For the sole fact that Ewan McGregor can sing, I just know that Obi-Wan Kenobi can, and not just a little, bur infuriatingly because it appears effortlessly perfect.
The 212th discovers this completely by accident when they are trapped in some ancient temple ruins and come across the most ridiculous puzzle imaginable: a sealed door that only opens if someone sings every note perfectly.
Naturally, the troopers try first. It goes about as well as you would expect. They are all standing around, arguing over pitch and rhythm, when Obi-Wan takes one brief look at the inscription, tilts his head, and without a hint of hesitation sings.
And it is⊠stunning. Enough to bring tears to their eyes. The door slides open with a deep, ancient groan.
Obi-Wan, completely unfazed, folds his hands into his sleeves and says, âAh, here we are. Gentlemen.â
Meanwhile, every single member of the 212th is frozen in place, jaws somewhere on the floor.
Commander Cody, under his helmet, may or may not be having a nosebleed.
After that, the 212th start inventing reasons for their general to sing. Obi-Wan is deeply suspicious but occasionally indulges them.
Eventually, word spreads and the 501st gets involved. Then suddenly in the midst of a war Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex and Cody are trying to come up with increasingly absurd scenarios that ârequireâ Obi-Wan to sing.
I need tiktokers to understand that ao3 has been home for the freaks (affectionate) ever since the day it was created. the entire site was created because âdark and fucked up ficsâ were banned and removed from other platforms, so us freaks came together and created a site for other freaks â a site where nothing is censored, a site with no algorithm, no capitalism, no ads, and again, absolutely no censorship.
this has been our house for decades. you newbies donât come into our house and tell us how to arrange our furniture. either be nice and respect our house, or leave and build your own house elsewhere.
(Poly 141 x neighbour!reader: the way to a manâs heart is through his stomach! (Or in your case, the way to four menâs heart is through their stomach))
It started with cookies.
Youâd been in the middle of baking a double batch- oatmeal chocolate chip, your personal favorite- and realized halfway through scooping them onto the tray that youâd made far too many for one person. It wasnât unusual. Baking was how you coped with stress, and ever since youâd moved into this apartment building, stress had been in no short supply.
The guy in 3A had blared music all night. Your hot water barely lasted five minutes. And your smoke detector had developed a habit of chirping at odd hours.
But there was one bright spot- your neighbors in 3C.
Youâd seen them coming and going. Tall, broad, and always carrying duffel bags that looked far too heavy to be legal. They kept odd hours, too, but never caused trouble. One of them- Johnny, youâd learned later- had even held the door open for you when your arms were full of groceries.
Which was why youâd stood outside their door that evening, balancing a plate of cookies and feeling like an idiot as you knocked.
Not-Johnny had answered first, blinking down at you in surprise, though his smile was warm and he was beautiful. You couldnât blame him; you had barely spoken to them more than a few short words.
âUh⊠hi?â
âHi.â You forced a smile. âIâm your neighbor from 3B. I, uh⊠made too many cookies?â
His eyes dropped to the plate immediately, and you swore you saw something primal flicker behind them. Still, you worried.
âI mean, if you donât want-â
âNo! No, we want. Come in- Johnny! Get over here!â
And that was how it started.
The second time had been lasagna.
Youâd just finished assembling it when you realized- again- that youâd made too much. So, after psyching yourself up for ten minutes, youâd knocked on their door for the second time in as many weeks.
Price, who had introduced himself along wuth Simon the day you dropped off the cookies, had answered that time, his expression guarded until he saw the foil-covered pan in your hands.
âYouâre joking,â heâd said, but when you started to retreat, heâd stopped you with a firm, but gentle hand on your back. He had such a nice, big hand. âDonât be ridiculous, lovie. Get in here.â
That night, youâd sat at their table, sharing stories and laughter while they cleaned the dish down to the last crumb.
After that, it became routine.
You started âtesting recipes,â and they became your eager guinea pigs.
And they never seemed to mind.
And nowâŠ
The smell hit first- roasted garlic, browned butter, and something rich simmering low and slow. It snuck out from the slightly cracked kitchen window and spilled into the shared hallway of the apartment building. For men used to MREs and takeout, it was practically siren song.
Gaz was the first to notice, lingering just outside the door labeled 3B- your door- with an almost predatory focus. He wasnât proud of it, but his stomach growled so loud that Soap- rounding the corner with a gym bag slung over his shoulder- laughed outright.
âYou stalking the neighbor again?â
âShut up. You smell that?â
Soap inhaled deeply. His eyes fluttered shut for a beat before snapping open.
âJesus wept- what is that?!â
âI donât know, but Iâm this close to knocking.â Kyle held up his fingers, barely an inch apart.
âShe already fed us last week, mate. Dinna push it.â
âBut what if sheâs testing another recipe?â
Gaz wasnât wrong. You had a habit of showing up at their door with dishes too good to refuse.
They hadnât stood a chance.
After the cookies and the lasagna, it wasnât long before other dishes followed: casseroles, soups, pies, and even homemade bread. And the worst part? You bow always prefaced it by saying you needed an opinion- like they were doing you the favor.
It wasnât until Price called you a âbloody saintâ over a pan of enchiladas that Ghost finally put it together.
âYouâre using us as taste testers.â Heâd said flatly.
Youâd grinned- too cute and too smug for your own good. âIs that a problem?â
Not a single one of them had said no, just as stated before.
Which led them here, hovering outside your door and pretending they werenât waiting for another offering.
â⊠Fine.â Soap muttered, raising his hand to knock.
But the door swung open before he could, and there you were- apron on, hair pulled back, and flour dusted across your cheek.
âHi!â You chirped, eyes bright. âPerfect timing!â
Gazâs grin was pure relief. âTell me you need opinions. Please, love.â
You laughed, stepping aside to let them in. âI always need opinions. Come in!â
Inside, the kitchen was chaos. Cutting boards and mixing bowls were scattered across the counters. A Dutch oven bubbled on the stove, releasing clouds of savory steam. Plates of food- half-assembled sandwiches, stuffed peppers, and what looked like chocolate tarts- sat waiting.
âI⊠mightâve gone overboard.â You admitted, and if you hadnât spent all day in the kitchen, your cheeks wouldâve gone warmer.
Soap whistled low, eyes raking over every dish. âNot complaininâ.â
Price arrived just then, texted by Kyle, trailed closely by Simon, who took one look at the spread and froze. His eyes swept from the roasted chicken resting under a blanket of fresh herbs to the still-warm biscuits stacked beside a bowl of honey butter.
âWhatâs the occasion?â John asked, smile amused, but you just waved him off.
âPracticing.â
Gaz was already halfway to the table, trying to decide what to start with, but Simon lingered, watching you carefully. He had his balaclava on, though you havenât yet dared to ask why he wears it.
âPracticing for what, exactly?â
You hesitated, fiddling with the edge of your apron. âThereâs this⊠thing next week. A community bake-off. And I thought it might be fun to enter.â
Soap arched a brow. âYouâre entering this in a bake-off?â
âWell, not all of it. Iâm still deciding which dishes to use.â
âYouâre winning.â Kyle said immediately, filling his plate.
âDefinitely.â Johnny added, already reaching for a sandwich.
Simon, still lingering, crossed his arms and stared down at you. His height will never, ever not make your breath hitch. âYouâre testing all of this on us?â
You looked up at him through your lashes, pouting just a little. âYou donât mind, do you, Simon?â
His gaze darkened- not in anger, but something softer, heavier. It made your stomach flip.
