tight lacer

14.Tell Your Friends - BTS Mafia Au

One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine - Ten -  Eleven -  Twelve  -Thirteen


‘I don’t have a home, with you I could build one, but I’d still burn it down’

Yoongi kept whiskey in his kitchen cabinet next to drain cleaner and a liter of vinegar, which he opened, poured and then threw at Yugyeom who was carrying Hoseok’s feet.

“Don’t let him drink it in one go”

The boy didn’t seem to find the request strange and merely placed it under his own arm and continued towards the white rug in Yoongi’s living room.

The doctor chirped in with a cheery tone, overweight and balding, his shirt was wrinkled and his tie was strung around his neck, a black briefcase was held tightly in his hand.

He spoke to Yoongi with familiarity.

“That won’t be necessary, I brought all the mandatory medication. He’ll be-” his glasses were perched on the bridge of his nose, he looked out over them to speak to Yoongi.

“Medication?” Yoongi repeated, almost wincing at the word, the doctor almost winced when Yoongi finally looked at him.

“For the pain yes” 

“Keep that crap away from him. Don’t even let him know we fucking have it”

His suit jacket was gone, discarded on the island in the kitchen and he’d pushed up his sleeves, rolling them at the end, his hair was combed but unkempt, he looked normal, tired. He spoke like he’d gone through this many times before, and was coaching amateurs now, though you were sure this wasn’t the first backstreet patch up the doctor had done.

“With all due respect sir, his shoulder needs to be put back in place, it’ll be excruciating, he-” the doctor had a soft voice, one of reason, but his objection remained futile

“If you drug him, I’ll cut off your fingers” 

The short physician did not protest a third time.

It was then Yoongi extracted the packet of cigarettes from his suit jacket, slipping one between his fingers before taking a steel lighter from his pocket, it clicked as the flame appeared, sharp among the silence, your ears rang. 

He lit the cigarette with steady hands, took a puff and stared at the two carrying Hoseok.

They did not attempt to place him on the rug as they had previously intended.

“Stick a towel in his mouth and numb him for a while, if he gets a sniff of that anesthesia when he’s awake he’ll drink it”

They stared at him for a second before he cocked his head towards the guest bedroom and sipped from his glass, his cigarette resting between his index and middle finger.

His palms were spread out on the marble counter, stainless and glistening, like it had never been used, no sign of wear, much like its owner. The whole place looked untouched, newly bought, it seemed like a waste.

You watched from near the edge of the kitchen as the three men left the room, following the doctor down the hallway, leaving you alone.

He stared at the spot the three men had once stood for a moment or two before looking at you properly, his eyes trailing up your body before meeting your own, glassy and unconcerned. 

When he’d arrived, he’d merely glanced at you, kneeling, half drenched in blood from where you’d knelt beside Hoseok and bruised, half your face a canvas of blue and pink blotches. His car seats were warm and you sat in the front while he drove, holding Hoseok’s keys.

He stared at them in your clasped hands before trailing his tired eyes back down to your knees, the black opaque tights lacerated from a free-for-all with salt and grit, your hands stung and would have been shaking if you hadn’t been holding the car keys.

He saw little need to make conversation and allowed the ticks from the wall clock to fill the thundery silence, the snow outside noiseless weather, unsuited to your interaction, he was the type you’d look it while it rained so mist could be your reason for a momentary slip of judgment.

He seemed to overlook your collage of bruises and gazed over you once more before pressing the cigarette between thin lips, his eyes falling shut, his shoulders raising as he took a breath.The few seconds he stayed like that were euphoric before effortlessly, the smoke escaped his mouth, and faded, mixing in with the smell of new furniture and polish.

You held his gaze for as long as you could.

“I thought you lived in Gangseo”

“I don’t live anywhere” he snapped, his neck stiffening

He paused before continuing, taking a sip from the glass, swirling the copper drink around inside, chromatic brown, liquid life too sweet for some.

“Whichever bed I sleep in, depends on my mood”

He took another long drag from the cigarette, his eyes closing as he experienced a second of peace, alkaloid Eden, he enjoyed nicotine for the few moments the cigarette allowed.

“This place is out of convenience”

He’d always been casual but he looked less intimidating without a jacket, less uptight without a tie, but his face was guarded and he made no move to get comfortable. 

“And the others?” you asked.

He smiled like he always seemed to smile, wickedly.

“To show off.  Most people like the villa” he explained.

“I didn’t”

His only reaction was a sigh of amusement as he shoved his hand in his pocket, shaking his head slightly as he lifted the cigarette to his mouth again

“Neither do I” he shrugged, smoke trailing from his open mouth, his lips pulled back to reveal straight teeth, gummy, like a child’s, his eyes still dark, bitter.

