Barely Tolerable Shirt Novels & Stories

Dresses and shirts and skirts in all different colors and styles. "Pick whatever you want," she said. "Most of this stuff is extras or things people have grown out of. Nobody will miss it." I looked through the options and my heart sank. They were all beautiful and well made . But none of them would cover my chest. The necklines were too low or too wide or too open. If I wore any of them, the mark would be visible. "I... I get cold easily," I said, trying to keep my voice steady. "Do you have anything warmer? With a higher neck?"

Not ever. Her soft hand touched my neck and she thanked me. I made a promise right there and then. I will never leave you. "Dude what do you think of this shirt for Cuore?" Taylen asked and disrupted my thoughts. He held up this hideous green tank top. "No," I replied. We had walked in and out of shops getting the items Mr Nova had requested. "Okay, what about bras ... underwear? Are they on the list?" He questioned. The kid and I didn't seem to get along. I hated him every time he was close to her and I wasn't.

"I was just saying that your timing is impeccable. I had literally just came down the stairs. I was trying to hurry so you wouldn't end up waiting on me." "I guess it was, huh?" He turns to me. "You bad at laundry?" "No. Why?" "I don't know if you noticed, but your shirt is bleached out." Everything he says is to pick a fight. I swear to God. To God I- "It was made this way! It's comfortable, and I like it. At least I wore a shirt. They probably won't even let you in." "Course they would. I go out like this all the time. Why wouldn't they?"

That enticing masculine scent of musk, forest and firewood all rolled into one. I hold the enormous shirt up to examine it critically. Sure, I didn’t expect them to have women’s clothing, but this won’t work. Out of all the men who live here in this house, at least half of them are a lot smaller than Conall. I roll my eyes as I shake my head. It’s not ideal, but I refuse to spend another moment naked in his room. I pull the massive shirt over my head and let it fall over my body, unraveling the cloth towel underneath to place it on the bed. I look down to see the hem floating around my thighs.

I slide in the only pretty hair clip I have- with tiny flower details on it- into the hair at my temple. In the bedroom, I rummage through my drawers until I find the best set of clothes I own. I take out a pair of skinny jeans; though still washed out, it has no rips in it and the size fits me so perfectly that the denim feels almost tailor-made against my body. I pair it up with a plain nude-coloured T-shirt. It’s the most presentable shirt I have and though it might not be much, at least it has no holes and is also not faded at all.

I am so going to beat him this time ,you Maxwell just pray you didn't come in front of me soon otherwise this is going to be your last day. i am in a extra-large grey men's shirt and it won't take a genius to know whose shirt is this! With white shorts ,he changed my pants too ,I am back to taking deep breaths to control myself no wonder I felt so free to move around but what I dread the most is ,I hold my shirt forward to look inside confirming my doubt , I don't have a bra on... That's it I can't take this shit anymore

It's heavy "I think I'm D cup," I said while holding my breast because it's heavy. I shake my head and continue wrapping it with the bandage. I'm already done and pin it. I take a deep breath because I'm having a hard time breathing. After I finish my business in the bathroom, I walk outside and look for a shirt to wear. I want to use my see-through shirt, but it will make it look seductive, so I disregard it. Finally, I found what I'm looking for. It's my light blue shirt with a Doraemon picture. It's my favorite shirt. I tried to wear it, but it's too stuffy because my breast is getting compress. Well, the outcome looks nice, I look sexy, and it feels like I'm wearing a crop top shirt.

Curiosity strikes again and I flip the tag over checking the price. The number five hundred is typed on the cardboard tag, but there is no dollar sign before it. It has to be an amount, right? Even rich people priced their clothing. I hope like hell Vincent didn't pay five hundred fucking dollars for this shirt. Even if it is a glorious shirt, which feels smooth against my fingers and I can't wait to have against my skin. It is thick enough it won't be see-through, but light enough to get me through a humid Michigan summer day.

"God… I even drooled all over it!" I sucked in a deep breath, then another one and another one until my brain was able to process anything beyond the basic information. As soon as my neurons turned off their sleepy mode, I recognized the softness under my fingertips. My mouth released a hysterical chuckle, and my heart began to race. The shirt was made of the purest Egyptian cotton. It was also tailor-made and finished by hand. To sum it up, this shirt was worth more than my month's rent—or two months' rent. I sucked in a deep breath and dragged my fingers through my hair.

I had barely gotten in through the door of the mall when he sent me a gif of Wayne and Garth from Wayne's World, bowing, and captioned "We're Not Worthy!" Asshole. But I was kind of getting arrogant enough to say into the thin air, "Damn straight you ain't." The shirt I ended up buying was a pretty dope cloud pattern of sky blue and white. The only place the Crayola factory had thrown up on it were the insides of the collar and cuffs.