Novel & Cerita Any Man

I guess any word or sentence is, really. Nice to meet you, honey. Hi, sweet girl. Hello there, pretty thing. A man in blue jeans and a button-down shirt. A gold chain resting in swirls of curly white hair. A guy with sunglasses on top of his head, dark blue jeans, dimples in his smile. Arms inked up from wrist to shoulder, covered in hair or shaved smooth. Breath like hot dogs, like beer, like peppermint. These men. Sometimes they blur together like they’re all one unreal person; the type like most types that will vanish, dissolve into nothing the moment they turn a corner out of sight. Sometimes they meld, and sometimes they don’t.

This world actually had something called "takeout." I had barely arrived at the office when a man suddenly dragged me into the pantry. "Cher! You have to leave with me! Quickly!" Oh god. It was that rotund man, Shane Fulbright, again. He winced as though my situation personally offended him, but all I could focus on was how his muscles bounced with every movement. The sight disgusted me so much that I immediately stepped farther away. "Don't you know what kind of person he is, Cher?!" he demanded.

I'm looking at a man in an expensive suit with a folder in his hand, probably an administrator. " Yes, I can't find my friends! Can you help?" "With pleasure," he said with a devilish laugh …

Then the crowd reacting in that particular way they did when something was genuinely impressive, not polite impressed, actually stunned into it. We got close enough to see. There was a man in the middle of the platform. No shirt. Sweat running down his chest and over a torso that was all muscle and ink, tattoos crawling up his ribs and across his shoulders and down both arms. Four men were around him, or what was left of them. Two were already on the floor. One was swinging and missing. The fourth hung back like he was reconsidering every decision he had made tonight. The man in the middle moved like he wasn’t working hard at all. He caught a punch, turned it, put the man down in two moves t

Russian's POV A man in his late forties stepped into the basement, his bald head gleaming under the dim light. A tattoo of a fierce scorpion snaked from his neck to his scalp, marking him as someone not to be trifled with. His body was a canvas of ink, displaying various tattoos that told stories of battles fought and won. He dressed sharply, with a few buttons of his shirt undone, exuding an air of relaxed authority. He walked with a noticeable limp, leaning on a sturdy walking stick that seemed to amplify the aura of danger surrounding him.

I quickly turned around and I almost gasped when I saw a man standing in the middle of the roof deck. He was big, almost six feet tall if I wasn't mistaken in my estimate because his muscular body was covered in a T-shirt. The man's black hair was messy as if a comb had never gone through it. It was hanging over his face but I could still see a straight nose and a set of squared jaw with a night's worth of stubbles. Although I am not familiar with men because I had only met women in the past years, I would say with confidence that this guy was someone that others would consider handsome.

Another one roared. "Can someone call security?" The others suggested. "Don't worry, ladies. I'll handle this." They all looked satisfied when a man walked towards Marionne. He looked like in his mid-40s, yet still, look formidable and elegant. "I know you, Marionne, right?" Marianne felt like he was showered with ice-cold water. The man in front of him was the father of Ava. "Uhm—yes—yes, sir." He struggled to answer.

The man said, bashful. Tanya also smiled, seeing as the man was acting cute. The man was dressed in a white top and white trousers. He had his hair on his forehead, and he looked kind of handsome. “Do you mind taking a picture with me?” the man asked.

“Miss Ahn, are you feeling better?” The man questions her. Though his dark hair is combed back, a few strands are on his smooth forehead. The clean-shaven man has a sharp nose and a strong jawline. He is wearing a white shirt and a brown overcoat with dark trousers that nicely hug his long legs. There is a small mole near the right corner of his lips.

They saw that this unidentified man was taller than everyone in the parlour. "Please calm down, he's someone with good intentions." Lavana tried to lessen the tension. "Good intentions?" Mel asked and took another look at the man before them. His vibes exhibited that he had killed more than 10 people. He was also wearing a hood so they can only see his mouth which only formed a small smile. "Who's he? You know him?" Rolandro asked. Lavana nodded. "Yes, he's someone close to me." "Is he your brother or kin or friend?" Regina asked.