âNo,â he said simply. âWe donât mind.â
You swallowed and turned quickly to the oven to hide the heat rushing to your cheeks.
The next hour passed in a blur of taste testing, arguments over which dish was best, and repeated assurances that you were going to âblow the competition out of the water.â But beneath the laughter and teasing, you failed to catch the way they looked at you- how Price lingered by the stove just to steal extra bites, or how Johnny kept offering to help, hovering close enough that you brushed elbows more than once.
And Simon? He was the worst of all. He didnât say much, but his eyes tracked your every move, following the way your hands worked the dough or wiped flour off the counter. He was the last to leave, hanging back as the others helped clear plates.
âYouâre serious about this bake-off?â he asked quietly.
You nodded. âThought it might be fun.â
âYou donât need it.â
â⊠What?â
He gestured at the now-empty plates. âTo prove anything, I mean. Youâre alreadyâŠâ He trailed off for a few seconds, and though you were left blinking at him, you didnât rush him. âGood enough.â he murmured at last.
The compliment hit harder than you expected, and for once, you didnât have a clever response.
âThank you, Simon. That⊠means a lot to me.â you said softly.
And just like that, the others reappeared, breaking the moment. Johnny patted Simonâs shoulder with a knowing smirk, and Kyle slung an arm around your shoulders, while Price merely watched. Your kitchen was now spotless, cleaned by them.
âWhenâs the next test run?â Gaz asked.
âI donât know yet.â
âWell, let us know. Weâre free anytime.â
âYeah,â Soap added. âAnytime.â
You laughed but this time, you didnât miss the way Price was looking at you- thoughtful, like heâd already made up his mind about something.
The door clicked shut behind them after that, leaving your apartment quieter but no less warm. The scent of roasted garlic and herbs still lingered, and you found yourself smiling as you surveyed the spotless kitchen. Theyâd made quick work of the mess, trading jokes and lighthearted jabs as they wiped down counters and stacked dishes in quite the uniform style.
You didnât know what youâd done to deserve neighbors like them, but you werenât about to question it.
You caught yourself humming as you tucked away the last plate, the sound of their laughter still echoing faintly in your ears. It was easy with them- comfortable in a way that felt rare and almost too good to be true.
And maybe it was.
Because what you didnât know- what you would probably never know, such a sweet and trusting thing- was that your apartment had been wired within days of your first visit to their door.
To them, it had started with a conversation.
âSheâs alone,â Price had said after the second time youâd brought them food, leaning back in his chair with a contemplative frown. âNo sign of anyone else coming or going.â
âSecurityâs shite.â Gaz had added, gesturing vaguely toward the shared hallway where your lock barely functioned half the time.
Soap had shrugged, easygoing as ever, but his eyes had been sharp. âBetter us keep an eye on her than let some arsehole get the chance.â
And that was that.
Price had ordered the equipment, Ghost had handled the installation, and none of them had lost sleep over it. Not when it meant keeping you safe.
It wasnât just the cameras, either.
Simon had reinforced your locks under the guise of âfixingâ them after you mentioned a struggle with your key. Johnny had talked you into letting him check your windows âjust to be sure they latched properly.â Gaz had set up an app on your phone to âmonitor deliveries,â though it also let them track your location if needed.
And Price? He always lingered at the door just long enough to ask if you needed anything else- subtle, but enough to make sure you knew they were there.
You never questioned it. Never noticed the way they moved like a unit around you, anticipating problems before they could arise. Never caught the glances they exchanged when you mentioned a repairman or the way Simon hovered near the window any time a car idled too long outside.
You just kept feeding them, trusting them in ways that only made their resolve deepen.
Price was the worst.
Heâd leaned against the counter tonight, watching you laugh at Johnnyâs jokes and swat at Kyle when he tried to sneak extra bites, and the thought had hit him harder than he expected, while Simon watched on in amusement and was the only to successfully swipe a few more bites.
They couldâve had this already.
If life had gone differently- if timing had been better- you couldâve been his. Theirs. Someone to come home to instead of just someone they visited between deployments.
He hadnât said anything, of course. None of them had.
But as they left, heâd lingered in the doorway, letting his hand rest lightly against the frame.
âDonât let âem eat it all before the bake-off,â heâd teased, lips curling into a smile. âTheyâll start begging if you do.â
Youâd laughed, and God, it was dangerous how much he liked the sound.
âIâll make sure to keep them in line.â
His smile softened. âGood girl.â
You didnât notice the way Simon shot him a sharp look at that- or the way Johnny and Kyle exchanged knowing grins.
And later, when Price sat down in front of the monitors to check the feeds, he didnât let himself feel guilty.
Because you were safe.
And as far as they were concerned, that was all that mattered.
Instead of picking up the pastry and eating it like a normal human being, the stranger plunged his finger into the dead center of the tart, making peach cream ooze up around his weathered digit. Like a little kid playing with his food, he swirled the filling around a bit before bringing a sizable glob up to his bristly mouth and sucking it between the plushest pair of lips you had ever seen.
And oh for fucks sake, heâs looking right at you.
Summary: A love of food has put you in a prestigious position as the head chef at the Wall, but the evidence of that love shows in more ways than one, and catches the eye of one very hungry stranger.
Rating: deliciously explicit
Word count: 9.6k
Reader traits: Thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, internalized fat phobia represented by 'nagging voices', secure in her food but insecure in her body.
Content warnings: Food food food, feeder/eater situations, food play, oral body worship, fingering, piv, a bit of cum play, food jokes. Reader insecurities, loose adherence to canon
A/N: Reader is a fat woman that knows how to cook, Tovar is a chubby chaser with an appetite. Enjoy~
An army marches on its stomach, they say, but what you never hear about is who exactly it is that feeds them. With a fortress so vast as the Great Wall itself, surely there must be an entire battalion of chefs and cooks and bakers on hand to fill the empty tummies of the legendary defenders, but who leads that vast army? Who raises their spatula and leads the charge against the daily war on hunger? Arms themselves with heavy skillets and razor-sharp butcherâs knives to lead the siege of the blazing kitchen inferno day in and day out?
Why, you do, of course!
âHot food, coming through!â You bellowed as you wove between the masses of soldiers coming in for lunch, who of course parted for you like a colorful river around the solid boulder of a woman that you are, and they knew better than to stand in your way. Not that they would have, anyway, not even just to be funny. Though the legions of soldiers that made up the Nameless Order were all intimidating warriors, with their tightly muscled bodies and perfectly fitted armor, they held you in high regard since you were where their meals came from.
You, on the other hand, were no warrior; though you certainly could hold your own. Feeding so many people required a top-tier chef, one that could take charge of the wait staff as well as handle the mile-long list of dietary requirements for such a population as the Wall. Food was demolished nearly as quickly as it came in from the supply caravans, and one of your most important duties was to ensure that none of it was below-standard for your tables (read:poisoned).
This also meant you were sampling dozens of ingredients and finished meals a day, and⊠it showed.
It showed on your hips, your thighs, your dumptruck ass. Your boobs could give you matching black eyes if you decided to go for a jog without tying them down first, and the difficulty of finding a comfortable enough corset alone was enough to push the idea of exercise out of your mind. Evidence of a life well-fed clung to your ribs and hung from your arms, arms that were currently loaded down with an entire serving tray of rotisserie chicken.
Sure, you were heavy and thicker than a bowl of oatmeal, but you were also built like a brick shit house from carrying yourself for so long. Pros and cons.
