Smelly Foot Stories Novels & Stories

“Did I smell bad after coming back from the training center? Maybe it's the smell of my sweat. I'll take a shower after that." "No. It wasn't from sweat because I knew the smell of your sweat.” I cleared my throat because suddenly the memory of us sinking under the heat popped up in my mind. “That's because of the smell of a sweat from the boys in the training center. It definitely sticks to you when you two are close together.” I gave a disgusted expression so she would believe me. "And it's useless for you to take a shower. It won't wash away the traces of scent along the way you walked. Do you understand now?”

SSHS 159 “What do you mean? It actually smells nice. Like strawberries.” Excami said as she was confused as to why Albert was scrunching and pinching his nose. “I smell jackfruit.” Hestia said, though she was also puzzled by the situation. It is unusual already for her to smell jackfruit at their location, but it was also unusual that Excami was smelling something else and Albert was grossed out by it. Then something clicked in her mind. She sniffed the air again and began walking to the direction she thought the source of the smell was coming from. “Hestia, where are you going?” Excami asked. Albert cannot talk since he was so grossed out by the smell that he cannot even move at all.

The fights were often petty, but here, it felt like survival. The smell, though. God, the smell. Body odor, cigarettes, and the stench of unwashed clothes clung to the air. Some of these men didn’t care about hygiene, which drove me insane. If I stayed here any longer, I would spiral into a more bottomless pit of despair and fucking kill myself.

The elevator ride down was gross. Killian reeked of weed, Derek smelled like bourbon, and Riley just stank. I wasn’t the only one who thought so. “God, it’s like ridin’ the underground in Paris in the summertime,” Miles muttered. “What do you mean?” Ryan asked. “Buncha Frogs without any deodorant, and they still smelled better’n you lot. Come on, out, out!” he yelled as the elevator door dinged open.

All of it given less distance to travel before it reached the mouth. The yard smelled of whiskey, beer, charred meat, old oil, wet concrete and male heat, with grief still moving through it in heavy unseen currents beneath everything else. Someone was telling another story about Elara near the grill, and by now the stories had turned half mythic through repetition, patched together from memory and feeling rather than fact. No one cared. The point was not accuracy. The point was that she remained present for another hour in laughter, in argument, in the names of things she had hated and loved, in the pack choosing once again not to let the night pass in silence.

With Conrad’s physical capabilities, he was less tired than he was stuck. All of a sudden, a rancid odour attacked everyone’s nostrils. Some even gagged from it. Even Angie’s eyes watered. What was that stink? It was horrifying that they could smell it through their masks. Everyone looked around while waving their hands, trying to locate the source of the stink. Fumes rising from the bottom of their boots caught Angie’s attention. She raised her foot up and realised that the soles were corroding away. /It didn’t get this bad in the book./

Is Amara’s catty reply. Haley rolls her eyes and places her hand on her hip. “I don’t know if I want to be friends again that badly. I mean, have you seen those things.” She gestures to my dainty feet. “It looks like you haven’t had a manicure in…ever.” His upper lip curls with disgust, which makes us all break out into gales of laughter. “I’ll have you know, ladies, my feet smell sweet and are as soft as rose petals.” Amara snorts in reply. “More like smell like sour cheese and are as rough as sandpaper. I don’t know how Rowan deals with them scraping against him at night.”

But before I could get close, a pungent smell of fermenting pig manure hit my nose. Inside the dilapidated pigsty, several black pigs were grunting as they fed. And kneeling right in the middle of the pen was Steve Malone. The same Steve who would lecture me for three days if I went to bed without showering was now holding a pig dung-covered foot with a reverent look on his face. The foot belonged to a woman built like a water tank who was chewing on half a raw sweet potato. "Professor Malone," she said, "there's chicken manure on my foot, so how can you smell it with such delight?"

Leaf scoffed and walked to the ground, foolishly stepping on it. "Ewww, this is so slimy and disgusting. Is this mucus?" She asked as the goo icky stretched along with her foot. "Back to the sea with me," she rushed back to the water to wash her legs. "Werewolf nose, this thing smells so bad," Gomez whined. "It's not that bad. It's like sliding through a freshly waxed hallway to annoy the janitor," Ace said buoyantly. "Excuse me," Ann snorted. "Hallways don't look like mucus-dipped scales with the smell of rotten flesh!" She huffed out in annoyance.

This was it. The tough convenience store girl who was always conflicted in the face of food. It matched the system's vague description perfectly. [Mission 'Anti-Zombie First Kiss' updated!] [Target Found: The woman inside the grocery store. High probability candidate. Warning: This girl has food-related trauma and may reject a kiss if you smell like fish.] Bima felt his face heat up. Fishy odor? Damn it, it was because of that drain. He tried rubbing his clothes, but the smell seemed to have bonded with his very soul.