The Outsiders Aesthetic の小説・ストーリー

They were the kind of eyes that seemed to look right through people, making anyone who met his gaze feel uneasy. He had a rough beard that was always slightly unkempt, adding to his menacing appearance. His nose looked like it had been broken at least once, and the crookedness of it only made him look more dangerous. His lips were thin, often curled into a scowl that didn't leave much room for warmth or kindness. Tom dressed simply but effectively. He wore a black leather jacket, tight jeans, and heavy boots that made loud thuds as he walked. His overall appearance was a reminder that he wasn't there to make friends, and his size and strength made it clear that he didn't need to.

Aesthetic's POV: “ I see… “ I murmured while looking at Spade's cold eyes then gulped many times to settle this uncomfortable feeling. “ I’m Aesthetic, but you can all call me Thea. “ I stated while wearing a fake smile on my face. How can I even smile if I know that I was sorrounded by these non-human creatures? They're all gorgeous but the fact that they have some hidden fangs inside their mouths make me wanna run away from here.

School boys were standing outside of the gym, looking at her with lusty eyes. Her mid-length hair tied in a messy bun, her amber colored eyes, a small cute nose, her natural pink lips, milky white skin and her slim figure. There's no competition against her beauty. Because she doesn't do makeup like other girls. She looks most stunning with her natural beauty. All the boys in the school or outside want to be her lover, but she doesn't even glance in their way. They like her cold nature but are scared to get close to her. Aaron, Noah and Luke were walking by that area and saw boys looking inside the gym.

“Come on, it’s not that bad. It’s your perfect escape. These people don’t deserve you. Why not go where you’d be welcomed and maybe even cherished?” I scoffed. “That Academy? Where everyone’s obsessed with orgies and threesomes?” “Didn’t you say you liked it hard?” I groaned. That was one of those things I’d stupidly said once—just to sound tough. I had ash-blonde hair with purple and pink streaks. Always wore dark eyeliner. Multiple piercings. Cross and butterfly tattoos scattered over my skin. I didn’t do girly. I didn’t wear color. I was always in black, always found with bikers and rogues, clubbing till sunrise, drinking like my liver signed a waiver.

I turned around, forcing my legs to move, even though every part of me wanted to stay far, far away from him. As I walked closer, my eyes unwillingly caught sight of him. His muscular chest was broad, defined, the lines of his abs perfectly chiseled. It was impossible to ignore how good he looked—how his body seemed perfectly sculpted. How could someone like him, who looked so good on the outside, be such a beast on the inside?

It made me want to retch again, but for a very different reason. He looked… god, he looked unreal. I had almost never seen Aiden dressed so casually. His black athletic shorts clung to his thighs, strong and tanned and corded with lean muscle. A matching black sleeveless tank sat perfectly on his torso, the fabric clinging to his abdomen in all the right places. His arms, carved like they belonged in some kind of mythological fresco, flexed each time he poured lemonade. His black hair was messily slicked back, like he’d run his hands through it out of frustration—or maybe sweat.

It’s almost like everything else in the room blurs out of focus as I focus on him. He’s beautiful. And I don’t mean beautiful in the way most people think of—no, this is something different. It’s the kind of beauty that almost makes you want to look away because it feels like you’re staring at something you’re not supposed to see. His blonde hair catches the light, the strands glistening as he moves, and his blue eyes are piercing, a cold, unfeeling shade of ice. His build is delicate, not like most omegas, but like something you’d expect to see in an art piece, and it’s a sharp contrast to the surprisingly intimidating aura he carries with him.

There was dirt smudged across his pale cheeks and nose, and his clothes—if you could call them that—were little more than rags. I thought omegas were supposed to be beautiful. Graceful. Soft. Not... homeless looking. I'd definitely been scammed. But still—my heart was pounding, and it felt like all my limbs were at war with each other. I was actually forcing myself to stay seated. And his scent—fuck, it was making me dizzy. Something warm and soft and sweet, like vanilla laced with cinnamon. It hit me in the chest, and I hated how much it hit me.

I offered her a dramatic roll of my eyes, completely unfazed because I knew her critiques were born out of a place of sisterly affection rather than malice. Up until the exact moment I laid eyes on this estate, I honestly believed my appearance was perfectly fine. The residents of this neighborhood looked like they had been pulled directly from the glossy pages of a luxury lifestyle publication, whereas my personal aesthetic leaned heavily toward survivalist casual. Today, I was sporting a simple black tank top layered beneath an unbuttoned, red-and-white flannel shirt, paired with rugged cargo pants and my absolute favorite worn-in combat boots. My dark, thick curls were loosely gathered in

obsession) 2. Visual Appearance The Look: Striking, classic 1970s bone structure but adapted to modern campus style (oversized sweaters, leather jackets, dark jeans). The Eyes: Deep hazel-brown normally, but they darken to an almost bottomless midnight black when she is hungry, protective, or aroused. Physical Traits: Impossibly pale, flawless skin that feels like cooled porcelain to the touch. Her movements are unnaturally fluid, quiet, and graceful. 3. History & Background