The Outsiders Aesthetic Novels & Stories

She'd clung to our side from the moment her eyes latched onto us, when we came in and had refused to leave, offering suggestions when she thought we needed them. One could barely blame her. One look at Mrs Lawson and the twins and you'd know they were moneyed. With Mrs Lawson looking startlingly young in blue jeans, a cashmere sweater, her face coated in light make-up, Abi, in a brown long-sleeved thigh-length sheath gown, Zoe, in a black baggy designer T-shirt that I'd definitely cop, paired with a short Jean skirt and shorts, and finally, me, in my baggy faded joggers and holey oversized hoodie, it didn't take a genius to figure out I was the outsider. I felt like a rat.

In her haste she had carelessly dropped the black hairpin, now part of her hair was hanging loosely. She couldn’t stand being in a cage near the other large cages containing the dormant Outsiders. They were about Human sized, their lower and upper abdomen had a series of paddles for limbs: It was just like the turtle’s but it was more numerous, curved and had sharper tips. They also had long necks and a round head with single large eyes embedded within a pair of large pointy ears. The most disgusting thing about the Outsiders were their slime covered skin and smell. Wendy went cautiously round the corner of a corridor. She could see a door; it was the exit she was free!

The skirt itself was something I’d personally find unflattering, but when tucked into the belt around my waist, it showed off my long legs and thick thighs. “If people are going to stare at you like you’re some type of villainous murder, then you might as well act like one. Make them fear you, let them scare themselves into not fucking with you.” Olive retorted. “You look hot as fuck, and half of the old, drunk creeps in there aren’t going to care about a single mark on your body.”

The house was filled with a heavy tension, and we eagerly awaited the arrival of Vincent and Dan. When Vincent descended the stairs, the atmosphere in the room shifted. It was as if a storm had rolled in, dark and enticing. He looked every bit the dangerous bad boy that he was. His black leather jacket hung effortlessly on his broad shoulders, and his jeans clung to his muscular legs. A hint of stubble adorned his jawline, emphasizing his rugged charm. The way his dark, intense eyes scanned the room, taking in every detail, sent a shiver down my spine.

It will just take me a minute to arrive. When he gets back to his seat, he is grinning. The musky smell of sex, Darius, and sweat clings to me as I slump back against the wall, struggling to keep my face expressionless. I look over both of them. Not a single one of the nineteen of them is concerned with anything but themselves. and cash. It makes sense why Darius united them as a pack. Cruelty, couture clothing, flawless nails, makeup, and hair. Everything should be flawless.

One minute, he was my tormentor, the next, my shadow. When we reached the outskirts of the forest, my stomach dropped. Bad luck must have been written all over me tonight because standing there, leaning against a rusted lamppost, was the last person I wanted to see—Jonan and his gang of pricks. “Well, well, look who finally decided to crawl out of the woods.” Jonan grinned, his dark eyes locking onto mine with the same sick amusement I’d grown used to. “What were you doing out there, wolfless? Trying to summon your non-existent wolf?”

She had plenty of experience with men on the street and from the streets, and she had the sudden thought that she’d rather take her chances with the devil she knew rather than this man staring holes through her. Dark eyes, dark hair. Really great hair. It was mussed and unruly and longish. A lock fell over his forehead and she imagined him pushing it impatiently back without care over whether it messed it up more. It hung down his collar, giving him an untamed, wild look that probably made women want to try to tame him. Tanned skin. Not the fake tan some of the metrosexual pretty boys went for. There was a ruggedness to him even as he screamed wealth and polish like Ash did. It was just a di

Brett's imposing figure loomed before me, his piercing hazel eyes seeming to see right through me. The quarterback's rugged charm was undeniable, from the chiseled lines of his athletic build to the unruly mess of dark hair that framed his strong features. The overwhelming scent of Axe body spray clung to him like a cloud, an unmistakable signature that seemed to announce his presence. As he stood there, clad in his worn quarterback jersey, I couldn't help but feel a little intimidated by the sheer force of his personality.

I could go another few hours, but I guess I could hold my shit until we got home later. "Um, babe, I like that shit." She had on low rider jeans and a satin halter-top that matched her green eyes and heels that were a mile high. I think she was trying to match me in height with those shits. She did some wild shit with her hair that had curls falling down her back, and all I could think of was grabbing fistfuls of that shit while I hit her pussy from behind. Damn, I've become a fiend. The guys were waiting for us when we stepped outside, all of us looking like we were in uniform: jeans, Henley, and leather jackets with shit kickers. No wonder people think we're a gang.

On one page, I saw a boy gazing at a river, his face reflecting deep sorrow. Eventually, Ace paused at a drawing of a woman with her back turned, her hair styled in an updo. What struck me was the attention to detail – the way the light highlighted her hair, which stood out against the shaded parts of the drawing. I realized her hairstyle was unique in this town, where brown and black hair were the norm. She wore an edgy outfit, complete with a leather jacket and a skirt, reminiscent of my punk-inspired style.