Blanknyc Onyx Jacket Novels & Stories

“And don’t waste my time with recycled trends.” “Yes, sir. Right away.” A few minutes later, she returned with a rolling rack of carefully chosen pieces. I stood, brushing past her, eyes skimming the materials. Midnight blue. Deep burgundy. A charcoal suit with a subtle diamond weave. Obsidian silk with custom onyx buttons. I pulled a black jacket from the rack, ran my fingers along the seam. Then I stopped. The cut was off. The shoulders didn’t sit with dominance, they caved in slightly.

he says confidently. To my confusion, Thanos steps forward, his hair slicked back with gel and his beard styled to perfection. He’s wearing a black satin blazer, with gold sequins decorating the left-hand side of the jacket that makes it appear as though gold coral is creeping across the fabric. Underneath he’s wearing a black buttoned-up shirt with a gold strip down the button lining of the shirt and has paired it with black slacks with a gold strip down the outer seam of the pants along with gold leather oxfords.

The air seemed to crackle with tension, each step of Aiden's echoing a reminder of his elevated status. Isabella watched as everything slowed down to her. Aiden's appearance was a striking blend of elegance. He wore a fitted black jacket that clung perfectly to his athletic frame, tailored precisely to magnify his broad shoulders and narrow waist. The jacket was sleek and spotless, with deep red linens running along either side, a designing but deliberate touch of color that hinted at a more dangerous allure. The red trim seemed to pulse against the black fabric, a quiet but bold statement that mirrored Aiden's own presence–controlled yet impossible to ignore.

He smells amazing. “You look sexy.” I grin as he pulls up the dark gray jacket from the bed and helps me ease into it. It’s calf length and made of expensive wool and has the most flattering, fitted shape. A new acquisition from Donna at his urging that I needed a winter coat for formal events. New York is starting to get cooler already. “You look far sexier than me, neonata.” He leads me out of the apartment, nodding at the security staff in the outer hall. * * *

“No. I choose, you try. And you must model everything for me. Oui?” His French accent is exquisite. “Ummm. Okay. Yes. Oui.” He hands me a structured blazer, deep navy, almost black, with unusual shoulders and a cinched waist. “Try with the jeans you are wearing.” I try it on. It fits perfectly. The sleeves are a hair too long, but he pins them and adjusts. There’s something so different about this jacket but I have no clue what. I keep staring. “You like?” “I love.” “Try with these now.”

North’s POV I straightened my jacket, smoothing down the fabric. Calvin Klein. East and Winter had already tried to claim it the moment they saw it, arguing over who would wear it next like it already belonged to them. It was one of the many things Jeremy had gotten for me. Part of the image. Part of the role. Dark fitted jeans, a clean white tan top underneath, the jacket sitting perfectly on my shoulders. My hair was done, not too much, just enough to look effortless.

In this room. God. Ronan in his black tailored suit, sunny blonde hair and electric blue eyes cold enough to send shivers down my spine. Malachi in his dark purple shirt, first two buttons undone, sleeves rolled up to his elbows to reveal the tail of his snake tatoo, jet black hair and grey eyes that pierce deep into my soul, and Jaxon in his careless black Jean jacket, blonde hair roughly done, and warm hazel eyes that stare at me with a hunger that leaves my knees wobbling.

The master dressing suite of the Thorne Tower penthouse was a sanctuary of smoked glass, polished walnut, and harsh, brilliant light. Sloane stood in front of the full-length mirror, sliding a sleek, midnight-black designer blazer over her shoulders. The tailored fabric clung to her frame like armor, the sharp lines restoring the formidable silhouette of Manhattan’s top real estate broker. But beneath the pristine silk lining, her chest felt hollow, her ribs tight against the suffocating weight of the day.

I also designed the embroidery on the jacket. Everyone should wear the dress of their own choice. Their last attire designed by Vanera was a dark blue suit for both men and women. I pitied their closet. At least the jacket would be cool. It would look badass on them and it was just a simple piece of cloth; no suit. I took the sketch on my hand. I just needed to hand it over to Vexon. He would love it. "Thanks!" I mumbled and hugged Newana. "Yikes," she said in disgust but in return, I crushed her with the hug.

Slamming into the opposite wall with a deafening crash that shook the floor beneath my chair. Vane froze. The cane hovered inches from my face. Dust swirled in the doorway. Through the haze, black armor emerged. Not the tactical mesh of the Vanguard, nor the chrome of House Vane. This armor was void-black. Absorbing the light. Carved with the seal of the Crescent Moon. The Onyx Guard. Two of them stepped into the room. Silent as death. They held energy pikes that hummed with a lethal violet frequency. Vane lowered the cane. His face drained of all color. "I... I was just securing the confession. The prisoner was resisting."