âThank you, maâam!â piped an entire table of Tiger Warriors, all smiles as you set down their lunch. You smiled politely, averting your eyes from the skimpy armor the weapons specialist wore, their sweat-glistened chests only protected by criss-crossing leather halters. Years of service to the wall, working your hands to the bone day in and day out keeping hundreds of soldiers fed each and every day, was not nearly as monumental a task as keeping your eyes off the swarms of chiseled pecs and perfectly sculpted glutes.
The Nameless Orderâs warriors didnât struggle with that the same way you did, though they were kind and respectful towards you to a tee, not a single one of them looked at the sway of your hips or the generous curve of your ass with even a hint of desire; warriors simply preferred warriors, muscular and lean and thin. You didnât mind, it helped to keep their sweaty mitts off your skirts, but it did make things rather lonely at times, even surrounded by a sea of brightly painted armor and radiant, respectful smiles.
One plate down, four hundred to-
The front doors to the mess hall swung open wide, revealing a pair of men youâd never laid eyes on before. They wore armor, but it was more practical and way less colorful than the highly-decorated plates the Nameless were famous for. As soon as they crossed the threshold, the sea of soldiers erupted in a cacophony of cheering and clapping, the noise deafening even in the large, wideopen space. Instinctively you started clapping along, perplexed by the newcomers and wondering what they had done to earn a standing ovation.
âWho are they?â you asked one of the blue-armored Crane warriors. They were always the most friendly towards you, even if they were also the most lightly-built of all the Nameless. And the prettiest, too.
âYou didnât hear?â she asked, her claps slowing a bit. âThe Tao Tei have returned early, and their scouts attacked the wall this morning! Those two men fought and killed two of them, and say that they killed another on their own out in the badlands! How did you not hear about it?â
Because I live in the kitchen, Mei-mei. âJust busy I guess. I canât believe the Tao Tei are already coming! I thought we had more time before the next sixty year mark. Are the warriors prepared enough?â
âWeâve been training for this day our whole lives, maâam, and with those two on our side, we canât lose!â Mei-meisâ generous optimism was almost grating, how could she be so undisturbed about those monsters? You hadnât been here the last time the Tao Tei came, hell, you hadnât even been born yet, but you knew all about the beasts. They were the whole reason the Wall had been built.
Thousands of them would come, giant green dog-like beasts with eyes on their shoulders, set there so as not to obstruct their enormous jaws. The more they ate, the more they spawned, feeding their Queen all their kills as well as their own dead. If they ever made it past the Wall, the entirety of humanity would be threatened with extinction.
These dudes must really be something.
When the cheering finally died down, and the warriors all sat down again, the pair of newcomers approached the table at the head of the mess hall where the commanders sat with General Shao in all their peacock-colored glory. From where you were watching the pair looked like night and day. One of them was light skinned, almost pale where he hadnât been burned by the badlandsâ sun, though his hair was almost the same color as sunshine. The other looked like the sun had fallen in love with him, their affair leaving his skin radiant and bronzed. His already-dark eyes were made darker by the shadowy circles around them, as well as the mop of onyx curls on his head and choppy scruff on his jaw.
Both of them looked tired. And hungry.
Commander Lin addressed them first, but you were too far away to really hear what was said. After a moment of conversation, Commander Shen of the Eagle troop strode forward in all his crimson-armored glory, thrusting a primitive looking bow into the hands of the blue-eyed man, along giving a quiver of arrows to the grouchy one. Something was said between them that made the nearest tables laugh, though it sounded mocking from where you were standing.
Then an order came from General Shao, a demand to âLet him show us!â that had everyone back on their feet, cheering and clapping and moving the fucking tables?! Confused, you were squished backwards as the table of Cranes was suddenly lifted and scootched, trapping you momentarily while the newcomers were given space. What the fuck is going on!?
Blondie said something hushed, but demanding to his partner, making the gruffer looking man grumble and pop his hip like whatever he was being asked to do was a major inconvenience. The dark-eyed one huffed finally in agreement at his comrade, then turned to the nearest table where a battalion of Crane warriors sat and stole a bowl of soup from right in front of Mei-mei. Before you or her could stop him, he tilted the bowl back, quaffing the entirety of its contents in one swig, but as he did so, his eyes met yours from over the rim of the bowl; and for a moment, time seemed to stop.
His amber-colored eyes seemed to smolder as he took you in over the three whole seconds it took him to down the soup, but that was more than enough to scorch your insides and sear your cheeks from the inside out. The bowl dropped from his lips, and he wiped at his mustache with one bracered arm, his eyes never leaving yours until he finally turned back to his partner, bringing the bowl with him.
You couldnât focus, even though the entirety of the mess hall was watching the blond man with their breaths collectively held, you couldnât tear your eyes away from the other. He wasnât watching you now, thankfully, too engrossed with whatever trick they were about to-
âPull!â
The blond yelled, and the brunet chucked the empty bowl high into the air, immediately veering out of the way as the blond spun around, bow notched and arrows loosed lightning fast.
-fwip!-
-fwip!-
-fwip!-
An arrow struck the bowl, sending it careening towards one of the support pillars, followed by two more arrows that left the bowl sitting pretty on a shelf made of fletching, all in the span of a bowstringâs snap.
And the crowd went wild.
The Nameless Order were certainly excitable today, though the bowl-chucker looked like heâd rather watch paint dry, his feelings clearly proclaimed with a jaw-popping yawn. He strode over to his companion in two large steps, thrusting the quiver of arrows into the blondâs chest and loudly announcing that he was hungry.
You found your legs working again, albeit all on their own and hellbent on carrying you back to your kitchen. Every table was already well laden with food, but you had a feeling these men had traveled far, and would need more than noon rations to get them fed.
The Great Wallâs kitchen was just as formidable as its defenses, with line cooks and servers husting to and fro, also well gifted in the art of staying out of your way. Usually as one skittered past you, you would eyeball whatever it was they were carrying to ensure proper quality, but you could focus on nothing else but the way the sweltering-hot kitchen felt cold on your burning flesh.
Oh stars, am I sweating?! You wiped your moist palms hurriedly over your apron, first in a panic, then in confusion. You work in the kitchen, youâre always sweaty.
Why do you suddenly care now?
âBecause you shouldnât be sweatingâ an ugly voice you hadnât heard in a long time whispered, âthe others arenât sweating, youâre only sweating because youâre fat.â
Shut the up your fuck, I donât listen to you anymore!
âYouâre sweating because that handsome man looked at you, and you know he didnât look at you because he wants you, he looked at you because youâre disgusting. Because youâre fat.â
âBlow me.â you hissed to no one in particular, shaking the devil from your thoughts as though the unseen creature hadnât just planted the seeds of doubt in your skull. âIâve got work to do.â
Back to the grind, you loaded up a pair of plates with chicken, dumplings, a plop of rice, some fried shrimp, and a peach cream tart each. Those you had made this morning, apparently while the Wall was under attack. Whoops.
When you tore back into the mess hall, trying to not look like too much of a mess yourself, you noticed that the newcomers were at separate ends of the room. Blondie was seated across from Commander Lin Mae -the leader of the Crane Warriors, and the other man was seated at a mostly empty table with only Sir Ballard for company.
Great.
Ballard could be a real dick sometimes, though that sort of came with the territory of being trapped at the Wall for twenty-five years, forbidden to return to Europe lest he take forbidden secrets with him. He was probably going to have to break it to the newcomers that they would also be forbidden to leave, just like him, and just like you.
