough. Yoongi does not try to correct your choice, and as you pinch your nose to inhale any stray powder, Yoongi takes your free hand and tugs you further along until you are in a shaded area, away from everyone else, in a far corner.

"I have some questions for you," you say as you sit in a bed and hold onto the remainder of your champagne tightly. This feels eerily familiar to your chat with Felix, though this time, you are jittery with aggravation rather than excitement.

"Okay," Yoongi says, sitting across from you, sideways on the bed with his elbows on his knees.

You hold up a finger for each question. "Why do you keep Jeongguk around if he has an attitude like that? What did Wonho do that was so impressive? Was there anyone you dated seriously between Ryujin and...whatever it is that we are doing? What are we doing? I think that's all...for now."

With four fingers held up, you watch Yoongi, whose expression grows from amused to anxious, and he holds up a finger.

"I took Jeongguk in when he was a kid, maybe around thirteen. I found him orphaned and on the streets. I won't say he is justified in his behavior, but he has never had it easy. He is one of the hardest working men I have ever met, he absolutely never fails at anything, and he is like a little brother to me."

You swallow thickly and accept that response, knowing first-hand how hard being unhoused can be for a teenager. Yoongi holds up a second finger.

"Wonho won a bare-knuckle boxing match tonight and made me a lot of money. Also took a rival gang member off the streets."

"Is he dead?" you ask, and Yoongi smirks, cocks an eyebrow, and holds up a third finger.

"There was one person between her and you. It did not pan out the way we wanted it to, and we are friends instead."

Your stomach does a flip, and you feel the cocaine course through you as you mull over his words. You wonder if that person is Namjoon, based on Yoongi’s reaction to your mention of him earlier, and how touchy he was with Namjoon moments ago, but you do not wish to pry.

"Okay," you say, attempting to take everything in.

Even if the person is Namjoon and they are just friends now, you do not think he would do anything to come between the two of you, so you try not to think much of it. Except maybe you would like for him to come between you—tangled between you and Yoongi on his bed, specifically. But that is probably the drugs and champagne talking, and you keep that thought to yourself.

Yoongi holds up a fourth finger and asks, "You still don't know what we are?"

His voice sounds sad, and you chew on the inside of your lip.

"Are we dating? Am I training to be your wife?"

Yoongi sighs and drops his hand down onto his lap. "If you want to become useful to the house, then yes, we are dating. And if not, then you are a pretty piece of collateral, and we will cross that bridge when we come to it."

Once again, you are regarded as something other than human, and it annoys you. You chug back the rest of your warm champagne and place the glass on a table between the ends of your and Yoongi's chairs.

"I'm a person," you say slowly since clearly, Yoongi needs a reminder. "I am not a machine and I am not collateral."

"I understand that darling, but that is simply not how things work in my world. Everyone has a use, or they are cut out. Believe me, I do not want to cut you out."

The bartender comes along with two full glasses of champagne. Yoongi holds up his hand to decline his, and you grab both glasses, slamming one back and handing the bartender the empty glass. Once the man leaves, you turn back to Yoongi, feeling even tipsier and rather brazen.

"You know about my past," you challenge, "so you already know I would be useful. Is that why you wanted me in the first place?"

Yoongi blinks and studies you, then clears his throat to speak. "Of course I know about your past, darling. That is not why I want you, but it is part of what makes you good for me."

"Why?"

Yoongi leans forward. "Because you are smart, you come from the streets, and you have killed a man before."

"How do you know about that?"

Yoongi’s lips tug upward ever so slightly. "I know about a lot of things."

You lean forward, cradling your champagne flute between two fingers.

“Do you know how I killed him?” Straddling his hips with his cock nestled inside you while you pulled a knife from under his blanket and drove it straight into his chest.

"I do. And by the sound of things, he deserved it."

"He did."

"The men I kill often deserve it too," Yoongi says, eyebrows high on his forehead as if he is challenging you.

"Often? So some don't?"

Yoongi shrugs. "Sometimes people are in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"What are your scars from?" you ask before you can stop yourself.

Yoongi's jaw juts forward, and he scoffs.

"Most of them are from my father," he says in a low voice, eyes softening, almost appearing sad. “I guess I was born in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Your eyes trail over those you can see, thick and dark scar tissue, some inches long, across his ribs. What the fuck could his father have done to him?

