Iron Man Aesthetic Mga Nobela at Kwento

He unnerves me in ways that are unexplainable. He walks out into the light and allows me to see him. Crisp Armani suit, tailored to perfection, hugging every curve of his. Choke-like silver chain around his neck with a name tag—Scar. I can’t say for sure what his eyes are like, but they look icy and cold. Lifeless. And his lips, plump, juicy, and a natural tint of red. He’s inexplicably perfect. It’s insane how beautiful this sick man is.

The backdoor opened, and a guy came out of it. No... a robot fits better cos he looks inhumane and so fucking statuesque. She felt his halo even from her spot. Ranging from his arctic eyes, dark sprawled hair, bulgy body which is definitely friendly to the gym, straight legs, stiff shoulders, unfeeling essence. He's as cold as winter, and there's a small scar on his chin, but that only added to his greek-godlike handsomeness. Not that she cares. There's a cross necklace dangling from his neck, his face is eerily calm.

"... I didn't expect it to be under such... delicate circumstances." Icarus, as always, didn't move. He didn't need to. He wore stillness like a crown, like armor forged from shadows themselves. His suit, dark as obsidian and dangerous as a whispered sin, wrapped his body with predatory precision. Each line, each fold, seemed sculpted to tempt destruction. A single black button fastened across his chest, framing the subtle ridge of muscle beneath, as if daring me to imagine how easily it might come undone.

Tony pointed at him with two fingers. "It's sooo tacky, man. I don't want Iron Man eatin' my ass out everytime I sit." He cringed. "Hey, I needed a higher stool to use under the lifts, ok? I saw this godly Iron Man stool at a thrift store and couldn't resist! Look at it! It's hand painted! That's talent!" Tony insisted. "Yea, I'll begrudgingly admit whoever painted it was talented, but that doesn't invalidate the fact that Iron Man's lips are on my hole! Hehehehahaha!" He laughed at Tony's shocked expression.

His back lounged against white cushioning, IV taped to his arm like a prop. The details were just decoration. Nothing dimmed his control. His right hand gripped an iPad, fingers moving with steady precision. Calm. Detached. Cold. And his face. God. Still infuriatingly handsome. Like yesterday’s crash had only sharpened him. Jawline cut clean, faint stubble shadowing his chin, hair tousled in a way too perfect to be called messy. A thin scar traced his temple, adding to his market value. Dangerous, magnetic, unrepentant. Of course. Even half-dead, he looked like an expensive sin.

That is how heavy his presence his. He is a huge and tall man. His hair is dark as the night sky. The muscles in his arms were so obvious through the cloth of his white v-neck shirt. His long legs were covered by a washed out denim pants. He looks like a rough handsome warrior who will protect you anytime. He is ridiculously hot and it is crazy. He looks almost ethereal. His looks are too beautiful to be true. He is beautifully rough in the eye. I feel like it is illegal to have this body and face. He looks impossible. I feel like the God has spent a lot of years sculpting his features and body just to be this perfect.

“ I’m Aesthetic, but you can call me Thea sir. “ She said and smiled. As she observed the man who’s wearing a white suit, she noticed how good-looking he is. From his brown hair down to his black eyebrows. His unique shallow eyes that looks so interesting to stare. His well shaped jaws and the bridge of his nose, as well as his sexy lips that seems so tempting. He's also tall and masculine like Ace. This man! This man's presence is so captivating, like he would lock her up from his seductive world. “ Aesthetic means an art. “ The guy whispered right into her face. She watched how his lips curved a sweet smile. “ Your name suits you well lady. “ He added with a low voice. Thea began to observ

Oh, you guessed right. The same Kraven Astor. My eyes captured those tattoos of his, around his neck before it finally fell on the ones at the back of his palm. His presence alone was enough to command respect and maybe fear. There was something magnetic about him, but I had no intention of being drawn in. Does that mean he isn't photogenic because only that could explain this cuteness standing right in front of me? Dark suit. Shadowed expression. Holding a glass of liquor that smells expensive.

His face was enough and, if she could choose, she would forget even that. She had her doubts this image of him was truly a memory, however. The Alpha Iron Aster she remembered had been imposing, majestic and intimidating. Unattainable, as everyone in the pack expected of a leader. This man before her, however, although he still looked gigantic and powerful, looked as if he hadn't slept in weeks, maybe months.

Money dripping from every syllable and not human at all. He’s… offensively handsome. Tall. Broad shoulders. Perfect jawline. Dark hair styled like he has a team dedicated to it. Eyes the color of expensive whiskey. Tailored charcoal suit that probably costs more than a bank. He looks like he was sculpted by a bored god with too much time. Aretha leans toward me. “Please tell me that’s a model.” Alexis mutters, “If he is, I’m buying new stock.” I stand slowly. “Yes?”