A caravan with a broken wheel, a sick camel, and a very kind-hearted Bear warrior was all it took for you to have ended up in exactly the same boat. Whoops #2
You didnât mind, the Wall was safe and well stocked with food and literature, and you were kept busy in the kitchen. You didnât long to return to the dusty roads that lead to lands unknown, rich with foods and spices beyond your wildest dreams, made by people with stories youâd never heard. No, of course you didnât mind.
Ballardâs eyes darted up to meet yours briefly before returning to conversation with the dark-haired man, who was hunched like a wild animal over his plate. His armored shoulders eclipsed a fair portion of the table in front of him, heavy muscles twitching and jerking as he stuffed his face like it was his last day alive, and by the look of the damage to his tasset and chainmail heâd had a lot of âlast days aliveâ.
You said nothing as you bent to take his plate, which was nothing but bones at this point- an entire chicken obliterated by a single man- but almost dropped the fresh plate you had in your hand when the stranger grabbed your wrist. âHey!â
âDonât take my food!â he roared, snarling at you until he realized who he was talking to. âOh, lo siento.â he said as he released your wrist, his eyes suddenly going soft until he noticed the plate in your other hand. âIs that more food?â He took it before you could answer, snatching it greedily and immediately shoveling half the rice into his face. âYou make this?â he asked around a full mouth, a few pieces of rice escaping to land in his beard.
âYessir.â Oh boy, here it comes. Heâs going to taunt me. Of course the fat girl made it. You averted your eyes and bowed your head, ready for the inevitable.
The foreigner chewed thoughtfully, the muscles in his jaw standing out like theyâd never had to do that before. âIs good.â came a muffled reply, costing him a couple more bits of rice. Gross. âYou make this one too?â He swallowed back the rice and pointed a thick finger at the peach treat, to which you nodded.
Instead of picking up the pastry and eating it like a normal human being, the stranger plunged his finger into the dead center of the tart, making peach cream ooze up around his weathered digit. Like a little kid playing with his food, he swirled the filling around a bit before bringing a sizable glob up to his bristly mouth and sucking it between the plushest pair of lips you had ever seen.
And oh for fucks sake, heâs looking right at you.
âTasty.â he purred, pulling his finger out of his mouth with a wet pop. His dark eyes raked over your face, dragging slowly down your front, taking in how well your stained apron curved out, and the flair of your wide skirts before they snapped back to meet your gaze, a quizzical tilt to his brow. âI want another.â
âYe-yessir!â you stuttered, suddenly flustered and completely ignoring the fact that he hadnât even eaten the first tart before you scurried back to the kitchen, nearly dumping the plate of bones on the floor instead of the trash.
What the fuck is wrong with you?!
Or, better question, what the fuck is wrong with him?!
âHe just wants you to give him all the cookies so you wonât eat them, you fat cow.â
âOr, or, consider, maybe he just.. I donât know, likes my baking?! I thought I told you I wasnât talking to you.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night, chunkers.â
You ignored the voice, loading up with three more tarts for the stranger. âRegardless, he is a guest of the Wall, and if he wants more tarts he can have more tarts.â
When you returned to the mess hall you almost tripped over your own feet when you noticed those brown eyes coming from over the stranger's shoulder as he looked back at you, his chewing coming to an abrupt halt before picking up again. His thick brows rose expectantly, eager for his wish to be fulfilled.
âHere you are, sir. I baked them fresh this morning.â
âI donât like being called sir,â he barked, taking the plate from you with slightly more decorum than he stole the previous one with. âMy name is Tovar. You will call me Tovar, si?â
âUh, yes sir- I mean Tovar sir. Yes I see, Tovar. Yep.â Oh my fucking stars shut UP!
âTovar, stop bothering the scullery maid,â Ballard sneered, waving you off with one bony hand. âYou and I have more pressing matters than cookies.â
âI doubt that.â Tovar spat, stuffing an entire peach tart in his mouth. âThââre gooâ cooâies.â
âSorry to bother you, Sir Ballard,â you scoffed in your most fake-polite voice. âIâll let you get back to business.â
âTop off my wine before you go.â
âYes sir.â
âOh, mine too!â Tovar piped up, wiggling his goblet at you. âI am⊠so very thirsty.â
âYes s- Tovar.â you said, pouring the wine in his cup and trying to ignore the way his words seemed to drip more than your pitcher did. âLet me know if thereâs anything else you need.â
âOf course, princesa, you can count on it.â
Back in the kitchen and well away from Sir Dickhole and his handsome friend, you covered your face and groaned, trying to claw the scorch of embarrassment from your cheeks. This is a nightmare. What did Tovar mean by that? Fuck, it almost sounded like he was flirting.
But that canât be right, why would he flirt with you of all people when thereâs twenty or so Cranes he could go after instead? With their narrow waists and perfect, perky tits. Their physique never really bothered you before, they were practically your family, and it wasnât like you were competing with them for any of the men; they just simply⊠werenât interested in a girl like you.
âArenât you jealous?â
âArenât you going to shut up?â you hissed, startling one of the cooks as she walked past you. âSorry, not you.â
âYou ok, hun? You look more stressed than usual.â
âYeah just, a busy lunch is all.â
âDid you get to see the warriors? That blond one is so handsome! I think his name is William.â
Yeah, the blond. âYeah, I saw, I gotta make sure we have enough eggs on hand for breakfast tomorrow. They look like they could eat a whole horse each.â Is that what youâre calling yourself now?
âWell donât stay in here all day! Commander Lin is going to make William do the Crane Walk off the side of the Wall, Iâm sure heâll scream all the way down, itâll be hilarious!â
You waved as she left, promising youâd join on top of the Wall as soon as you could, but in reality you had no intention of leaving the kitchen for the foreseeable future. Actually if they could just wall you in that would be even better, because if you had to look at Tovar one more time you might just combust.
The day seemed to drag on, and you felt like you were moving in slow motion while the rest of the world sped around you. You kept to yourself in the kitchen, organizing inventory and checking on all the dinner items that eventually went out. You didnât once step out into the mess hall lest Tovar decided to make eyes at you again, you didnât need anyone else to chastise you besides your inner demons.
Try as you might to scrub the voice away with the dirty dish water, it continued to rasp in the back of your mind, pointing out every little flaw that youâd long since grown accustomed to. Ugly little sneers chided you whenever your hips knocked into the counters âlike they always didâ leaving bruises on your thighs that implied you were getting more action than you really were.
It made fun of the way your legs rubbed together, making you chafe in the steaming kitchen, which of course was making you sweat like a pig. Oink oink. More than once you walked past the tray of fruit tarts that were left over from dinner, almost entirely picked clean by now, and usually you had no issue with polishing off something that would go to waste; but if you so much as glanced at them for even a second gravity seemed to increase under your feet, weighing you down even more than you already were.
And, to add insult to injury, they made you think of Tovar.
The evil brain demon half wished he would just fucking die the next time the Tao Tie attacked, and your rational self knew that wasnât very nice of you, but you didnât have the spoons to be rational right now. You were mad at so many things. At Tovar and his friend William, at Sir Ballard for being a fuckstick like usual, though now it ground on your nerves even more than it used to. You were even irritated at the Cranes, though they had done nothing to you besides be their regular sweet -skinny- selves.
But most of all you were mad at yourself. Mad for not standing up to Ballard and mad at not saying anything more to Tovar. Mad that you had chosen to hide in the kitchen rather than go take care of the troops, feeding them and talking to them, bonding like family.