A muffled shout came from the corridor as Yoongi flicked the cigarette ash into the sink, ignoring the ashtray on the counter.

“Well he woke up quickly” he commented.

“He’ll be okay right?” you asked briskly.

“I’ve never known Ahn to do a bad job, better than most hospital staff, quicker too.”

Another shout came from the bedroom, louder this time but Yoongi, as always, was unfazed and turned back to you, the cigarette missing between his fingers, discarded in the sink, probably staining the steel, reckless in its own way.

“Get out of those clothes” he requested


“I’m not getting stains on these carpets,” he remarked, inconvenienced, shaking his head, glancing to the unlit living room, as if unsure why you found his demand so unreasonable.

“They’re new” he added.

“But I don’t have anything to wear”

“Well I don’t have a security deposit if you get blood on my couch” he countered, excessive, but adamant

“You expect me to strip and walk around half naked?” you demanded, your voice slightly louder than his.

“No, I expect you to shower and change and tell me why your face looks like it should be on the cover of a domestic violence campaign ” he responded, his tone wavering near the end, where he found it difficult not to shout back.

“You think I asked Suho to do this?” you challenged, too tired to care about who you were speaking to.

“No, I think you ask for reasons to get hit so you can feel like you’re worth something” he finished, pointing his thin finger at you as if twisting the thorn he already had in your side.

“Do you always have to be such a self-righteous prick?” you spat back, ignoring the shouts that echoed down the hall.

“I hate to break it to you sugar but that’s my job” he found little offense in your comment and merely threw his hands up to signify the little option he had in being the holier-than-thou condescending asshole he was

The clocks ticking filled the gap of sound your raised voices had once filled and your chest heaved slightly from your brisk argument, while he lit another cigarette with slightly unsteady hands, viciously flicking open the lighter before throwing it into the sink 

“I wanna go home” you voice was accompanied by the pang of metal on metal and seemed soft in comparison.

“Tough cause you’re not leaving my sight” he was softly livid and turned back around to glower at you some more.

“Take me or leave me, I’m sure Jungkook won’t mind a few scratches” you smiled instead of crying, your tone was almost desperate but he’d seen you beg enough times before.

“I mind” he spat back, tapping his cigarette, ash wafting the floor, like grey snow, making his floor dirty

A second passed as he stiffened his jaw, your hands in fists by your side, he glanced at them once, as if daring you.

“Why would you mind?” you spoke with an acidity you hadn’t known you’d been holding back.

He’d asked you the same thing about Seungkan.

“Common courtesy, damaged goods sell for less” he said it all in one breath, though it was the loudest you’d ever heard him speak, under high stress and little sleep, cracks in his facade shone through.

“I thought you said I wasn’t much of a possession” you sounded petty and it was because you were.

“Well, we all keep things hoping they’ll go up in value don’t we?” he sounded like you’d already disappointed him.

“What if I depreciate?”

“Our buyer isn’t that picky like you said” he spewed back.

“He’ll take you half broken” his voice was strained, loud.

“He’ll take you brand new” he looked careless, tousled.

“I’m just trying to be a good salesman” he finished blithely

Your hands were clasped tightly around Hoseok’s car keys, they left an imprint on your palms, which were scuffed from your run in with pavement, though minor in comparison to your knees. Slowly fuming, it angered you, even more, to see him still straight-faced, though slightly more disheveled from running his hands through his hair.

At least you had some sort of effect on him.

You stared past him, towards the dark sitting room, where the blinds were half open and everything seemed slightly overcast due to the grey light that came in through the windows as if it was ready to rain, ready to ruin his faux leather couch that you knew nobody sat on. 

Cause nobody was ever there.

It was such a waste it made you sick.

“You need to clean yourself up”

He spoke like a figure of authority, but not condescending for once.

“You look like shit”

This didn’t feel like a home either.

As he pointed to the bathroom and explained in his normal bored tone about towels, you wondered whether he actually had a home, rather than vacant, beautiful places he slept in for the sake of a bed, or whether a home was something foreign to him.

He walked away from you, back down the dark hallway, and you’d realised how thin he was, his white dress shirt clinging in unnatural places, folds of fabric slipping out over his waistband, tall and terrifying, he hadn’t turned back to look at you but merely stopped at the end of the hallway.

The gold trimmed mirror was hung above a fake potted plant and Min Yoongi stared at himself for a moment before veering off the left, towards the window, engulfed in his own darkness.


Yoongi had leaned against the door frame, smoking cigarette number five while you sat on his sink, applying gauze to your knees, knowing he was watching you too carefully. He looked the worst you’d ever seen him and that was a stretch because he still looked pretty.

His eyes were half closed, slightly open, enough to make you uncomfortable.

“You don’t have to watch me you know, I’m not gonna jump out the window,” you told him, quietly, having mulled over your shouting contest in the shower, you’d realized you’d lost and he had barely raised his voice.