"Sorry," is all you can say, but Yoongi rolls his eyes and shakes his head.

"Are you done interrogating me?"

You feel guilty for bringing up what is clearly a painful memory after already having a somewhat charged conversation and slump forward, feeling as if the wind has been knocked from your sails. You never even got into the pool, and now all you want to do is retreat back upstairs and go to bed.

"I am," you finally say, glancing around the pool area. "I think I'm going to go back upstairs."

Yoongi hums and nods then stands.

"I'll join you," he says, holding out a hand for you to take. You accept and let Yoongi tug you to your feet, and you set the rest of your champagne down on the small table.

You are led inside, with Yoongi waving at Namjoon and Jimin along the way, and then up the stairs. Yoongi does not give you a choice in where you are going, taking you straight to his room—though, you would have gone that way, anyhow.

"Let's save the rest of that conversation for when we are sober," Yoongi mutters, closing the door behind you. You nod and walk toward your side of the bed, but Yoongi tugs you into the closet.

"You are not sleeping in a bathing suit, darling," Yoongi mutters, and you remember you are still dressed for the pool with a towel around your hips.

Yoongi lets go of your hand and grabs two sets of night clothes. He begins to change, so you do the same, feeling a bit apprehensive about stripping in front of him, despite how naked he has seen you. You both watch each other undress, and before you can begin to put the clothing on, he reaches for your hand and pulls you close, standing naked.

"Now that we are both intoxicated, will you let me fuck you?" Yoongi pleads, jutting his bottom lip in a pout.

You are tired, but you want to feel Yoongi on and inside you so badly, and you smirk.

"Fine," you say playfully, as if conceding to his demand and doing him some sort of favor.

Yoongi grins.

"Good. Then let's skip the clothes and go straight to bed."

You are exhausted. But the moment Yoongi crawls between your legs, all thought of sleep leaves your mind. Yoongi makes you cum again and again, each time more intense than the last, and by the time he is moaning into your mouth, kissing you deeply as he fills you with his release, you are both trembling and covered in sweat.

You instantly fall asleep wrapped in Yoongi's arms.

Once again, you wake up in Yoongi's bed alone.

The sun is still up, and you stretch, still feeling sore from how hard Yoongi fucked you earlier. You consider getting up to see if Yoongi is nearby, but you do not want to get out of bed just yet, and you roll over, pull the comforter over your head and fall back asleep.

The next time you wake up, the sun appears to be setting, and your body feels stiff. You go to Yoongi's closet to put on the clothing you had abandoned before and make your way to the hall. Changbin is asleep on the bench beside your door, leaning against the wall, and you feel a bit guilty for letting him sit out there and wait for you.

You approach Changbin and tap his knee gently, whispering, "Hey," and he jolts awake, eyes wide and nervous, before scrambling to his feet and bowing his head.

"My apologies, miss! I can't believe I fell asleep."

You giggle and shake your head, "No, really, I'm the one who is sorry. I slept all day; I should have peeked out and told you not to wait for me."

Changbin stands straight but appears displeased. "Still, I should not have been so careless."

The clock in the main hall begins to ding, and Changbin turns to you with wide eyes. "Wow, great timing. You have to get dressed! Yoongi wants you to accompany him tonight at House of Cards."

"Oh," you say, surprised by this information. You were just about to ask Changbin if he wanted to order a pizza or something from the chef. "Did he mention anything about how fancy I should dress?"

"I'll take care of all that for you, dove," Jimin's voice calls from the bottom of the stairs, and you turn to find him walking toward you with his trusty makeup case in hand. "I hope you are excited for your first event appearance on the boss' arm. We are going to make you look like a proper mafia wife tonight."

Oh, I just came back from the moon Found myself looking right at you Violins playing into your tune My moods are swinging for you

🎵 visit the playlist

I feel like this chapter was a bit boring, but there was a little more information I wanted to pass along before things begin to tailspin, which they are going to starting in the next chapter.

tags: @btsiguess-kpop, @btsstan12, @dasexydevitt13, @giriiboyy, @illnevertrustmyselfagain, @leanimal90, @likeshatteredrainbowglass, @mayeolorie, @mwitsmejk, @sleepilysworld, @svgahigh 💜 comment or dm to be added to the tag list!

PREVIOUS | INDEX | NEXT

#btswritersclub #yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #yoongi mafia #bts smut #bts mafia #fic: collateral

326 notes · View notes