Most, most of all though, you were mad at yourself for being fat.
âYou should be.â
âI am.â
âGood, now hurry up and eat yourself to death so they can be rid of you, you fat, ugly, disgusting worthless piece of-â
âÂżHermosa?â
A rugged voice snapped you out of your mental death spiral, startling you to whip around and look for the source. âOh, Tovar! Um, hello.â
âHola, princessa. I didnât see you at dinner? Where were you?â he asked, crossing the threshold from the darkened doorway and into the kitchen proper. Your kitchen.
âIâm very busy, this kitchen doesnât run itself, you know.â That wasnât a lie, but it still felt like it. âYouâre not supposed to be back here.â
âI⊠wanted more of those peach creams, from lunch.â
Somehow that sounded like a lie. âOh, I have extra. Please, help yourself, Iâm not going to eat them and Iâd hate for them to go to waste.â
âYou donât like them? Why?â he asked as he strode up to the counter island that separated you from him, the plate of pastries between you. Light came down from an open grate overhead, though by the deep orange color it was nearing sunset. The sunshine painted across his face like an unfair divinity was trying to show you a sign, highlighting the arch of his brow and the bold curve of his nose. He had a scar running across his left eye that looked like it had been pretty nasty when heâd gotten it âfrom what you couldnât imagineâ but now it sort of shimmered in the golden light, drawing your eyes directly to his and making you realize heâd asked you a question.
âNo, Iâve had enough, I know theyâre good and I donât need to eat any more. You eat them.â
âHm, how do I know theyâre not poisoned?â
âExcuse me?â
âYou like them but you wonât eat them? Sounds suspicious to me.â Tovar crossed his arms accusingly, but his bushy lip was quirked in a playful way like he was teasing you. It was hard to take your eyes off his face, but his thick, muscular arms made for serious competition. âEat one, and I will eat the rest.â
âI shouldnât, I donât need to-â
âWhat? You donât need to eat? Everyone needs to eat, bonita, even chefs.â Tovar leaned over the counter and swiped a tart from the plate. âHere, this one looks good. Eat.â
You swallowed hard, fighting the urge to snap at him. It felt like he was making fun of you. Eat up little piggy, oink oink whispered the darkness, but you ignored it and reached for the tart. If your guest wants you to eat, you should eat, right?
Tovar recoiled the offering, tutting like heâd caught you with your hand in the cookie jar. "Tsk, nah-ah, mi bonita, no hands.â
âWhat?! How am I supposed to eat it without my hands?â
âOpen.â he commanded, glancing down at your lips, his eyes hooded with something devious.
You felt trapped, the kitchen seeming to close in on you, the weight of the entire Wall threatening to come down on your head. He had to be mocking you, but you couldnât offend your guest, so you were just going to have to take the abuse.
Embarrassed and dejected, you opened your mouth just a tad, leaning cautiously towards the offering. Tovar mimicked you, his own pillowy pink lips falling open slightly. As his hands approached your face you were torn between looking at his expression or gawking at his massive hands. Theyâd clearly seen more battles than youâd seen cookies, as pocked and weathered with scars as they were. But they looked strong, his fingers thick and calloused, and your mind couldnât help but conjure up the idea of just how well they would fill something other than your mouth.
-nom-
You bit the tart, pulling back to try and take it from Tovar, but he didnât let it go. âI can hold it, please, eat, señorita.â
Your gulp was almost audible, and you hadnât even bitten a piece off yet. So you did, biting carefully though the middle of the tart and making peach cream gush scandalously into your mouth. Of course they were delicious, you had made them yourself, but with the added bonus of the strangerâs hands being inches from your face, they suddenly tasted heaven sent.
âThatâs it, sĂ, eat up. Is good, yes? Not poisoned?â Tovar took the other half of the pastry back and popped it in his mouth, wolfing it down. âMmmmm⊠so sweet, I could eat these all day. Give me another.â
âThe plate is right-â
âNo, I said give me another.â Tovar leaned forward on his elbows and opened his mouth expectantly with an -aaah-, and you about fell over backwards. He wants you to feed him?! Whatâs he getting at?!
âUhm, ok.â Canât offend your guests, now can you? Even if they are being fucking weird. So you did as you were told, picking up another peachy creme and putting it in his mouth, withdrawing your hand so fast you almost threw it at him. âThere you go.â
Tovar chewed on it delightedly, making exaggerated mmm-mmmâs and even going so far as to close his eyes. No, not close, flutter, his fucking gigantic puppy-dog eyes fluttered closed. âMmmmm⊠That one was even better than the last one,â he said when his mouth was empty. âBut I wonder, are these the only treats you have for me, hermosa?â
âI, um, I donât have anything else right now. I can make you something if you-â
âNo, thatâs not what I want.â
âThen what do you want?!â you snapped, irritated at whatever game Tovar was playing to mess with you, but the anger left you as fast as your words did, immediately replaced with shame. âI-Iâm sorry, mister Tovar, sir, I didnât mean-â
âOh, youâre a fiery one then, eh?â Tovar mused as he started to round the island, dragging his broad palms on the countertop, a mischievous glint in his eye. You gulped, fear rooting you to the ground. Heâs going to punish you for your insolence.
âIâm sorry Tovar, sir, it wonât happen again.â
âNo? Hmmph.â he grumbled with mock annoyance. âThatâs a shame, I like a woman that bites back.â
âYou⊠what now?â
âI said.â Tovar repeated, closing the distance to you with slowly swaggering steps. âI like the spice of a woman with some fire in her. Makes her taste that much better.â
âBuh-whu huh now?â
âI am starting to worry about your hearing.â Tovar said with a laugh, his deep-timbred voice making you shiver. He was so close to you now that you could feel the heat of his body on your back and shoulder, and you fought the urge to turn and look at him. âHow about now, princesa,â he growled in your ear, making your skin crawl. âCan you hear me now?â
âY-yes.â
âGood.â Tovarâs breath was hot against your skin, making the hair on the back of your neck stand up straight. He reached around you, his broad chest bumping your shoulder as he did and making you realize just how much bigger than you this man was; regardless of your weight, Tovar was a beast. He snagged another tart off the table âone of the last couple remainingâ and brought it to your lips. âOpen.â
You did as you were told, allowing him to push the soft tart into your mouth, and you didnât even scold him for holding it for you while you chewed the first bite. After you swallowed and opened wide for the second, Tovarâs other hand curled around your hip, his enormous hand holding you in place and pulling your body back closer to his so he could feed you.
Fucking stars when did it get so hot in here.
Trapped against his body, there was nowhere for you to flee to while his fingers cupped your jaw and his thumb swiped your lips, catching any stray crumbs. âVery good, mi bonita,â he purred into the hollow of your throat, nipping little kitten kisses up your neck that were so gentle they made you quiver. âNow, one for me.â
If he was playing games with you, you were certainly losing. Heat pooled demandingly in your lower belly, making your core throb and your back arch every time Tovarâs chainmail scraped your spine, your hips betraying your need. You picked up the second to last tart and pretended to consider it while Tovarâs roaming hands gripped your hips and made you sway ever so slightly against him, intentionally dragging your voluptuous ass across his crotch.
"This one?"