“Well your watcher is beaten to the pulp so I guess I’ll have to substitute”

You ripped the second bandage from the package at the same time he had spoken and he gave you a long look as if you were a disobedient child before he took another smoke.

“This is the second time you’ve left me into your house” you commented on this as if you’d won something.

“The first was for intimidation” he explained

“What’s this for?” you stared at him from your place against the mirror.

“Prudence” he commented, giving you a false smile, leaning slightly forward to place a large end on the edge of the sink.

“So Suho couldn’t pick me up?” you scoffed.

“No” he flicked the cigarette into the sink beside you.

“So I could “ his hands now gripped the sink edge and you weren’t sure when his feet had carried him so close to you.

“So I could remind you who’s putting money into your account. An account that would if I may add, be bone dry if I hadn’t so generously agreed to your demands.” his sudden proximity made it hard for you not to look at him.

“So I could remind you who’s making sure you don’t get shot again”

You stared up at him, through your damp hair, not lifting your head too much, just enough to watch him.

“This isn’t about Suho anymore it’s about respect”

“Or your lack of it” he pushed his palm off the sink, crossing his arms, his lecture having ended.

“What do you want me to do huh? Get down on my knees and thank you for ruining my life” your voice was befuddled and you stammered through the sentence in what sounded like shock to him but was disbelief for you.

Desperate and dazed, you’d spoken to him for the first time with no fear or restraint.

“I’m the reason you are alive” he retorted, his eyebrows knitted tightly together, he slapped his hand down onto the polished stone sink.

“You’re the reason I’m not dead, there’s a difference”


His eyes were still half closed but you knew yours were wide and he waited, for you to cry, for you to hit him, you weren’t sure, but he seemed to anticipate a reaction and when he did not receive one he spoke again.

“You’re the reason he’s almost dead”

You stared down at the sink, speckled with bloody gauze, disinfectant wipes, and a single cigarette butt, your hands gripped the edges of the sink as you turned yourself away from the mirror to avoid seeing the growing number of bruises on your face.

His bathroom floor was cold when you sank to it, everything about him always seemed cold.

You didn’t look up at him but you knew he was watching you like he always was.

“You think I wouldn’t take his place?”

You could see his shoes from the corner of your eye, polished, unscuffed.

“Just for a fucking break from all this crap”

Your own lay on his bathroom floor beside you, scraped leather worn in comparison to his.

Everything seemed worn compared to him.


He’d left you like that for a while.

You didn’t cry, you just stared blankly at the wall for a long time before he’d returned, caught your arm, softly, curving his arm under your legs, and picked you up from the cold floor.

You weren’t sure what you thought about, you just remembered the buzz of the spotlights in his bathroom and the sound of pacing down the hall.

“It’s almost 5″ he’d answered when you’d asked for the time.

In whatever state of hysteria you had been in, you laid your head on his shoulder, your eyes red, crazed from lack of sleep, and watched his earring dangle slightly each time he took a step.

You were both silent, his face stern, yours just sad as he carried you down the unlit corridor, past the room Hoseok lay barely alive, past the living room where an ashtray lay broken in shards on Yoongi’s fur rug, close to twenty cigarettes scattered, half smoked on the carpet.

The bed smelt of flowers and he smelt of ash and strong cologne and he cupped the back of your neck before he’d left, his hands colder than his eyes.

If you had been awake enough to ask his reason for moving you, he would have said convenience.

But he didn’t say anything.


One - Two - Three - Four - Five -  Six - Seven -  Eight  - Nine - Ten -  Eleven -  Twelve  -Thirteen



Thank you so much for reading!


Just delivered, a magnificent new Mr. Pearl corset. His workmanship is absolutely flawless and unparalleled. There’s a reason he’s the master; his true obsession with corsetry drives his attention to detail. There’s never a single flawed stitch, plus the shape his corsets create and they way they feel is like no other. He learned from examining the top secret private collection of corsets belonging to the great tight lacers like Cora Pearl, Ethel Granger and several great courtesans. I can’t help but rave about him, because he’s also the most talented yet humble person I’ve ever known. A man who truly lives for glamour! What a pleasure to have him as my personal dresser @lifeball_official this year!

Made with Instagram
Calling all POC waist trainers and tight lacers!!!!

Scarlet made a really good point… there isn’t enough representation of People of color in corsets! 

I joked about calling a photographer friend of mine, but honestly… I’m not joking anymore…. I want to see MORE pictures beautiful corsets on women and men of color. 

So I’m challenging all POC waist trainers and tight lacers to join me in flooding the corset community with representation of POC in corsets

I’m getting in touch with some of my photographer friends to help me with this. I’m of course recruiting pravacouture. But won’t you join me?