tf by clothes - black tf - muscles grow
Adrian stepped out of the icy Black Friday street and into the warm dimness of the boutique.
The door closed behind him with a soft chime, sealing out the cold and swallowing him in a world of dark wood, leather, and quiet bass music vibrating softly through the floor.
The air smelled of warm cologne, cedar, and new leather jackets.
Not the synthetic scent of department stores — something richer, heavier, almost intimate.
He blinked, letting his eyes adjust.
Racks of black and dark grey clothing lined the walls like tall silhouettes.
Every spotlight was angled perfectly, giving each item a glow, a presence.
It felt more like walking into someone’s private wardrobe than into a public shop.
The man standing behind the counter straightened up, and it was like the entire room adjusted around him — as if the lighting, the music, even the warmth bent to his presence.
Tall.
Broad.
Skin the color of polished obsidian, smooth and deep.
His beard was thick and trimmed, his eyes warm but sharp with awareness.
He wore a fitted black T-shirt that clung to his chest and shoulders in a way Adrian could never imagine on himself.
The man’s voice rolled out slowly, velvety and confident:
“First time in here, brother?”
Adrian froze a second too long before answering.
“Uh— yeah. I mean… yes. I saw the sign outside. Black Friday deals. Thought I’d take a look.”
The man smiled — a slow, knowing smile.
“You’re in the right place. I’m Malik.”
He moved around the counter with effortless presence, the scent of his cologne washing over Adrian in a warm wave — dark amber, something spicy, something warm and masculine that lingered a moment too long.
Malik nodded, looking him up and down in a way that felt both evaluating and strangely respectful.
Adrian suddenly became painfully aware of his own body — his pale skin flushed by the cold, his narrow shoulders, his thin frame swallowed by a winter jacket that always felt one size too big.
“You said you wanted to ‘take a look,’ right?” Malik said with a half-smile.
“Or maybe… find something new?”
“Yeah. A new look. A full outfit, maybe.”
Malik’s eyes warmed, as if Adrian had given exactly the answer he was hoping for.
“Perfect. Let’s start simple.”
He walked toward a display, lifting a pair of black fitted pants from a rack.
“Try these first. They’ll show you what you’re working with.”
Adrian tried to laugh lightly.
“I don’t… I don’t have much to work with.”
Malik stepped closer, holding the pants out.
His voice lowered:
“Trust me, Adrian. Every man’s got something. You just haven’t seen yours yet.”
A strange shiver ran down Adrian’s spine — not fear, not excitement, but something in between.
He followed Malik toward the fitting rooms, noticing again the warmth of the shop, the rich smell of leather, and the quiet hum of bass that seemed to sync with his heartbeat.
The fitting room felt almost too warm the moment Adrian closed the door behind him.
The lighting was soft, golden, flattering in a way that made the mirror look more like a studio backdrop than a changing stall.
He unzipped his jeans and stepped out of them, feeling a flutter of nervousness he couldn’t quite explain.
The pants Malik had chosen were smooth beneath his fingertips — almost silky despite being clearly made of thick, structured fabric.
The moment the waistband slid up over his thighs, he paused.
Not uncomfortably tight.
Just… precise.
He buttoned them and turned toward the mirror.
His butt looked different.
Not just “better tailoring” different.
Bigger. Rounder. Higher.
Like someone who did squats daily — which he definitely didn’t.
He twisted awkwardly, checking the other side.
There was no way he’d ever had that kind of shape.
His jeans at home always sagged, always hung loose, always made him look flat from every angle.
But now his backside pushed against the fabric in a way that looked—
Well…
Good.
Embarrassingly good.
He tugged at the waistband, looking for some trick of padding or seams.
Nothing.
Just the fabric fitting him perfectly.
A knock on the door made him jump.
Malik’s voice, deep and smooth:
“How’s it looking in there, Adrian?”
Adrian hesitated, cheeks warming.
“…Better than I expected. Way better.”
Malik chuckled:
“Let me see.”
Adrian opened the door just enough, stepping out with a self-conscious posture.
Malik’s eyes swept him slowly — not mocking, not judging.
Just… assessing.
Professionally observant, but with a warmth behind it.
“Damn,” Malik said, nodding in approval.
“Those pants woke something up, huh?”
“I—I don’t look like this. Usually. I mean… I don’t know what’s going on.”