"SĂ, give it to me, I want it." Tovar emphasized his desire with a demanding squeeze of your plush sides. His neck craned over your shoulder, letting him drag his rough stubble across your sensitive skin and summoning fresh goosebumps to course over your body. "I want to taste your sweet, juicy peaches," -squeeze- "savor your succulent flavors," -grope- "and after I've had my fill, I want to give you something thick and meaty to wrap those pretty lips around and lick clean."
You couldn't take it, this criminally handsome mercenary was clearly toying with you, making you out to be the fat-assed end of some sick and twisted joke. Embarrassed and shamefully aroused, you stuffed the pastry into Tovars' slobbery gob, making him choke. "There! Have you gotten your fill now?! Can't you leave me alone?!"
Behind you the outlander sputtered and coughed while he tried not to choke to death on your pastry, but his grasp on your waist never let up. "Wh-aht?! You're -ach- you're not having a good time?!"
"No!" You barked, spinning around in his arms and tearing his hands from your waist. The look of surprise and confusion on his face nearly made you reconsider, but just because he's a guest of the Wall doesn't mean he can bully you. "You're making fun of me!"
"I am?! How?!"
"Don't play coy with me! You might be a big tough warrior, but that doesn't mean you can intimidate me into eating more sweets! I KNOW I'm fat! You don't have to rub it in!"
Tovar looked down at you like you had just slapped him, a rosey flush creeping to his cheeks. "Is⊠is that what you think I'm doing? Mocking you?" You crossed your arms and nodded, anger giving way to sadness and threatening to spill out your eyes. Tovar saw the change immediately, his brow furrowing with concern. "No no no, hermosa, I am sorry, it's been a long time since I've tried to court a lady as beautiful as youâŠ"
Now it was your turn to look slapped, your eyes going big and your mouth falling open; not even your inner demon had any snide remarks for that one. "You⊠you think I'm beautiful?"
"Yes! ÂĄSĂ! How can anyone not?" Those dark eyes of his trailed appreciatively up and down your body, roaming over every hill and valley so he could lovingly map the shape of you under your clothes. "You do not know this?"
"I⊠I mean.. well. Nobody around here has ever said that to me, nobodys ever⊠wanted meâŠ"
"HermosaâŠ" he snarled, bearing his sharp canines just inches from your face. "Does this not show you that I want you?" He snatched your hand, tearing it away from the safety of your bosom and stuffing it under his chainmail tabard. You gasped at the hot, thick length of him throbbing with need from behind where it was trapped by his pants, the swell of it easily filling your palm and making your core scream with desire. "You feel how badly I want you? How much I want to bend you over this counter and fuck you until you can't remember any name but mine? Tell me you see that now."
Blood pounded in your ears, trying to contain too many emotions at once. Almost instinctively you squeezed and stroked him through the rough-knit fabric, your cunt clenching around nothing when he groaned. "But.. why me? All those Cranes are so much⊠prettier than meâŠ"
"I would break them," Tovar moaned more than growled, his hips bucking against your hand, his cock desperate for friction. "I like a woman with some meat on her bones, one that looks like she would survive the winter, and maybe keep me warm through the cold nights as well." He pressed himself against you, caging you in with his thick, muscular arms and running the tip of his nose up your throat. "What do you say, hermosa? Do you want to show me just how spicy you can be?"
"Tovar! Where are you?" A voice you wish you didn't recognize called from the mess hall loud enough to reverberate in the kitchen, startling you both.
"Fucking Ballard." You both hissed in unison, making you giggle like devious schoolkids.
"Another time, mi amor, no interruptions, sĂ?" Tovar asked in a whisper, flashing you a dazzling smile when you nodded excitedly. "Good, andale puesâŠ"
When his lips crashed into yours it was like the Wall itself had come down on your head. He tasted delightfully like peaches and cream, though he smelled like battleworn leather and a day spent too long in the sun. You melted into him, kissing him back quickly before he tore away, adjusting himself through his pants before vanishing out the kitchen door.
You stood, immobile, leaning hard against the counter while you caught your breath, trying to ignore the way your heart was beating hard between your legs lest it drag you to the floor. As soon as your soul came back to your body, you were flying around the kitchen, looking for your dessert recipe books.
Let's show him just how spicy you can be.
Morning came and went, entire racks of baked bread and heaping portions of scrambled eggs went out the door without a hitch; the kitchen staff functioning as normal regardless of the impending invasion. By lunch time though a couple of the line cooks had noticed that you weren't your usual observative self, allowing them free range over the day's meals while you focused on your 'project'.
"I'm working on a secret recipe!" You said when someone finally asked why you were loaded down with more spices than should fit in a cabinet. "To give the warriors an edge over the Tao Tie!" You brushed off any more questions, demanding that they let you focus and that you trusted them to handle the menu, just for today.
Lunch passed uneventfully since fried fish and rice with dumplings usually made even the most ornery Stag warrior happy. By this point your staff were picking up on whatever it was you were making in the little side kitchen where you made smaller portioned meals for people with allergies or upset stomachs. Warm cinnamon, vibrant cardamom, and rich, smokey clove had curious cooks poking their heads around the doorframe trying to get a whiff of whatever it was you were making.
Dinner was an affair. Six whole hogs had been roasted in underground pits since yesterday, but half the staff were too scared to go out and get them, worried the Tao Tie would attack them even though the pits were inside the barrier. Bear warriors gladly offered to stand watch as long as they got first dibs on dinner. The pork paired amazingly with crunchy wheat rolls, steamed veggies, and roasted potatoes, finished off with baked apples that were just a tad short on cinnamon.
Tovar had never eaten so well in his entire life, and though the constant supply of food was more than enough to keep him content while Willam and Ballard were busy, he couldn't help but wonder why he hadn't seen you all day.
He milled around the mess hall after breakfast and lunch, picking plates clean before the wait staff could bus them; they of course were thrilled with his 'help' and left him to it. Finally after dinner came and went and you were still nowhere to be seen, Tovar couldn't help but feel like he'd done something wrong; or worse, scared you away. Eventually, when nobody was left in the hall, Tovar made his way back to the kitchen.
"Sir, you can't be back here, is there something you need help with?"
"No no, I uh, want to pay my compliments to the chef, today's meals were very good."
"Well, you'll have a lot of people to thank for that, the head chef has been busy with something all day. We've barely seen her."
"Oh? Is she alright?â the terrifying mercenary asked, trying to sound nonchalant.
âSheâs fine, but if you want to find her, just follow your nose!â the tired cook laughed and tossed her rag over her shoulder. âShe wouldnât let anyone try what sheâs making, but smells are free.â
Tovar was no more enlightened than he was when he first walked in the kitchen, but now that someone had mentioned it, there was something⊠sweet hanging in the air. He huffed, that big nose of his coming in extra handy right now, leading him though the long stone room, past the gigantic ovens and rows of cooking pots, and past the island counter he had originally made his move on. Soon he came to a closed wooden door, and he could hear a rattling and clanging coming from the other side. He snurffed again, convinced that this was where the sugary scent was coming from.
Right as he raised his fist to knock, the door flew open, revealing you in all your flour-covered glory. âOh! Tovar! Hi!â you sputtered, âI was just⊠I was gonna⊠fucksake.â You glared down at your soiled apron, too distracted with your own poor appearance to notice Tovar grin. âI was gonna go get a fresh change of clothes before I came and got youâŠâ
âI think you look fine as you are, hermosa. Whatâs going on in there, eh? Making a mess?â Tovar snickered, leaning heavily on the doorframe and trapping you in a cage of your own making.
