Fat Guy With Dreads Novels & Stories

I filled my plate and chose a seat in a corner by the window. I enjoyed my meal without minding being alone, finishing my plate quickly before going for a second round. That’s when I froze, because I saw a huge man there. He was big, bulky, and very tall, like a bear. Even though I hadn’t seen his face yet, he already seemed intimidating. He wore jeans that hugged his large legs, a denim jacket, a cowboy hat, and leather boots. His light brown hair was a bit long, reaching the back of his neck.

When they looked carefully, they realized it was Braxton Hayes, the eldest son of the forbidden army’s leader in Inner City. The man had a fat head and big ears. His height was nearly 1.9 meters, and he was nearly 200 pounds. He was a famous fat guy, known for his ability to eat non-stop from morning to night. Even when he was at the venue of the qualification trial, his group of lackeys would follow him around with bags full of food. Braxton would ask for food from his lackeys from time to time. He did not look like the son of a general. He was a totally big fat pig!

I quickly jumped up, shaking it firmly and smiling a little at him. He's as tall as Nate but looks a little less muscular. But not too skinny either. He has a messy collection of long dreads piled on top of his head, some with rings on the end. His skin was dark and unlike most of his other pack members I'd met so far, free of tattoos or scars. He has dark black eyes surrounded by long lashes. He had two hoops in his right nostril and big plugs in his ears. He was kind of hot, but I reminded myself of my mate that was sitting right behind me and quickly shoved that thought away. He crashes back down on the couch, tossing the controller to Thomas and bringing a blunt up to his mouth.

Jameson added gently, “I think he’s going to love just as fiercely as his brother does.” My eyes drifted toward the twins again. They were standing side by side now. Almost identical beneath the firelight. And somehow the sight still didn’t feel fully real. “I hope we’ll still see you,” I said quietly. Jameson nodded once. “I’d like that.” Then suddenly— A familiar warmth settled at my back before Denver’s voice reached me. “I was wondering where you disappeared to.” I turned slightly. Denver walked toward us dressed in black ceremonial clothing, though somewhere between the ritual and now, he had finally started looking less like a king carrying war on his shoulders and more like a man fina

Standing in the doorway, he stood shirtless with a tray of food in his hands, his nose mask off. His hair was tied into a loose ponytail, a few strands falling messily over his forehead. That’s his face? How on earth can a man be that beautiful?! A face card like that for a man? I’m here with this damn double chin. He had a worried expression on his face but the ans distracted me. My eyes crawled lower. Grey sweatpants that were low on his waist, giving a glimpse of a V-line that could be used as a murder weapon. A tattoo ran along his side, disappearing below the waistband.

"Uh, yeah, pretty much. Think you could do it?" Larry stares, and stares, and stares some more. I almost slam my fist on his desk to stop him from blinking so slowly. Larry is your typical fat cat slumlord. He is a large man that only seems to own a dirty white tee and black slacks that he leaves unbuttoned.

I didn't want him to be angry. "Now! let the show begin." Hawk said, eyeing me. The guys begin to cheer me up mockingly. "Are you sure this is a good idea, just check out the shape of her body. isn't that fat I see." One of the guys said. I bowed my head, fat? I stared at my feet. I have been really eating a lot nowadays cause I get hungry a lot. "Yo dude! Malcolm is right, the freak is getting fat. Her arm is like twice of my own." Another guy said, the last statement made all the guys burst into laughter.

The uniformed chauffeur, his face etched with professionalism, escorted me down the pier towards a magnificent cabin cruiser, its polished hull gleaming under the afternoon sun. Awaiting me on the deck was the enigmatic Mr. Anderson. His attire was relaxed and informal—a pair of vibrant blue shorts and dark sunglasses shielded his eyes from the sun's glare. His body was a testament to countless hours spent under the sun, a deep, all-over tan that contrasted sharply with the thick mane of grey hair that adorned his chest. This sight stirred an undeniable attraction within me, a testament to my inexplicable fondness for men with such abundant hair.

I say, watching as Gatheo runs his fingers through his hair. His hair looks somewhat matted but also greasy. He has bags under his eyes, and he's certainly lost weight or, at the least, muscle mass. "Can I get either of you anything to drink?" Gatheo asks, fidgeting with his hands. "No, thank you," I chuckle, "Man, you're not in any trouble, and hopefully, today, we can sort things out enough to where you can find some closure and pick yourself back up. You look awful, Gatheo," I say, brutally honest.

Zaire sat two booths away with his teammates, all in their stupid matching red and black varsity jackets, laughing so obnoxiously loud over something that probably wasn't even funny. My heart literally skipped a beat the second my eyes found him. He had a fresh fade, and his dreadlocks were braided into double-strand twists, which looked so fucking good on him. His jawline was sharp, high cheekbones, and I couldn't help my eyes that slowly drifted down to his full pink lips.