Teenage Dirtbag Outfit Novels & Stories

He was not even ashamed that he was too naked, too hard, too muscled, too arrrggg…beautiful. Except—naked. Handsomely naked. And …Me, also naked. Always naked. “Great,” I muttered, stepping over a shredded body. “Another fight, another round of naked alley chic.” Gregor didn’t respond, already ripping apart a garbage bag until he found something vaguely wearable. A tattered shirt, someone’s ruined jeans. He tossed me a filthy jacket that smelled like mold and fried onions. I held it up with two fingers. “Really? What is this, the couture collection of Dumpster 2025?”

Britney managed to squeeze in before I cut the call. “I hope he’s not coming with us,” she glared, folding her arms. “No worries there muffin,” I cooed lifting up my camera bag, “I got it covered.” She nodded, trailing down my figure, eyes widening, “That’s what you’re wearing!” I glanced down at the large fuzzy shirt I was wearing matched with dark leggings and ankle boots, “what’s wrong with this?” “Really Makayla?!” “What?!” “You look like a Hobo!” she huffed staring at me in horror.

I grab my outfit and head into the changing room, stripping out of mny plain jeans and t-shirt and pulling on some fishnet tights, and another set of jeans, black this time with ripped holes, as well as a red, long sleeved crop top with a deepv neckline. I grab my discarded clothes and head back out, where Lynette whistles at me. "Look at you, hot stuff!" I roll my eyes and place my clothes into my bag. "Oh, shut up." I say as I sit down and run my fingers through my coppery red hair, trying to

I get off when the driver calls the last stop. I find a Goodwill store that’s just opening. I wait for the old woman to unlock the doors, shivering on the sidewalk. I need to change. Everything I’m wearing has been cataloged and fed to an algorithm. I buy the ugliest shit I can find. Baggy cargo pants that are three sizes too big. A belt to keep the pants from ending up around my ankles. A stained flannel shirt that smells like mothballs. An oversized, heavy army surplus jacket. And to round off this fashion extravaganza, a Mets ball cap.

Good. I walked back into the room and grabbed a trash bag. I started ripping things out of my closet. Every pink outfits I had I was thrashing them out. The soft sweaters my mom said made me look"innocent. I shoved them into the bag like they were rotting garbage. I dug into the back of my closet, finding stuff I had bought months ago and hidden. Baggy, oversized black jeans. A huge, shapeless hoodie that swallowed my frame. I even found an old theater kit from freshman year. I took the spirit gum and the fake mustache and glued it to my upper lip. It looked a bit ridiculous, but it did the job. It broke up the lines of my face. It hid the perfect doll.

“You’re shedding…” “And you shouldn’t be here!” He shrugged, throwing the rock he had picked from the ground at my face and I dodged it ease. “I see you’re still fast.” “Oh please, that rock was slow.” He tossed a small duffle bag at me, I caught it. Taking outa loose pair of leathery pants and a similar black puffer jacket to the one he was wearing. “What the fuck Jared, these were the only clothes you could find???” “Hey, you make come get you, you wear what I pick.”

PEBBLES' POV I scrambled through my suitcase, trying to cypher through those rags I called clothes. I struggled to find a decent enough outfit. The only items I found were brown corduroy pants that had seen better days and Grandma's old blue cotton sweater that was missing a button or two.

This is as good a place as any to die. “You came to your senses and decided to just give up, then?” A lanky man struts forward, his skin dirty and his hair in dreads, knotted in a low ponytail with a piece of fabric. Rogues are known to be dirty, not as bad as the exiles, but exiles living long is rare so no one really has expectations for us. I shift into my human form, pulling out a pair of shorts from my bag.

With a groan, I heave myself out of bed, my body protesting as I stretch, each crack and creak echoing through the silence. My gaze drifts to my bag, barely filled with the remnants of my life—clothes that likely carry the scent of neglect. I rummage through my old dresser, fingers diving deep into forgotten memories, finally unearthing a pair of sweatpants and a faded Nirvana T-shirt. I throw the shirt over my shoulders, feeling the fabric cling to me like a ghost from the past. My hair falls in wild strands around my neck as I twist it into a haphazard bun, giving up on perfection for the promise of comfort.

The sight of him was sickening. He was dressed neatly in a pair of black woollen pants, black leather boots and a button-down shirt. His copper hair was pulled to the back, displaying all of his foreheads and his grey eyes were twinkling with derision. The sight of Jared made me even more aware of my helpless situation and my eyes dropped to the dirty floor as embarrassment enveloped me. While Jared looked so neat, here I was, as dirty as a pig. I was dressed in nothing but the shorts I had been dragged with to the packhouse.