Fat Guy With Dreads Mga Nobela at Kwento

looking back at him in the form of the overweight men gorging on fats and red meats before them. Riffraff seemed to be in awe of the other waitresses that moved about with the food in their hands. Whether his interest was in them or the food remained to be seen. His thin rat like appearance and ghastly pencil thin mustache and faustian goatee had been off putting as it was but the layer of grime on his skin from his lack of bathing had been even worse. Gunner and Rooster began their usual banter about the good ol' days when riding with Fitz Kenneally and all the trouble they got up to in their respective youths.

I didn't think my response through before blurting out, "I want to eat in my bed. I feel like shit." Fred has always been nice to me. He was the only person who has been open and honest with me. Out of the four of them, he was the handsome one. He looked like an older version of his son. He was about six feet tall, with light brown hair and amazing eyes. He asked me, "Ok, I'll take off. I just wanted to bring you something to eat. You were pretty trashed last night, and I figured you needed something to help rehydrate yourself."

He said with a painful smile on his face. Although, he looked ragged, i still could not deny the fact that eight years did make a lot of change to his outlook because he did look manlier now; a goatee gracing his chin and a head full of hair that is platted into what looks like medium sized dreadlocks, reaching down a little below his shoulders. His skin looked a lot lighter now but it was mixed with red spots that looked like legacies made by mosquitoes and perhaps, a few other accidents.

Surrounded by grass, tall trees and a small bench with few vendors selling drinks. He has both of his palms cupped at the sides of his mouth. "Being fat isn't an insult, neither are you ugly!!" He screams. Very loudly and I find myself smiling. I stand there. Every pain, weight and pressure leaving me. "THANK YOU! AND YOU'RE NOT WEIRD" Like a jobless person, I scream back. Now, we've fully gathered quite the attention. People surround us. Some with cameras up. Looking between me, the fat girl, and him, the ginger-haired boy.

I'm noticing that his sideburns are becoming gray, making him look like a silver fox. My eyes search for Wyatt but land on someone else. A boy, no wait, not a boy—a large man, is drinking water. His broad back faces me, and his sweaty skin is stretched over dense muscles and profound valleys. He is only wearing beige yoga pants, and his ass is juicy, firm, and constricts tightly as he turns around. Who is this guy? My brain forgets how to function, forgets how to suck oxygen into my lungs to keep me breathing as I watch him move. Holy fuck, calling this guy hot would be the understatement of the year—he is as sexy as they come.

Then she walks past me with tears in her eyes. The man is absolutely disgusting, and I know that no woman in her right mind would have sex with him, he has greasy hair pulled to the side covering his bald patch on the top of his head, his mustache has seen better days, and his enormous stomach flaps over his pants leaving a small gap between the buttons showing his skin.

I cock my head to the side. “Hannah,” I say, and stick my hand out. While he’s actually kind of ugly, and could easily break my neck in a swift movement, I err on the side of being polite. Especially when I need answers. His muscles have muscles and I swear his neck is as thick as my hips are wide. He’s clearly been around the block judging by the scars on his chest and arms. He’s only wearing some kind of wrap I could only describe as a poop brown colored kilt. He’s dirty and reeks of sweat. But I’d never criticize his appearance. The male is easily seven feet tall and over three hundred fifty pounds. He’s a literal mountain.

He blows in like a king ready to receive his subjects. At six foot three and almost zero body fat, he’s tall and lithe and tightly muscular—and beautiful. Can a man be beautiful? Fuck yeah. His thick, dark brown hair has grown out, and the top strands are swept back off his forehead, carefully styled, the sides cut shorter. The lengthier hair on top is edgy looking, totally different from how he wore it last fall in a short fauxhawk. Douchebag Extraordinaire has lighter colors interwoven, giving it depth and accentuating ice-blue eyes. Another change? He’s sporting dark scruff on his jawline, giving him a slightly dangerous look.

"Langdon, will you cut off the suspense? Look at the poor doctor. She is frightened. Well yes, we are here for you beauty so quietly move your ass from there, get your arms tied up along with that pretty mouth of yours and follow us, if you are keen to keep your people safe." Said another man who was too fat that his buttoned shirt couldn't fit him well. It felt like the buttons were about to pop out any time. The first man who had initiated the talk had antique golden hair that were so much greasy. He had charcoal grey colored eyes with a light beard and moustache. Felt like he hadn't shaved since few weeks but unlike the other fat man, he was well built but not tall. Anyways his figure in

I'm not eating this. I quickly put it beside my plate and glance around. Everyone has their heads lowered on their plates attempting to fill their stomachs or perhaps to avoid a conversation. The guy who was upset about the maids getting fired yesterday is in a black tailored suit with a white shirt beneath. His Black hair is slicked and neatly tied up in a low ponytail. He has a black stud in his left ear and like he could feel my gaze, he lifts his head and I quickly look away when his brown eyes meet mine.