Malik circled him casually, hands behind his back.
“It’s the cut,” he said softly.
“Some clothes show the truth better than others.”
Truth.
The word echoed strangely inside Adrian’s chest.
He looked at himself again.
His legs seemed slightly more toned than he remembered.
His posture… straighter.
The faintest warmth spread over his hips, almost like his skin was reacting to the fabric.
But it was subtle enough that he could still convince himself it was just adrenaline — or the lighting — or Malik’s intense presence making him self-conscious.
“They suit you,” Malik said.
“Keep them on. We’re building something.”
Adrian didn’t know why those words hit him so deeply.
But he nodded, unable to look away from Malik’s confident, approving smile.
Something was being built.
Even if he didn’t understand it yet.
The fitting room felt even warmer when Adrian stepped back inside.
His heart was still beating too fast — from embarrassment, from the shock of seeing himself with a backside he definitely hadn’t had an hour ago.
Malik’s voice echoed in his mind:
“Some clothes show the truth better than others.”
He shook his head.
It was ridiculous.
It had to be the cut.
The lighting.
The shop’s… atmosphere.
He pulled off his T-shirt and reached for the black tank top Malik had handed him.
The fabric was soft, dense, and cool against his fingers.
He slipped it over his head.
And immediately felt it cling.
Not tight — not exactly.
It just… followed him perfectly.
As if it already knew the lines of his body better than he did.
He turned toward the mirror.
His chest looked different.
Not dramatically.
But unmistakeably.
His pecs — which had always been flat, barely defined — now had shape.
A gentle curve.
A firmness that looked earned, not borrowed.
He raised an arm, thinking it was just posture.
His shoulders looked broader.
Rounder.
More… masculine.
He twisted slightly, checking his back.
His upper back looked firmer, the shoulder blades less visible, the lines more defined.
Not bodybuilder-level — but definitely not the slim, narrow frame he had walked in with.
“Okay… this is the mirror. This lighting is insane…”
That’s when he noticed something even stranger.
The warm golden tint he’d noticed earlier had deepened.
Still subtle — but no longer something he could blame on a spotlight.
A faint, even bronze coated his shoulders, his arms, his collarbone.
He touched his chest, expecting a trick of makeup or dust from the garment.
Adrian opened the door slowly, stepping out with hesitant steps.
Malik was waiting, arms crossed, expression unreadable but attentive.
Malik’s eyes swept over his torso.
He didn’t whistle.
He didn’t smirk.
He just nodded with a slow, satisfied calm.
“Told you the tank top would show your potential.”
“This isn’t— this isn’t my potential. This isn’t me.”
Malik tilted his head, stepping closer, just close enough that Adrian could feel the man’s body heat.
“Look in the mirror again, Adrian. That’s you. Whether you’re ready to see it or not.”
Adrian looked.
And he didn’t recognize the man staring back.
Stronger.
Warmer.
Bolder.
“I don’t… I don’t understand.”
Malik’s voice softened — almost gentle.
Behind the calm tone, there was something else.
Something patient.
Something certain.
A scent rose between them — the mix of Adrian’s lighter smell and something new beneath it.
A warm, almost spicy note coming from his own skin.
The change was small, but undeniable.
Not like the pale, timid man who had walked in.
The boutique’s air felt heavier now — almost humid — when Adrian stepped back into the fitting room.
His heart beat too loudly.
The tank top clung to muscles that hadn’t existed an hour before.
He didn’t understand what was happening.
He couldn’t understand.
Malik’s calm nod still lingered in his mind, unsettling and strangely reassuring at the same time.
He picked up the next piece Malik had handed him:
a black turtleneck.
Dense. Elegant.
Almost intimidating.
The fabric was soft but substantial, warm even before he pulled it on.
And slipped it over his head.
The moment the collar settled around his neck, he felt it —
a pressure, deep under his skin, like something rearranging itself.
He staggered, grabbing the bench.
His arms felt strange.
He tugged the sleeves down —
They looked… bigger.
Stronger.
His forearms had thickness — veins showing faintly even through the tight fabric.
He turned toward the mirror.
His hair —
the straight light-brown strands he’d had all his life —
were now darker.
Richer.
With texture.
He ran a hand through it —
and felt tight curls forming, rising, coiling.
“This isn’t— this can’t—”
He leaned closer to the mirror.