âYeah, you could call it that.â
âWhat kind of mess? I want to see!â Tovar tried to peek around you to see what you were going to âinviteâ him to, trying to dodge you as you followed him, blocking the scene with your body.
âI wasnât ready for you! Itâs a mess!â
âI like messes, and I like whatever that smell is. Are you baking? Is it cookies?!â He managed to push past you, ignoring your protests. In the smaller room a table and two chairs had been set up a few feet away from the little oven. There was no table cloth or napkins, or even silverware; just a bare table with a large wooden tray in the middle, loaded down with spongy-looking treats slathered in white icing. âWhat are those? Are they for me?â
âMmhmm. I was, uh, going to invite you for dessert, but I really wanted to get cleaned up first.â Warm embarrassment creeped across your cheeks while you tried to straighten your hair and dust the flour off your apron. âI didnât want you to see me like this.â
âLike what? Working hard? Making delicious treats, for me?!â Tovar shook his head, using the pad of his thumb to brush batter off of your cheek. âYou slay me, hermosa, but I think youâre beautiful just like this.â
âLying dog, you just want a sweet roll!â You teased, putting your hands on your hips mockingly.
âAh, you caught me. I do want sweet rolls. I want this one right here!â Tovar scooped you in his arms, kissing your neck and making you squeal. âMmm, you smell like cinnamon, you taste like it too?â he purred into the crook of your neck, answering his own question with curious nibbles. âoh sĂ, you do taste like cinnamon! Does everywhere taste so good?!â
âTovar! Itâs from the rolls!â You tried to say while you squirmed in his grip, his loving assault more ticklish than anything. âWhy donât you try one first?â
âBut-â
âBefore they get cold?â
âHmph. Fine, but I am not done with you.â Tovar broke away unwillingly and took his seat at the table, grabbing the nearest treat and popping it in his mouth with no regard for the icing getting all over his fingers. His first instinct to just wolf down anything he ate was slapped from his mind when the taste of your baking hit his tongue. For a moment his jaw stopped and his eyes went wide, giving himself a moment for the taste to soak into his tongue. âHâly shâtâ
âWhatâs that supposed to mean!?â
Tovar looked at you like you were the sunrise breaking on the ocean after a night of storms. âTheyâre delicious!â Tovar hollered when his mouth was empty-ish; though he filled it right back up with another roll.
âYou like them?!â You beamed, giggling when Tovar nodded so furiously his curls bounced.
âEat! Eat one, por favor! You must try them!â
âBut I made them for you-â
âAnd I want to share!â He scootched back in his chair so hard that the legs squeaked, making ample room for him to pat his lap. âSit.â
âTovar Iâm too-â
âSit!â
âBossy boots! Fine! But if I break your knees donât say I didnât warn you.â Gently, you perched your doublewide booty on Tovarâs knee, wrapping your arm around his sturdy neck while his muscular arm encircled your waist, holding you fast to him. âAre you sure this is ok?â
âShh, here, try.â Tovar shushed you with one icing-covered finger, then grabbed a treat for you. âOpen.â
You opened your mouth without argument, letting the mercenary pop the cinnamon-y sweet in. Of course you knew they were delicious, youâd been sampling the batter all afternoon, but with the added taste of Tovarâs rugged fingers, they suddenly tasted even more divine.
He traced the rough pad of his thumb across your sugary lips, collecting a stray bit of frosting to push in your mouth, which you licked from his skin with seductive leisure. Those dark brown eyes of his watched your lips wrap around him, the flutter of his long lashes giving away his imaginings of you wrapping your mouth around a different part of him.
âYour turn,â you hummed, selecting another sweet from the pile. Tovar held his mouth open expectantly, his bristly maw taking the entire roll from you and then some, sucking on your finger just as you had. The warm tip of his tongue lapped sweetly at your fingertip while he hummed his pleasure, luring you into a false sense of security before nipping at the hand that fed him; gentle enough not to hurt, but hard enough to make a heat hotter than an oven begin to kindle in your belly. âNaughty!â
âNaughty?!â He squeezed you tight, laughing darkly at your squeak of protest. âIâll show you naughtyâŠâ Tovar buried his scruffy face in the soft skin under your chin, kissing and biting at your throat. He was close enough to hear your heartbeat thunder at his touch, your chest revealing your need to him. âYou like this, donât you, my little cream puff?â
âMmmmaybeeâŠ.â you mused coyly, leaning more into his broad chest. A rough hand dragged its way up your arm, feeling the goosebumps that gave you away.
âGood.â Tovar growled against your collar bone, using his scruffy chin to scratch the swells of your breasts. âAm thirsty now.â He looked up at you with those gigantic puppy dog eyes of his, asking wordlessly for permission; but the moment you nodded the sweet puppy act disappeared, replaced by the ravenous wolf you suspected him to be.
The cord holding your bodice closed barely survived his assault, almost whipping through the grommets as the devious Spaniard tore through your clothes. As soon as he found the collar of your shirt it was game over. He tugged the fabric down -nearly ripping it- to expose your fat, heavy tits to his hungry maw. The hot wetness of his mouth had you arching your back and pressing harder into his face.
âTovar~!â you whined, squirming at the feel of his tongue circling your nipple between greedy sucks. A dark, villainous chuckle reverberated against your plush breast, the scoundrel determined to discover just how many of your buttons would make you cry out his name again.
You felt him shift forward, and heard the sound of a wooden plate being shoved out of the way. It was all the warning you had before Tovar was taking big, greedy handfuls of your ass and tossing you on the table; making it creak under the sudden added weight. You werenât given a second to ask him what he was doing before he was on you, lapping hungrily at the hardened tips of your tits as if he might actually get a drink from them.
âYou taste divine, hermosa,â he snarled into the pillowy flesh, breathing hard and fast as his own need started to overtake him. âI want to try something, if youâll allow it?â he asked, reaching behind you to grab one of the fresh sweet rolls. You nodded, willing to let him try anything, but you werenât expecting him to use the sweet like a paint brush, slathering your tits in icing. Coated in sugary sweetness, your breasts glistened in the low firelight coming from the oven, drawing Tovarâs eyes like a moth to a flame.
âWell? You gonna eat up, big boy?â you teased, squishing your voluptuous tits together and smearing icing over yourself. Tovar was practically drooling while he watched you play with yourself, but he was never a man to deny himself pleasure, and quickly dove in. His broad tongue dragged wetly over your hot skin, cleaning the icing from your breasts and sucking marks wherever he was finished. Before he even had it all licked off, he was squeezing your breasts around his head, burying his rugged face in your bosom and getting icing in his beard.
The Spaniard made his way up your throat, kissing his way to your lips while pushing against your chest until you were laying back fully on the table. One hand cupped your jaw while the other kneaded your breast, pinning you to the table. âThe outside is so sweet, is the inside sweet, too?â
âWhy donât you see for yourself?â
âAnd you said I am the naughty one.â Tovar snickered and pushed two thick fingers in your mouth, demanding you suck them clean. You did so gladly, tracing scars and creases with your tongue, feeling the weight of him in your mouth, the strength of his hands inspiring your imagination. He pulled his fingers free once youâd sucked all the sugar from them, wasting no time and stuffing them up under your skirts to find you already dripping for him. âNo panties? Cochina!â
He didnât let you ask him what that meant. Your mouth fell open as Tovar traced your soaked folds, gathering your arousal to slick himself even more than your spit would so he could stuff his thick digits inside you. The stretch of him nearly had you seeing stars right then and there, his rough calluses delightfully abrasive against your walls, rubbing your breath right out of you.