His skin had deepened.
Not bronzed.
Not tanned.
Brown.
Warm.
Smooth.
Spreading from his neck to his jawline.
He touched his cheek.
It felt hot — alive — different.
His lips were fuller.
His nose… subtly wider at the base.
The changes make him gasp.
“Malik!”
His voice cracked, deeper than before.
“Malik, something’s wrong!”
He pushed open the fitting room door almost violently.
Malik was already there.
As if he’d been waiting.
Adrian stumbled out, panic rising in his throat, hands trembling.
“Look at me!” he said, voice shaking.
“LOOK at me — my hair, my skin — this isn’t me!”
Malik stepped closer, unhurried, calm as ever.
His eyes scanned Adrian slowly — from the tightening curls in his hair,
down the warm brown tone spreading across his throat,
to the way the turtleneck clung to new muscle.
Then he placed a large hand on Adrian’s shoulder.
Heavy.
Warm.
Grounding.
Adrian shook his head violently.
“No! I—I’m changing! My arms— my face— my skin— Malik, what’s happening to me?”
Not pitying.
Not surprised.
“It’s still you,” he said softly.
“More you than before.”
Adrian’s breath came fast, uneven.
He took a shaky step back, but Malik’s hand remained firm on his shoulder.
The scent between them shifted —
Adrian could smell himself:
not the shy, barely-there deodorant he wore.
But something warmer.
Spicier.
Earthy.
Masculine.
“I don’t want this,” he whispered.
But even he heard the uncertainty in his voice.
Malik’s hand squeezed gently.
And somehow…
Adrian knew he was right.
The leather jacket hung over Malik’s arm like a final test — heavy, dark, full of presence.
Adrian stared at it, breath still shaky from what the turtleneck had done to him.
His skin still tingled.
His cheeks still felt too warm.
His jaw… different.
And every time he swallowed, he could feel the deeper vibration in his voice.
Not a suggestion.
Not a command.
Something in between — something Adrian couldn’t refuse.
He slid his arms into the sleeves.
The moment the leather touched his skin, it was like a pulse traveling through him —
from his shoulders, down his spine, into his legs, and finally settling in his feet.
The jacket smelled of rich leather, spice, and faint cologne, but beneath it all he caught something else — his own scent, warmer, deeper than it had ever been.
He pulled the zipper up halfway.
And that’s when he felt it.
Pressure.
Growth.
Weight.
His shoulders pushed harder against the jacket, filling the structure effortlessly.
His chest rose, broader, thicker, the leather stretching subtly across his pecs.
His waist tapered more sharply, creating a powerful V-shape.
His skin had deepened again — now a rich, warm brown, unmistakably darker than minutes before.
The glow of it contrasted beautifully with the black leather, making every line of muscle stand out.
His cheekbones were fuller.
His lips, now undeniably thicker and darker.
His nose, subtly wider at the base, reshaped into something both new and strangely natural.
His curls — short, tight, perfectly defined — crowned him with a new identity he could no longer deny.
But the worst shock came when he shifted his weight.
His shoes tightened — painfully.
“What— what is happening to my feet?”
Malik didn’t move.
Didn’t blink.
“They’re growing,” he said simply.
“You’ll need bigger shoes soon.”
Adrian grabbed the bench for support as another wave of heat rushed into his feet.
His toes stretched.
His arches lifted.
His heels pressed against the back of his too-small shoes.
“This isn’t stopping… Malik, it’s not stopping!”
Malik stepped forward and placed both hands on Adrian’s shoulders.
Large, steady, reassuring.
“I don’t want to be almost anything— I want to be me—”
Malik held his gaze, deep and unshakable.
The words hit him harder than the transformations.
Because some part of him — the same part that reacted to Malik’s touch, that felt the leather like a second skin —
believed it.
His shoes gave another tight jolt.
He winced, gripping Malik’s forearm.
“Then take them off. The old you won’t fit your life anymore.”
It wasn’t just his feet he had outgrown.
Adrian sat on the bench, breathing hard, his fingers digging into the wood as another pulse vibrated through his feet.
His sneakers strained visibly — the fabric pulling, the seams creaking under the pressure.
Malik knelt down in front of him — calm, steady, as if nothing happening here was extraordinary.
He untied the laces of Adrian’s shoes with slow, deliberate movements.
“You’re ready,” Malik said softly.
“Take them off.”
Adrian hesitated.
Not because he doubted Malik — but because removing his shoes felt like abandoning the last small piece of the man he used to be.
But the pain in his toes made the decision for him.
He exhaled shakily and slipped off the first shoe.
His foot expanded immediately, toes unfurling, arch rising, heel widening.
The relief was almost overwhelming — a warm rush spreading up his calf, through his thigh, into his core.
Malik handed him a new pair of shoes — black, sleek, larger than Adrian believed anyone could wear.
Adrian lifted his transformed foot.
It looked powerful — long, broad, grounded.
Nothing like the narrow pale thing he had brought into the store.
He slid it into the new shoe.
Not loose.
Not tight.
Just right — as if made for him.
Malik handed him the second shoe silently.
Adrian removed the other sneaker.
This foot grew too — skin deepening into a rich, even dark brown, toes widening, tendons forming strong lines.
He slipped into the final shoe.
The moment both feet touched the floor, something inside him clicked.
A warmth filled his chest.
His breath slowed.
His heartbeat steadied — deeper, stronger, calmer.
And for the first time, his posture felt natural.
Tall.
Broad.
Centered.
Unshakeable.
He stepped toward the mirror.
The man reflected back at him was not Adrian-as-he-was.
But Adrian-as-he-truly-was.
His skin, now a deep, beautiful dark brown, smooth and radiant.
His face, masculine and full — strong jaw, wide nose, thick lips shaped by warmth and confidence.
His hair, tight curls perfectly framing the new structure of his features.
His body, powerful, solid, balanced — muscles defined under the black turtleneck and leather jacket.
A new smile — grounded, sure, rich with calm strength.
Malik stepped behind him, meeting his gaze through the reflection.
Adrian didn’t argue this time.
Didn’t question.
Didn’t fear.
He accepted himself, wholly, without hesitation.
Here is an additional part, written in English, focusing on the moment Adrian truly sees himself — not just as transformed, not just as complete, but as attractive, handsome, and desirable.
This chapter is about self-recognition, confidence, and that first spark of pride in his new identity.
The store had grown quiet.
The hum of soft music faded into the background.
The world outside the fitting room felt distant, unimportant, as Adrian stood before the mirror — Malik’s words still lingering in the air.
But this time, Malik didn’t speak.
He simply stepped back, giving Adrian space.
Adrian leaned in, taking a slow breath as he examined his reflection not with fear or confusion…
but with something new.
Curiosity.
Awe.
And a rising heat in his chest he hadn’t expected.
The man staring back was —
Gorgeous.
Not handsome in a subtle way.
Not attractive in a timid way.
His skin — deep, rich, smooth — caught the warm store lighting like polished bronze.
His cheekbones cast elegant shadows.
His thick lips parted slightly as he exhaled.
His jaw looked sculpted, powerful.
His tight curls framed his face perfectly, highlighting the masculine lines beneath.
He turned his head a little, noticing the angle of his neck in the black turtleneck, the way his shoulders filled the leather jacket effortlessly.
For the first time, he smiled — not a shy smile, not a confused smile —
but a slow, confident, holy-shit-is-that-me smile.
He brought a hand to his jaw, sliding his fingers along the new contours of his face.
The skin felt warm, firm, textured in a way that thrilled him.
“Damn…” he whispered, almost laughing under his breath.
“I’m… actually hot.”
Saying it out loud sent a chill through him — not disbelief, not fear —
but pleasure.
He straightened his posture automatically, chest rising, shoulders back.
His presence filled the mirror with ease.
From behind, Malik chuckled softly — not mocking, but proud.
Adrian didn’t look away from the mirror.
“Yeah,” he murmured, voice deeper, smoother, richer than ever.
“I see it.”
He tilted his head, admiring the way the jacket hugged his frame.
Admiring the curve of his new smile.
Admiring the man he had become.
The man he had discovered.
A man who was powerful.
A man who was grounded.
A man who was undeniably, absolutely—
beautiful.
He ran a thumb over his bottom lip, feeling the fullness there.
“Damn,” he repeated, a grin spreading.
“I look incredible.”
Malik’s reflection appeared beside his, their eyes meeting in the glass.
“Welcome to yourself, Adrian.”
Adrian exhaled, slow, steady, proud.
“Yeah… I think I like it here.”
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