âThatâs it, sĂ hermosa, look how well you take me.â he purred, making you squelch. âOpen you nice and wide to take my cock.â
âYes, fuck yes!â you howled, clenching around him when he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers into you so hard you felt the table wobble, but you didnât care. You were consumed by him, the warrior encompassing everything; all your senses devoted to him alone. Chainmail rings caught under your nails where you grappled his shoulders, holding on for dear life while he fingerfucked you within an inch of your life. âT-Tovar⊠Iâm⊠gonnaâŠâ
âGonna what, bonita? You going to cum? Then cum.â
So you did.
The sound of it was obscene, and for one whole second you were glad you were still wearing dirty clothes. You soaked Tovarâs entire hand, as well as your skirts and his bracer; though he didnât seem to mind. His brutish face was the picture of pride, all smug smiles and rosey cheeks. âThatâs my good girl. Now, let's seeâŠâ He tugged his soaked hand from between your honeysweet thighs, bringing it out into the light where it glistened briefly with your juices before he popped his fingers in his mouth. âMmmm⊠fuck, hermosa, youâre going to rot my teeth.â
When his lips crashed into yours again you could taste yourself on his breath, as well as the lingering sweetness of cinnamon and vanilla; contrasting sharply with the way he was trying to eat your face. His devious hands clawed at your skirts, rucking them up and exposing your molten core to the relative chill of the open air. âStars above, look at youâŠ.â His eyes raked over your bare legs and dripping cunt, his pretty pink tongue darting out to wet his lips. âOnly a fool would pass this up willingly. Youâre sure Iâm not denying anyone your company?â
âIâm all yours, Tovar.â
âThen I will take you gladly.â He wasted no time shucking off his armor and freeing himself, almost ripping the laces out of his trousers in the process. His shirt barely made it out of the way when his cock sprang free, eager and throbbing, a bead of pearly precum beading at the tip. âYou like what you see, pretty girl?â he rumbled, stroking himself slowly, watching your eyes follow his hand. You managed a whimper in response, your cunt fluttering with need, practically drooling for him. He watched your wet slit with rapt attention, squeezing himself at the base to keep himself from cumming at the sight of you alone. âIâll take that as a yes.â
Tovar lined the blunt head of his cock up with your cunt, watching your face go slack as you took him inch by agonizing inch. His dark hooded eyes never left yours, even as they rolled back in your head from the stretch of him filling you to the brim. Both of you groaned like animals when he was fully seated inside you, his racing heartbeat pulsing against the gates of your womb.
âM-move⊠please, TovarâŠâ you begged, wiggling your hips and squeezing your plush thighs around his skinny waist. He fit between your legs like a key to a lock, the two of you discovering a treasure only the other could give.
âH-hang on, cariño, you f-feel too good.â The Spaniard shifted his weight, finding better leverage to thrust himself into you, making the table scoot on the floor.
âOh fuck yes, thatâs it, big boy.â You dug your hands into the meat of his biceps, marking his flesh with tiny red crescents even through his linen shirt. âYou really must have liked my baking.â
âSo muchâŠâ he snarled, nipping at your jaw when his eyes caught the plate of sweet rolls still within reach. He snatched one and put it between his teeth, his hips never halting as he leaned over you, the pastry the only thing between his lips and yours.
You craned your neck, biting into the spongy cake, scraping your teeth accidentally against his. He didnât care, instead he bit back, fighting you over crumbs and drops of cream. Icing coated your lips and stuck to your cheeks, and you were pretty sure some got on your nose as well. Tovar was on it like a bear on a beehive, moaning and groaning at the sweet, succulent taste of your sugar-coated skin; his licking, sucking and biting making you mewel and whine. Your cries spurred him on, broken and needy between trying to kiss his swollen lips and gasping for air, the merciless drive of his cock punching the breath from your lungs.
âGe-getting⊠closeâŠâ he stuttered, a sweat breaking out on his forehead. You felt his hands under you, over you, digging into your soft, squishy flesh and rolling you over onto your front as easily as flipping a pancake. Tovarâs sword-swinging hands took eager, greedy handfuls of your ass, squeezing and spreading your cheeks to reveal your puffy pussy. Your swollen lips quivered, your empty hole begged to be filled back up; and its wish was quickly granted.
Tovar slammed home, mounting you like the stallion takes the mare. He hit something hidden at this angle, his cock rubbing deliciously against a sinful patch of nerves that took the strength right out of your legs, leaving you boneless on the table.
âThatâs it, hermosa, take it, take it all.â Tovar growled through clenched teeth, fighting the ever-building tide that threatened to spill. âThink you can cum for me again? I bet you can.â He leaned his whole weight forward, crushing you under him with his wide chest, forcing you to support his weight while his hand dug under the swell of your belly, searching for a pearl more precious than gold.
The skilled hunter found it with ease, his strong fingers parting your plush folds and drawing devious circles against your clit that nearly short out your circuits. Your body tightened, curling you against the table and leaving you helpless to escape Tovarâs touch. He fucked you slowly, drawing out his own pleasure just to feel you clench on his cock instead of just his fingers.
He felt you throb around him and doubled down, rocking his hips in short, shallow thrusts until your clit pulsed and your cunt clenched around him, his other hand flying up to cover your mouth right as you screamed his name. You werenât given a moment to recover, as soon as you fell silent the Spaniard grabbed your hips and fucked you like a man posessed, his boney pelvis certain to leave bruises on your plush behind.
âI want⊠can⊠can IâŠ?â
âPlease.â you begged, bearing down on him and trapping him in your deliciously wet heat. âPlease, sweet boy⊠cumâŠâ
Fingers dug like claws into your sides, hot breath ragged in your ear, and the weight of a warrior pinned to you to the table as he chased his high. His hips stuttered once, twice, three times the charm, a whispered prayer of your name falling from his lips as he came, painting your walls in thick ropes of his spend. You clenched and soaked him back, drenching the dark hair at his base with your own special frosting.
Desperate breaths echoed in the small kitchen while the two of you caught your breath. One by one he pried his fingers from your hips, gently circling the marks heâd made on them with loving devotion. His hands wandered down to the heavy globes of your ass, cupping and dropping your cheeks, the jiggle making him shudder in delight.
âEstrellas, you are a sight.â he sighed contentedly, holding your cheeks apart while he pulled his softening cock free with a wet pop. "Maybe we see if you are not the only one who can put buns in an oven, no? Make a pretty mamacita out of you? Big and full and round, hehe."
"Scoundrel!"
"What? I want milk to go with your sweets, cariño." His thick seed dribbled out of you, running down your thighs a bit before he used his thumb to push it back into your still fluttering cunt. âYour sweet rolls were delicious, mi amore, but I think I like this dessert the best.â
âAnd what dessert would that be?â
âItâs not obvious?â he asked, punctuating the question by pushing a second finger into your soaking wet hole. Your mixed arousals squelched sinfully around his thick digits, pouring out of you and splattering on the floor below. The suck of your pussy was almost shameful when he pulled his fingers back out, a devilish laugh rumbling along the small of your back as your lover moved down to his knees behind you, his hot mouth inches from the mess he just made. âMy favorite dessert, cara mia, is the icing on the cake.â
â Join my TAGLIST â Masterlist â Other links â
jbbartram-illu
discoholicmusic
dailybridgerton
annaxmalina
titsay
kaledo-art
vaporwave
yousharknotpass
